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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

Note

Ok so I had a prompt idea? We’re all familiar with the “villain is sent to a ‘rehabilitation center’ that turns out to be secretly torturing the villains there” trope, but consider this: scared villain is captured by a kind hero and sent to a villain rehabilitation center, and villain has never experienced such warmth and kindness! Not to mention frequent visits from hero to check up/see how they’re doing. Maybe it’s no good but just a thought I had; I love your writing so much!! 💛🌼

(No pressure though, I know you’re probably busy!)

Oh, I absolutely love this prompt! Evil rehab centers are all well and good, but I’d never thought of one as being a source of comfort. I hope you like this! I was going to do some more with it, but it was already running a little long ^^

Thanks so much for the prompt!

CW//Arson, burning buildings, smoke inhalation, fear of death, gross food, mentions of torture, animal disease

As though singed by smoke, Villain’s lungs burned.

Even as they gasped, they felt as though they could not inhale a single breath. Yet, somehow, they had enough air to keep going.

It wasn’t as though they had a choice.

They were unsure, at that point, if their legs were truly moving at all. They had lost feeling in them far too long ago to be able to verify such a thing. Somehow, though, they were moving forward. Even if they wanted to, they didn’t know if they could stop, with momentum pushing them as it was.

Everything was riding on this. Days of keeping ahead, of leading the chase. If they stopped moving for just a moment, it would all be wasted.

And their life would be over. If they stopped running now, there would be no Villain left.

In that instant, they understood what it was to be a rabbit. When there was a fox on your tail, there were no do overs. No second chances. It was run or die.

As long as they could, they were going to run.

Villain couldn’t remember the name of the building in which they had managed to find the briefest of respites. Despite its sprawling size, there was nothing truly remarkable about it. Perhaps it did not have a name in the first place. At some point, it had been some sort of industrial complex-- the home of half a dozen separate companies, each clashing and butting up against one another.

Yet, the structure had long since been left to rot. They had a feeling that mold clinging to every corner had something to do with that.

Just a week ago, they would never have dreamed of so much as going someplace like this. The air smelled rotten, and breathing it left a sour taste sticking to their tongue. Not to mention the fact that several animals of varying size and danger had already claimed the rotten complex as their home.

But, they weren’t the same Villain they had been a week ago. Stumbling upon the building had felt like a gift from above, and, the night prior, they’d managed to get some honest-to-god rest among its sodden carpeting.

It was the most rest they’d gotten in days, despite the fact that, halfway through it, they’d awoken to a diseased rat with its teeth buried in their forearm. They’d had worse awakenings.

After shooing away the animal, they’d managed to sleep an hour or so more. Then came the worse of their two awakenings, that night.

The shouting voices of heroes.

Villain didn’t know how they’d found them. There was no trace, no trail. They had no vehicle-- instead moving through the woods on foot. ‘On foot’ was quite literal in that instance, considering the fact that they’d lost their shoes three days ago to a patch of quickmud.

But, still, they’d been found.

They didn’t no how long ago it was, that they’d been awakened by those voices. With the darkened building’s clocks hanging stubbornly on the wrong minute and hour, there was no way to tell how long it had been.

How long they’d been running...

Villain skidded around a corner, hissing as their foot caught on an uprooted carpet tack. Had they been this way before? It was impossible to tell-- all the halls looked the same.

The halls repeated, just as the heroes’ footsteps did.

How were they not tired?

Maybe because they’d eaten. And slept. And had water.

Villain had found that stream the other day, though...

Everything about them seemed to be repeating. The walls. The footsteps.

The lies of the heroes.

“Just stop running! We don’t want to hurt you!”

They couldn’t count just how many times they’d heard those words. Lies. Of course they were lies! Or, perhaps, it was their own sick attempt at a joke. We don’t want to hurt you, we just want to kill you!

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not just yet.

Another corner was taken with haste, and their nostrils were overwhelmed with the scents of rust and oil.

The garage was massive-- reaching further upwards than the shreds of sunlight filtering through dusty windows could reach with their furthest rays. Its concrete floor stretched out, seemingly, all the way to the horizon-- dotted only by support beams, and whatever scattered machinery and supplies the company had not deemed valuable enough to bring along.

The source of the scent of gasoline was quite rapidly made apart. Stacked haphazardly in the corner, red gas containers stood. Their reek alone made it well known that they were far from empty.

But the gas was far from Villain’s main concern regarding the garage.

In the past few days, they had become awfully good at finding exits. It was with a ruthless instinct that they scanned the room for one.

But, in the end, they reached a terrifying conclusion.

There was one exit. It was the same door as the entrance. The garage doors on the other side of the chamber had long since been chained shut, and there was no time for lockpicking.

The heroes flooded in.

It was with an exhausted hopelessness and steadfast stubbornness that they kept running forth. Of course, with their terrible luck, they did not make it very far. A rebar pipe caught their toes, sending them sprawling onto the concrete, pain shrieking from a thousand different, tiny wounds.

For a few seconds, Villain let themself breathe. They figured that, at the very least, they should let themself enjoy their last moments alive.

Their relaxation did not last long. They refused to die laying down. Trembling from exhaustion, pain, starvation, dehydration, and terror, all at once, they staggered to their feet. For a moment, their vision blurred, before solidifying once more.

Half a dozen heroes fanned out before the entrance, guarding it ruthlessly. Faux looks of concern painted their countenances.

From the array of aches and pains swarming Villain, a single one, all at once, made itself known. Something pressing up against their leg.

Their lighter.

Their trembling gaze flicked to the pile of glimmering red gas cans. It was behind them-- only a few steps back. If they could just...

“Villain!” The person in the front of the group called out-- Hero. “There’s nowhere else to go. It’s okay. Everything’s okay. You just need to come with us. You can’t survive like this much longer, you know that!”

No. What they couldn’t survive was the heroes.

But, they didn’t have to.

Villain took a step back, inching towards the pile.

“Come on, buddy!” Another hero called. “What are you so afraid of?”

It was the heroes who should be afraid. Another step back.

“There’s nowhere to run, Villain.” Hero spoke once more. “Just come with us. No harm will come to you, I swear to it.”

No.

Villain wasn’t ready to die. Not today.

They took the final step, until they were mere inches from the pile. With a well-placed kick, and a horrible clattering, the cans toppled from their precarious pyramid. The reek of gas grew tenfold as brown liquid spilled out, onto the concrete below.

Stepping back from the gasoline-- they were ready to go, not just yet-- they reached into their pocket. The heroes had no time to identify the object they pulled out. By the time they realized what had happened, the lighter had already been thrown.

The flame leapt into the air with such force that Villain was thrown back, tossed to the concrete like a ragdoll.

The faux compassion on the heroes faces turned to an emotion that was very, very real.

Fear.

Spreading so fast that its growth could be heard, the inferno pounced, grabbing onto the base of a wooden support beam and licking its way upwards.

“Everyone!” Hero shouted-- terror in their voice overpowered by sheer determination. “Get out! This building’s not stable.”

“W-what about you?”

“If I’m not out within five minutes, send someone in after me.”

“Are you certain?”

“We’re heroes. And, sometimes, that means saving villains, too.”

Despite their clear reluctance, the other heroes, one by one, nodded, allowing their terror to spur them to flee.

When the last of them was gone, only two remained in the garage. The villain and the hero.

Villain looked upwards, watching as the flame reached the top of the support beam and rippled onto the ceiling.

There were only two ways this could end. They knew that.

Either Hero lost their nerve and fled, allowing their prey to escape, or they both perished in the flames.

No matter which came to pass, there was only one thing that mattered:

They would not die by the hands of a hero.

“You’re scared.” Hero began. Another stupid speech. “I know. I know you’re scared. This last week has been hell for you, I know that. But it doesn’t have to go down like this. You can still make the right choice.

Please. Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you. Believe it or not, I don’t want you to die!”

“You’re a bad liar, you know.” They croaked.

Villain’s lungs were already torn from gasping. The slowly-rising smoke only served to salt their wounds.

Before them, a flaming ceiling tile fell, spraying them with embers.

“You don’t want this! I know you don’t! You don’t want to die!”

“Why do you think I’m doing this?! Of course I don’t want to die, you fucking idiot!”

“Then come with me!”

“It’s like you don’t even hear yourself.”

The building shuddered as a support beam splintered and collapsed. The force of it sent Villain, once again, to the concrete, bathing their face in smoke. As they scrambled to their hands and knees, they could not help but let out a shuddering cough.

“Villain! Watch out!”

“Wh-”

The ceiling tile struck their head, burying them under its accompanying rubble.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Warmth... and music.

They awoke to warmth, and music.

The first of the two came in the form of something soft, heavy, enveloping them, making them feel as though they were buried within a cloud. The music, too, seemed to surround them-- there were no words to it, just the soft, lulling tone of a piano, accompanied by the occasional splash of waves.

It was confusion that first whispered to Villain, when their leaden eyelids at last agreed to open. Above them sat an off-white sky, stretching out to meet with a light blue wall. They blinked once more.

Where...

The chase the heroes the running the building the gas the fire the rubble the-

Villain jolted upright, tossing off of themself a heavy, fleece blanket. Trembling fingers gripped the mattress below them as they scanned the world around, instincts kicking in, searching frantically for an exit.

The room was small, walls colored a soft, baby blue, and lit by a pair of lamps with warm, orange bulbs. The few items of furniture were made of a light brown wood-- three small nightstands, two in corners, and one next to the bed in which Villain lay.

Next to one of the stands was placed a small writing desk and chair, while the other was accompanied by a potted plant, petals just starting to emerge from its buds. Embedded in one wall, a window stood, a small radio perched upon its sill.

The door was at the room’s far end, next to their bed. A wooden door with brass handle-- easy to break down.

But guarded.

Before the door, a figure stood-- a person dressed in a bright flannel, from the breast pocket of which stuck an overabundance of pens.

They did not look particularly strong, but, then again, neither did Villain. At the sound of their movement, the figure turned to face them, a smile growing upon their round face.

“I didn’t even notice you waking up.” They hummed. “Good morning.”

There were two options for escape: The door or the window. Neither was particularly desirable, but they had to choose one...

“Hey, buddy.” The stranger’s voice felt almost as warm as the fleece blanket. “You’re looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, there. I’m sure this is all a bit overwhelming, and I’m sure you’re pretty confused. I’d be confused too, trust me.”

No. There was no confusion in Villain’s mind. They were focused on one thing, the only thing that mattered: Getting out of here!

The flannel-wearing figure took a few steps towards the bed. In instinctual panic, the villain scrambled to their hands and knees, shuffling backwards until their spine was flush with the headboard.

“Hey, hey, shhh.” They hushed. “I’m sorry I scared you. I’ll stay right back here, okay?”

“L-Let me out of here!”

The figure frowned.

“Bud, I’m not sure that you’d last another day out there. Not in the state Hero found you in.”

Hero. Of course they were working for Hero.

“I’ll explain everything, alright bud? But let’s just start here. My name’s Doctor. What’s yours?”

Villain only then noticed that they were shaking like a leaf. Whatever this method of torture or interrogation or whatever it is was, they wanted no part in it. They just wanted to go home! To get out! Warm bed or not, this was a prison. They were sure of it.

But, the bed was comfortable, and there wasn’t a single rat in sight...

“How about this...” Doctor coaxed. “You tell me your name, and I’ll tell you what’s going on, okay?”

A trade. Information for information.

Was it worth it? They supposed there was little use in lying.

“V-Villain. My name’s Villain.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Villain.”

“Now, wh-what is this p-place?”

Doctor nodded.

“This is the Supervillain Memorial Villainous Recovery Center. We’re in the city, right by the river. Next to the botanical gardens, if you know where that is.”

They were really telling them the location of their prison? Surely it would have been better to keep such a thing secret. That is, assuming they were telling the truth.

“I believe you’ve been asleep for about... seventeen hours.” Doctor glanced to their watch. “Yep, just about. You’ve been here for maybe half that time. After you got caught in the fire, Hero brought you to the hospital. They bandaged your wounds and brought you here. I hope you slept well.”

Villain almost laughed at that, before a realization struck them. They had slept well. Sure, remnants of the specter of fatigue still haunted them, but for the first time in days, they felt awake enough to think clearly.

But, this was still a prison.

Right?

Prisons didn’t usually have soft beds and fleece blankets, but...

No. It was a trick. This was a prison, and they were a prisoner.

“Let me go.” Villain insisted, though it was halfhearted. “Y-You can’t keep me here! I’m leaving. I need to leave!”

Doctor frowned again, biting their lower lip.

“I’m sorry, Villain, but for now, you’re going to have to stay here. But, I promise, you’ll like it here.” They sighed. “I know you’re scared, and confused, and a thousand other things. But, here, you’re safe. There’s other people here-- quite a few of them, in fact. And, at one point, they were all like you. But ask any one of them. This is the best place for you to be.”

Other people?

“Where are they? W-What are you doing to them?!”

Doctor smiled.

“They’re in our main wing, right now. I believe everyone is eating lunch right about now. I don’t know about you, but where I come from, lunch isn’t a form of torture.”

Villain pursed their lips.

“Then, where am I?”

“This is our arrivals wing. You’re going to stay here, for a few days. Until you’re comfortable, and we can make sure all that smoke is out of your lungs. Then you can join in with everyone else. I’m gonna move over to the side of the bed now, okay? I won’t touch you.”

Even with the warning, Villain couldn’t help but flinch as Doctor approached. They moved to the nightstand at the bed’s side, plucking a small, red box from its surface.

“Hero told me to give this to you, when you got up. It’s not exactly the most nutritious thing to start your day off with, but I think you deserve something tasty.”

They offered the box. After a moment of hesitance, Villain snapped it from their hands, drawing it close to their chest. Was it a threat? Some kind of warning? Morbid curiosity took hold of them, prompting them to open the box’s lid.

Chocolates.

A dozen chocolates, laid out in the design of a star.

“I can eat these?”

“Go ahead.”

Without hesitance, this time, they popped one of the candy pieces into their mouth. Its flavor overwhelmed them, strong enough to nearly knock them over. It’d been days since they’d eaten anything that didn’t come off a bush or from the dumpster.

“Um...” Villain looked back up, closing the box. “So, when are you going to kill me?”

Doctor laughed.

“Hero will be visiting tomorrow. With how long they can talk for, I think you’re only in danger of dying of boredom.”

This was a prison. Of course it was.

Yet, as they glanced down at the box of chocolates, they could not help but forget all thought of panic and escape.

#villain whumpee #whump #hero caretaker #scared whumpee #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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keilemlucent · 3 years

Text

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i || part ii || part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you.

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^)

enjoy loves <3

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them.

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them.

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets.

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised.

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months.

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too.

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future.

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to.

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm.

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out—

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound.

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic.

And you shudder at how good it feels.

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting.

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths.

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him.

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so.

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers.

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher.

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone.

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door.

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own.

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it. But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly.

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up.

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes.

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch.

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away.

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence.

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached.

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes.

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all.

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all.

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry.

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk—

And you must’ve felt awful.

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles.

And the heat of you flares.

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve.

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless.

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own.

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands.

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting.

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by.

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily.

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being.

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours.

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice.

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need.

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead.

The world feels dimmer with the thought.

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps.

But, you slept separately.

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck.

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.)

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice.

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived.

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes.

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily.

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning.

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs.

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has.

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

That night, things begin to shift.

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a—

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest.

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists.

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?”

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide.

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer.

“... We’re safe, right?”

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion.

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors. Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still.

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest.

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before.

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have.

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same.

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens.

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights.

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it.

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation.

It’s a process, he reminds himself.

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck.

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him.

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat.

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest.

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving.

The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest.

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious.

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind.

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs.

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy.

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease.

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night.

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more.

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck.

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time.

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications.

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words.

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.

It’s progress, even in something so small.

...

But progress isn’t linear.

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating.

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately.

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it.

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments.

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning.

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat.

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots.

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw.

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again.

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little.

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave.

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person.

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open.

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

Two...

This was a terrible idea.

Three—

It was four—

Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain.

You wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think.

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up.

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk.

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time.

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind.

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.)

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier.

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested.

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear.

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough.

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang.

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips.

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing.

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched.

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes.

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows.

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks.

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends.

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand.

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet.

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.”

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it.

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever.

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession.

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get.

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow.

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up.

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours.

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals.

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

...

He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes.

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other.

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!”

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest.

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him.

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.”

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers.

“I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one—

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter.

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over.

“Don’t.”

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow.

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town.

It’s still too much.

...

You, on the other hand?

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body.

You panic.

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it.

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left.

Is he okay?

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning.

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear.

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed?

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter.

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk.

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out.

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—)

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find.

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist.

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten.

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest.

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result.

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground.

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot.

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best.

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower.

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home.

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later.

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit.

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him.

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit.

As he nears, his stomach drops.

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings.

You must be cold.

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?”

You twitch, curling over your body harder.

Something is very wrong—

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit. It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut.

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care.

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets.

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization.

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms.

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little.

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest.

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning.

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is.

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good.

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.)

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates.

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.”

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious.

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking.

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway.

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves.

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

#salem writes #hawk x reader #hawks #takami keigo #takami keigo x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #anyways ouch <3 #kiss it better keigo #enjoy this big boy heheh #kith kith :'^)

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lixiepeach · 3 years

Text

Red Moon Drabble Series - Part 11

Summary: Hyunjin figures out he really likes it when Hana is pregnant.

Warnings: Fertility rituals, pregnancy, semi-detailed description of labor, Hyunjin has a pregnancy kink.

These all relate back to the original story. It helps to have read the story before reading through the drabbles. The story can be found on the Masterlist.

MASTERLIST

Hana startles awake as someone shakes her. Hyunjin is standing over her in the dark room, dressed and holding her robe. She had been dead asleep, getting much needed rest in Seungmin’s room. Regardless of her annoyance at Hyunjin for waking her, she lets him pull her up, wrapping her robe around her before thumping down the stairs behind him.

The moon is high in the sky, full and shining down on them. Hyunjin leads her into the yard, towards a blanket set out. She’s still sleepy, letting Hyunjin strip her out of her pajamas. She stands there naked in the moonlight, watching Hyunjin as he grabs the bowl sitting next to the blanket. She watches him as he begins to paint her skin with a red substance, covering her with lines and sigils. She can’t tell in the moonlight what the liquid is, it could have been blood for all she knew.

He focuses on her stomach, painting sigils over her pelvis.

“What are you doing?” She asks as he pushes her back onto the blanket, parting her knees. “My heat is still a week away.”

“Fertility ritual.” He states simply, mixing something in a jar. “Nothing is guaranteed with this kind of magic. But anything that might make it easier.”

He leans over her, holding the jar to her lips. She drinks the foul tasting liquid, some of it spilling out of the corners of her mouth. He dribbles a line of the liquid down her body, letting it slide between her legs. Her body begins to buzz, like she’s about to start floating.

Hyunjin splays a hand over her pelvis whispering quietly. She begins to feel warm, the heat blooming outward from her abdomen. Hyunjin presses a kiss to her stomach, trailing the kisses up her body to her mouth.

***********

Hana lays on the bed in the heat room, candles and various statues placed around the room. Hyunjin was determined to get it in one go, having spent the last week trying every fertility ritual he could find on the two of them. He was lighting the last of the candles, Hana rubbing her thighs together as slick begins to leak out of her.

“You’re sure about this?” Hyunjin asks once more, kneeling on the end of the bed. “I can’t give you what you really need. You’re going to be uncomfortable for two weeks.” He slides his hands up her thighs. “If it gets to be too much, I’ll send one of the alphas in. We can just...give up.”

Hana grips his chin, fighting the lust starting to take over. “No. We’re going to do this. No matter how many tries it takes. Besides, you shouldn’t complain. You get to fuck me non-stop for two weeks.”

Hyunjin gives her a wicked grin, parting her legs finally, leaning down to kiss her.

**********

Hana wakes sticky and starving. She’s laying against Hyunjin’s chest, his arm wrapped loosely around her. There’s a half empty water bottle next to him, and several more empty ones on the floor. She vaguely remembers Seungmin coming in halfway through to clean up the mess of wrappers, bottles, and containers. She remembers more this time. There had been less of a haze with the lack of an alpha’s knot.

It had been a horribly painful two weeks, but she would never admit that.

“Do you think it worked?” She asks, tracing patterns on Hyunjin’s chest.

“We’ll find out in a couple weeks.”

“If it doesn’t, we’ll try again.” She says, pushing herself up slightly. “We’ll try until it does work.”

Hyunjin stares up at her, hand tracing her back. “It’s times like this I wish I was still an alpha.”

“Hey.” She grips his chin, staring into his eyes. “I said it from the start. No matter what it takes. I want your baby, Hyunjin. No matter how many heats we have to try. I want to give you a baby.”

Hyunjin reaches over, grabbing one of the statues. “If we’re lucky, the magic worked.”

“Even if it didn’t,” Hana lays her head back on his chest. “We’ll try again in six months.”

***********

“Anything?” Hyunjin asks, pacing across the living room.

“It hasn’t been ten minutes yet.” Changbin says, looking up from where he’s trying to get Cho-Hee to say “dada.”

Chan is laying on the floor, being used as a human racetrack for the twins’ trucks. It was their new favorite game and Chan was always down to lay on the floor and let the boys play. Fatherhood had really softened him, just as much as it had Changbin, but she knew the alphas would kill to protect their kids if it ever came to it, probably more than they’d be willing to kill to protect their pack. She feels just as anxious as Hyunjin looks. She loves her three babies, but she also wants more.

It’s partly the instincts as a female omega and luna to want a big pack with lots of pups. Omegas never could quite get rid of the instinct to provide the pack with offspring, even after generations of evolution. It stemmed from the harsh lives wolves used to live, the chances of pups making it to puberty was low, so more pups meant more chances for offspring to make it. The need for pups never went away, the desire to have as many as possible never leaving the omega instincts.

That, and she knew how much Hyunjin wanted his own. He had been less vocal about it than Changbin, and even a couple others, but she knew. She knew from the glances he’d give the pups when he thought no one was looking. How he’d volunteer to hold them or play with them whenever he could. How much work he had put into making sure every fertility ritual was done correctly, all the research he did to try and find out just how likely it was for him to get her pregnant, all the tricks he could try to make it happen the first time. She knew the others were taking notes as well. It would be a struggle from here on.

The timer on her phone goes off, the room going still as she picks up the pregnancy test. Even the twins have stopped playing, sensing the tension in the four adults. She looks at the test, closing her eyes for a moment as she takes a breath.

She can’t hide the grin anymore, showing Hyunjin the test. He stares at it in shock, taking it from her hands. She laughs as he scoops her up in excitement, kissing her. Even Cho-Hee claps in excitement, even though she doesn’t understand why they’re excited.

“It worked.” She breathes, cupping Hyunjin’s face. “It worked.”

“I told you there’s some alpha in there still!” Changbin says.

*********

Hana lays still, listening to the heartbeat in her stomach. There’s only one again this time, the single heartbeat loud and strong. Hyunjin rubs his hands over her stomach, rubbing the cream into her skin. He was completely enamoured anyways, hands constantly on her stomach, wrapping around her from behind, always sleeping with at least one hand over her stomach. She hums as he moves his hands to her hips, massaging the sore joints.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says, hands moving to her thighs.

Hana cracks her eyes open, looking down at Hyunjin over her stomach. “I feel like a whale.”

He smirks, pressing kisses to her stomach. “But you look so sexy pregnant.”

Hana had discovered Hyunjin’s desire to have a pup went deeper than she thought it had. He had been touchy with the other pregnancies, but now, he couldn’t help himself. He kept talking about how sexy she was, how much he loved seeing her pregnant. She knows part of it is his excitement for his pup. But apparently, he also found her more attractive while pregnant.

Hana wraps her arms around him as he hovers over her. “Be easy tonight. My back hurts.”

Hyunjin rolls her to her side, pressing himself close behind her. He wraps his arms around her, one hand on her stomach, the other under her head. He cradles her as he ruts into her, moaning quietly into her ear. They weren’t as wild as they used to be, now that there were pups in the house. It was a natural thing in packs, but Hana didn’t want to subject her pups and their developing senses to that. Not that they would understand yet.

Hyunjin makes her cum first, cleaning up after spilling into her. He lays back down behind her, holding her stomach.

“Soon.” She whispers, placing her hands over his.

***************

Hyunjin’s hands are shaking as he kneels between her legs. He was determined to be the one to bring his child into this world. He had helped with the twins and with Cho-Hee, so it only felt right to deliver his as well.

“I can do this if you need me to.” Minho says, looking at Hyunjin’s shaking hands.

“No. I can do it.”

“We’re getting close.” Chan says, wincing as Hana squeezes his hands, another contraction ripping through her.

He was seated behind her, supporting her body as she squatted between his legs. It was the position she stuck to, birthing the other three the same way. She had asked Chan to be with her, wanting her alpha’s support.

Hyunjin presses on her stomach as she contracts again, almost no time between them now. “Okay, you can start pushing.”

Chan whispers into her ear as she bears down, pushing with each contraction. Hyunjin watches the head begin to crown, Minho ready with towels. His son comes into the world screaming, right into Hyunjin’s hands. He tries to blink back the tears, staring down at the small living, breathing being in his hands. He had taken part in making him. This was his son. His own son.

He lets Minho take his son as he tries to focus on finishing his job. He was in love already, and suddenly understood how something so small had taken down both of the most powerful alphas in the pack. Even Minho with his uncaring front was putty in their hands and he got it now. He understood.

“Go on.” Minho pushes him aside. “I’ll finish cleaning up.”

Chan moves from behind Hana, letting Hyunjin take his place. Hana is holding their son now, wrapped in his blanket. Hyunjin wraps his arms around both of them, looking down at him over her shoulder. He presses a kiss to Hana’s head, still damp with sweat.

“He’s so beautiful. You did so good.”

“You had a hand in him too.” Hana says, looking back at him.

She’s practically glowing. She always had a glow about her post-birth. Hyunjin loves it, seeing her like that. He leans his chin on her shoulder, staring down at his son. He can’t help the tears now, tracing a finger over his soft little cheek.

#stray kids #skz #stray kids fic #skz fic #stray kids werewolf au #skz werewolf au #stray kids supernatural au #skz supernatural au #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x oc #skz x oc #ot8 x reader #ot8 x oc

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nejibaby · 3 years

Text

Afterglow

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Y/N

Summary: Without Ace, your nights are back to being long, dark, and empty. But when you finally reunite, Ace refuses to just be your Daylight.

Daylight - Part 1 | Afterglow - Part 2

Word Count: 4.3k (my hands slipped, I’m so sorry)

Loosely based on: Taylor Swift’s Lover album (but mostly about the songs Daylight and Afterglow)

A/N: I really think Whitebeard is a great father, yk? So I see him as someone who you can always seek and rely on. He looks tough (and he’s actually tough), but he’s soft too! And Ace too, in that respect is similar to WB. I really believe he’ll be such a good boyfriend 🥺 Anyway, I really enjoyed writing this so much! Thank you to everyone who read this, I love yall 🥰

Sailing by yourself in a boat for one reminds you how vast the sea actually is. With the rowdy Whitebeard pirates, sometimes the sea, no, the world, seems a lot smaller, a lot more manageable, but alone, it feels so massive it’s almost frightening.

It’s easy to get lost, except there’s no such concept like that for someone like you who doesn’t have a destination to go to in mind. Quite simply, you’re wandering, but not lost.

You drift from one island to another. Your initial intention is to get as far away as possible from the crew. Now that that’s achieved, you’re unsure of what to do next.

You allow yourself to observe and to experience some sort of normalcy at the islands you dock at. It’s a good thing that you don’t really stand out so no one suspects you’re a wanted pirate.

Walking down the streets of random towns, you’re reminded of how lonely being a Celestial Dragon was. No one wants to interact with a World Noble, afraid of the consequences if they’re angered. Things changed drastically when you became a pirate though. People don’t shy away that much with pirates in certain places. They interact with you, albeit hesitantly sometimes. Nevertheless, you felt so free and happy.

Now, you’re still a pirate, as marked by Whitebeard’s infamous tattoo. But with the unsuspecting townspeople and the lack of the presence of a crew, you don’t feel like one. Somehow it makes you feel empty.

The void is immeasurable. Despite it being unbounded, you’re sure that a single person can fill that emptiness: Portgas D. Ace.

But there are oceans separating you from Ace— a distance that you put. With the space between you, there’s silence in your voyage, however, it’s quite mystifying how every island you reach seems to scream his name.

There’s an island where you’ve docked at that’s snowing all year long. It brought back memories of when you were fairly new to the Whitebeard Pirates and had landed on a similar island. Back then you’ve worn a coat as you disembarked Moby Dick, however, the cold continued to seep through your layers of clothing. You couldn’t handle extreme temperatures that well but you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it so you continued to walk alongside the crew to scout the area. The thing was you may have been terrible at hiding it because Ace noticed the way your body was shivering and your teeth chattering. You were only acquaintances back then but he went to your side and striked a conversation with you. You didn’t understand why you became comfortable when he approached you all of a sudden, but then later that night you realized that he used his devil fruit abilities to warm you up.

At one island with a bustling town, there’s this restaurant that serves a variety of meat. You’re reminded of Ace and his bottomless pit of a stomach, and of his narcoleptic episodes while eating. He has a tendency of eating and then running, and the first few times he did it with you had you reeling. When you’ve finally realized that he’s never going to change, you start to keep a pouch of gold coins with you, reserved for paying for the food he eats. You leave it on the table just as Ace pulls you to run, and he has no idea about it. Owners or servers at the restaurants would still follow you out, but not to berate the both of you for not paying but to return the extra gold coins because you pay too much. Like usual though, Ace pretends not to hear them and they never got to catch up with you and Ace.

On another island, there’s a huge wild boar thrice the size of a human. It reminded you of the time you got so excited to explore an island that you speedily ran towards the forest alone, only to be met by a wild boar. The size of the boar stunned you and its glare kept you frozen in fear. A loud scream escaped your lips when it lunged at you, except the impact never came. When you’ve gathered your bearings, the wild boar was dead and… cooked, courtesy of Ace’s devil fruit abilities. He saved you, but he played it off as if he had his eyes on the wild boar since the beginning “to hunt it down.”

The current island you’re at is in famine. As soon as you docked at their port, a group of men has drawn their swords at you. For a moment, you thought they were bounty hunters so you grabbed your daggers and took a defensive stance. However, from the way they keep looking back and forth to you and your boat, and from hearing the faint sound of their stomach grumbling, you can tell they aren’t. Behind some trees, you can see the heads of some children peeking with worried yet hopeful looks on their faces.

Slowly, you raise your hands up in surrender, dropping your daggers in the process. You can’t turn your back on them — figuratively and literally — so you walk backwards towards your boat. The men look at you curiously but they don’t ever lower their swords.

In a quick motion, you grab a bag containing all of your food supply and throw it at them. One of the men catches it. “You can have them. It isn’t much, but that’s all I have.”

The man who was able to catch the bag carefully opens it and sees food. He almost cries at the sight of it. The rest of the men lowers the sword after you offer no sign of aggression. They start calling the other citizens of the area afterwards.

The children are the first to come running towards the men — all of them conveying excitement. You couldn’t tell how long they haven’t eaten but judging from how thin they are, it has got to be quite some time.

A small girl stumbles and falls near you and you quickly come to her aid. There isn’t much damage, just a scraped knee so you carefully patched her up.

“Thank you,” she gives you a toothy smile and then starts heading to the men who are distributing the food.

She comes back a moment later, arms outstretched to hand an apple to you. “For you,” she says.

Something blossoms in your heart because of her sweetness. “Thank you, but it’s fine, you can have it,”

She doesn’t object but then she hugs you tightly. “Thank you so much.”

Surprisingly, even on an island like this, you’re reminded of Ace. You remember his story about coming to Wano and meeting a child named “Tama” who seemed to be as charming as the child you helped and is under the same fortune.

Now that your mind has drifted to thoughts of Ace, you didn’t want to think of anything else. Even as the people gather around you to offer their thanks, and even as they usher you to a bonfire to celebrate for the food to eat, the thoughts of him linger in your head.

And just like in all the previous islands you came to, you wish he’s here with you too.

There’s longing in your heart, but there’s also something else— something pleasant that you can’t quite describe— and you attribute it to the gratitude of the people.

The mother of the child you helped, Sito, offers their spare room for you to take and you graciously accept. Soft snores almost immediately fill your ears after a few minutes of them bidding you good night.

The longer you stay awake, however, the pleasant feeling you felt a while ago starts to leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

You’ve always criticized yourself for not being able to do more when you were still a Celestial Dragon but now that you did something good, you start to feel selfish for doing it because it makes you feel better about yourself.

It’s at times like this that you seek Pops. There’s a sudden urge to hear his voice and his thoughts. So you grab your Den Den Mushi, but you hesitate.

You’ve lost track of the days since you left Moby Dick. And in that time frame, you never once called Pops. Although you didn’t really promise to call, maybe he was expecting you to, especially since you know he wouldn’t do it first.

You sigh. Maybe this call is long overdue after all.

You step outside the house and start to contact Pops using the Den Den Mushi. It only rings once and then it’s answered, almost as if Pops was waiting by the Den Den Mushi. The thought brings a smile to your face. “Pops—”

“Why on earth are you only calling now?!” His angry tone welcomes you.

“I’m so—”

“Is that Y/N?!” Marco interrupts. Ah, how could you have forgotten? It’s at this time that Marco reports to Pops. “We’re so worried about you -yoi!”

You can hear sounds of struggling on the line and then there’s a loud smack followed by an even louder crash. There’s a moment of silence which makes you wonder what’s going on in the ship.

“Why didn’t you call earlier?!” Pops’ voice booms. “If you’re going to leave a Den Den Mushi, I’m going to expect your reports but I received none of that.”

“I’m sorry Pops. I have no excuse,” you sheepishly say.

“Everyone’s worried about you,” he pauses but then his voice rings louder once again, “Some are even outside my room trying to listen in on our conversation. But if they know better, they should leave us alone.” The sound of rushing footsteps could be heard in the background as Pops finishes his sentence.

You chuckle, imagining the crew eavesdropping. “How are you Pops?”

“I’m doing fine.”

“How’s everyone? How’s… uhm… Ace?”

“Everyone’s just missing you. You didn’t say goodbye after all,” he says. “I put Ace on a mission because he won’t stop pestering me about you. He won’t come back in a couple of days.”

“Oh.”

“He misses you a lot,” he sighs. “He strides to me everyday to demand your whereabouts. Each time I wouldn’t tell him but he never learns. Vista says he’s on his 56th attempt the other day.”

The brief image of Ace that your mind comes up with brings a small smile to your face.

“When are you coming back?” Whitebeard breaks your reverie.

“Ah, I’m not sure yet… It might take a while.”

He hums. “So how are you? Have you been eating well?”

“I’m doing fine, Pops. No one’s been coming after me yet so everything’s going well,” you respond. “But… Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“There’s this island with people who haven’t eaten in so long so I gave them everything I have.” There’s a loud growl coming from Pops so you immediately continue your speech before he could scold you for doing such a thing. “I feel really good about what I did as they thanked me. But then the longer I thought about it, I started feeling ashamed because... wasn’t it selfish since I did it to make me feel better about myself? Then I started to wonder if it was wrong to do good things just because I wanted to be absolved of my parents’ sins. Was I wrong in doing this, Pops?”

“No, you did the right thing.”

“Really?”

“Yes, you’re not an inherently bad person for getting paid in gratitude.”

“But…”

“Making yourself happy by making other people happy is how it’s meant to work. If one of your key motives to doing good things is to feel good, then you’re still doing something good and there’s nothing shameful about that.”

Hearing his words puts you at ease. You’re glad you called him. “Thank you, Pops. I’m sorry for worrying everyone there and for disrupting Marco’s report. I promise I’ll call more often from now on.”

“It’s fine. Just don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Where will you be headed next?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just going where the sea leads me.”

“Be careful.”

“You too, Pops,” and with that, you bid your goodbye and hang up.

By morning, you start preparing your things to leave. You didn’t want to stay for too long because you didn’t want to consume even a portion of the small amount of food they have.

Sito offers you to stay another night, worried that it would be uncomfortable to sleep on a boat. “You can stay one more day. There’s still enough food for us to share.”

“Oh no, I don’t want to impose,” you decline. “But do you mind if I ask what happened here?”

There’s sadness in her eyes, it was easy to tell the memory pained her, but she tells you everything anyway. “This island is one of the few lawless areas in the world, hence, it’s a place where pirates would dock at. A group of men once docked here and kidnapped the leaders of our town. They were sold off to be slaves, because apparently the Nobles like to enslave people of power…” Her words start to fade on you upon the mention of the World Nobles.

Anger flares up in your system immediately. How low can the Celestial Dragons go? It’s sickening to think that you share the same blood as them. It’s because of this revelation that something becomes clear in your mind.

Ever since leaving Moby Dick, you’re just wandering aimlessly. But after hearing Sito talk about this island, you’re finally sure of what your destination should be.

Sabaody Archipelago.

Specifically, the Human Auctioning House.

From the sudden fury that overwhelms you, not even the fear of being within arm’s reach of the Marines, and possibly dying, could stop you from going there.

It’s reckless and foolish, but isn’t this the reason you left Moby Dick that night— to face your nightmares instead of running away from them?

You listen politely as Sito explains everything else but her words enter and leave your ears without you having to comprehend them. Fortunately, she doesn’t notice your inattentiveness, probably because she wants to pour her frustrations out to a stranger.

You offer your sympathies to her and promise her you’d come back with your crew and help them some more. It’s a simple promise yet for someone who hasn’t been offered help for so long, it means a lot, enough to even bring tears to her eyes. And just like that, you leave.

There are two more islands to stop at before you reach Sabaody Archipelago. You gather provisions on one island and buy explosives on the other.

The only thing you’re sure you can actually do alone is to blow up the Human Auctioning House. Facing the World Nobles is for another time, unfortunately. As for the Marines, well… You’d worry about that if they indeed come. You know you’d be able to handle them as long as they don’t send an Admiral after you.

The thing that worries you the most, however, is Pops’ reaction once you let him know of your plan. While you can always just not tell him, it feels wrong, and you promised you’d report to him, after all. And it’s hard for you to admit, but you secretly want to be saved in case your plan goes askew. That, and well, you still want to make up with Ace, may it be just strictly as friends, but preferably as lovers.

You decide to call once you’re about to set sail towards Sabaody Archipelago. You’re sitting in the middle of your boat, still anchored at the port when you told Pops your plan. And as expected, he’s mad.

He demands you to go back to the crew immediately. “Captain’s orders,” he says. But after a few moments, he retracts his words and says, “Your father’s orders.” You feel the weight of his words when he said that and you almost concede. But the faces of the slaves your family had flashes into your mind and it solidifies your decision.

Interestingly, despite the weeks you have spent away from the crew, their ship is nearer to you than anticipated. As confirmed by Pops himself when he angrily said, “Enough! I’m sending Ace to get you! Two or three days is enough for him to catch up with you.”

But quite frankly, that’s also enough time to execute your plan. And if the odds are in your favor, then Ace might just come in time for your escape.

Arriving at Sabaody Archipelago, you keep your face hidden underneath the hood of your cloak. It’s normal for pirates to walk around the place without having to hide their identities, but it’s a luxury you can’t afford. If someone catches wind that you’re here and reports it, the Cipher Pol just might come and capture you before you can even execute your plan. That just won’t do. So on the first day of your arrival, you only scout the area of the Human Auctioning House and retreat back to the inn you stay at.

You carry out your plan on the next day. You place a bomb where the side of the stage is supposed to be. It’s a distraction so people inside would leave the premises. The plan is to find the keys and free the slaves while the people are panicking from the explosion. Then eliminate the head of the place, Mr. Disco, and finally blow the place apart. It sounds simple but with you having to do all the work, you know it isn’t.

Now that you’re here, your nerves are spiking up. Arriving at the entrance of the building, you take a deep breath, your hand automatically reaching for the bracelet that Ace made you. It instantly calms you down.

It baffles you how fate works because on the very day you decide to free the slaves that are being sold off at the Human Auctioning House, Ace’s brother, Luffy — along with his crew — is at the same place to rescue their friend who was kidnapped.

Somehow even on a dangerous mission like this, there’s still something or someone who’d remind you of Ace. It makes you wonder: has he really embedded himself too deep into your life that there’s no escaping the thoughts of him? Not that you mind; the thoughts of him bring you peace, after all. But still, it’s fascinating that even in both mundane and dangerous settings, he makes himself known to you.

Upon entering the Human Auctioning House, everything happens so fast and unexpected. And quite frankly, a lot happened that wasn’t part of the plan.

Aside from finding the Straw Hat Pirates, you got yourself injured when you used your body to shield their fish man friend, Hatchi, from Saint Charlos’ gunshot. Then you confronted Saint Shalria personally despite you not planning to get involved with the Celestial Dragons. As for the slaves, it was the Dark King, Silvers Rayleigh, who actually freed them. The only things that you personally executed from your plan were Mr. Disco’s elimination and the bombing of the Human Auctioning House.

Escape is easy once the building starts to explode because the Marines would have to lessen the forces who're chasing after the pirates in order for them to successfully put out the fire. Without any Admiral on the scene yet, it’s not hard to slip away from them and/or fight them.

Even with the gunshot wound on your arm, you’re able to take down each and every one of the Marines who are chasing you. But halfway through your journey back to the grove where you left your boat at, you lose your adrenaline.

You start to feel the sharp and stinging sensation on your arm once again, yet, you couldn’t help but smile. You have gotten out alive. The slaves have been freed. With both Mr. Disco and the building gone, the Human Auctioning House will no longer be operational, or at least not yet until someone steps up. But that won’t be after a long time.

It’s a wonderful day.

You look up at the afterglow of the sunset with a serene smile. You have a feeling your nights are going to feel shorter now and less frightening than they were before.

Your peaceful moment is cut off by someone rather abruptly. You jump in surprise as someone wraps their arms around you from behind all of a sudden. “I finally caught up with you.”

Your breath hitches at the sound of the voice. “Ace? What are you doing here?”

He doesn’t answer your question, but he mumbles, “I’m sorry if I only came now. Pops wouldn’t tell me where you were, but I came as soon as I could.” Then he tightens his hug. “I was so scared, I thought I’d lose you…”

“Ace, I’m sorry about—”

“Hey, it’s on me, okay?” He interrupts. “I blew things out of proportion, and now you’re blue.”

You pull away from his hug to face him.

“Y-your arm! You’re bl-bleeding,” he stutters after seeing your injury.

But you pay no mind to that. “Ace… I’m really sorry about us—”

“Ssshhh, baby…” he rubs his hand on your back.

He looks at your figure carefully, focused on looking for any more bruises or wounds. When he doesn’t find anything more, he gently holds you by your waist. “Don’t blame yourself, I’m the one who burned us down, but… it’s not what I meant.

“It was all in my head, okay? It’s just that the Celestial Dragons are all grouped in my head as scums and that they’re inexcusable because… my brother was killed by a Celestial Dragon.”

A wave of guilt flows through your body, enough to weaken your knees. Before you could fall, however, Ace catches you and brings you to his chest. But this doesn’t stop you from sobbing on his chest. “I didn’t know, Ace. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that’s the thing, baby. It isn’t your fault. It wasn’t you who pulled the trigger. And… I have to admit I failed to see that at first,” he says as he hugs you tighter. “I shouldn’t have stood there frozen after you told me your story. I’m supposed to be the one who understands you...

“I’m not trying to make excuses and I’m not trying to make this about me but it’s just that… for so long I thought that I inherited the bad blood of my father, and I spent my lifetime failing to see that his sins aren’t my sins,” his voice cracks as he cries. “So when I found out about you… My mind automatically held you liable for the sins of the Nobles…

“But I talked to Pops and he straightened me up. I understand now. Our parents’ sins aren’t ours. It never was ours to begin with. So I’m sorry for blaming you for something you didn’t do…”

Ace stares at your crying form. He cups your face and sincerely says, “It’s so excruciating to see you low,” as he wipes the tears on your eyes. “I’m sorry if I hurt you…”

“It’s fine Ace, I forgive you. But…” You look directly into his eyes. “I’m at fault too,” you confess. “I was the one who left... I was so used to living like an island and isolating myself that it didn’t occur to me that I was punishing you with silence… I should’ve waited patiently for you but I ran away…”

Ace rubs your back gently and presses his forehead against yours, “I forgive you too.”

You smile in relief.

After a couple of minutes in silence, Ace tilts his head. “Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you said that you saw daylight after sleeping in a long, dark night?”

You give him a curious look but nodded anyway.

“Beside wishing that I was there for you sooner, it had me thinking...”

“What?”

“Uhm… The world is terrible and cruel, and no one can ever really stop the dark nights from coming.”

You frown. You don’t really understand what Ace is trying to say.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is,” he rubs his neck while his cheeks starts to blush, “if you ever have to go through those dark nights, I wouldn’t want you to wait for daylight.

“I want to be there with you on those nights until they’re over. I don’t want to leave you when things get rough and only show up when you’re better. I know you see me as your daylight but I don’t want to be just that.”

His words warm your heart, and makes it skip a beat. “You know, Ace, there are remnants of light that linger in the sky even when the sun has long gone down and the night starts. It’s the afterglow,” you mumble.

“Yeah, but that goes away too after a while,” he frowns.

“Well, lucky for you the moon reflects the sun’s light during the night, huh?”

He grins. “Yeah, yeah. I like that. I want to be your source of light, may it be the daylight, moonlight, or the afterglow.”

A moment of silence engulfs the both of you. Under the soft afterglow of the sunset with your arms wrapped around each other, you feel at peace.

Once upon a time, you used to believe love is black and white— that it’s straightforward. It was either you love Ace or you don’t, there were no gray areas. No matter what he feels, says, or does, your love for him never ceases.

But then some other days you believed that love is burning red— that it’s full of passion, lust, and romance, much like the nights you spent entangled in the sheets with Ace.

However, right now in Ace’s arms, all you could ever think about is that love is golden. It was warmth and comfort, like what daylight brings. It was contentment and serenity too, much like the feeling of lightness one gets when seeing the afterglow of the sunset. Either way, it’s Ace who makes you feel those.

No matter what color love actually is though, for you it’s always embodied by Ace.

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nelapanela94 · 3 years

Text

Warnings: Mentions of a degenerative disease, angst, fluff, character dead

LevixFem!Y/N

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When you met Levi for the first time when he joined the Survey Corps you were certain that the stoic, ill-mannered raven-haired was going to be yours. With your joyful and caring personality, you were quite popular among your male peers; however, you only had eyes for one man.

Despite Levi’s efforts to suppress his feelings, he realized he had fallen hard for you. He would helplessly stutter when he talked with you and his gaze would unconsciously follow you whenever you were around. Your laughter would bright up a shitty day, and it irked him when another man made you laugh. Indeed, Levi wanted to confess, but was afraid to screw it up. It wasn’t a scenario he was prepared for.

He was utterly doomed.

Nonetheless, the universe conspired in his favor the day you went straight to his office, opened the door without knocking and firmly approached the ravenette who was busy with paperwork. He didn’t even have time to complain at your intrusion because his lips were already prisoners of yours. Levi was left dumbfounded, his eyes widely opened, his entire face flustered, and he was doubtless his heart was about to explode.

He instinctively cupped your face in his hands and deepened the kiss as all the tension drifted away from his shoulders. Your lips moved slowly and clumsily first, but didn’t take long to adjust to the perfect rhythm. Your heart pounded in your chest and your trembling knees were about to give up. You could not focus in anything, but on how soft his lips felt against yours. You had found a new addiction.

You finally broke the kiss and stared at each other in the eye. “What the…” Levi was still processing what just had happened.

“I wasn’t going to be left with the desire” you said between soft pants. Then an awkward silence filled the room, Levi tugged at the collar of his shirt, while you bit your lower lip. “Well...” you pursed your lips in a thin line.

“Stop b...by after dinner. I’ll make t…tea for both of us, I... got this new blend from the capital…” he stammered, his eyes darted towards the window.

“I’ll get the biscuits” you proposed while inspecting your nails.

“Great”

“Great. Uh, my squad is gathering soon… see you then” you waved your hand and left his office.

You and Levi had been together ever since then. Despite your tight working schedules, you’d always make time to see each other. You would steal kisses from him when no one was looking and leave love notes on his desk with the cheesiest messages you came up with. They were a treasure for him and kept every single one in one of his drawers. Levi, on the other hand, demonstrated his love through acts of service, like brewing tea for you, making sure you had had breakfast every morning, or having your clothes washed, folded and put away. Since words were not his forte, he showed his affection in his own way.

Everything seemed perfect until one night you abruptly woke up covered in cold sweat, your nose was bleeding too. Levi sat up and lit an oil lamp to get a better look. He alarmed when he spotted your lips, chin and hands already stained in the crimson liquid. “Are you alright?” He placed his hand on your cheek and swiped away your tears with his thumb.

“Yeah” you sniffled. “It must be just stress, I’m sorry for waking you up”

Levi planted a kiss on your forehead before getting off the bed. He came back from the bathroom with a damp cloth and cleaned the dry blood from your face and hands. He then changed the bed sheets as well as your stained night gown, and went back to bed, his hand caressing your hair until you fell asleep again.

Several days later a ticklish sensation manifested in your hands and feet, but you shrugged it off claiming it was anxiety for the upcoming expeditions. Nevertheless, the tingling feeling became more recurrent, and spread to your arms and legs. Then came the numbness that engulfed your limbs and the declined in your grip strength that hindered your performance, and put your life in great danger during one of the expeditions. Levi grew tired of your shitty excuses and forced you to go see a doctor, since Hange and Moblit couldn’t find a cause for the unusual signs.

But nothing had prepared you for the news you were about to received. According to the doctor, you suffered from a brain degenerative disease that didn’t have a cure, nor a known root cause; and the worst part: your symptoms would aggravate with time.

“He must be overreacting” you weakly smiled when you left the doctor’s office. “It can’t be that bad” you knew it was, though. Remembrances of your early childhood came back. You’d never understood why your mother was left disabled and bedridden for so long before passing away until that moment; and the doctor’s words had confirmed your greatest fear: you had inherited the same illness that had taken your mother’s life.

Little by little, you went from trembling to limping to nearly lost the mobility of your lower body. The muscle mass you had gained through the years of military training was vanishing, and the pain had become unbearable, not even the strongest medication brought relief.

Now, you were lying in bed with Levi, resting your head on his chest and having your legs intertwined with his, while he pressed soft kisses on your head.

“Levi” you muttered. “Forgive my selfishness. Sometimes I wish I was death” He scowled at your words and lifted his head. “Oi, don’t say that” His gaze saddened when he glanced at your glistening eyes.

“You know it’d be better for both of us. I won’t be in pain anymore and you won’t have to deal with this burden”

“Stop it, I don’t wanna hear it” He clenched his fist and took a deep breath to restrain his tears. “I can’t lose you, (name). I might be the selfish one, but I don’t know what I’d do without you”

You chuckled.

“What? I didn’t say anything funny”

You shook your head. “I just remembered the day I told you I wanted you to be the father of my kids. You almost choke on your tea” you giggled.

“Yeah, pretty funny...” He remarked sarcastically.

“They’ve would’ve been so cute, you know, with your hair and eyes” you sighed. “Isn’t it a cruel joke of the universe to lead me to you and not let us age together?”

“Hey...” His eyes filled with tears. “You’re talking like you’ve already given up”

“I’m just tired”

Yes. You were tired of everything. You couldn’t stand the pain, the useless medication, the pity stares. You were tired of being a burden to your friends, and mainly to Levi.

“Get some sleep, I’ll bake your favorite cookies tomorrow morning”

“That sounds good”

“They’re not as good as yours, though”

“No one can beat my recipe”

“Cocky, aren’t we?”

You chuckled. “Can we have chai tea with the cookies?”

“Chai tea will be”

You closed your eyes and the corners of your mouth lifted. Levi’s beating heart was steady and relaxing. “I love you, Levi”

“I love you too, (name)” He waited for you to fall asleep before he succumbed to slumber. His poor sleeping habits eased when you were lying by his side; you had become his shelter, the light of his eyes and the only person he had fully opened his heart to.

Levi woke up first the following morning with you peacefully asleep, your head buried in his chest and your arm wrapped around his torso. Too peacefully asleep, indeed. “(name)” he whispered, but didn’t get any response, not even a whine nor your usual 5 more minutes, please. He uncovered your upper body and carefully unwrapped your arm off of him. A hard object hidden under the covers got his attention. He found it and examined the small container.

His eyes went wide as a sharp pain pierced through his heart when he read the label.

His jaw quivered and tears streamed down his face.

His world was shattering around him.

It was the most recent medication prescribed by your doctor.

It wasn’t even a week old and it was supposed to last a month.

But the flask was already empty.

#levi x y/n #levixreader #levi aot #levi ackerman fanfiction #levi ackerman #shingeki no kyojin #levi shingeki no kyojin #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #sad ending

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elena-reina · 3 years

Text

Status - Draco Malfoy x Reader

Request: Hey , could you maybe write an imagine in which post-war Draco brings the reader home to meet his parents but she is extremely nervous as she is a muggle and not a pure-blood and Draco comforts her .Lucius particularly stands against it but at the end of their dinner he sees how much more alive and happy Draco feels next to her ? Fluff would be great as a type if you want, thank you - Anon

Warnings: none

You turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved with you, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the way. A shrill yelled aloud making you internally flinch only to find the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, sturring majestically along the top of the hedge. You fiddled with your hands nervously.

Draco placed his hand on top of yours. “It’s going to be alright, love. They’re going to love you.”

Draco was nervous as well, not of himself but for you. He knew his parents were going to love you, well he knew for sure his mother would. His father, not so much.

Lights glinted in the diamond-paned downstairs windows outside. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge, a fountain was playing.

“Welcome to my home,” Draco says opening the front door for you. He extends his arm for you to grab onto as you both walk inside together. Your eyes scanned around the Malfoy Manor in astonishment.

You knew Draco was wealthy but you didn’t really think he was that wealthy. The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificient carpet covering most of the stone floor. The walls of the entrance hall display pale-faced portraits lining the walls, one of them you came to recognize as your beloved Draco. You stood in front of it, gazing at the hard stare his portait had. Each stroke was down to every single detail on his face including the small freckle he has on the corner of his eye.

“This was painted a while ago,” he spoke up, feintly smiling. Turning your head, you looked at the end of the hall noticing a bronze-handled door.

“Where does that door lead to?” you asked motioning towards the end of the hall. You felt him tense up behind you. It was the drawing room. It was where the Death Eaters and Voldemort sat during their meetings.

“It’s just a cabinet,” he lied, “C’mon, let me bring you to my room.”

You ducked your head and followed shortly behind him going up a tower of stairs. Looking around, the dark lightning complimented the cold marble running around the manor. He pulled you down the hallway and into a room. Silently closing the door, Draco faced to turn you gazing around.

The room contained a large bed, neatly made, looking at though no one has slept in it in days. Along the wall was a tall, long window that opened to a small pation. Half of it was covered from long black curtains, looking as though they were made from soft velvet giving the room a dark ambiance. There were no pictures on the wall except for one small photo frame next to the bed. Walking closer to the bed, you lightly trailed the frame of the picture. It was a picture of the two of you, but it was moving like a video.

Draco softly placed his hands on your hips, pressing his chest to your back.

“It’s moving,” you smiled, turning around to face him. He kept his hands on you and pressed a light kiss to your lips.

“It’s magic,” he hummed, lightly swaying from side to side.

Being a muggle, all this magic was new to you. You had a hard time accepting it was real until one day Draco used his wand in front of you to literally do anything you said. Light a candle, fold a blanket, even lift you in the air.

“I’m still getting used to all of this,” you said shyly, “Does your family.. know that I’m... I’m not a witch?”

He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. “No-”

“No?!”

“No.”

“Draco!”

He ushered you to sit down on his bed and sat next to you. A million thoughts were running through your mind. Although you don’t know much about the magic world, you knew there were pure-bloods, half-bloods, muggles, and you forget what else. With that knowledge, you know that most pure-bloods hate muggles, especially coming from Draco’s family. He told you some things about his family history a while back, not all of it though, and from what you remember his father was pretty harsh on him.

“Love,” he placed a finger under your chin and turned you to face him taking you out of your thought. “Don’t worry, we are in this together. If I love you, they are going to love you one way or another.”

A knock on the door startled you making you jump. Draco stood up and you followed quickly behind him. Opening the door you impulsively shrieked and covered your mouth immediately, gazing at the small creature on the other side of the door. You’ve never seen an elf before and it startled you to say nonetheless.

It looked at you curiously but returned its gaze back to Draco.

“Good Evening Mr. Malfoy, your parents are in the dining room.”

“That’s our house elf, I should’ve told you about them,” Draco chuckled, turning back to you. “Are you ready?”

You sighed through your nose, nodding. Holding out his arm, you grabbed it following the house elf to the dining room. The closer you got to the room, the more numb you felt. Your heart was racing and you tried your best to calm yourself. Walking into the dining room Draco’s parents sat at opposite ends of the table. His mother stood up with a warm smile on her face while his father grumbly stood up with a firm look on his face. You could feel his eyes burning holes through you.

“Draco, my darling,” His mother gracefully spoke, “A pleasure to see you and who might this be?”

Her smile was genuine as she looked at you with curious eyes. His father on the other hand, has not spoken.

“Mother. Father,” he greeted, “This is my girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N.”

You gave a shy wave. “Hello, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Y/N,” she drawled, “A lovely name of course, it’s a delight to have you join us. Come sit, sit!”

His mother was very nice, you could see a lot of similarities between Draco and her. They shared the same smile and when Draco decided to show it, his soft side as well.

Draco pulled out a chair for you beside him. You sat down, giving a quiet thank you, as he helped himself to his seat. You were sat closer to his mother than you were his father; maybe for the best.

“So, how did the two of you meet?” Narcissa spoke.

The the doors opened and house elfs came in with the food, making you turn your head to the sudden noise. Returning back to the conversation, your leg began to bounce from nervousness. Draco placed his hand on your thigh, giving a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, it’s a funny story really. I was a waitress and Draco was one of my customers and I don’t know how it happened, must’ve been a bad day for me, but I spilled hot tea all over him in an attempt to fill his empty cup,” you began to laugh as Narcissa joined in the laughter, “And then I felt horrible and wanted to make it up, but your son decided to make a move and instead asked me to let him take me out in response to my actions. I normally would say no to these kind of gestures, but something in my heart was telling me to go for it, and so I did. I don’t regret any bit of the tea spilt that day. And so now we have this inside joke of every time I ask him if he would like a drink, he would say-”

“Only if you don’t spill it on me,” Draco joined smiling.

Narcissa laughed clapping her hands softly. “Clever boy he is, got it from his mother,” she joked.

You smiled eating some of the food, Lucius spoke up somberly.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he spoke slowly, almost analyzing every single move you did, “I haven’t heard of your last name before. Who are your parents?”

You gulped, refreshing your throat with some water. You couldn’t help but feel extrememly nervous talking to his father. He was intimidating.

You told him their names and he looked at you skeptically. Draco knew where this was going.

“What house were you in?”

You looked at Draco and then back at Lucius. “I’m sorry, a house?”

“Yes, at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts? I’m sorry I don’t- I don’t understand where or what that is,” you said shyly, you voice growing more quiet with each word.

Draco inhaled sharply grabbing onto your free hand. His heart was beating fast inside of his chest. “Father, she’s a muggle,” Draco said finally once and for all.

Lucius dropped his silverware on his plate creating a loud disturbance. He was in shock to say the least.

The rest of the atmosphere turned pure silence. The sound of crackling wood was absolutely like music to your ears, filling you up with some kind warmness and peace to try and ease your nerves.

“A muggle!? Have you no shame bringing that here to the Malfoy Manor!” he shouted.

“Lucius!” Narcissa scolded by his words, “Y/N, honey, I apologize on behalf of my husbands actions.”

You sank lower in your seat, playing with a piece of food on your plate. Draco felt anger flare up inside him, hot and heavy inside of his chest.

Lucius continued, “You marrying someone of her blood status will bring great shame on your family! Our name will be laughed at and dragged through the mud for future generations to come because of her! Is that what you want? Your children will be half-bloods at best, the laughing stock!"

“How dare you speak of her that way!” Draco shouted, startling you from his tone, “If it’s shame you want to talk about then lets talk about the very war that went on at Hogwarts shall we!? The shame you brought onto the Malfoy name bringing me into your own bearings! Our children will be completely fine knowing that I will never treat them the way you have treated me my whole life!”

Lucius gaped at him

“Draco.. stop. It’s okay,” you whispered, tugging on the sleeve of his suit.

He turned his head to face you. “No, it’s not okay.”

He turned back to face his father. “Yes, she’s a muggle, not a single drop of magical blood runs through her. So what! She brings the best out of me and I’m lucky enough to be able to call her my girlfriend. I wouldn’t want her to be any other way and if you cannot accept that for me, then I can take myself elsewhere with the love of my life that I will one day call my wife,” he spat.

Lucius sat there with a glare. He observed your longing stare at Draco. Tears of joy glossed over your eyes. You were head over heels in love with him and you couldn’t believe everything he’s spoken about you to his father just now.

You decided to speak up. Clearing your throat, you tried your best to remain confident. “With all due respect Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, I deeply and truly love your son. I don’t know much about the history of your family, but I do know that status means everything to you, and I promise you that even though I am a muggle with a much lower status than what you would like, I am still a good person,” you began, “I am just the same as him except I can’t do magic and I think that’s for the best considering how clumsy I am.” You chuckled a bit at the end, getting a small smile from Narcissa and Draco.

Draco looked at you with with desirous eyes. He was madly smitten with you and it was obvious to the naked eye.

“I’m so much more than just a Muggle and I could prove it to you, if you just took the time to get to know me rather than just judging me based off my witch status,” you turned to face Draco cupping his cheek in his hand, lightly brushing it with you thumb as you gazed into his eyes, “I love Draco so much with all my heart that I wouldn’t want it to be any other way. He’s everything I could’ve ever asked for and more and I truly believe that he is the one for me. He’s helping me grow as a person in places I didn’t even know I needed to grow and I admire everything your son’s become to this day and for future years to come. Our children wll be raised with nothing but love and light and I can only hope for a future where they can come running to their Grandparents in hopes that they accept them for who they are.”

Draco leaned in pressing a long over due kiss to your lips and pulled away turning back to his family.

Lucius sat back and thought about it. In their defense Draco had just dropped a bomb on them with little to no time to take in this information. Draco didn’t expect them to accept it overnight, however he does expect them to respect it.

Finally, Narcissa stood up. She stared at you for a minute before slowly walking over to you. You stood up as well and faced Narcissa gingerly. She pulled you in for a hug rubbing your back. Draco stood up as well, standing right by your side. You knew that his mother was more accepting than his father, so you hoped that he would be just as accepting.

She pulled away and smiled lightly. “I’ve nothing thought of you any less, as a matter of fact my dear, just seeing how the two of you act right now only wamrs my heart. Reminds me of the days we were just starting to fall in love, Lucius.”

Lucius held his stare, darting back between the three of you. Draco wraped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy,” you smiled.

“Please, call me Narcissa,” she spoke. The three of you turned to face Lucius. Narcissa stared at him with a stern look, tacitly telling him to say something.

He stood up with his cane and walked slowly around the table and stopped in front of the two of you. He looked you up and down once more. He pursed his lips and spoke.

“Welcome to the family.”

And with that he walked away and out of the dining room.

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sindrafalcone · 3 years

Text

Secret Valentine...

Fandom: BIGBANG/ Kwon Jiyong (G Dragon) x reader

Synopsis: Jiyong finally figures out his secret Valentine

Warnings: fluffiness, candy induced fluffiness

Author’s Note: Finally finished this belated Valentine’s fluff piece! Maybe Jiyong will leave me be for now so I can go back to writing Seunghyun. lol My apologies for the lateness. But I hope you guys still enjoy!

Suggested Listening: ‘Perfect’ by Ed Sheeran

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. This story contains fictional representations of real people. None of the events are true. This is from an American standpoint, so some of the situations may not happen the same way they might in Korea. I make no money from the writing of this fictional work. I do not own any images used.

Masterlist

From his place on the floor of the YG mens locker room, partially hidden behind some empty boxes, Jiyong yawned as quietly as he could & checked the time on his phone. 5am. That meant that most of the early employees should start arriving soon. He felt himself smile and excitement bubbled up in his chest. This time he was finally going to figure it out...

The chocolates had begun mysteriously appearing in his locker on Valentine's day of 2007. Bigbang had made their debut, but hadn't quite managed to find that hit song that he was so sure he'd be able to write sooner or later.

After an incredibly long and tiring day of dance practice he'd opened up his locker, only to find a tiny white box sitting on the shelf inside. The box was plain, not even a bow or a note in sight. Curiosity got the better of him as he carefully extracted the little package from it's hiding place, turning it over in his hand to see if he could figure out what it was. “Hey!” he called out to the other four men. “Did any of you guys slip this into my locker?”

He held the box up so they could all see it, but every man shook his head. “What is it?” Seunghyun asked, his voice a bit muffled as he changed shirts. “If I knew that, do you think I'd be asking who put it here?”

“Well, open it!” Youngbae encouraged.

Jiyong eyed his best friend warily, but decided he was right... the only way to find out was to open the damn thing. He slid his thumb along the flap and pulled it back. He had to fight the urge to laugh as the whole group crowded around him in order to see what his unexpected gift was.

“It's...” Jiyong was at a loss for words.

“Chocolate?” Daesung offered tentatively. “I think...”

A single chocolate truffle was all the box contained. It was sad looking and irregularly shaped, clearly a homemade attempt. Jiyong reached into the box with trembling fingers, picking up the chocolate in between his forefinger and his thumb so he could examine it closer. It was obviously dark chocolate, covered in a layer of cocoa powder. But it still had a faint scent of something else... 'Oranges, maybe?' he thought to himself.

“Awww.... Jiyongie got himself a Valentine!” Youngbae teased. “Who's it from?” the maknae asked.

“I have no idea.” Jiyong whispered, just before he held it up to his lips and took a bite.

Despite the yelling protests of his friends, telling him he was insane for eating something from an unknown sender, Jiyong was in heaven.

He had been right. The slightly bitter flavor of the cocoa powder hit his tongue first, followed quickly by the sweetness of the rich chocolate as he chewed the soft confection slowly. Only after he swallowed did he taste the orange and something slightly more astringent... probably alcohol of some sort. A satisfied groan came from somewhere deep within Jiyong's chest.

“Damn...” Seunghyun swore under his breath. “Must have tasted better than it looked. Can I have the other half?” he looked at the leader hopefully.

“No.” said Jiyong simply & then popped the rest of the treat into his mouth. This was his very first Valentine's chocolate and he was not in the mood to share it.

The guys just shook their heads and went back to getting ready, all interest in teasing Jiyong was lost now that the chocolate was gone.

And that was how it had started.

Jiyong had received “mystery chocolates” in his locker every Valentine's Day from there on out, with the exception of the couple of years he'd actually had a girlfriend. And on those years, he'd found himself seriously missing the candies. So much so, that he'd started to make absolutely sure he was single on Valentine's Day, just so he'd be guaranteed to get his chocolates.

Over the years the number of candies had multiplied and improved in quality. The second year, there had been four of the same that he'd gotten the first time. Each one a little rounder & more expertly shaped than the one before. And it had just snowballed from there... fillings and toppings had changed, there was now a mix of dark, milk and white chocolate. And, he had to admit, the candy itself had gotten prettier, more well made. Practice made perfect, Jiyong supposed. But the boxes, even though they'd been getting steadily bigger, were always plain & white with no indication whatsoever as to who kept leaving them in his locker.

Jiyong heard the door to the room open, jolting him from his memories. He watched as a shadowy figure crept into the room and headed straight for his locker. Patiently he waited... the “chocolatier” as he'd come to think of her, opened his locker quietly, pulled a container from her bag, and slid it into place on the shelf. Then she stealthily shut the door to the locker and turned around.

That was when Jiyong sprung his trap.

“A-ha!” he yelled in triumph, flipping up the light switch and flooding the room with the harsh glow of florescents. “I've gotcha now!”

You screamed and flattened yourself against the row of lockers at the sudden invasion of light.

Jiyong stood there just blinking, trying to give his eyes time to adjust.

“Ji... Jiyong?” your voice wavered in shock and a slight tinge of fear. “You scared me to death!” you held a hand to your chest, attempting to slow the frantic beating of your heart.

“______________-ah?” Jiyong asked, his voice sounding confused, but intrigued at the same time. He couldn't imagine that you, of all people, turned out to be his mysterious Valentine chocolate maker.

You'd begun working at YG in 2005, starting as an unpaid intern, basically running errands and cleaning. Through the years, you had managed to work your way up through the company based solely on hard work and perseverance. You moved over to working with the Coordi Noona's on wardrobe & then transferred to the set and stage team. Now you were incredibly proud to be able to say that you were the main set designer for all of Bigbang's concerts. It was a job that you loved and hated at the same time. Because it helped keep you close to Jiyong, the man you had come to love and accept that you could never have. So, you made a compromise with yourself to make him chocolate every Valentine's Day, never letting him know who they were actually from, because you knew that his rejection would absolutely wreck you.

Jiyong moved around the boxes he'd been using as cover and strode over to stand in front of you, dangerously close.

“So... you're my 'chocolateir'?” he asked with a smirk.

“I...” it was on the tip of your tongue to say that you didn't know what he was talking about, but you knew it was no use. You'd been caught & now would come the rejection and humiliation that you had been so scared of for years. That's why you had placed them in his locker in secret in the first place, you didn't have the courage to face Jiyong and admit your feelings.

He simply reached around you and deftly popped his locker open, reaching in and coming out with the simple white box in hand.

“Jiyong, I...” you started to explain, but he just held a finger up to your lips.

“Shhhhh.....” he said with a smile as he pried the lid open.

You watched as his face lit up like a little kid, looking at the variety of chocolates in the box this year. He pointed to a white chocolate one that you'd made for the first time. “What's this one?”

“Raspberry mousse.” you told him flatly.

“And this?” he pointed out another.

“Pistachio.” you sighed.

Jiyong took his time looking the box over, but the longer he took, the more his delighted face turned into a frown.

“Where's the orange ones?” he pouted.

“What?”

“The orange ones!” he whined. “You know... like the first one you made me.” Jiyong looked at you then, his brown eyes pleading.

“Oh....” you chuckled. “those are on the second layer.” you reached over and lifted the first section of the box to reveal the tier below.

Jiyong's eyes grew wide as he saw that the entire second box was filled with nothing but the orange truffles that he loved so much. Without hesitation, he reached in and lifted one out, popping it into his mouth in a single bite and moaning aloud, just as he had the first time.

You felt yourself shiver as Jiyong ate the truffle. Watching as his eyes slid closed in complete bliss and the sound of satisfaction escaped his chest. You couldn't help but feel proud that your chocolate making skills had managed to elicit such a response.

“They aren't orange.” you whispered, not sure why you felt the need to correct him on such a small detail.

“What?” his eyes popped open in shock, the moment ruined.

“The truffles...” you stammered. “They aren't orange. They're Grand Marneir.”

Jiyoing grinned. “I thought I tasted alcohol...”

“I, uh... I learned how to make them from my aunt.” you admitted shyly.

“And the rest?”

“Well, at first I just watched videos online and eventually I took some local classes on chocolate making.” you said quietly, not really sure why you were admitting all this to him.

“All that... just for me?” he asked, carefully taking the first layer from you & setting both down on the nearby wooden bench.

You just nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say.

Jiyong turned back to face you, his face suddenly serious. “All this time... why not just tell me, _______-ah?”

“I...” you briefly thought about lying, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. “I... wanted to wait until they were perfect. And I was... I was afraid you wouldn’t return my feelings.” you looked dejectedly at the floor, certain that he was going to try and turn you down as gently as he could. You couldn't bear to watch his face as he did it.

To your great surprise you felt Jiyong step into your space. One hand snaked around your waist, coming to rest at the small of your back. His other hand gently came up under your chin, tilting your face so that you were forced to look at him.

“They're already perfect.” he murmured. “They were from the very beginning.”

You opened your mouth to protest, because even you had to admit that the first truffle you'd left him had been positively ugly. Instead Jiyong slid his mouth over yours, objectively swallowing anything you were about to say.

The kiss shocked you at first, but once you realized there was actually feeling behind it on his part, you began to kiss him back eagerly. You wound your arms around him, pulling Jiyong even closer to you.

There was a hint of dark chocolate & Grand Marnier and you found that couldn't get enough now that you'd finally gotten a taste of him.

After a while, he broke the kiss and pulled back slightly, his lips still barely touching yours. “You were my first Valentine.” he admitted breathlessly.

“Really?” you gave him a dubious look.

“Honest.” he smiled. “You can ask the guys if you don't believe me.”

You returned his smile, leaned forward and gave him another small kiss.

“Can I also be your last Valentine?”

Jiyong pulled you into a tight hug, whispering into your ear, “I'd love that, actually... just as long as you always make me those orange truffles.”

“Deal.”

Jiyong exhaled a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding and chuckled. He pulled back so that he could look at you.

“Fair warning, _________-ah. I feel like I should tell you to brace yourself.” he said, his face suddenly serious.

“Brace myself?” you asked, confused. “For what?”

“I have a lot of White Day's to make up for...” he said, winking at you before leaning in for another kiss.

#g dragon #jiyong #g dragon scenario #jiyong scenario #kwon ji yong #bigbang #bigbang gdragon #bigbang jiyong #bigbang scenarios #g dragon fic #jiyong fic #jiyong fluff #g dragon fluff

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avengerscompound · 3 years

Text

It’s You and Me - Chapter 14

It’s You and Me: A Hawkeye Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x F!Reader

Word Count: 2591

Rating: E

Warnings: smut (FM, light d/s, vaginal sex. Mentions of things like spitting and choking), mentions of ptsd

Synopsis: You and Clint Barton go way back. Since you joined the circus as a child, he took it upon himself to keep you away from the people who really wanted to hurt you. For years the two of you danced a line between dark and light.

When he chooses light the two of you go your separate ways.

Fifteen years later he tracks you down. Those feelings the two of you shared never went away, but now he is not only an Avengers but a single father. Can the two of you make it work after all this time when your lives have gone in such different directions?

A series told in flashbacks and current day.

Chapter 14: Then

Clint kept close to you as the two of you crawled through the ventilation shaft. He was pressing himself so close to you and while he was sure he wasn’t breathing that heavily, every time he inhaled he was sure he was going to set off some kind of alarm.

It was stupid really. Yeah, he’d always tried to avoid all the underground shit with the circus, but that didn’t mean he’d been able to avoid all of it. He’d broken into a few houses and once helped them hold up a bank. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but it was something he was good at.

This job would be the first big hit for the two of you. Pulling it off meant that you could pay the rent in an actual apartment upfront for about three months and buy new equipment. It would mean that for a while all the two of you would have to worry about was each other and the show. And who knew? Maybe he’d be discovered and never have to do this again.

“You’re sure that they’re bad dudes?” Clint whispered. It was a question he’d asked a lot. You’d been planning this job, but he’d set some rules. The main one was not hurting innocent people.

You sighed. It was the kind of sigh that was reserved for people whose patience was being tested. The ones that wanted to remain calm but were getting a little sick of repeating themselves. He was used to hearing it - well from everyone really - and he had asked that exact question a lot. “I promise,” you said. “They import drugs and… people from what I can tell. All these stores are just fronts.” You turned back to look at him. You looked completely calm considering where you were. He on the other hand had sweat clinging to his brow that was furrowed with worry. “Besides, what we’re taking… they probably won’t even notice.”

“I’m worried about that probably,” Clint said. The absolute last thing he wanted now was to be hunted down by some drug cartel.

“Well, they definitely won’t know it was us,” you added. “There’s zero connection. And I’m really good.”

He nodded and you continued through the vents. When you reached the room you seemed to be looking for, he shifted the grill out of the way so you could peer down. The room was very dark - the only real light coming in through the cracks in the door and curtain. “Okay,” you whispered. “Make sure you’re ready to pull me back up.”

He nodded and helped lower you carefully to the ground. This wasn’t one of those break-and-enters like you see in the movies. There was no laser grid for you to somersault through and no pressure pads on the ground. From the intel you’d gotten, the safe was just the old turn and click type.

Still - watching you move through the room was like watching art. You were light on your feet and you moved silently through the room. You went straight to the painting on the wall and after quickly checking it for tripwire you moved it back and began working on the safe. You held a small device up to it and pressed your ear against it as you turned the dial on the safe.

It clicked open and you began putting wads of cash into your bag and taking wads of paper out of your bag and pushing them up the back. You’d had the idea to not empty the safe and to try to make it look like nothing had been removed. The money inside was still waiting to be laundered and who knew when they’d even get to the stuff in the back. By then, all the security footage of tonight would have been overwritten and they wouldn’t even know to look for someone the vague size and shape as you, let alone you specifically.

When you seemed happy, you closed the safe and relocked it. You carefully slid the painting back in place and returned to the vent. Clint reached down and grabbed your arm and you pulled yourself gracefully back up, closing the grate behind you. “Alright, not totally out of the woods. Now to get out of here.”

Clint nodded and the two of you carefully but quickly returned from the way you came, first heading through the vents to the elevator shaft, and then out through the service tunnels, avoiding detection from the security guards on duty.

It was surprisingly easy. Clint had been working at this kind of thing his whole life and you seemed to have a second sense for avoiding people. When you were finally well away from the building, you both took off your balaclavas and gloves, and shoved them in your pockets before getting on the first bus you could find. Neither of you said a thing for the whole trip home. And it was a long one. Not just because you had decided to hit a business nowhere near your usual haunts, but because the bus you’d gotten on went in the wrong direction, and you’d both needed to get out and double back, this time flagging down a cab and dishing out the seventy bucks it had cost you in cab fare.

Clint was buzzing on adrenalin as the two of you ran upstairs into the room you shared in the hostel and when he finally locked the door behind you the two of you couldn’t contain your excitement anymore. He turned to see you staring at him and at once the two of you squealed. “Oh my god!” You yelped, running at him and wrapping your arms around his neck. He circled his arms around your waist and pulled you close, kissing you deeply - completely caught up in the excitement of it.

When you pulled back you looked at him with your eyes twinkling. “Let’s see what we got.”

He nodded and you grabbed your backpack and dumped the contents on the bed. Along with the rope, lockpicks, and flashlight wads and wads of cash fell out in a pile. You moved everything that wasn’t cash off the bed as Clint picked up one of the wads and flicked his fingers through it. “Holy shit,” he said. “I thought we’d get ten grand. There has to be at least fifty here.”

You sat down on the bed and began to unbundle it. “Clint,” you said looking up at him. “Let’s leave. We have enough to go to New York. We can do our show there.”

“You don’t wanna stay here?” He asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t mind too much. Just… in case … you know?”

“Aww, man. But there’s In and Out Burger here,” Clint whined.

“There’s good pizza in New York,” you said grabbing his belt and tugging him closer to you.

“Hmm…” he mused. “You do have a point.”

You looked up at him and began to unbuckle his belt. “You know what I think we should do first?”

“I think I have a slight idea,” he teased.

The two of you still hadn’t had sex. You were getting closer but you’d often end up shying away when things got too hot and heavy. Clint didn’t mind being patient though. He loved sex, but he wasn’t above jacking off in the shower if it meant you weren’t rushing into something you weren’t ready for. If it took rolling around in a big pile of cash for you to get there, he was down for it.

“We should get food delivered. Something fresh,” you said. “Sushi. And tacos.”

“Sounds good, sugar,” he said as you pushed his pants down. “Do I need to be pantsless for that?”

“After, silly,” you said, pulling your shirt off and flopping back on the bed. You grabbed one of the bundles of cash and threw them up into the air, giggling excitedly as the bills floated down around you.

Clint smiled as he watched you and grabbed the waistband of your pants and dragged them down, nearly pulling you off the bed with them. You squealed and braced your foot on his chest to keep you on the bed and grabbed more of the money to throw above you all.

“You’re having way too much fun there,” Clint teased, pulling off his shirt.

“Get down here will you!” You said and dragged him down on top of you.

Clint kissed you hungrily, grinding down on you as the two of you rolled around in the bed. His cock hardened and pressed against you through the fabric of his underwear. He could feel your wetness seeping through your underwear and onto his cock.

He wanted you but kept his expectations low. He knew how hard this was for you and he knew if he started to expect anything, it would make you feel like there was something wrong with you.

You wrapped your leg around his waist and pulled him closer to you. Clint rolled you, so you were pressed down on top of him and broke the kiss. “You’re in charge,” he whispered.

You looked down at him, startled at first, and slowly you ran your tongue over your lips. “Yeah?” You asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said. “I’m all yours. You can do whatever you want with me.”

You slowly caressed your hands down his chest as you seemed to consider what that meant and if you liked it. A smile gradually spread over your face and you pushed his hands up over his head. “Yeah,” you said and he wrapped his fingers around the head of the bed. “I’m in charge.”

You began to grind down on his cock as you looked into his eyes. He didn’t fight you - he just gazed up at you, rolling his hips to add to the friction against your cunt. Your eyes were darkened with lust and you moved one hand down pushing his pants down enough to free his cock and wrapping your fingers around it. The other hand you kept pressed on his wrists. He wasn’t sure if having his hands trapped made you feel more comfortable, or if it was just a turn-on for you to have him helpless for you, but he played along regardless. If he was being honest with himself, he was really into it. He loved seeing you take control. He loved submitting to you. His cock jumped and began to leak down his shaft and over your knuckles.

“God you look sexy like this,” you hummed as you jerked him off. “Like you’re mine.”

“I am,” he groaned, bucking up under you. “All yours.”

You hummed and ran your fingers over his hand, closing them around the frame of the bedhead. “Keep your hands right there. Don’t make me tie you up.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Clint said quickly, though the idea of you tying him down was a turn-on in itself. You had the rope to do it right there.

You got off him and pulled his pants all the way off and removed the rest of your clothes before grabbing a condom from the packet he kept in the side table that had thus far not been used. You placed it on his chest, obviously not quite ready for it, but wanting it nearby. Clint groaned and hoped that it was a sign that this was working for you in a way that nothing else had done.

Straddling his lap again, you brushed your thumb over his lips and pushed it into his mouth. He sucked on it, moaning softly as your soaking cunt began to slide up and down his shaft, coating it in your arousal. As you watched him sucking on your thumb you began to finger your clit, making yourself wetter if it was at all possible. His cock ached to enter you and pulsed under your hot core.

You pulled your thumb from his mouth and gripped his chin, forcing him to look up into your eyes. ‘Thank you,’ you mouthed, and let him go, grabbing the condom and tearing it open, before carefully rolling it down his length. He held his breath as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft once more and painfully slowly you guided him inside you.

Your face was screwed up in concentration, but Clint couldn’t tear his eyes away from his cock and the way it slowly disappeared inside you, your hot walls clamping down around it. “Fuck,” he groaned. “Fuck you’re sexy.”

You smiled a little but didn’t say anything. Clint’s instinct was to reach up and cradle your jaw and make sure you were okay. He didn’t move though. He kept his hands on the bed head and he held his body still, waiting for you to decide if you were okay with this or not.

“We can stop,” he assured you. “You’re in control.”

You took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “You feel so good inside me,” you hummed. “Fuck, Clint.”

He smiled and arched his back a little, pushing himself deeper into you. You gasped and let out a long moan before starting to bounce.

You started slowly, just testing out how it felt and what you liked, but it wasn’t long until you were leaning over him and riding him like you were competing in a race. You returned one hand to his wrists, and the other went to his throat. He couldn’t help but picture you getting rough with him. Slapping his face, spitting in his mouth, having your fingers tighten around his throat until he couldn’t pull in air and just when he was starting to worry them relaxing again. The images only served to turn him on more, and he wondered if you might want to try those things at some point. He wanted to try it all with you.

He began to buck his hips up under you erratically as he got closer to his release. You seemed to sense his climax and you shook your head. “Hold it,” you warned and began to rub your clit fast as you bounced on his cock.

Clint grit his teeth, willing himself to hold back. Your cunt began to pulse and flutter and you threw your head back, your eyes closed and your lips parted as your orgasm it's poised to hit. He bucked up under you, making your body slap against his, and with a loud cry you came, your whole body quaking with it.

He groaned and his hips began to stutter as he held himself back. “Oh god,” he begged. “Please, sugar. I’m gonna…”

“Come for me, Clint,” you moan. “I want to feel it.”

He jerked up hard into you with a grunt, coming as he fully seated himself inside you. “Fuck,” he groaned.

You let his arms go, and he took it as permission to move them. He wrapped you in his arms and rolled onto his side as he held you close. “You okay?” He asked.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaking a little. “I was starting to think I’d never be okay with that. Thank you.”

He shook his head and nuzzled at your cheek. “There’s nothing to thank me for.”

You looked like you were going to argue but instead, you slipped off his cock and nuzzled into him. “I feel some way about you, Clint,” you whispered.

He chuckled. “I feel some way about you too,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

// NEXT

#clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #hawkeye fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #reader insert #smut #it's you and me

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barnesandco · 4 years

Text

Eat the Rich: Chapter 2

Eat the Rich Masterlist

The Avengers are tasked with tracking down an elusive thief, and retrieving the grand amounts of money she has stolen. Even after capture, she turns out to be impossible to break, save for a mystifying interest in Bucky.

Written for @mermaidxatxheart ‘s #jamiesmadwritingbash, under the Robin Hood AU prompt.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: mentions of Bucky’s Hydra days, and a short mention of dissociation. Disaster Avengers having breakfast.

A/N: I really really really love that people are saying they like the reader bc that’s the character people envision themselves as when they insert themselves into this kind of fanfic. I hope you enjoy what more we get to see of the reader here. So enjoy, and please continue to reblog and comment -- it makes this so much fun!

I’m not doing taglists, but you can follow and turn on notifications for @ayeshaupdates to be notified when I post.

Divider by the fantastically talented @whimsicalrogers!

The dispute that had ensued after Bucky had voiced his wish to Steve had turned to resigned acceptance by the time the first slivers of dawn had started to creep across pristine floors, and Bucky found himself victorious. It's a grim glory that accompanies him down the hall and into the cell you had been moved into for the night. There's no mode of observation for this room, save for the presently closed viewing panel in the door. It's really early, and even though he doubts that you're asleep, given the stressful circumstances, his hand pauses where it's about to knock on the door.

With Steve having left for his run with Sam, and the others asleep or inactive in some way, shape or form, he's alone in the silver hallways of this portion of the Compound. Hand still in the air, tight fist, white knuckles and lip bitten red, and then he composes himself. Stepping away, he sits down on the floor, back against the wall and knees pulled up.

While he waits, he listens, even if all he can hear is his own heartbeat and the faint, collective chorus of the birds chirping. The sturdy walls and doors between your bed and his floor prevent any speculation on your activities, since the only monitoring permitted is that of vital signs so an alert can be raised if there is danger. He could open the panel, but that might wake you and he doesn't want that. Whether this disruption, and how it is sure to initiate the crucial dialogue he’s here for, is undesired for his sake or yours is unclear.

His head meets the metal behind him, and the cold stings at his scalp, but Bucky stays that way. Likes the cold bite of it, on occasions such as these, when he needs the ice-crystal clarity of mind, and he knows it'll warm up soon, under his touch. Likes knowing that Hydra doesn't control him all the time, that he can feel the prickle of freezing skin without having a debilitating flashback to cryostasis is indicative of how far he's come. He's no longer the man Steve flew to New Zealand for a month after he had a hellish dissociative episode courtesy of New York's first snowfall.

The metal thaws behind him, sunlight through the thin sliver of window at the top of the wall slides higher on the door. Opalescent solar glare on silver steel, half a rainbow in his exhausted eyes, and the weight of evaporating dew in the air is what precedes a conversation that has his stomach in knots and crosses.

The digital, holographic clock strikes nine above the cell door.

Rising to his feet, Bucky can feel every single one of his 103 years in his back, the avoirdupois of a century's lamentable events on his weary shoulders. So he does a breathing exercise before he tries the door again.

Allowing his lungs to expand to their full capacity, and then holding that breath there until his alveoli scream, before exhaling in a rush of sweet-cereal scented breath, makes him feel less stone-like. More muscle than metal, soft and pliable and open. Steve would argue that that's perilous, here, in front of a woman who's so touch-and-go, all breakneck smiles, but he's not an Avenger when he enters that room -- he's Bucky Barnes, looking for more pieces of himself, pieces that he'll never find if his eyes are shut tight against the impact.

You answer upon the second knock. "Come in." Your voice lilts to a light taunt, but it’s effect is minimized by the drowsy scratch of your voice. Opening the door after letting it recognize his irises, Bucky thinks that the same can be said about the Christmas-just-came-early spark in your eyes, when they're underlined by dark bags. You're still wearing the green hoodie.

" 'Morning," he says softly, pausing in the doorway. The cell contains a metal chair of the same style as those in the interrogation rooms, and the cot you're sitting up in, back against the wall behind you. There's a small door in one corner that he knows leads to a toilet cubicle.

"To what do I owe this extraordinary pleasure, Mr. Barnes?"

"Bucky," he blurts unthinkingly, and your eyes widen in surprise and amusement. His guard is down, and he needs to be cautious. "And you can thank yourself for being so goddamn persistent and getting on everybody’s nerves."

The smirk brought to your face is aimed at your hands, bound loosely in front of you. A more tender expression than most seen before. The long, fretful night seems to be taking its toll on you. Perhaps you’re slipping. Or perhaps you’re pretending to, his instincts warn. He sighs, clenches his hands into fists, lets his nails dig into his palm. Metal whirs, purrs, and he releases when you move both bound hands towards the chair in front of you.

Bucky sits down, rubs his palms back and forth over his thighs, lets the grainy feel of the denim under scratch at his hands. "You know me,” he begins.

"Not nearly as well as I'd like,” you say with a grin, looking up from your hands. He glowers.

"I'm serious."

Your smile widens. "So am I. Come a little closer. I don't bite,” you tease, and he decides to take you up on it. Gets up and sits on the cot a couple of feet away from you, folding one leg up so his foot is under his thigh and keeping the other on the floor. You’re unfazed at having your bluff called. "...Unless you want me to,” you finish, and he ignores it.

"You kept asking for me while you were being questioned.”

“You were watching? Did you like what you see?”

The temptation to roll his eyes is strong, but he manages to hold it in check, and fixes a strong focus on you. This is important. It’s about his life. “You wanted to talk to me, so here I am. Now let’s talk.”

“Where would you like to start?”

“How about your name?”

“Oh, you’ll have to get to know me a little better if you want me to give up that secret. Try again," you urge, and he huffs. Like drawing blood from a rock.

Every question he could ask, every query he needs an answer to is being whirled around in the chaotic storm in his head, and it's so difficult to pick out just one. “Have we met?” He decides upon, momentarily forgoing the alternatives: Who are you? Why do I feel like I know you? Why do I feel like you're important? What part of me do you hold in those bound hands of yours?

Head tilted upwards, you consider the ceiling while searching for an answer. “Briefly.” And then you pause. Bite your lip, look down, make a so-so motion with your head. “Well, I wouldn’t say met, exactly. I wreaked some havoc and you watched.” That tells me jack-shit, sweetheart.

“When?”

“February of 2013," you respond instantaneously. Good memory. That's useful.

“So I was with Hydra," he assumes, instantly going down all the roads he might know you by. A mission, a murder, more violence, another apology. Were you partners in crime, or his target? Or were you just in the way?

“I don’t agree with that phrasing, but yes, I suppose so."

“Did we work together?” He dares to question.

There's a change: a tangible shift in the atmosphere, like the scent of ozone in the air before a thunderstorm. The stiffening of your posture, how you sit up straighter but hunch your shoulders against some invisible attack tells him he's touching a nerve, nearing cyclone waters. It takes a moment for the mask to fall back into place over your face, before you're able to answer, with venom, repulsed. “God, no. I would never work for them.” It's the most sincere emotion he's heard from you, this disgust. It eases him to know how strongly you feel about Hydra, but he’s wary of your raw response to it.

So, he treads more kindly. Softly. On eggshells sharp and off-white, feeling his way around the balance of your temper. “Then how did we meet?”

“I was on a heist,” you say, matter-of-factly. In your tone of voice, now even and professional, it sounds like the most natural thing in the world. As though stealing from megalomaniac neo-Nazis is just another day at work.

“What kind of heist? Who sent you?” Bucky observes the way you're pulling the edges of your sleeves over your hands as much as you can with your restraints. At this question, your smile returns, and he relaxes. Can now feel his leg falling asleep under him now that he's not so tense.

“Nobody sent me. I’m a free agent. I work for myself,” you announce, chin up.

“What were you going to steal from Hydra?” He asks, and your head turns slowly towards him, firework sparkle meeting level, cool, sky-blue, a hurricane simmering behind his irises.

“You.”

“We did not sign up for this,” Barton grumbles from his second cup of coffee -- addicts, the lot of them -- adjusting his hearing aid with a frown on his face at the turn of events.

Sam clears his throat, setting down a half-empty glass of orange juice next to Natasha’s espresso on the table and speaks next, “That’s messed up, man, that’s really, really messed up.” This is said with a shake of his head, and Bucky, having no response to either Barton or Sam, addresses Steve.

“There’s something she’s not telling me, Rogers.” He uses the last name to revert to the days of talking shop in green tents with the gravity of impending shelling in the air. Life or death, and though the circumstances aren’t quite so acute right now, this is a grave matter, too. Steve's standing hunched over the kitchen island, arms outstretched and hands flat on the granite surface, studying the pattern like it holds all the answers.

Bucky watches him think, but Stark, in Spider-Man PJs and the bed-head of the century, strolls into the kitchen at a leisurely pace and interrupts. “There are a lot of things she’s not telling you. Who she is, where the money is, wh--”

“She’s not telling me why," Bucky interrupts a tirade that he knows could continue forever, given the chance. “People don’t go around stealing super soldier assassins for the hell of it.”

“Maybe she’s working for someone who wanted you to work for them instead of Hydra," Peter suggests over a ridiculously large bowl of ridiculously colorful cereal at the breakfast nook.

“She doesn’t work for anyone. Says she’s a free agent."

“And you believe her?” Sam wonders. It's a genuine question, curious but not dismissive or doubtful.

“Barnes has quite the built-in lie detector," Nat tells Sam from next to him, her yoga-pant clad legs splayed across another chair. Yeah, he’s good at telling when people are being dishonest, but there’s also the fact this woman is way too fearless, fucking crazy to be made to do anyone's bidding. No chance in Hell does she takes orders.

Tony slumps in an orange loveseat. “Must be a Russian thing," he quips, and then breaks out into a yawn.

Bucky puts his hands on his hips and glares at all of them, by turn, sharply. "Would you let me finish?" He demands. "She couldn't tell me why she was going to steal me from Hydra, but she said she'd show me." One could hear a pin drop in this room, now, the bustle of Avengers replaced by the obviously preposterous proposition Bucky's relaying. "Just me," he adds.

"Me?" He asks, voice rising in pitch and volume, and he fights to control both, rising to his feet. "Why would you steal me?"

"Have you seen you?" You ask back, eyes scintillating, glowing with mirth. "Gorgeous hair, those eyes, and hands that I'm sure know how to treat a girl right.”

Bucky looks daggers at you, and you look back. "I'm serious."

"I thought you were Bucky,” you say innocently, and he thinks he could scream in frustration, but he drops down, kneels just beside where you sit, and holds onto the edge of the cot like it’s the end of the world he’s falling off of.

"I don't think you understand how important this is to me. You know something about me you won't say. I've been trying to put together my past so I can understand myself better and you have a piece of my history. I need to know,” he enunciates each word as if it’s his last. Needs to convey the severity of the situation, how he has been trying to rebuild himself into a new life from the scraps of the old ones. He’s aware that he’s complete as he is but he also makes choices for himself now, and he chooses to know.

You look down, and although it’s your hands that are bound, you offer a golden prayer. "Let me show you." A lifeline, something he doesn’t want to believe and doesn’t know if he can trust. Hence, the question:

"What?"

A sad shrug of your shoulders is the first answer, and it all starts to unravel from there. "I can't tell you, I really can't. It's complicated and a really long story--"

Bucky elevates himself on his knees, his fingers dig in a little tighter, and the metal of the bed begins to creak ever so slightly. "The way I see it, we have all the time in the world, darlin'," he says in a thick voice, emotion simmering at the corners of his lips.

"Darlin'?" You can’t help but ask, without any flirt this time, any teasing, just a question in a tone as surprised as he is at the slip of tongue.

Bucky decides to ignore the interruption. "So let's start at the beginning.”

Fervently, you shake your head. "I can't." At his wide-eyed disbelief, "I mean it, I can't."

"No, you can, you just won't,” he insists.

"We could have a grammar lesson if you want, or I could show you why I was going to steal the Winter Soldier."

"What do you mean show me?" Bucky asks, moving to sit on the chair again. Leaning forward, he places his hands on his thighs, looks into your eyes to pull forth the words you won’t give him.

You blink, unbudgingly. "I have to take you somewhere. It's the only way to explain."

A sharp bark of a laugh escapes him, and he shakes his head as it recedes into chuckles. Your face is now blank and expressionless, gauging how to handle this, and he gives you the first response that comes to mind. "You're full of shit."

"What happened to darlin' ?"

Meeting your eyes, he says, “You want me to let you out so you can escape. A five-year-old could see through that.” Then, Bucky leans back in his chair, crosses one ankle over the other as well his arms. His hooded gaze is at a stalemate with yours, and it’s a hopeless tug of war. So this is how it ends. A night spent sleepless in vain, a few battle bruises and the tug of disappointment in his belly.

A dismal, and last-ditch sigh ripples through the air, from lips dark and worried bloody. Your eyes look overcast and you open and close your mouth repeatedly to say something, but do not voice your thoughts. Giving you the time to formulate whatever perfect sentence you’re trying to utter is torturous, but he waits. Until you stop, speechless, and he gets to his feet. Turns to the door, and then you speak from behind him, while his hand hovers over the handle.

"Let me take you, and only you, to the place you need to see, and I'll cooperate. I'll give you what I have left of the money, and I'll plead guilty in court and serve my time.” Bucky freezes. "Just come with me,” and you’re the one making requests, making pleas now. It’s inexplicable, he knows he should be looking this particular gift horse in the mouth, and he convinces himself that he will, in time, but right now, he accepts.

"Was that an innuendo?" He asks, still facing away, the question indicating a truce.

"If you want it to be," you say, and he turns around to look at you. "What do you say, Barnes, are we going on a road trip?

Hope swells somewhere in him he thought had been long abandoned for darker days and arduous nights. The same intuition that taught him to ask for this piece of himself tells him something is coming. Something that’s going to make a difference.

"Bucky. It's Bucky. And yeah, I guess we are.”

#ayesha writes #jamiesmadwritingbash #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

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soliverse · 3 years

Text

sugar, sugar - z.cl

reader x chenle

genre: angst, fluff

warnings: a kiss in the cheek, cuss words, pessimism (I think that’s about it? Let me know if I missed something.

word count: 6.2k

part of the Candy Hearts Collab by @127-mile (click the link if you want to read the rest of the collab)

synopsis: Your whole life, especially working for your boss, is a living nightmare. That was until you got some sugar in your life.

inspiration:

Isn’t It Romantic (The film from Netflix by Rebel Wilson),

Sugar, Sugar by the Archies

networks

@nctcreations @kdiarynet @kpopscape @kwritersworld @culture-cafe @neowritingsnet @neoswitchnet @czennienet

February 13,202x / 8:00 AM

It was a quiet and peaceful morning. Which is too bad since that’s not what you’re aiming for.

Your alarm should’ve sounded at 6:00AM. Instead, it woke you up an hour late despite how much fumbling and crying that you did make it work last night.

You have completely ditched breakfast, running as fast as you can to the bus stop that never comes and leave as scheduled.

Already half an hour late, you still sat down that bus seat, fidgeting as if not staying calm on your seat will make the bus ride shorter. Right now, the only thing that you’re still holding on to is that small, sliver of hope that you get there before your boss does.

After climbing down the vehicle, you ran like you’re in a marathon and looked for that one window that your coworker always leaves open whenever you’re late like today. You ungracefully climbed up the window of the storage room and met Jisung, who’s already getting himself ready before opening.

“Is he here yet?”

You whispered as you tried to dust your red shirt and smoothened out your wrinkled uniform. The goal is to make yourself look decent, an attempt that you barely managed to accomplish

“He just came in. Hurry up before he notices.”

You mouthed “Thanks” to Jisung before leaving the storage room and sneak into the main entrance to log yourself in for today.

Your eyes scanned the candy-themed decorations for any signs of life (or danger, in your boss’ case) but he is nowhere to be found. You walked casually towards the main entrance, breathing only a sigh of relief as soon as you get to the front door.

Finally feeling at ease, you pressed your thumb on the device that records your time and gave yourself a mental pat in the back for actually pulling it off. At least, before a hand pops out of nowhere and touched you by shoulder.

You yelped at the surprise appearance of your ever-so-stealthy boss right behind you.

“You’re late again.”

He was staring at you with those black intense eyes and his resting bitch face. His expression always made you worry because there’s no way to actually now if he’s mad or not. You kept your head down and tried to avoid as much eye contact as possible.

“Surprised? I saw your little stunt by the window. You know that it’s right in front of my office, right?”

He patted your shoulder before placing his hands back to his pockets.

“You also know that I’ll be deducting that on your payroll, right?”

“Yes sir.”

He didn’t even let you finish and just turned his back at you, walking towards his office.

“That reminds me. We should bolt that window down before someone else tries to sneak in and steal. Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.”

As soon as he’s out the way, you rolled your eyes and went back to straightening the wrinkles off of your uniform.

“Tell Jisung to work on that as soon as possible.” You said, mimicking him made faces behind his back.

As if Jisung knows how to shut that window properly.

After that delightful conversation, you helped Jisung in refilling the candy containers, tidied the shop by little bit, and breathe for one final time today before you opened the shop.

Some people may have imagined working on a candy store to be a dream. You get to bask in all of the aesthetics, you get to interact with children every day, and there’s that perk that you get to enjoy an unlimited supply of sweet treats during your shift.

Oh boy, some people couldn’t have been more wrong.

Your location is near an amusement park, which is already hectic as it is, but you also need to deal with stuff that all retail staff goes through.

If you were to make an entire list of the stressful situations that you have to deal with every single shift, it would take you all day.

There are children throwing temper tantrums because their parents refused to buy the candy that the wanted, entitled Karens demanding free candy because you made her baby cry, teenagers who thinks they’re so smart by stealing handful of candies from their containers while you’re distracted. It’s a mess.

And that’s beside your main source of stress. That one is sitting on his office at the back of the store, probably playing some game on his phone while you act as both staff and manager, is the best boss in the world, Mr. Zhong Chenle.

Note the sarcasm.

That guy deserves a whole separate list by himself.

///

So far, the first few hours of your shift went smoothly. There were a few customers here and there but nothing that you and Jisung can’t handle.

All is well. But if you’ve worked retail before, you would know that those words are cursed.

You’ve always had this thing where you’d get a stomachache whenever something bad is about to happen. Ever since that one nice lady earlier told you to keep the change with a very kind smile, your stomach has been grumbling like crazy.

You sneaked into the counter and sat there for a moment to rest. The pain is bearable, but it makes it very hard for you to breathe properly. After taking a few deep breaths, the pain subsided a little bit.

Until, someone wrapped their arms around you, startling you off the chair and had you freefalling straight into your butt.

“I’m not paying you to slack off Y/N. Do something. I don’t know… rearrange the Valentines display. Just don’t sit around while there’s so much stuff to do.”

He dusted his overprized outfit that probably cost more than your wage, even grabbing the hand sanitizer from his pocket, completely acting like you had a contagious virus that.

Fighting the urge to talk back, you just turned around and went back to work.

Someday, I’m going to punch that resting bitch face off his face.

Someday.

You went back and found Jisung painstakingly arranging the M&M piece by piece, arranged by color, size and filling.

The kid makes you worry sometimes.

He’s a good kid but sometimes he can be a bit… clueless?

You remembered the first time that your boss bought a cotton candy machine and asked you and Jisung to figure out how to operate it. He almost left work with nine fingers that day.

“Hey kid. Bossman wants us to change the Valentines display.” You explained as you walk over to the center of the room where the display case is placed.

“Not again. What does he want this time?”

“I don’t know. His only instruction is do something.”

He whined for a bit, but he followed your lead shortly after and started removing all of the candy jars on display one by one.

You started working on it as well, hoping that he (aka the owner) won’t notice that you just switched the glass containers of the candy displays with each other and then placed them back in their original place.

You realized that he probably didn’t know what the display looked like in the first place. It’s just more unnecessary work just to keep you moving.

To pass the boredom, you decided to dote on the kid that is busy making a bouquet of out of rose-shaped lollipops right beside you.

“Sooo…”

You said in a high-pitched voice and tried to lighten up the mood a little.

“Any plans for the V-day?”

He stops for a moment, bowing his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“I’m taking this girl out bowling.”

You squealed and poked his side to tease him. He used to be a little highschool kid that you were told to keep an eye on just in case he accidentally kills himself. It was a headache at first, but he grew on you and now he feels like your honorary little brother.

“Awww. My Jisungie is grown up. It felt like it was just yesterday when I was to trying to teach you to tie your own shoelaces. And now, you’ve got a girlfriend”

“Uhm Y/N. That was yesterday.”

You were about to pinch his cheeks once again when Chenle squeezed himself in between you and Jisung.

“And now you’re flirting. Geez. Do I have to do everything around here?”

Why does this guy keep popping out of nowhere?

He stared you and Jisung down before he slithered back to his office once again. You just stood there in disbelief, shaking your head as you went back to work.

///

The end of the day went by smoothly, which made you worry even more. As you return some of the candy displays back to the stock room, you can’t help but think that today was just the calm before the storm.

Take last year’s Valentines for example.

The shop was stuffed with that a customer fainted because of suffocation. Jisung was bleeding because some guy punched him for flirting with his girlfriend (even though the poor kid is just being nice and gave her one of the extra candy flowers.)

And oh, no dates. While everyone is busy celebrating the love that they will share together you celebrated at the fact that the day is all over.

Ever since you’ve started working at that shop, you’ve never really tried to meet new people. You keep explaining that you’re tired all day. That your job is very demanding time-wise and physically. But in reality, no one just asked you out.

You could’ve quit, but who would take in a highschool graduate without work experience? You’ve barely saved up for a whole college semester, let alone the curriculum. There’s nothing to do besides suck it up.

It’s just one of those things that you stop celebrating as you get older.

Valentine’s day, your birthday, your birthday which is the same day as Valentine’s day.

Sighing, you picked up the stack of empty boxes that you needed to take outside for the garbage truck. Once again, Chenle pops out of nowhere, hitting some of the boxes that tumbled back on the floor. His are arms folded at his chest, sneering because of the mess that he created.

“Will you clean up this mess? It’s almost closing.”

You just pursed your lips, nodding as you stacked the boxes once again, trying very hard not to lose your composure.

“And will you please close the lights outside this time? I doubt that can pay for the damages if this shop burns down.”

Back turned against your employer, you picked up the boxes from the floor. You’re just glad that it is tall enough to cover most of your face. If someone could see your face right now, they would say that it is the face of someone that is about to murder somebody. Which is getting closer and closer to reality every single time Chenle opens his mouth.

Besides, you left one of the lights open one time. His petty ass just can’t seem to live it down.

“I’ll make sure to double check before leaving, sir.”

“Good. Make it quick.”

Holding out the boxes, you figured that he’d at least hold the door out for you. You had that one tiny glimmer of hope that he’s nice after all and you judged him too hastily.

Nope.

He slams the door right behind him and closed the lights from outside.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You slammed the boxes down to search for the lights and open the door for yourself.

Just one punch. I need just one punch and that’s it. He’s gonna get what’s coming to him.

Scrambling in the dark, you almost faceplanted as you tripped one of the boxes in your way. With your arms stretched out as you feel up your surroundings, it took you a few minutes before you’ve finally managed to open the switch and see the mass that you made while stumbling.

You just facepalmed and stood there for a while, reminding yourself to take deep breaths and calm yourself before you actually burn this place down.

One by one, you stacked the boxes once again in one corner, making sure secure them this time. Keeping the door open, you’ve successfully placed them inside the bins.

One box in particular fell down to the ground. You picked it up to stuff it back to the garbage can but the motion made a rattling noise.

I must’ve missed a piece.

You dusted off the nearby pavement and sat down so you can open the box.

Inside was a few bags of candy, adorned with the usual red and white swirls with the text “Sweet Escape” taking over most of the packaging.

This one must be new.

You stuffed the box back to the garbage can, looked around for signs of a snooping, grumpy adult and placed candy on one of your back pockets.

If your boss found out that you messed up the inventory again, he will not hesitate to fire you. You’re just gonna have to sneak it inside before he gets there tomorrow. Well, assuming that your alarm clock works this time.

///

“Mom, what’s for dinner?”

You closed the door behind you and took off your shoes as entered your living room.

Throwing your keys and jacket aside, you’ve just noticed that the lights are all off and the house is eerily quiet.

You grunted as your sore feet walked itself to the kitchen, only to find a single note on the counter.

Me and your sister went out to eat tonight. Just order something for dinner

Love Mom,

All you ever wanted that night that you just to a nice, warm dinner and go straight to the bed and shut yourself from the world.

Great. No breakfast and dinner.

Fuck my life.

You threw the note in the garbage bin and just stomped your way to your room. You felt like breaking down at that moment but you didn’t have the strength to make cry and make a fuss. Maybe you can just sleep all the frustrations off and feel a lot better tomorrow.

Maybe it doesn’t get much worse than this.

You scoffed.

Sike.

As if.

You slammed yourself to bed but soon realized that it wasn’t a very good idea.

You felt something in your pocket popped and it made a huge mess in your bed. You took it out of the pocket and realized that it was the bag of candy from earlier. The seams popped out and tore open from being squished by a tired, underpaid employee.

At this point, you just glared and cursed yourself once as you cleaned the candy off of your bed. Some of the candy is inside the box, so you cupped your hands and poured the remaining contents to your palms. It was filled with tiny colorful candy hearts, which looked appetizing despite the tiny bits of disfiguration and the fact that it was in your pockets the whole time.

Well, I guess this is dinner then.

You popped the candy in your mouth, letting it sit as it oozes a strong citrusy flavor. It had a texture similar to those fever tablets for kids. In fact, it tasted like medicine a bit, too.

The citrus taste kept on spreading in your mouth and your face now contorted to a grimace. It felt like all moisture is getting sucked out of your body.

They sell this to kids?

You ran to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water to water the taste down. It didn’t do anything, so, you kept on chugging more and more water until you’ve finished an entire gallon of liquids.

You sat down at the kitchen floor and breathe a sigh of relief. The taste finally left your tastebuds, but you can still feel your body feeling repulsed by the extreme sour sugary candies that you just consumed.

Drinking one more glass of water, you went back to your room and changed into your comfortable clothes, finally ready to leave this day behind.

Let’s just hope that those candy bits won’t get you sued tomorrow.

///

February 14,202x / 8:00 AM

The alarm started blaring off from its place, scaring you shitless and making you jump out of bed in panic.

You could've have been happier and more annoyed at the same time.

You leaned against your bedroom wall, giving yourself a few minutes to calm yourself down before you decided to turn off the alarm.

Once your heartbeat has cooled down, you stepped back to the bedside table and pressed the alarm button to check the time.

8:00AM

"Dammit!”

Your heart started to race once again. This time, it’s the adrenaline rush that’s making you move faster than normal. You even contemplated about getting a shower. However, you're already screwed as it is, you're not going to work without breakfast and shower again.

You stepped back to your room, wrapped on a bathrobe and panting like you just ran a marathon. Digging into your own closet, you noticed that your uniform, a red polo shirt and matching star white pants, is missing from your closet.

"Mom! Have you seen my uniform?"

You shouted from your room but you heard no answer. It seems like they didn't stay the night either.

Great.

Seeing as how your day started, you've deemed the rest of the day unsalvageable and just grabbed the closest thing to red that you have on your closet, which is a red frilly blouse and a white paneled skirt that you've never worn before. It's right at the bottom of your closet, so you've figured you or your mother bought this before and just forgot all about it.

You also grabbed one of your newer shoes to match and bolted to the front door as fast as possible.

You locked the door behind you, only to be spooked as you turned around to see a car parked in your driveway.

It was one of those fancy ones too. The ones that have their doors open at the side like an alien spaceship.

You only know one person in the world that's flashu enough to ride one. And he's just came out of the car.

"Happy birthday! You're pretty early..."

Chenle smiled as jogs over to you, keys jingling on his fingers, and gave you a small peck on the cheek.

You stood there in your porch, frozen.

Zhong Chenle knows how to smile. And he knows about your birthday

"I was about to call you but I didn't want to wake you up. So, I came over instead. Did you eat your breakfast yet?"

You shook your head hesitantly, still unable to speak and process the situation.

"No good, young lady. Go back inside. We're not leaving with an empty stomach."

///

Here's something that you never encounter every day. Your spawn-of-the-devil employer is making you pancakes in the kitchen. And you finally have fresh milk in your fridge.

What happened to the world while you were sleeping?

"I'm not a professional chef but at least it's edible."

He said as he placed a perfectly fine plate full of fluffy pancakes right in front of you. Is this him being cocky?

He sets the apron aside and sat down right in front you, grabbing a plate and a piece of pancake for himself.

"Go on... Tell me if it's good."

You hesitantly took a bite, and then chewed in silence as Chenle expectantly watched you from the side. You set the fork down, speechless.

They're as good on the inside as they looked on the outside.

"You don't like it?"

He sounded upset. It wasn't like "I can't believe you forgot to do this thing that I told you" upset either. He looked at you with his puppy dog eyes and a bit of a pout.

You froze. What if all of this is trick? And this is just is way of firing you, like letting you down gently in case you formed a vendetta and burn the shop down in your anger.

Which, for the record, is partly true.

"Uhm. It's nice. It's very niceee"

In your panic, you might've overdone the compliment. It sounded like you're on gunpoint and you had to say it to live. Nevertheless, he still smiled to himself and took the compliment well, even pouring you another glass of milk so "it would go down better".

The interaction alone gave you the chills. It felt like you're walking on thin ice and the former Chenle will come out and bury you alive. But even that would've sound more real than what's about to happen next.

Like the gentleman that he is, he opened the car door for you. You never even got the chance to question where the two of you are going. After sitting down, just when you're about you're about to ask, he held your hand and gave it a kiss.

"You buckled up?"

"Uhm. Yes..."

Still holding your hand, he pressed some buttons on the dashboard and then music started playing. You recognized that it was that song, Sugar Sugar by The Archies. It’s one of the songs that you ironically played in the candy shop. There was also Sugar by Maroon 5, Sugar by Florida.

Well, you get the point.

“Sugar Ah, honey, honey You are my candy girl And you got me wanting you…”

He proceeds to sing along to the song merrily as he backed up your driveway. Meanwhile you sat there quietly as you tried to assess your situation.

Is this kidnapping? Would it be considered kidnapping if I willingly went inside the vehicle?

Once you’ve realized how ridiculous you sounded in your head, you relaxed for a bit and started humming along to the song. It was at this point that you realized that Chenle had a beautiful voice. The song didn’t have high notes, but it was hard to make your voice pop up with the middle register. It sounded stable, like he’s a recording artist.

The atmosphere at the shop would be much better if he sang like this all the time.

…which reminded you of something that Chenle might be neglecting to think.

Panic washed over you and soon, you can’t keep still and moved around your seat a lot.

“Are you comfortable?

He kept on glancing on your direction, keeping you in check for a few moments while he still kept an eye on the road,

“We can make a quick stop if you need something.”

Trying your best to keep yourself still, you finally sat down and placed both of your hands on your lap, like the kids at school when their parents ask them to behave.

“Where are we going again?”

The question finally popped out and you pursed your lips while trying to wait for the answer.

“I don’t know. It’s your day. We can go wherever you want to.”

“Oh.”

It’s not like him to be away from the shop at this time of the day, let alone the whole day. No matter how sucky he is, he did what is best for the shop. It was his baby.

And if the both of you aren’t going, then it only means one thing. His baby is screwed at the hands of someone.

"By the way, who's taking care of the candy shop?"

You tried to ask nonchalantly, but it only came out sounding more inconspicuous.

"Oh yeah. I left Jisung in charge."

He wistfully replied. Suddenly, you feel your head spinning from your seat from the sheer realization that he left the kid alone, in his shop, with no adult/proper supervision.

"You left Jisung alone... In charge... On Valentine's Day"

You turned your gaze away from him, trying to hide your internal panic. You'll be lucky if the guy made it alive until lunch by himself.

"Relax. He'll be fine. He's with the trainees. Figured it might teach them a thing or two in getting the actual job done."

“And with trainees too… oh my god.”

Great. More casualties.

“You don’t mind if we stopped by the shop first, do you?”

“Of course. You’re the boss.”

///

In a few minutes, he pulls over to the parking lot and you’re glad to see the shop in piece. On the outside at least.

You stepped inside the car and practically ran over to the inside of the shop, leaving Chenle behind.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I help you?”

Two unknown faces greeted you at the door. They must be the trainees that Chenle talked about earlier.

“Would you happen to know where Jisung is?”

They both nodded and pointed to the direction of the left side of the shop, which was supposed to be all the supplies were. Instead, there was Jisung on the register, which by the way looked different from what you can remember.

In fact, the whole shop looked nothing like it was yesterday. The colors seemed more vibrant and festive and the whole thing looked like a candy wonderland. To be honest, it reminded you of that one Katy Perry music video.

Jisung bowed at you formally and wore his usually customer service smile.

“Welcome to Sweet Escape, how may I—”

“How many fingers do you have now?”

You replayed the question in your head and it sounded just as crazy when it came out of your mouth. At this point, you decided to continue on with the question. For obvious safety reasons.

“Uh ma’am. What do you mean?”

“Hold your fingers up. How many do you have?”

He was hesitant to do as you say. Chenle just facepalmed and gestured him to do as you said, putting up all of his tall fingers in the air.

“Ten?”

You breathe a sigh of relief, almost rushing over to hug the confused Jisung when Chenle pulls you from behind.

“Please excuse her for the moment. She’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

He smiled and bowed to Jisung as an apology, another gesture that you haven’t seen him do before, pulling you outside the store to give you some air. Once you’ve reached the parking lot, he placed his hands on your shoulders to hold you still.

“Okay. Since when is hugging my staff became a thing?”

He stares you down with a genuine concerned look on his face.

He placed one of his hands on your forehead.

“It’s not like you’re sick either…”

Chenle sighs, finally releasing you from his grasp

“Tell me. What’s the problem?”

He sat you down at the pavement and gave you enough space to reflect on your actions.

You had the choice to say that you have absolutely no idea what’s happening to you right now, but you thought that he ought to know why you’re acting that way. Now, you just have to figure out how to explain it to him without sounding like a crazy person.

“I…��

You started slow, working your way into explaining that you woke up into this insane dream about how her boss is suddenly so nice to her that morning.

And then it hit you.

“I had a dream about you...”

Ideas started pouring down to your head, starting to piece together a story that actually made sense.

“And in that dream, you’re this mean guy that never cared about me and other people’s feelings. You just made everyone around you miserable. The dream felt so real so I’m very uncomfortable that you’re acting nice to me now.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded your head as an answer. Chenle pulls you over to a side hug, relief washing over him knowing that it wasn’t that bad as he made it up to be.

“I’m sorry if that mean version of me hurt you.”

He rested his head on your shoulders and pulled you closer to him.

“If I decided to be mean to you in a dream again, feel free to punch me or whatever. I promise to make up for all of it once you wake up.”

It was probably the nicest thing that anyone has said to you in a while. Even though it wasn’t actually him who’s hugging you and making you feel all warm inside, you’re not going to see your boss the same way again.

“You know what, why don’t we start now. There’s plenty of time today to make it up to you.”

He stood up from his seat and brushed himself, helping you do the same right after.

“Where does my y/n want to go right now?”

Your lips formed a mischievous smile.

You knew just where you wanted to go at that moment, but he’s probably not going to like it

///

“Would it hurt you to rest for one second?”

You’ve been running around the theme park for the whole day and Chenle just barely kept up to you and your antics. He gave you a small opportunity for a payback and you’re not going to let it slide. Even if it’s with nice Chenle.

You were about to run off again somewhere when he tugs you by the hem of your shirt.

“Y/N-ah, don’t you feel sick at all?”

Chenle’s eyes droop down as he tried to compose himself. As someone that doesn’t like heights and gets dizzy easily, it seems like he’s about to faint any minute now.

“But I want to ride the Ferris wheel.”

He went sheet white, if that is humanly possible. Chenle had barely enough time to recover from the roller coaster ride a few minutes ago and now you’re already on your way to hop in to another one.”

“Fine. We can rest. I don’t think my ears can handle any more of your screaming.”

You can hear Chenle complaining under his breath. The two of you went to the horror house a while ago and there was a high-pitched screaming the whole time. You’ve been teasing him with it ever since.

“I told you, that wasn’t me!”

“The only person inside is you and me. And I don’t remember screaming my own name for fifteen minutes.”

His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but he stopped midway and just took your hand to drag you at the nearest bench. He sat you down first before he took the seat right next to you, both palms on his face and trying to give himself a moment to breathe.

As much as you wished to torment that guy to death, he really looked sick to his stomach. He can barely lift his head up without taking deep breaths.

“You alright?”

You said as you patted his back gently, giving some time to relax and a moment to breathe.

“I’m fine. I did say that I’ll do anything for you today.”

He takes one last breathe before getting up the bench, only to lean on one side too much and almost toppling over.

“Yeah. I think were done for the day. You can barely stand up.”

You sat him back at the bench and caressed his back to get him to relax. Not even a minute after sitting back down, he did a thumbs up to let you know that he’s doing fine already.

“What time is it?”

“4:30. Why?”

He tried his best to stand up and keep himself still. This time, his attempt was successful.

“I’ll drive you home.”

“Are you sure?”

“You can barely stand up. What makes you think that you can drive?”

“Just trust me.”

///

Sure enough, you both got to your house unscathed.

He told you to step out of the car, which you did, and he smoothly backed the car to your garage.

“How was that?”

He said smugly just as he came out of the car, keys jingling on his fingers once again. You can joke about his motion sickness but you can’t comment on his driving.

Chenle was then about to enter your house, but you stopped him just before he turned the doorknob.

“You know what, I had a lot of fun today. It’s probably the best birthday slash Valentine’s Day that I’ve had a whole life. I think you deserve this…”

You held up your fist into a ball and pretended to land a punch to his face. He winced, which gave you and opportunity to tiptoe and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

He stood there frozen for a few seconds, but it was replaced by a cheeky, boyish smile that he’s been hiding from you the whole time that you know him.

You twisted the doorknob and stepped inside your house first, when a popping sound greeted you from inside.

Turns out, those were party poppers.

“Surprise!”

Your whole family is there, alongside all of your friends from way back highschool.

“Sorry for missing you this morning sweetie, we needed some time for the party preparations. Chenle did a good job of distracting you the whole day.”

An arm wrapped itself on your shoulders and gave it a tight squeeze. It didn’t take long for you to find out who it was.

“She made me ride the roller coaster, twice.”

“Stop being a baby. I asked you the second time but you refused to come with me.”

Laughter fills the room and it went for the rest of the night. The celebration wasn’t fancy but it was enough for you to realize what life you’re missing in the real world. And as much you want to make it longer, sooner or later you’re going to have to come back to your old life.

That time was the next day.

///

February 14,202x again / 6:00 AM

The shrill sounds of the alarm clock woke you up, but you were smiling ear to ear. Something about your dream have placed you in a very good mood. Too bad you can’t remember the specific details. All you know is that there’s a car, the shop, the theme park… Zhong Chenle.

Why would it be a nice dream if your boss was in it?

Before you started conspiring some theories, you shook it off and started to get ready for today. To your surprise, the alarm woke you up on time. This means that you can take your sweet time in getting ready, possibly even make yourself an English breakfast for a change.

Your plans are foiled, however, when you realized that the kitchen wasn’t empty.

“Happy birthday…”

Your mom came from the living room to give you the tightest hug. She hasn’t hugged you like this for a long time, so you reciprocated and pulled her in a tighter embrace.

“I’m sorry that this is all we can afford for now…”

She sits you down the table and pushed the small bento cake right in front you. It is not bigger as your hands, but the pink icing and the decorations looked so delicate and beautiful.

“I promise to make you a better cake next year.”

“This is all I need Mom, thank you for doing this.”

///

Everything is going smoothly today. The bus is on time and the driver even gave you a small Valentine’s card as you went inside. For the first time in your life, you looked at the streets painted different shades of red and you’re perfectly fine with it.

You even got to work early. Doors are still shut down when you got there, so you decided to climb up the storage window so you don’t have to wait outside. As instructed, you finally locked it behind you and made it a point to be on time so you’ll never have to use it again.

You started with work right away, cleaning up as much as you can before everyone gets there. While you were mopping the main shop, you can hear keys jingling from outside, meaning that your boss already got there. The door swings forward and upon turning around, he opened the lights, only to see you standing in the middle of the shop.

He screamed at an ungodly pitch and almost fell down at his place.

“Oh, it’s just you. That wasn’t me, alright? ”

He dusted himself off tried his act together and be as cold as before, only to be embarrassed because you kept laughing at his face.

You tried to keep a straight face and bowed at him to excuse yourself. If your tardiness won’t get you fired today, it would probably be your excessive laughing.

“This is the horror house all over again.”

You swear that you heard him mumble something else, but you weren’t sure if you heard it right.

What are the odds that he dreamt about a horror house too, right?

Before you got the chance to go though, he said something that made your heart race for the rest of the day.

“You were there too, right? I just want you to know that that was really me.”

You turned around to see if he’s joking, but instead found a smiling Chenle at the other end of the shop.

“I actually liked you for a while now. So forgive me for always lashing out on you.”

He placed his hands on his pockets and walked slowly towards you, his head down while he tried to hide his shy smile.

“Happy birthday Y/N. I don’t mind repeating that day again... just don’t make me ride the roller coaster twice this time.”

///

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dustofbrokenheart · 3 years

Text

The Covenant: I’m With the Bassist

Reid Garwin x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,631

Warning: contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: Your band is popular on the local music scene and one fan in particular has managed to catch your eye. One night, you take him back to the dressing room after a show and things get heated.

Colored stage lights bore down of the band, illuminating them for the crowd’s sake but the heat had long since taken its toll. Even the crowd appeared damper than when the show first started.

Your cloth bracelets were glued to your skin and chaffed uncomfortably against your wrist with every stroke you played. The choice to wear a black top was a good one because it hid the patches of sweat well even though you felt soaked.

There was no such luck with your face—a trail of constant sweat had been trailing down the side of your face for the past hour and you suspected that the precise eyeliner you walked on stage was smudged. Hopefully, it was more of an artistic smear and not a case of you looking like a racoon, but there was no way to be certain.

Your singer’s voice trailed off as the song faded out and you strummed one last chord on the bass before ending. The crowd writhed in electric frenzy, riding a concert high and expressed their delight in different ways, most directing their energy into cheering but there were a few who opted to throw things on stage. Empty red solo cups and an assortment of men’s and women’s underthings, mainly.

The singer grabbed the mic and walked to the edge of the small bar stage. “Whoo! How’s everyone doing!?” Screams rang out in answer.

Your band was small-time only performing on the local circuit two to three times a week, but the fan base had been growing and there were always loyal faces that the venue being played on a given night.

Blue eyes in the front of the crowd caught your gaze for a second as you looked over the crowd.

Then the singer spoke again, pulling your attention back to the band. “Thanks for coming out, we love you. Honest! See you guys next week!”

The main lights turned on lighting up the inside of the bar with its usual dingy, yellow bulbs. Applause and cheers rang out once more from the fans as the band readied to exit.

Purposefully ignoring the audience, more specifically the front rows, you turned back to talk to the drummer while sliding your bass strap over your head to take the weight of the instrument off of your shoulders. The band threw quick waves to the fans, and the guitarist stopped to pick up a particularly silky pair of men’s boxer briefs with a coy smile, and then you all bustled to get to the dressing room.

Performing on stage for people was an addicting rush, for sure, but you liked having down time in the dressing room to come off of the adrenaline and go about your business privately.

First thing you did was get yourself to a mirror so you could clean up the mess around your eyes. Luckily, that night’s smeared make-up looked tastefully done and not like a clown rendition. Next, you redid your eyes so that they returned to their glory from the start of the show; a nice, sultry bass player look. A dash of lip color followed, but nothing so obvious that the rest of the band would notice that something was afoot.

You took your sweet time in the dressing room and one by one the other members left, until you were the last one in the room. A few minutes passed until you peeked out into the hall. Everyone was used to you taking your sweet time after shows so it wasn’t weird that you were still in the dressing room. Sneaking someone in was though, and you didn’t want to get caught in the act.

He saw you signal him from his position up the hall near the bathrooms and grinned, sauntering slowly towards you until he was within reach, at which point you hauled him into the room and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a click and you turned to scowl at him. “Could you have dragged your feet any slower? Someone could’ve seen you!”

“Are you really that embarrassed of me?” he pouted. “You’re gonna give me complex, babe.”

“You know that’s not true. It’s more like… I’m just trying to spare myself the roasting for as long as possible. They’ve never seen me with someone and they’re going to rag on me no matter who it is.”

“Even if it’s a fine specimen such as myself?” He puffed out his chest and pursed his lips in comical exaggeration.

“You’re lucky I like you so much Reid.”

Reid Gawrin, or ‘groupie guy’ as you had initially referred to him as, was a big fan of the band and had been coming to every show for three months straight. It was hard to miss him with that blond hair contrasting with his black beanie and intriguing tattoos that showed when he rolled up his sleeves or wore a loose collared shirt. And those blue eyes… it was easy to yourself in them.

He’d always made sure to stick around after shows so that he could chat you up and at first you figured he was just a groupie looking to score with a band member, hence his moniker ‘groupie guy.’ Not wanting to come off as rude you indulged him in conversation, but always kept your distance.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to try and sleep with the band, and to be honest, the band did end up in bed with some of them. Take your guitarist: she always managed to pick up the hottest women and men. It worked great for her but you wanted something more and weren’t going to take a chance on the guy, even if he was cute, if he was just looking for a hook-up.

And, who knows, maybe it had started out as purely physical attraction on his part, but the two of you had grown emotionally attached after a while too. It was the emotional side that had led to the current situation. Not officially dating, but no longer musician and groupie either. And that lack of a label wouldn’t stop you from finally getting intimate that night.

Reid picked you up with ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your fleshly thighs as he pressed you between the hard brick wall and his body.

“You were incredible tonight,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses onto the hollow of your neck. Your head titled back and hit the wall with a thud as he trailed upward with his nose so that he could kiss the soft underside of your chin.

“Yeah?” you panted with excitement. You knew what was coming next.

He nodded and finally kissed you on the lips, his tongue quickly gliding inside of your mouth with strong, measured licks. “Bassists are always hot.” Your eyelids drifted shut and you lost yourself to his ministrations, a warm cloud of pressure weighed down your muscles.

As soon as you moaned, Reid wasted no time in grinding his pelvis against yours, the friction from his belt buckle rubbing you just the right way to fire up a reaction in your core. You pulled back, panting and he chuckled at you trying to catch your breath. “You like that?”

He was obviously fishing for an answer but you weren’t so gone that you’d give into him just yet. You merely nodded your head and bit your lip at a particularly delicious thrust.

“Tell me you like it,” he pressed.

Still, you refused him and he took it as a challenge to get you to use words. He relaxed his hold your thighs so that you slid down the wall and ended up resting high on the leg he inserted in between yours. Now you were not only stimulated by his grinding, but also rode his leg whenever your hips, the added pressure making it harder to not give in.

Your will hung by a thread, ready to give at any moment. Then he upped the ante by reaching down the waistline of your bottoms into your underwear, his fingers skipping past teasing to directly touching you in your most sensitive place.

“Tell me. Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” you whined, your mind filled with pleasure.

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re a good girl.”

His wandering nail-polish covered fingers reached down lower to cup your slit more fully and Reid purred when he felt a gush of wetness flow from you. “You liked that, huh? You like being my good girl.”

A nod. You weren’t used to this kind of dirty talk. Most guys are not good at it but Reid was. He didn’t give a shit what he said as long as it produced results and produced results it did.

“So wet,” he grinned as he slid a finger into you experimentally. “See, went right in you, just like that.”

A single black nail tipped finger soon turned into two and he was eager to caress your silky inner walls, scissoring his fingers into a v that stretched you nicely. “Shit, Y/N. Look how tight you are, you don’t wanna let my fingers go.”

You gasped, goosebumps raising on your arms. It was a good thing you were against the brick wall because you didn’t have the strength to support your head on your own. As it was, your head was still lulled to the side.

It took Reid capturing your chin in one hand to get you to straighten out. The other hand was removed from your pants and used to circle one of your wrists so that you were unable to turn away. He pressed his lips gently against yours, a stark contrast from the lewd things he had done a second ago.

He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes wild with adoration and desire. “Does my good girl want more?”

“Please,” you begged.

“Do you need it?”

“Please!”

With a parting kiss, he dropped down to his knees and pulled down your pants and underwear with a single tug. Your shaking hands grasped his hair as he placed his mouth over you, the blonde strands wrapped around your fingers. His breath was warm and, unlike when he was kissing your mouth, his tongue was relentless against the bundle of nerves between your legs. Circling, laving, sucking. It all blurred together and you realized that you were in trouble. If it was this good with just tongue, how would it be when he actually put his cock in you?

You moaned just thinking about it. Your legs squeezed together in reaction to his excellent skills but he didn’t seem to mind being stuck down there. Time lost meaning; it was felt like it was passing too slowly and too quickly simultaneously.

Eventually, his mouth left you with a wet pop and he stood at his full height. Making direct eye contact, he popped the top button on his jeans open and kicked them off, his shirt and beanie following suit. He stepped forward and hooked one of your legs around his waist to make more space.

You settled your hands flat against his chest and that damn tattoo that’s been teasing you for the past couple of months is now completely exposed for your gaze. It vaguely registers that the boy is ripped. Like, six pack ripped, but it’s the tattoo that you couldn’t stop looking at. It sloped at the base of his neck and extended past his collar bone; it was mesmerizing.

“You like that one, don’t you?” he cooed, noticing your heated stare.

Blue eyes held yours as he rolled on a condom. He entered you in one sharp thrust, your core feeling stretched and full. A sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making poured out from your throat and you immediately raised hid your face.

Logically, you knew pleasure was nothing to be embarrassed about, but you couldn’t help feeling like you needed to reign yourself in.

Reid pried your hands away from your face and kissed you while he continued to drive in and out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed. “I like your noises.”

Almost like his voice had control over your body, another whine left you. “Reid. I-I nee- I need…”

“What? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“More,” you cried out. “I need more.”

He picked you up entirely, both legs circling his waist and walked you over to the couch. Honestly, all of the furniture in the room was probably suspect given that all the bands used it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on it during that moment.

Your back hit the couch cushions and then Reid was back to swiveling his hips, his cock hitting just right. This new angle with you on your back, your legs hanging over his broad shoulders, had your cries rising in pitch and frequency.

The euphoria was suddenly interrupted with a sharp knock. Panic ensued you snapped to look at the door. Thankfully, it was still locked which meant that you wouldn’t get caught in a comprising position, but there was still the matter getting rid of whoever it was.

“Yo, Y/N. You still in there?”

You were about to answer when Reid cupped your right breast and bucked into you hard. Shocked, you looked up in disbelief, your mouth wide open with no sound coming out. He merely winked and did it again.

The second time a whine escaped you and another knock rang out. “Y/N, you good?”

Reid leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in your ear. “Better answer them, Y/N.”

You swallowed. Risk wasn’t something you considered yourself to be into, but was a lie to say you didn’t feel yourself getting wetter at the thought.

Hoping and praying that you would pull it off, you tried to talk but nothing came out but a croak. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “H-hey. I’m still here.”

“You good? Why’s the door locked?”

In an attempt to keep your voice steady, you closed your eyes and clung on tight to Reid’s shoulders. “Just changing. Locked it to be s-safe.”

That was the right thing to say cause the voice at the door immediately backed off with an apology and left the two of you alone.

“Good save,” he acknowledged. He slowed his hips slightly and reached down to circle your clit with his thumb. “I think you deserve a reward.”

“Oh my—Reid.”

The ceiling came in and out of focus as Reid coaxed you to the edge at last. “Come on, Y/N. Say my name.” One well pressured flick to the small bundle of nerves did the trick and sent you flying, bucking like a high wire cable flailing wildly in the wind and chanting his name in a desperate prayer.

Your core clamping down on him sent him tumbling right after you with a drawn-out groan as he held himself deep inside you.

He dropped next to you on the couch, out of breath. “Shit.” He took a moment to compose himself and repeated his words. “Shit.”

You rolled your head to pin him with a teasing stare. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Oh, there was definitely a pussy involved.”

A weak slap landed on his chest. “Don’t use that word, you sound ridiculous.” Your favorite tattoo was within petting range and you kept your hand there, stroking it gently. The two of you settled into quiet bliss, content to cuddle into one another.

“That was a good one,” Reid finally remarked, stroking your arm. Exhausted, all you can do is nod against his toned chest. He hummed and you waited patiently for him gather his thoughts. “Think we can get another round in?”

_______________

Forgive me, for I have sinned 😂. Is it even good? I’m not sure but thanks to those who read it. Partly inspired by a conversation with @rpwithjayn but I made Reid the groupie instead of the rocker. Hopefully I did him justice for all of the Reid fans out there.

#the covenant #reid garwin #reid garwin x reader #rated m for mature #14 days of valentines

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Rivals. c2

Rivals: chapter 2

3.2k words

Summary: Y/n and Harry are both CEO’s of their parent’s companies since they inherited the businesses from them, they’ve been rivals since they were kids- now that they’re professional adults how will their rivalry affect them?

When Friday rolled around Y/n was excited, she’d had a grueling week and been working 18 hours a day for the past 6 days so she was more than thrilled to have a break. Friday’s were usually pretty tame in the office, but just her luck that day a new product design was dumped on her desk and she was tasked with going through the mountains of papers filled with advertisement ideas, promotion pictures and commercial ideas for the new line of clothes and perfumes coming out for the winter season since they were a few weeks away from December. Due to the time crunch she couldn’t really afford to push it off, so she sat at her desk and reviewed everything well past her normal hours.

It was around 7 in the evening when she pulled out the bottle of tequila she kept in her desk for late nights like this, grabbing some ice from the office kitchen and a tonic water from her own mini fridge stashed in the closet in her office. She kept the lighting low, her eyes already feeling the strain of the fluorescent bulbs and fine print papers after hours of reading and she’d like to save the headache for the next morning if possible.

She was a tad bit startled when a knock sounded at her office door, she glanced to the clock seeing it was nearing 10 at night and she knew her assistant left at 8 so she was a surprised by the interruption. Of course, he had to be the one knocking. Even through her mild intoxication she could tell that curly mop of hair as him, his face joining his locks a second later as he waltzes into her office. His lips were tugged in a small smile, hands holding a binder with a plastic bag cradled in his left one.

“Ah! Getting a bit wild in the office tonight? Tequila, you naughty girl!” he gave her a fake disapproving look companied with a stern finger pointing between her and the now half empty bottle. Y/n was always a bit looser after a drink, so she didn’t have her usual bitter comeback loaded she instead felt a strange shot of happiness? Relief? Fondness? She couldn’t put her finger on it. It was too foreign of a feeling to be associated with the man. The woman didn’t understand why she didn’t feel the sense of loathing tugging at her when he spoke, instead she let out a small laugh before flipping him off.

Harry was surprised yet pleased at her reaction. He always loved tipsy y/n, the booze seemed to soften her overly serious nature and make her a bit sweeter. They had some of their best moments together after they had a good buzz going, they’d even had a few instances of cuddling during their alcohol induced haze. He remembers those times fondly; he thinks back on them at times when they’re arguing or in the middle of a grudge holding session. Harry knew she’d never admit it, but deep down behind all her walls she really was a loving, sweet girl. She always had been yet her pride and fear of vulnerability would never let her admit it.

“Hello Harry, any reason you’ve broken into my place of work?” she tipped the glass back to her lips, taking another sip of her cocktail as she waited for his response. She watched him set his things down, shrugging his suit jacket off before rolling his sleeves to his elbows. “Saw you through the window, was workin’ late myself. Thought misery needed a bit of company, and knowing you I knew you’d probably need a designated driver for the night miss tequila.” He lifted his eyebrows in a slight teasing manner, a smile growing on her lips as she giggled quietly, raising her hands in surrender. “bad habits die hard, huh?” she retorted, the smile didn’t drop from her features and Harry loved it. She always had such a beautiful smile. Her plushy lips molded into the shape, her braces did their job giving her a perfect even smile. She had a genuine smile on, he could tell by the way it met her eyes that seemed to brighten when she was in a good mood. She was beautiful. He truly didn’t understand why she had always been so self-conscious. he hated when she’d talk negatively about her looks, weight, body etc. He’d always found her to be a very beautiful woman, and her strong personality amplified that even further.

“That they do miss Y/l/n, they do indeed.” He agreed with a nod, reaching his hand into the previously noted bag pulling out some bread, followed by small slices of cheese and finally a container of grapes. They both shared a love for the particular grouping of food, often having it for snack as kids or packing it when they went on little trips with their friends. It was their thing in a sense. He might amp it up a bit to feel a special bond with her in some way, even if it’s just over a love of the same foods.

“Brought some goodies, might share with you if you’re nice to m’.” Harry made himself comfortable on the couch, toeing off his shoes to leave him in his red dress socks. He liked to have accent colors when he dressed for work, often opting for pocket squares, socks or collar pins to tie together his outfits. He had decided early on just because he was in a work environment didn’t mean he had to dress boring, he worked in fashion for Christ sake so he enjoyed a bit of complimentary accessories. Tastefulness is key though, and he knew how to pick them right.

Y/n polished off her drink, reaching to pour herself another mixing it with a coffee straw she snagged from the kitchen during her original venture out. the woman shrugged slightly, taking a sip with a little smack of her lips at the strongness. She went a bit heavy on the tequila this time around.

“Eh, I’m on a diet anyway.” Her response amused Harry, chuckling lightly before popping a grape into his mouth. He always appreciated someone with a quick wit, and Y/n checked that box for him. He was starting to realize she checked most of his boxes regarding things he found attractive…and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

It was nearing midnight when Y/n started to show signs she was fully drunk. Her head bobbed slightly, body lightly swaying and Harry saw her eyes flutter every so often. He could read her like a book, he knew she was stressed, tired and wasted just from a single glance. The man found it quite cute, she looked so soft and cute when she was in this state. She radiated that type of energy that made you want to hug her; she wasn’t as guarded and flighty. She looked utterly trashed but relaxed and he didn’t mind the drunkenness if it meant she wasn’t as worked up as usual. She worked hard; the woman deserved to let loose once in a while.

“Hey, think it’s time to head out hmm?” Harry slowly sat up as he spoke, stretching with a few quiet pops of his joints. Y/n lifted her head slightly, giving him doe eyes and a pouty lip. “but I have work to do…” a hiccup sounded after she spoke, making her body jolt slightly. “It’ll be there on Monday, it’s late and you’re wasted love. C’mon time to go, hey don’t get all misty eyed on me it’s okay. Swear it’s alright, everything will get done.”

Harry frowned mid-way through his sentence seeing her eyes gloss with tears. She could be quite an emotional drunk, she bottled up her feelings 24/7 so in any sort of weakened state she began to crack. Harry had seen it only twice in the thirteen years of knowing her. The first time they were 15, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend at the time who was a total douche and he’d spent the six months the pair were together practically bullying the girl and mainly spending the time they had together fucking her. she had gotten absurdly drunk and walked to Harry’s home, sobbing and shaking only to spend the rest of the night cuddled into his chest. it was a toxic relationship and Harry always hated that guy; he gave the boy a few swift kicks to the ribs a few days after the incident. The second was during spring break, the pair were freshly 20 and someone had groped her at the club. Y/n had a panic attack on the bathroom floor and Harry sat with her the whole time, even though the filthy floor was sticky with booze and god knows what else he didn’t even think of leaving her behind.

Y/n took in a deep breath nodding her head slightly, letting Harry put the bottle back in it’s hiding spot and organize her papers before getting himself situated and heading to the car. With some episodes of tripping over her own feet and dizziness he’d managed to get her into the passenger seat, buckling her and joining her in the vehicle.

“Y/n no, you can’t smash the window! Where are your house keys? Put the rock down”

Bargaining with someone who’s intoxicated was never easy, but he was worried about the woman chucking a random stone through her first-floor window instead of just unlocking the door. Drunk minds aren’t the soundest he supposed seeing as he was prying a rouge rock from y/ns hand.

Eventually the keys were located and used to forge entry into her modest town house. Unlike her parent’s y/n wasn’t into flashy mansions and cars. She didn’t see a purpose for such a large home when she was the only resident, plus it creeped her out knowing there would be more room for potential squatters if she had opted for an 8-bedroom 6-bath mansion like her parents had for the 3 of them. She was never someone who fancied showing off expensive thing, she found it tacky and risky because you’re flashing to people that you have expensive things to steal. So, when she purchased a home, she opted for a modest 2-bedroom town house and she really did love it.

Harry was greeted with a subtle scent of cedar and nutmeg, reminding him y/n always opted for fall themed candles and home fragrances. She felt it made places feel cozier and warmer. contrary to her guarded and sometimes cold personality, she always wanted her home to feel welcoming.

Her décor was nice, a large leather couch with some dark red throw pillows along with a fuzzy blanket folded and draped over the back of the furniture. Some arm chairs also filled the Livingroom, art hung evenly on the wall and a tv mounted right in the center of the adjacent wall. A nice area rug and coffee table really finished off the center room, it was an inviting set up and Harry had to resist the urge to sit on the large couch that seemed to be calling to him as he started walking her up the steps.

The bedframe groaned as she flopped herself down on her mattress, a content sigh leaving her lips as the woman kicked off her shoes. “mmmm love my bed, missed it.” The woman placed an affectionate pet to her pillow, Harry laughing slightly at her antics whilst searching her dresser for clothes to change her into. Pinching a pair of sleep shorts and a tshirt before tossing it on the bed making his way into her bathroom so she could change in private.

Once the girl was situated, he reappeared, picking up her dirty clothes and putting them in her hamper for her. everything was going well, they weren’t fighting and she seemed to really be enjoying his presence but because Harrys an idiot he had to ruin it.

“maybe if you weren’t such a raging bitch, I wouldn’t have to come take you home and you’d have a boyfriend who could huh?”

He intended it to be their playful teasing, how they usually pick on each other and make rude comments but it came across harsher than intended. He sounded utterly mean and spiteful, and after Y/n had spent the evening warming up to him and even enjoying his company that felt like a smack in the face. Just when she thought maybe he’d changed or wasn’t so bad he had to make a comment, picking a topic she was already very sensitive about because all her previous relationships were very abusive and put her in the position she was in now of being so guarded and cold she was left to a life of loneliness.

There was a beat of silence, Harry registering his tone and how he’d just switched the atmosphere entirely. There was no sense of playfulness anymore, just hurt and anger. He regretted ever opening his mouth, seeing the woman look away from him with veins visible on her neck from the restraint she was using to hold back her tears. She cursed herself for drinking, it always made her more sensitive and she felt like a fool for not seeing Harry was just waiting for her to become vulnerable so he could strike back even when truly it wasn’t his intention, his actions left her with only that theory to believe.

Y/n cleared her throat and shot him the best glare she could while her eyes burned with tears begging to escape. “You can see yourself out Harry.” The dismissal was curt and quiet, there was no option for bargaining or pleading because she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Harry knew when to pick his battles with her so he knew it was best he left, sighing slightly before leaving the bedroom making sure he locks her front door for her on his way out. he’s never wanted to beat his own ass so bad in his life.

As much as Y/n tried to hide it under her cold, blunt exterior- she was extremely insecure and broken inside. She never learned how to express her emotions or hurt. Y/n never had parents there to guide her nor comfort her in her times of need. She’d never had anyone who cared about her to look out for her besides neglectful nannies who left her to her own devices most of her childhood. She was emotionally stunted, and it had made her vulnerable to shitty people her whole life. It led to her having a 17-year-old boyfriend when she was 13 that pressured her into losing her virginity and emotionally abused her the entirety of their year long illegal relationship. It put her in the position of having a revolving door of toxic abusive relationships with cruel boys who treated her poorly, her father was never around so she never had an example of a good man so she resorted to getting attention and validation in whatever form she could even when it was harmful and a façade to use her body and status. The woman was never taught how to handle her emotions and it led to her clawing for control in any way she could, any sort of distraction and turned her to dark, destructive behaviors in her teen years that still haunt her in the form of physical and mental scars now that she’s in her adult years. She’d practically had to raise herself, and now that she’s grown, she’s running the company that stole her parents from her. she can’t tell who she hates more, her parents or herself.

Harrys word seemed to pop the stitches on an internal wound she thought was close to healing. While he was joking, she couldn’t tell. It was said with such a bitter malice it made her skin crawl. Sure, they’ve been mean to each other for 13 years but in her vulnerable state and the knowledge he had of her past his words seemed deliberate and cruel for the sole purpose of hurting her. not a stupid joke like he’d intended.

She couldn’t get it out of her head, she spent the remainder of the weekend nursing her hangover and a wounded soul. Her mind was screaming self-hating words, cruel statements towards herself and pushing her to look for comfort in another person again even when she knew she was vulnerable to falling back into the arms of yet another man who wasn’t good for her but she couldn’t bring herself to care enough about herself to make the best choices for her. she felt like she had something to prove to Harry, herself and the universe that she wasn’t so horrible that no one could stand to be around her even if the person she chose only stuck around to leech off her. it was a stupid mindset, one that’s left her torn to shreds numerus times since her early teenage years but the spiral Harrys verbal bite sent her into had her internally turning back into 14-year-old y/n who just wanted to feel like she mattered. She was setting herself up for pain again, she knew it. But like she stated before, old habits die hard.

and y/n decided she must be a glutton for punishment when her fingers started typing in the familiar number of her ex.

#harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles series #rivals #harry styles smut #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles concept #harry styles au #CEO!harry #CEO!yn

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saladejin · 4 years

Text

Beyond Breathless | Jungkook

(cr.) Jungkook x Reader | first aider in training!au, childcare worker!Jungkook | s2f2l (not quite there), fluff and crack, awkwardness & touching, confident/bold reader

Summary: One class is all it takes for Jungkook to finally realise that yes, maybe there is someone out there who can put up with his timorous tendencies. Now, if he pays attention, he might just learn how to breathe again.

Warnings: None, shy sub kookie (he’s a mess y’all), and suggestive themes if you really squint

Word Count: 2.9k

<< masterlist

A/N: Ok so this was part of my cuddle prompts game for August 2020, but it turned into a one-shot so I decided to post it accordingly. Also this is a really bizarre take on ‘cuddle’, but it’s there all the same. The prompt was 24.) between strangers.

Took me FOREVER to write and edit because so much was going on, with Dynamite dropping and all these streaming/chart records being broken etc. but anyway I’m just in time to say HAPPY BIRTHDAY JUNGKOOK & CONGRATS BTS FOR GETTING THE #1 ON BILLBOARD’S HOT 100 💜💜

@vinterjeon this is for you wifey

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Jungkook was trying his best to stop tripping over his own damn tongue, but the pretty receptionist kept on asking him questions. Wasn't it easy to tell he was already kind of shitting bricks over here?

"The class began five minutes ago Sir, you shouldn't have missed too much," she said finally, handing the fidgeting man his papers with a smile.

Okay, let me go in then?

Jungkook nibbled at his bottom lip in apprehension when the woman continued to type something on her computer, nails dragging loudly across the keys as if to torture him further for his tardiness.

"I've notified Mr. Lee. Have a great class, Sir."

At the receptionist's gesture towards the nearby glass door, Jungkook immediately jerked into action. He muttered out a small 'thanks' with a bow and tried to take a deep breath, hating the fact that he would now hog every scrap of attention for being late to the class. It wasn't his fault traffic was bad!

Try as he might, slipping into the room silently was impossible when the door itself creaked loud enough for the neighbouring buildings to hear. Jungkook stifled a wince and took in the scene before him with wide apologetic eyes.

"Jeon! Glad that you could join us." Mr. Lee grinned, the easy-going nature of the teacher easing Jungkook's nerves ever so slightly. With a shy bow, he entered the small room and could only count six other participants milling around the empty space.

The teacher clapped his hands together, causing a few of the other attendees to jump in their skin. "Alright, I think we can officially begin."

You shifted from foot to foot, eyeing the newcomer with interest. Jeon? Was that his last name? You had to admit he was quite handsome, but also you couldn't help feeling bad for the guy. He was clearly a blushing mess of humiliation for being late, even if it was only a mere five minutes. You couldn't see any of the other attendees being all that bothered, but as you all lined up in front of the stout teacher, you could almost feel the nerves radiating off the man's body from where he stood beside you.

"Welcome, everyone, to our First Aid Course specialising in providing emergency first aid responses in an education and care setting."

As Mr. Lee reeled off his spiel in that commanding tone of his, you gradually sensed the young man next to you beginning to relax.

Half an hour in, the class had gone over the process of CPR briefly - or as Lee would call it, cardiopulmonary resuscitation - and had even taken turns in performing the procedure on a nightmarish looking mannequin. Jungkook had no idea why some manufacturers decided to paint genuine human features on some of them, but in the end he supposed it added to the whole realistic element of the course.

"Hey there, you alright?" a sweet voice piped up from somewhere in front of him.

Jungkook's form went rigid as he darted his eyes away from where someone was being instructed, flooding with even more confused self-consciousness when he drank in the sight of you. You hadn't meant to intimidate him further, but the way he was so intently focused on the teacher and student currently practising CPR on the dummy had you worried.

"Me? Uh, sorry yeah I'm fine thank you," Jungkook stumbled out, a hand instinctively coming up to rub at his neck which was reddening the longer he maintained eye contact with you. He didn't know how he hadn't noticed you before, but then he remembered how he tended to lose the ability to concentrate in general whenever he was embarrassed or nervous.

You returned his shaky smile warmly. "You just seem a little tensed up. Are you scared of Mr. Lee or something?" Whispering out the last part, you revelled in the sight of his smile widening.

He let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. "No, I just really need to pass this course. Don't want to miss anything, you know?"

You nodded but had no time to respond.

"Okay!" Lee boomed, gaining everyone's attention instantly. "You've all shown your proficiency at this. Now we're moving on to the next part of the course. Since you're all going to be specialising with children and students once you're finished here, we need to thoroughly cover choking, airway obstructions and respiratory distress since they're quite frequent in childcare settings."

You caught Jeon nodding solemnly out of the corner of your eye, and wondered why he was taking this course in particular. Teacher maybe? He mentioned really needing to pass, so maybe he even worked with young kindergarteners or infants. Eyeing his well-built frame contained within a tight black t-shirt had your mind working a million miles a minute. It was oddly endearing to imagine this moderately tall, buff looking guy caring for kids with such gentle shy eyes, and such a soft-spoken voice.

"Pair up with each-other and I'll demonstrate the choking procedure on adults first of all," Mr. Lee instructed, his bright passionate eyes flashing with amusement as he crossed his arms and waited for his students to spur themselves into action.

Jungkook's eyes met with yours almost immediately, and he had to avert them again out of sheer bashfulness. He only tried to seek you out because he hadn't spoken to anyone else yet, and the way you were chuckling softly at his bout of eagerness had his lips quirking up into a shy smirk. Well, that was decided then.

"You, be my guinea pig for a bit."

It took Jungkook a moment to process that the teacher was beckoning him forward with a sturdy finger, but you were already on the ball and pressing a hand into his lower back before his mind could catch up. Hating the feeling of being watched by everyone else, he tried to ignore the way he shuddered at the combination of your subtle touch and the several pairs of eyes regarding him closely.

The teacher began his explanation, but Jungkook could only hear the rushing of blood past his ears at this point. Why him? Out of everyone here, Mr. Lee couldn't have chosen anyone else? Thinking back, he did remember that being late probably served to single himself out in the teacher's mind. He deserved to be picked on.

Suddenly, Lee's stocky hand was pressing itself into Jungkook's chest, and he only then thought to finally tune in with what the older man was saying.

"Then, bend the choking person over slightly. Preferably parallel to the ground, but as long as they're somewhat sturdy on their feet..."

Jungkook swallowed nervously as the teacher demonstrated by adding pressure to the space between his wide shoulder blades. As embarrassed as he was, it was relieving to see the rest of the students focused on the information rather than him. Some were even practising the manoeuvre already. His eyes instinctively flew to where you were standing on your own, and a sharp tingle travelled the length of his spine when he caught you appraising him with ... interest flashing in your eyes?

W-why?

You watched as the teacher proceeded to explain how to perform a back blow, though not putting his full strength into the heel of his hand in case he hurt his student. "Do this five times, and if the choking hazard isn't removed, we can move on to the Heimlich manoeuvre - otherwise known as abdominal thrusts."

Oho?

You couldn't even suppress the way your lips pursed in amusement, and some of the other attendees around you even exchanged knowing looks with one another, trying not to chuckle at the sight of Jeon's ears flashing a bright red colour in embarrassment. God, he'd never wanted to die so badly.

Luckily, Lee spared him the mortification by keeping his demonstration to limited physical contact. He gave instruction on how to stand behind the victim before wrapping your arms around their torso - to which he only created a circle with his arms around Jungkook - and making a fist shape with your hand, thrusting it upwards into the victim's stomach to hopefully dislodge the object from their airways.

Jungkook couldn't really form a coherent thought at the moment. He was too fixated on the way your eyes were watching the whole scene intently, and he felt so exposed but he also wasn't entirely hating it. Well, maybe only if he could forget there were other people in the room, that is.

His brain on autopilot, Jungkook barely registered his feet taking him back to his original position after the teacher had finished up his demonstration. You were facing him as soon as he got there, and he shoved away the tingles in his belly to cock his head in confusion.

"Well?" you spoke, open palms coming up to urge him into action, but he didn't know what for. He whipped his head around and scoured the room to see the other pairs re-enacting their own version of the choking procedure.

"You want me to...?" he trailed off, hands fumbling in the air awkwardly as he tried to pull the words seemingly from thin air. You hid your smile with the back if your hand, not wanting to embarrass him further by laughing in his cute little face. How someone so big and masculine looking could be so shy and sweet, you'd never know.

"Yeah. Literally just the same as what he did to you." You helped the struggling man with a reassuring nod, not missing the way he was still hesitant to make any kind of movement.

Jungkook wanted to kick himself. "Sorry, I don't think I remember exactly," he sighed out, waiting for you to roll your eyes and click your tongue in annoyance. Instead, you threw him right off guard by reaching out and gently turning him around on the spot by his broad shoulder.

"It's okay, I watched what he did."

Fuck, what?

The hairs on Jungkook's neck stood on end when he heard your footsteps drawing closer behind him against the linoleum flooring of the room, but when he tried to crane his neck around to see what you were doing, you simply chuckled and straightened his jaw forward with a firm dainty hand. His breath hitched when your fingers then lingered ... eventually trailing down to lightly press against the column of his throat.

"What are you doing?" He jerked away, heart thumping against his ribcage so hard he thought he'd faint right there. Your brows only furrowed together in shock.

"Checking your throat to see where the blockage is? It was literally the first step."

You saw the way his eyes fell almost instantly, the internal berating quite evidently written on his features. "Sorry, it's my fault for not paying attention before," he mumbled and bowed his head in apology.

"It's okay. Just turn around," you snorted, thoroughly entertained. He was seriously too adorable to match the way he looked, but you supposed judging books by their covers was an outdated practice in this day and age.

Following the steps, you performed the back blow after pressing down on his shoulders to lean him forwards slightly. His muscles felt so taught underneath your hand, and you really had to battle the urge to just forget the exercise and run your hands down the expanse of his clothed back. Something told you he wouldn't protest, either.

Jungkook didn't know how to feel. His wide doe eyes fixed themselves on your hand that was splayed out on his chest, only serving to steady yourself, and he couldn't help but let his mind wander. When the heel of your other hand came down in between his shoulder blades, he physically lurched. Not because of the force, there was no way you could match him in strength, but it shocked him enough in its suddenness that a tiny grunt fell from his lips.

"Excellent form, (Y/n)!" Mr. Lee spoke up from the other side of the room. Jungkook came back to his senses and straightened his position, briefly catching your beaming smile from the teacher's praise. He just hoped to dear God you hadn't heard his pitiful whimper at your touch.

At least I have a name now.

"Okay, are you doing the Heimlich or am I?" You then turned to him, and he swallowed thickly yet again. This one he did remember a little more vividly, but envisioning standing behind you and pressing his fist into your stomach made his hands tremble slightly. He couldn't do that! What if he hurt you?

"Um, you can." He cleared his throat and gestured to you in a manner he hoped came across as confident. You saw right through him anyway, but the man was still cute, so you let it slide. As much as you longed to tease him, you were still basically nothing more than a stranger right now. Even you knew when some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Your lips curved in amusement and you motioned for him to turn around. "Okay then, I'll try not to make it too painful."

"Don't worry, I can handle-" Jungkook's sudden show of cockiness vanished as soon as your arms wrapped around his small waist. Were you ... pressing yourself to his back? He couldn't remember the teacher going that far, but here you were with a friendly smile and mischievous eyes, shaping your body to his in a way that had his breathing pattern suddenly sharp and shallow.

"Bend over a little," you directed, trying not to laugh at how you could see the tips of his ears burning a bright crimson underneath the black tresses of hair brushing just above them.

Jungkook almost shuddered at the sensation, but fought the urge in order to comply with what you were asking. It wasn't long before you were surprising him yet again by bringing your hands together into the Heimlich fist and flat palm formation, arms comfortably settled around him and fingers brushing just above his navel as you prepared to squeeze.

Amidst his inner panic, you were enjoying this immensely. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to be able to plaster yourself to someone so attractive, and so downright eager to please. You knew it was meant to be strictly professional for educational purposes and such, but the way this guy was responding to you was undeniably exciting. You'd tiptoed the line that shouldn't be crossed carefully, and he only seemed to be liking it more and more.

Considering the way his palms were sweating profusely at the close contact, he knew he was a goner.

With a quick word of warning, you performed the abdominal thrust as gently as you could while still making sure it was firm enough to lift him slightly off his feet. The sudden show of strength stunned him, but he wasn't about to let it show. He'd already made a fool of himself one too many times today as it stood.

"Easy enough." You chuckled, letting the man go quickly so he could regain control of his senses somewhat. He leaned away, but to your surprise didn't move to exit your personal bubble. In all honesty, he had no desire to part from you at all.

You inwardly cursed at yourself for flushing at the thought and raised your hands in invitation. "Did you want to try on me?"

"Ah, no it's alright. I think I have it all now." He flashed a small smile, tapping one index finger to his temple in emphasis. His reluctance confused you, but judging from his largely bashful demeanour, he most likely never planned to make any moves to touch you in the first place. It was forward of you to take the lead, but you'd be lying if you said it wasn't in your nature.

There's always next time anyway...

"That's a wrap for this week's class!" Lee's bellowing voice snapped you both out of your thoughts, and you had to blink away the embarrassment from all the shameless staring.

"Hey what's your name by the way, I don't think I caught it before." You tried to save grace with a polite, yet awkward handshake. Jungkook only felt his heart grow warmer at the thoughtful gesture.

"It's Jungkook. Sorry I should've said sooner, before you had to punch the shit out of my back."

That tore a laugh from you, and soon enough all the tension in the air had melted away. "It wasn't that hard, c'mon."

His smile, which you now adored after catching a glimpse of his bunny-like teeth, had quickly become one of your favourite things to look at. "I swear you were this close to beating me up," he joked, feeling more alive than ever.

Jungkook collected his bag from beside the door and filed out into the administration area alongside everyone else. He took a moment to eye the receptionist from earlier, wondering what might have happened if she'd told him he was unable to attend the class after all. Watching you walk away from him with a tiny wave of farewell had him resolutely believing it was fate that brought him here.

He just couldn't wait for next week.

#jungkook x reader #btsghostie #thehouseofbangtan #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook crack #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #s2l au #jungkook one shot #sub jungkook #shy jungkook #requests #salade-tb

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