#it makes me want to rip up all the tiles in my house and roll around in the grout | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellssbellss · 1 year

Note

I may or may not have been awake for about 48 house, so I wanted to ask a request before I fall asleep.

The hosts when their SO was up for 2 days straight doing work and starts to slip when get to the host club and acting a little bit too much like the Kyoya.

been thinking about this more than my actual story lately, and i have terrible writer's block, so hopefully this will help! {thank you, anon for the idea!}

The Host Club and their Sleepy, Cranky S.O. {Ohshc X Gender Neutral!Reader}

.oOo.

"mon amour? you need to wake up, darling." tamaki's voice whispers gently in your ear.

the darkness that had surrounded you minutes ago suddenly vanishes as you open your eyes, your head swiftly lifting off of the hard surface that you had rested your eyes upon just a few minutes ago.

it had been just a few minutes, right?

coming out of your tired daze, you feel a warm hand under your chin, and your eyes are turned to meet the concerned, violet gaze of your boyfriend. he is positioned above you, one soft hand resting the club's table in front of you and the other on your face, trailing gently from the point of your chin to the roundness of your cheekbones as his thumb runs gently over the skin there.

"my love, do you know what time it is?" his voice was like butter as dips his head a little deeper, worry creasing his perfect face as he watches you lean into his touch almost automatically.

"mmph..." through his stress about your exhausted state, he giggles slightly as you sigh and shrug, your eyelids dropping more with each second. "i don't know, love."

"it's nine, (y/n)."

"what?" any haze that had chained your brain was broken as you shot out of his gentle hold.

straightening your back, you peer towards the large windows that created a barrier between the club room and the outside world, seeing an endless night erasing any of the natural light you had experienced when you walked in here after class.

"it's nine o'clock?" panicked, the chair screeches across pristine tile as you grab at the things scattered across the table. laptop, charging cords, notebooks and pencils all make their way into your grasp as you hurriedly shove them into your bag. "why didn't you wake me up sooner?"

tamaki had watched the stress bunch up in your shoulders the minute you broke away from his grasp. he watches it wind into your muscles and face as you close up your pack and swing it around one arm, hastily pushing the chair in.

"you look like you needed your rest." he says softly, taken aback by your harsh tone. "i talked to my father to let us stay here a little while longer, since i know you have been working really hard on that project you have, and i thought-"

"exactly!" without raising your voice, he feels the sharp frustration rolling off the tip of your tongue, and it pierces something tender as you whip around to face him. "i have been working so hard not to get behind on my schedule, and now that's all out window. why didn't you wake me up like I asked?"

yellow eyebrows raise as you bite back at him, and he is getting whiplash from the sudden venom in your voice. "i tried, (y/n), but you didn't wake up!" his hands move in an pleading gesture. "you shoved my hand off when i tried to shake you and faced the other way when i kissed your cheek. the end of the world couldn't wake you."

your lips purse as your eyes squint and roll, and you stomp towards the door. stuttering, your golden retriever boyfriend follows behind as you nearly rip the door off it's hinges in your haste.

his words are rushed as he rushes to follow you out of the club room as you make your way down the long, empty staircase. "truly, you're not as behind as you might think, angel, not with all the work you've been doing?"

"you would think, huh?" another frustrated sigh escapes you, but it's more tuned towards yourself than anything. you push through the grand entrance of the school.

tamaki chases you out into the moonlight. his tall form stops in the doorframe though, when he sees the way the pale light drapes over your figure.

your usual bright stance sags in the night, and the hand he loves to hold rakes harshly through your perfect locks before it disappears to run down your face.

"(y/n), mon amour, what's wrong?" you hear his dress shoes click against the pavement. long arms wrap around your waist from behind, and a soft cheek nuzzles against the side of your face. tamaki tightens his hold, encouraging you to melt into his form. "talk to me."

after nothing more than a second, you do, because how could you not?

your head falls back as your spine molds into the bends and divots of tamaki's long torso, and a deep, shuddering sigh ripples out of you.

"i'm sorry, my love." tamaki feels your apology vibrate against his chest. "i just-, i've been extra stressed lately."

"about your project?"

"yes."

"why, angel?"

your neck twists, and you meet your prince's gaze in the complexity of his embrace, and tamaki sees the deep circles under your eyes. he notes how they had darkened since the last time he noticed them.

"i just have a lot riding on my grade for this course. my mother is counting on me for the future of her company, and if this project doesn't go well, then..."

"stop it." the comforting hug he had wrapped you in briefly vanishes as his touch pulls against your uniform. his fingers travel up your waist and forearms, gently grasping your shoulders as he spins you around to face him. "stop thinking like that."

when you're looking at him, his hands run up the rest of your body to your face, holding your jawline in his touch. "you've been working and worrying for two days, mon amour. you haven't been taking care of yourself, and there is nothing more important than your wellbeing."

his tone is different from his gallivanting, and incredibly endearing, dramatics. it's gracefully intense, like when he helped a struggling doctor find his way to his estranged daughter. the way he looks at you is also fierce, love and determination swimming in his purple irises.

"tamaki..."

"why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

"i haven't had the time!" your voice tries weakly to defend yourself, but tamaki raises another eyebrow, clearly not convinced. "there isn't enough time in the day for me to work as hard as i have been and get a full night's rest."

"then why haven't you come to me about it?"

"i...i don't know." defeated, there is a drop in your gaze as you give up trying to defend yourself. "i thought i could do it on my own."

"you don't have to do anything on your own. not when you're with me." tamaki bends slightly to get into your line of sight. "you know you can talk to me, (y/n); that i'm here to give you anything and everything you need."

your (e/c) eyes whip back up to him. "i know that, love, but i-"

"no buts. you come to me if you need me. that's how it has always been for us."

the moonlight reflects off the small amount of wetness in your eyes, and tamaki's serious expression crumples. all of your stress and exhaustion breathes out of your body at his words. he smiles softly as you bury your face in his chest, placing his hand on your hair and another at your back, kissing the side of your head.

"i need you." your voice sings through the night, into the air as it's carried into the rose garden, red petals fully in bloom.

.oOo.

kyoya has seen this look before.

the tension of your lips as they writhe over your teeth. the slam of your footsteps as you make your way over to your usual seat across from him. especially the small smile you give to whomever greets you.

the smile that doesn't reach your eyes. the smile that falls immediately after you give some random excuse to dismiss yourself from the conversation, and you let it fall because you think no one is looking.

but kyoya was watching.

"good morning, (y/n)." he greets over his laptop as you click open your own, and you meet his gaze briefly before turning your attention back to your computer, giving him the same dismissive smile.

being that he was your boyfriend, that hurt a little.

"good morning, kyo."

he lets his eyes linger on the bored, dull look that you attach to your screen, accompanied by your sluggish movements and purple smudges under your eyes. a dark eyebrow quirks from behind his glasses as your chest rises with a sigh, and your face crinkles despairingly at whatever you are working on.

"what are you doing?"

your lashes flick up to him once more before returning back to your task at hand. "i'm working on the budget."

he blinks a little at your reply. "still?"

the tension from your mouth seeps into your form at his question, and you shift in your seat. "yes, love, thank you so much for pointing that out."

lips parting slightly at the sarcasm in your voice, the club's director raises his fingers off of his keyboard, favoring to clasp them under his chin instead as a more calculating gaze sweeps the figure of his beloved.

he catches an eyebrow twitch, a flare of your nostrils, the way your head bobs slightly before you shake it, as if that could erase the pure exhaustion radiating from you.

yes, kyoya has seen this look before.

in the mirror.

"how much sleep did you get last night, my dear?"

this time, you don't even look at him when you answer. you just shrug at him, too focused on your typing to really concentrate on a reply. "i don't know. maybe an hour or so-."

a sharp flare of concern rises in his chest before you spin your computer on it's base, shoving the screen in his direction with a wary look in your eye. "does this look right to you? i feel like something's missing."

his hands are still at his mouth when he glances at the spreadsheet you two created together, the perfect, color coded numbers arranged into straight columns.

but his brow furrows even more the longer he looks at it. lowering his hands to the device, kyoya pulls it closer to him as he scrolls through, skimming the text for any sign of error or miscalculation.

he finds none.

"(y/n), this is perfect." his pupils dart across the page behind his frames. "i have no idea what you're stressing over."

the laptop is pulled away from him once more as you run a hand through your hair. "no, no." you hit the backspace button on your keyboard, tired eyes squinting over the excel sheet. "something isn't right."

your aggressive typing fills the air once more, a little more frenzied and anxious than a minute before.

kyoya leans back in his chair, still observing. "(y/n), have you been working out this budget since the time i sent it to you?"

"of course."

"that was two days ago."

"i know."

he stands, pushing out his chair, but you don't notice. "have you slept at all?"

"not really. i've been going through the math, the incoming inventory. sure, it looks perfect now, and we are within this month's spending range, but i know there's a way to save more money. if i could just-"

"that," the lid of your computer is suddenly pushed down, closing the screen in front of you. a pale hand with pianist-like fingers attached to it splays across your protective case. "is more than enough, then."

"kyoya!" you sit in front of him, shock emanating from your face as his name is gasped from your lips. "what the hell?"

kyoya leans in front of you, one hand bracing your laptop closed while the other slips into the pocket of his trousers. his raven hair falls into his eyes a little bit, but the gray color is still piercing and raw.

"my dear," he pulls away slightly, adding pressure onto your computer so that it drags to his side of the table. "you need to take a break."

"a break?" you rise as well, trying to keep a cool demeanor. but your director could tell that your patience was thinning. "i'm on the brink of figuring this out, and you want me to take a break?"

"you already have figured it out, (y/n). i looked it over. you found the solution."

"but it could be better."

quickly, kyoya rounds the table, walking into your space to grab one of your hands.

he places both of his palms around one of your own, trying to get through to you through his touch instead of his words, even if the connection was small.

"how much sleep have you had in the past forty-eight hours?"

abandoned by the distraction your work gave you, you now face your boyfriend head on as he studies your movements.

since the moment you met him, kyoya has always watched you intently. as a man who didn't involve himself with anything that he didn't care greatly for, the process of dating him has and will always include him taking the time to observe and study you; to commit your mannerisms to memory. gray irises will forever notice how you bounce your leg underneath your desk when you have something to say but won't say it out right. or how you take your (f/h/d) in the morning, and the exact brand that you use.

or how your face lights up when he comes into view from down the hallway, and you excuse yourself to meet him halfway.

or how you always seem to kiss him with soothing, deep movements, which always encourages him to respond in kind.

but, very rarely is that intent stare coupled with concern.

yet, here it was, bathing his beloved gaze as he waits for your reply, leaving you with an aching heart. you think back to they way you've been acting, cranky and stand-offish, and a pang of regret sparks in your stomach.

your hand adjusts slightly in his as you hold onto his grasp, albeit a little nervously.

"you want the truth?" your beautiful eyes break his gaze as you stubbornly shift in place.

"always."

"not very much. maybe three hours." he swallows as that sharp flare of concern burns into an engulfing flame in his torso. "in total."

A disappointed frown etches onto his handsome features, but it's not angry. it's sad.

sad that he didn't see your exhaustion before, not in it's totality. he saw your frequent yawns and the way you tended to drift off mid-conversation, but he was busy with work as well, and couldn't connect the dots until now.

"(y/n)-"

"i know, i know. it's not the best." you take a deep breath and look at him with more confidence, ready to admit to your actions. "the perfectionist in me kind of let loose. i'm sorry, i just wanted it to be the best that it could be. for the club, ya know? for you."

tugging on your clasped hands, a deep hum resonates from the ootori son as he draws you closer. soon, your hands naturally loop around his neck while he settles his hold at your waist.

his forehead rests on yours as he sighs deeply, and you close your eyes as his low voice reaches your ears. "i think the best thing for me and the club is for you to get some rest."

he smirks a little as he feels you giggle tiredly against him. "yeah, i think you're right."

kyoya chuckles softly as he raises his forehead off of yours to place a kiss in the same spot. "i'm always right, my dear."

.oOo.

"hikaru! stop it!"

arms caged yours as you writhed against his chest. your legs were wild as they kicked up into the air, barely missing your boyfriend as he picked you up from where you had sat on your desk.

"put me down right now! what are you even doing?"

he grunts a little as your swinging legs hit his calves before throwing you down on your bed. unceremoniously, the bed frame creaks with your weight as you land face first into your duvet.

a loud huff escapes you as you turn around from your position, seeing hikaru standing at the foot of your bed with his arms crossed, a victorious smile plastered onto his sharp mouth.

"well, i asked you to take a break from your studying. and you said 'make me.'" his fingers come to either side of his head to create quotation marks. "so i made ya."

"i didn't mean literally, jackass." you grumble as you shift. your palms push your body up off the bed and spin you so that you are seated properly on your comforter. scooting roughly to the edge of your mattress, you barely stand up before your pushed onto the bed again.

"hikaru!"

"nope. not gonna happen."

"i need to study!"

"that's what you've been saying for the past two days!" his rough voice sounds exasperated as he gestures wildly to you. "in the clubroom, in the cafeteria, on our facetime calls. shit, (y/n), i don't think there has been a single second where i haven't seen that textbook open in front of you."

he points to the hefty calculus book open on your desk, three quarters of the pages turned to one side.

"that's what studying is!" you move to get up again with another frustrated sigh. "my test is tomorrow, my love, i can't afford any breaks right now."

this time, instead of simply pushing your back onto the bed, hikaru pins you down. in a flash, golden eyes fill your vision as his fingers clamp around your wrist. when you fall back, his weight takes you down as he flops heavily on your chest.

"you're not going anywhere, baby. not until you tell me what's going on."

"nothing is going on." you huff, blowing a few of his ginger strands out of his face. "now get off me."

"i don't believe you." ever the stubborn twin, hikaru makes a point to wiggle his body on top of yours to amplify the fact that you have no hope of pushing him off. "and i'm not moving until i believe you."

"what?" you bite back.

a more serious tone laces his voice as he scans you. "today, during club hours, you looked like a zombie."

you shoot him a blank look. "thanks."

"a gorgeous zombie, but still."

"not helping."

a crease forms between his eyebrows at your usually soft, bright tone crackling into dry one. "you were dragging your feet, and talking to yourself more than usual. it was creepy."

you rolled your eyes, and hikaru watches as the bags under your eyes moved with the motion, his jaw setting into a firm line.

"so i'm not getting off of you until you tell me what's been up your ass lately."

offended, you gasp and writhe once more, trying to break free of the surprisingly strong grasp the hitachiin twin has on your wrists. "i don't have time for this!"

he chuckles a little at your flustered expression and sinks more of his weight onto your figure. "well, if you're not going to take a break, than i will. i think i'll take a little nap on this comfortable bed."

realizing he doesn't need to pin your arms down anymore with all of his weight on you, he lets go and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his arms and legs sprawling out over your uniform.

"don't you dare, hikaru!" you say as you try to bring your arms underneath him to push him off, but he's just a block of dead weight.

his breath hits your ear, and you can feel the mischievous smile on his lips. "oh, wow, this is a bumpy mattress." wriggling, he adjusts so that he locks perfectly into your body, and a deep sigh emits from his lungs. "that's better."

another weak push strains your muscles before you give up completely. flopping back onto the mattress, you let out a frustrated groan.

"hikaru, please."

"oh, the mattress speaks?"

"my love."

laughing, he presses a kiss onto the column of your throat. "what's up, baby?"

like a weighted blanket, hikaru's body flush against yours has calmed your heart rate slightly, and all the exhaustion and stress that you have been feeling suddenly comes to a head.

your arms lift from your sides to wrap around his toned back, and you turn your face into the divot connecting his shoulder and his collarbone, inhaling the comforting scent of his cologne and laundry detergent.

"i've been awake for the past forty-eight hours."

his chest rumbles with a sympathetic hum. "i know."

"i'm tired."

his head pops up from the embrace, and sincerity shines in the liquid gold of his irises. "let's take a nap, and then we can figure something out afterwards, yeah?"

you can already feel your eyelids dragging over your pupils. "yeah, that sounds nice."

as you succumb to your fatigue, you barely register the way hikaru rolls off of you. his warmth returns when you feel an arm wedge itself under your waist and pull you to him so that you can lay on his chest with ease. the other wraps around your shoulders, and you feel his breath tickling the top of your head as he settles in beside you.

"thanks for telling me, baby."

.oOo.

"so, i think because i found the magnitude of this vector, than i should be able to find the acceleration, right?" kaoru asks, back hunched over his desk, spinning a pencil in his left hand as he concentrates on the paperwork in front of him.

when he doesn't get a response, he stops fidgeting and looks over to you: his incredibly intelligent, and usually helpful, partner.

you're sat next to him, slaving away at your laptop while he watches the blue light practically burn your retinas.

well, sat is a strong word.

you slouched, your neck barely able to keep your head on your shoulders as you worked at his desk, fingers robotically clicking at your mouse and dragging images to their predetermined place, your graphic design coming to fruition with each release of a button.

"(y/n)?"

at the sound of your name, your spine flinches slightly as it straightens. you whip your head towards him with such a quick motion, that he winces at the twist of the muscle, hoping you didn't get whiplash.

his hopes are dashed when you immediately face the front, bringing one of your hands up to massage the nape of your neck.

"are you okay?"

"i'm fine," you breathe, exhaustion sprinkled in your sigh. "what did you need?"

cautiously, kaoru slides his paper over to you while you shift closer to him, pulling your chair over until your legs touch underneath his desk.

"i don't know if i got this problem right."

through a yawn, your eyes scan his homework, everything coming together in a blurry font due to your lack of sleep. you can barely make out his handwriting on your best day, so the fact that you hardly think straight doesn't really help.

but you couldn't let kaoru know that.

"it looks good, babe."

he quirks a ginger eyebrow, glancing between the paper and then back up to where you sat.

"yeah?" he asks, studying you carefully.

"for sure."

"okay, well then," your boyfriend flips the paper over, where another disarray of words meet you. he scribbles something out before circling an answer choice from his options, then looks back at you. "that must be right, too, yeah?"

you nod, blinking slowly. "mhmm." you turn to look at him, a small smile on your lips. "you're so smart, love."

his lips curve up into a half-smirk as he tilts his head, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes. golden irises squint as he glances over your face once more. "it's a smiley face."

your smile fades. "huh?"

the sneaky twin gestures towards the paper again, and after rubbing your palms over your eye-sockets, a happy face penciled in lead comes into accusing focus.

"i drew a smiley face, and you said i was smart." kaoru summarizes, a deadpan tone only being interrupted slightly as he laughs through his sentence. "what is going on with you?"

a frustrated whine ripples past your throat as you rest your head in your hands. your voice breaks into a quiet groan, and while your volume doesn't rise, your disappointment does. "god, this essay is making me lose my mind! i can't even think clearly, let alone write three more pages of this shit."

"hey, woah." kaoru rests his hand against your spine and rubs it, moving his hand back and forth in calming motions. "talk to me."

another deep sigh rushed out of you as you talk behind your hands, and your poor boyfriend can't hear a single thing.

the hand on your back glides to the side of your face, bringing your chin up and out of your grasp. he locks his gaze with yours as he leans back in his chair. "try again, babe."

"this essay makes me want to jump off a cliff."

"and you were gonna do that without me? i thought we had an agreement."

"shut up." despite yourself, you laugh.

the fingers on your chin shift to your scalp while he laughs with you, pushing only a few of the stray hairs away from your face. "have you slept?"

"not well."

kaoru notes a redness in your eyes he didn't see before. "not well, or not at all?"

you roll your eyes a little, but he knows it's not directed at him. you're disappointed in yourself. "a mix of both." hastily you look back at him, widening your eyelids a little at a poor attempt to look more awake.

"but it's no big deal!" your voice is a little too bright. "i can catch up on sleep once i submit this paper."

the gingered twin squints his eyes, but to your surprise, he shrugs, spinning in his office chair as he refocuses on his work. "yeah, i guess you're right. i get it."

your mouth was slightly agape at the fact that that actually worked. "you get it?"

"yeah. sometimes, people just can't sleep enough with everything going, ya know? i only got two hours of sleep last night, so i understand what you're going through."

there's a pause. kaoru fights a smirk as he scratches an equation into the top right of his paper.

"what?" a concerned voice reaches his ears, and he almost feels bad for lying. "only two hours?"

"mhmm." he hums, not even giving you a second glance.

"kaoru," the sweetest whine escapes your lips as he feels a hand on his shoulder. he steels his expression into one of confused nonchalance as he faces you again, only to be met with the spot you get between your crinkled eyebrow when you're worried. "why didn't you tell me?"

"what do you mean? it's not a big deal."

"yes it is!" your other hand reaches his opposite shoulder, and he turns to face you fully, reveling in your touch as you move to cradle his face. "sleep is important, babe, you can't just-"

his grin widens as a flash of realization flutters across your face. The worry in your features melts into a blank expression, and he laughs as you push his face away from yours, muttering a "jackass" under your breath.

the sneaky twin closes the distance though, pulling your chair ever closer to his to where nothing was standing in his way to pull you to his lap. you resist slightly, pouting as your sat into the space between his legs, but a natural, familiar gravity pulls you towards him anyway, and your face rests gently in the crook of his neck.

"rest for a couple minutes, okay? your paper will be here when you wake up."

a contended sigh seeps out of you as your exhaustion bubbles up to the surface. your eyelids begin to drop when you speak into his neck. "and what about you?"

kaoru's arms come to wrap around your folded form, burying you closer into his chest. "i'll always be here."

.oOo.

mori had gotten used to your talkative nature. being a man of little words, you complimented him well with your bright, energetic commentary about anything that excited you.

he supposed that he hadn't just gotten used to your bubbly personality shining through your lovely voice, he had come to love it; to rely on it.

so, when you entered your usual sparring session with your heels dragging on the wooden floor of the dojo, not only did the air feel off, he felt off.

your white gi hung off your rounded shoulders, the karate belt around your waist haphazardly tied in a knot at the front. and while you still looked as stunning as ever, mori could feel the confusion and worry well up in his chest.

he stood up from stretching out his hamstrings, his long body gracefully walking over to you to greet you with his usual hug. your smile was tired, and when you wrapped your arms around his thin waist, he felt you snuggle more into his hold and release a breath.

still gripping his waist, you looked up at him, your grin still exhausted but content when you propped your chin on his chest to meet his eyes.

"hey." you said, and your voice was airy and cracked.

"hi."

"how was your day?"

"good." his palms tightened on your back. "yours?"

you could barely keep your eyes open as you shrugged. "meh. it was interesting."

"yeah?"

"yeah." still, even in your tired state, you inched your face closer to his, a dazed look in your eye. "but we can talk about it later."

a disbelieving, good-natured scoff left him as a sharp exhale, your boyfriend knowing full-well that would not want to talk about it later. but he met you halfway, and your lips met in a lazy, soft kiss as he lowered his head to yours.

you had nearly put all of your weight onto him at this point, and as you sunk into his grip, he arched his back to counteract the force. his hands glided from your waist to your cheeks as he tilted his head, smirking slightly at the warm hum that left your throat.

pulling away, he kept his forehead on yours as he held you. a breathy left glazed over his face when you separated from him, and he opened his eyes to see a light curve on your plump lips.

"thanks, takashi. i needed that."

that brought all of his worries rushing back.

"(y/n)..." and you opened your eyes at the way he said your name. since mori wasn't the most vocal man you've been with, you learned to pick up on his tonal cues.

your name could be spoken in many ways. a gentle breeze as he tells you that he loves you, a deep inhale as you, yet again, prove your the clumsiest human alive, or maybe a groan in the late, late hours of the night.

this one was a mild warning, forming at the front of his mouth as he stares at you, deep brown eyes boring into yours with earnest.

"what?" you didn't want him to ask. but, he was kind and loving and really fucking stubborn. so, of course he was.

"what's wrong?"

a whine bubbled to the surface of your soft pallet as you dropped your face into the crook of his neck, even if you had to stand on your tip-toes to do so. abandoning your hold on his waist, you preferred to bring your arms up and around his shoulders, locking them around the back of his neck.

"i don't want to talk about it."

"what happened?"

"nothing, really. i promise."

"doesn't feel like nothing. here," gently, you felt a pressure on your hips as mori pushes you out of his hold, instead moving to grab your hand as he leads you to a traditionally decorated wall of the dojo.

letting go, the stoic leans his back against the wall before sliding down, tucking his lanky form into a sitting position before inviting you to do the same. "sit with me."

and he looked so sweet, his gaze hardened on the surface but filled with emotion and weight within it's depths. so how could you say no?

plus, he really wouldn't stop until you told him.

taking a spot next to him, you let your head roll onto the back of the wall before resting it on his shoulder. and the spot was so comfortable, so familiar, you wanted to fall asleep right there.

mori was stubborn, yes, but he was also patient. he waited like a boulder against the tide as you gathered your thoughts, loyal and permanent and determined to help you through whatever was plaguing you.

in your thoughtful silence, he imagined the stress you had been baring when you were assigned that presentation in class. even if you were energetic and outspoken, he knew public speaking terrified you. the pure panic that had erupted in your irises when you told him about the ten-minute powerpoint you had to put together in three days told him everything he needed to know about how your weekend was going to go.

that was two days ago, and he had suggested this impromptu sparring match to give you a little bit of a break. physical activity always cleared his head when he was stretched, and he figured if he could remind you how strong you were, then you could convince yourself that this would be a piece of cake.

but the bags under your eyes and the unanswered calls from him on your cell-phone made him think that this had been harder on you than he had originally expected.

a small snore broke him out of his thoughts, and he looked down at the source.

your eyes were peacefully closed, and your lips were parted as deep, calm breaths washed in and out of your chest. he relaxed slightly into the wall, and smiled as you cuddled closer to him in his small movement.

kissing the top of your head, he rested his cheekbone upon your hair as he rested his eyes as well.

you two would talk later. it wasn't physical activity you needed, or even a helping hand if you had let him.

all you needed, really, was a little bit of rest.

.oOo.

"(n/n)-chan! (n/n)-chan!"

honey bounced up to your desk as you typed away, usa-chan banging against the side of his calves as he stopped at the end of your chair. "wanna play with me, (n/n)-chan?"

you barely spared him a glance, but your eyes met his with a quick shake of your head as you returned your urgent glance to your laptop. "not right now, honey. sorry."

the blonde's bouncing stopped, a little to awe-struck at your rejection to feel sad about it. he was more confused than anything. you never said no to him.

a deep, apparent wrinkle appeared between his brows as the boy-lolita tugged on your sleeve, causing your fingers to slip off the keyboard slightly as you typed. "please?"

"what the-?" your hand having slipped, it gently brushes the cup of tea near your working space, and you gasp before rolling your eyes. "no, honey. i told you, i can't. go play with usa-chan, okay?" you quickly pulled your sleeve out of his grasp and got back to your work, leaving him deflated at your side.

this time he was pouting, and the wrinkle on his forehead turned from confused to determined as he walked around to the opposite side of the table to crawl into the chair across from you.

"what are you workin' on?"

this time your eyes flicked up to him for a longer moment. you wondered why he couldn't leave you alone, but you guessed it was better that he was sitting over there rather than pulling at your uniform and keeping you from your work. "the club's website."

he gasped as he swung his legs on the chair, too short to reach the ground from this height. "ooh, are you making it pretty?"

a sigh came from deep within you as your eyes squinted, zooming in on something on the other side of your screen. "you could say that."

"what are you doing to it?"

you shrugged, still focused on your work. "formatting, graphic designing, boring tech stuff."

"cool!" honey excitedly places his palms on the table, seeing if he sat up straighter, he could get a better view. "how do you know how to do all that?"

you suspiciously scanned him over as he edged closer, pulling your computer forward on the table. "lots of practice."

a high-pitched hum exudes from the third-year as he tilts his head, almost fully on the table now, but something has caught your eye, and your back to your furious typing, not noticing how close he's gotten.

his voice sounds distant in your focus. "couldn't you take a break? for cake? a cake break?" he giggles, but his smile falters when you don't hear his joke.

"haven't taken a break in two days, honey. not gonna start now." your voice is low and inattentive, trailing off as you scroll through the columns and columns of pictures and texts.

still crawling towards you, his brown eyes widen slightly. "two days?" he gasps, and begins to count on his fingers. "that's uhhh..." honey counts his fingers under his breath for a moment before he brightens with an answer. "forty eight hours worth of work! did you even sleep?"

"nope. no sleep. kyoya needs this done by tonight."

"what?!" at that, honey stands to his full height, his small but strudy weight easily supported by the desk underneath him. you jerk back as he points a finger in your face, his voice still young but firm as he speaks down to you. "you need to take a nap right now!"

"honey!" the blonde has your full attention now. "get down!"

"nope!" his pink lips pop the 'p' noise as he shakes his head defiantly. "not until you agree to sleep! kyo-chan can wait."

your hands come up in an exasperated motion and you stand up, pushing your chair out from under you. "honey, this table is not stable. you're gonna fall if you don't get down!"

"will you take a break?"

"i can't!"

"well, then i'm not coming down." folding his arms across his chest, he puffs it out, a proud look on his face.

his confident aura melts, however, when the table shifts with his dramatic movement.

you suck in a breath as honey throws his arms out to balance himself, barely keeping the table at bay as he wiggles side to side.

"okay! okay, i'll take a ten-minute nap! just, please sweetheart, get down from there."

even in the midst of chaos of his own making, honey still finds the. motivation to negotiate. "twenty minutes!"

"fine!" you round the table and extend your arms, and he leaps into them as you pick him up. your heart rate slows as you hold him while the table falls with the loss of his added weight, your tea and computer skidding to opposite sides of the tile.

blankly, you look at honey as he winces at the impact, and then at the dark aura that slowly begins to crowd around your frame.

"i can pay for that." he promises.

.oOo.

your knee bounces under your desk as you watch haruhi's eyes flick over your screen, the words you spent two days writing reflecting back in her dark brown eyes as she reads your work.

your hands are clasped in front of your lips, keeping you from saying anything like 'i changed my mind!' or 'okay, you can stop now', because you're pretty sure haruhi would ignore you anyway.

she had insisted on reading your short story. it was something you did in your free time, and it was something she knew you took pride in.

sometimes, if you felt courageous enough, you would submit them into newspapers, or maybe magazines and blogs if you were really going all out, this past weekend being one of those times. day in and day out, you sat at your writing desk, typing away for what felt like mere seconds as the story in your mind began to unfold onto the pages in front of you. barely any food and close to no sleep rendered a masterpiece of literature, or at least that was what haruhi had assured you she would call it if you let her proof-read it.

your natural host promised that it would take her only a few minutes to read the whole thing, and then you could be on your way to submit it to the magazine's editor. plus, it was the least you could do since you basically ignored her calls and used up all of your study-date time to edit and revise your concluding paragraph.

but finally, finally, after many torturous seconds, your girlfriend leans back. her hands wrap around the edge of your macbook to only shut the laptop halfway and push it aside, turning her full attention back to you.

very briefly, you pulls your hands away from your mouth to ask the question you've been dreading. "what do you think?"

the gentle look that haruhi always wears stays frozen for a moment, but slowly starts to melt into a soft smile as she meets your nervous gaze. "it's good, love. it's really good."

straightening, your eyes widen as you bite your lip. "really?"

her smile gets brighter as amazement floods your cheekbones. "really."

"oh my god." releasing a breath you didn't know you were holding, you throw yourself into the back of your chair. pulling your palms up and around, they rake over your face before scratching through your hair, a groan morphing into a laugh as relief sputters out of you. you feel like you need to say it again, probably louder for good measure. "oh my god! you really liked it?"

the honor student's deep laugh joins yours as watches you bask in a job well done. "why would i lie about that?"

touching down to earth, you shrug, your hands falling into your lap. "because you love me, and you would do anything to make me happy?"

she snorts, leaning forward as she is drawn into your space. "you're right. i do love you. probably just enough to never lie to you again."

a teasing smile curves your lips as you fake offended disbelief, scooting closer so that your knees slip between her own. "again?"

brunette eyebrows work upwards as haruhi mirrors your smirk, nodding as she gets even closer. "mhmm."

"and what have you lied about, haruhi dear?" her breath is mixing in with yours now, and she keeps her kiss barely out of reach, her lips grazing yours as she responds.

"about letting you leave tonight."

"wha-?" your eyebrows knit as haruhi shoots out of her chair, and before you can protest, she is straddling your hips, one of her legs on either side of you as you blush at her sudden proximity.

"haruhi!" but even if your voice sounds surprised, you hold her closer, your palms coming to rest on her thighs.

"when was the last time you slept?" she asks, suddenly serious as she cups your face in her hands.

"last night." you say, but she squints at your response.

"for how long?"

"enough." you whine, bringing your hands around her waist, encouraging her to be flush against you. "don't worry about it."

"(y/n), you look exhausted. i'm going to be worried about it."

you look at her for a moment before realizing that she isn't going to back down. shoulders slumping, you drop your head onto her shoulder, hugging her close to your body. "two hours. maybe."

a displeased noise expels from her throat, but suddenly you feel slender fingers rubbing your back, toying with the hairs on the back of your neck. "you need to sleep."

making a grunt of blind agreement, you melt into her hold, the excitement and anxiousness you felt about your story being blown away by a gust of drowsiness. the scratches on your scalp weren't helping.

"like right now." she emphasizes, and tries to wiggle out of your hold, but you were stronger. tightening your grip around her slim waist.

her shoulders shake with another endearingly low laugh as she hugs you back. "let's get to the bed, love."

you don't think you've ever slept deeper in your life.

.oOo.

starting to write again, and i used this as a little exersise to get back into it. hopefully it can tide you over! i'll see you soon :)

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

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The Property Brothers are on the radio telling me it's too dangerous to do my own electrical, roofing, or structure. I'm done listening to those boys, these children. I'm going to drive this fucking 1996 Dodge Dakota right through my living room.

Home renovation used to be a thing that was only accomplished by your drunkest uncle, at the absolute peak of his powers. Folks would move into a house and they'd just be fine with things. New wallpaper, new paint, maybe re-do the bathroom when one of the kids leaves the tap on over the weekend. You'd have the occasional eager beaver who would really go nuts and put a shonky extension on the place, but in general houses stayed the way they were.

Then, reality TV started. It turns out one of the things all people want to do – all people – is to knock down a wall and really "open up" a living area. Throw a sledgehammer into that tile you hate in the kitchen. Rip out the bathtub and put in a soaker. Make the neighbours watch as you slowly fill up an orange rental dumpster over the course of two years with the former interior of your home. Slap in some new stuff, and repeat in ten years.

This just happened to coincide with wage deflation, and a massive increase in the popularity of financing your home reno. It's cool, just put it on the charge card. You're worth the $2500 countertops that don't match your appliances. You can throw those in the trash, too. Really rock and roll. Dream home, baby.

Now, I'm not one of those prudes who says to never do things yourself. In fact, I am doing something right now. I am picking some surprisingly sharp chunks of a once-perfectly-good Chesterfield out of the air-conditioning condenser of my Dakota. It is essential, however, that you understand my renovation was started from a place of rage, and not any kind of misplaced urge to "keep up with the Joneses." The Joneses are probably who did this to me in the first place. And now I've got lots more covered parking for motor vehicles.

Probably improve the property value too, come to think of it. I really opened up the space.

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strangerbitxhs · 2 years

Text

Six Little Nuggets (Steve Harrington x Fem Reader)

Parring: Steve Harrington x Fem Reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: fluff, smut, friends to lovers, breeding kink, slight s4 spoilers, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie

A/N: this is kinda long i got really into it SORRY LOL also my asks and requests are open and i'd love to know if anyone has anything in mind for me to write!!!

Steve Harrington had been your bestfriend for as long as you could remember, the two of you practically growing up together. You bonded over shitty parents, the loneliness you both felt, and now, the trauma you both shared.

You had also been in love with Steve for as long as you could remember, not that you would ever tell him that. I mean, how could you not fall for him? He was absolutely beautiful, inside and out. He had the kindest soul, the sweetest personality, and he never failed to make you smile, even in your darkest moments.

It had been another one of those dark moments, they seemed to happen more often than not these days. The two of you had just barely escaped the Upside Down this time, and you could feel it.

You were exhausted as you watched bloody water pool up in the bottom of Steve's shower. The hot water stung the cuts, soothing your aching muscles at the same time.

You sighed as you turned the knob to shut the water off, wrapping your hair in a towel before stepping out onto the cold tile floor. You smiled at the sight of the T-Shirt and shorts Steve had placed on the counter for you, quickly drying yourself off before slipping into his all to big clothes.

His shirt was like a dress on you, but you loved the way that it felt, the way that it smelled. You inhaled the sweet scent, a mix of fresh laundry and Steve's cologne, a scent you could never get enough of.

You smiled softly to your self as you ran your fingers through your damp hair, as you picked up the toothbrush Steve kept for you in his bathroom. It wasn't unusual for you to sleep at his house, it happened more recently with everything that had been happening in Hawkins lately. You didn't want to be alone, not that Steve would let you.

You climbed into his bed, pulling the blanket over yourself as you let your head hit the soft pillow. You felt the emptiness of the bed as you tossed and turned, wishing you could fall into slumber as Steve held you in his arms. Imagined his soft kisses on your forehead as he played with your hair, whispering sweet words into your ear as you snuggled up beside him.

You groaned, eyes rolling as you tried to stop your thoughts from going there with no luck. You longed for Steve, you had for years, yet you could never find the courage to tell him how you felt. As much as you wished he could be yours, you weren't brave enough to make it happen.

You gave up fighting it, letting your thoughts wander. You imagined Steve taking you on dates, the two of you snuggled between his sheets as your favorite movie played in the background. Imagined the two of you becoming a family, marrying him and travelling the world together.

You felt a tear slide down your face at the realization that these were just fantasy, and before you knew it you were fully sobbing. Tears stained the pillow as your body shook, unable to stop it.

A knock at the door snapped you out of your thoughts, you quickly wiped your tears as you ripped the blankets off of you and walked over to open it.

Steve stood before you, eyes bloodshot from the lack of sleep yet looking as beautiful as ever. His messy hair fell perfectly around his face causing your heart to flutter.

"Steve?" You asked softly, looking up at him through wet lashes. The second he noticed your tears, he was guiding you to the bed, sitting next to you and wrapping his arms around you.

"What's wrong?" He asked, concern apparent in his voice. You shrugged your shoulders, unable to meet his gaze as he let you go, the lack of his warmth sending a sinking feeling through your body.

"Just a long night I guess." You were a bad liar, but Steve wouldn't push you. "Can't sleep?" You asked, giving him a small smile.

He chuckled, running a hand through his damp hair. "No, not really. Guess you couldn't either?"

You shook your head with a small chuckle. Like anyone could sleep after what the two of you had been through.

"Are you sure your alright?" He asked sheepishly, he knew you weren't. You nodded in response.

"Yeah, I'll be alright Stevie." He smiled at your nickname for him, you were the only one he would let call him that.

He stood from the bed sending a pang through your heart. "Just wanted to check on you." He sighed, turning towards the door. "You know where I'll be if you need anything."

As he moved towards the door you couldn't stop yourself. "Steve?" You called, barley above a whisper, yet you know he heard you when he turned to face you. "Can you stay?"

A small look of shock crossed Steve's face, quickly turning to a small blush he hoped you wouldn't notice. "Y-yeah, just let me grab some pillows and I can sleep on the floor."

You shook your head, looking up at him with wide eyes. Maybe it was the almost dying today, but you couldn't bear to be without him tonight. "No." You mumbled as you patted the bed. "Can you stay up here?"

Steve gave you a small nod with a smile as he guided you back to his bed, pulling the blankets over the two of you. The two of you lay on your backs in a comfortable silence for what felt like ages, before you felt Steve's hand brush against you.

You jumped a bit at his touch, causing him to hastily pull away while muttering apologies under his breath.

"No, no." You turned to look at him. "I was just surprised, it's okay."

Steve smiled softly as he turned to face you, draping his arm around your hips, tracing small circles into your back sending a feeling of relaxation through your body.

"You know, I've always had this stupid dream." Steve chuckled to himself as you watched him with eager eyes, urging for him to continue. You could listen to Steve talk about his hopes and dreams all night.

"I always had a dream that I had this really big family." He continued, not meeting your gaze. "I'm talking like a full brood of Harrington's, like five, six kids."

"Six kids?" You giggled, his eyes finally meeting your own.

"Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys." He chuckled. "And every summer, I figured all of us Harrington's, we would pack into an RV and just see the country. You know, the Rockies, Grand Canyon, maybe Yellowstone." He smiled as he spoke sending heat to your face. You had imagined a family with Steve more times than you would like to admit.

"End up in some beachside town in California, spend a week parked in the sand." He continued. "Learn how to surf or something."

"I think that sounds really nice Stevie." You whispered, looking up at him.

He smiled down at you tenderly. "Yeah?" He sounded unsure of himself, so you gave him a small nod.

The two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before you spoke. "You'll be a really good dad Steve." He smiled, a beautiful wide smile. "Those kids and your wife will be lucky."

Steve chuckled, bringing his thumb to your face. "I forgot one tiny detail, it's an important one though." You looked at him confused, attempting to ignore the feeling his fingers swiping across your cheek brought.

"You're there too." He spoke softly, barely above a whisper. "You've always been there."

You couldn't hide the shock that spread across your face or the fact that your whole body had froze.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make things wei-" Steve was cut off as you crashed your lips into his, sparks flying through your body as your dreams became reality.

You kissed him soft and slowly, savoring every moment before pulling away. "I've loved you for years Stevie." You smiled, happy tears rolling down your cheeks. "I would love that life with you."

Steve couldn't stop himself from pulling your body into his, pressing his lips to yours once again. His kisses were hungry, as he rolled over to get on top of you.

He trailed kisses down your neck, hands exploring your body like he had never seen it before.

He pulled away from you for a second causing you to let out a small whine. He chuckled, brushing your bangs out of your face. "Are you sure?" He asked, earning a small giggle and a nod before you pulled his body back onto yours.

He sucked the sweet spot behind your ear, pulling a soft moan from the back of your throat, his hips bucking into you at the sound. You could feel him through his shorts, his length grinding into you sending heat through your whole body.

"Steve." You practically begged, out of breath. "Please Steve, I want you."

The look in Steve's eyes at your words was something you had never seen before. Beneath hooded eyes, his usually soft brown eyes had turned dark, consumed with lust.

The two of you undressed each other in no time, ripping pieces of clothing of in between kisses, the feeling of his body unrestrained by clothes making you moan into his mouth.

"Holy shit." Steve trailed off as his eyes wandered your body. "Baby, you are so beautiful."

He pushed you up towards the top of his bed as he positioned his head between your things, trailing sloppy kisses in between your legs before letting his eyes reach your cunt.

He chuckled, devious grin spread across his face as his fingers slid up and down your folds. "So wet for me already sweetheart."

Your brain was a mess of lust, love, and fog and all you could manage to do was moan. "You make such pretty sounds." He whispered against your thighs before slipping a finger inside of you, followed by his tongue reaching down to circle your clit.

You were a mess within seconds, watching Steve buck his hips against the mattress as he licked and sucked all your most sensitive spots. Your moans grew louder as you felt the knot in your stomach grow.

"Fuck Steve." You moaned, bucking your hips into his face. He moaned against your clit, sending vibrations through your body.

"Cum for me baby girl." He moaned into you before bringing his mouth back down to your clit.

Your walls tightened against his finger, turning you into a mess of babbling words and moans under him. The knot snapped as you came, body shaking as he guided you through your orgasm.

You watched as Steve licked your juices off his finger, climbing on top of you and pressing his lips to yours.

You wrapped your fingers around his length, pumping it slowly, thumb grazing over his tip, spreading the precum that had gathered there. Steve gasped into your lips, fucking himself into your hand.

"You're sure?" He asked out of breath as he lined himself up with your entrance, you nodded eyes wide as you squirmed under him. All you wanted was him, and you wanted all of him.

"Words princess." He grunted, hooded eyes watching you as he stroked his cock.

"Please Steve, I need you."

That was all it took for Steve to bottom out inside of you, causing both of you to moan. He let you adjust to his size before he started to slowly thrust into you.

"Fuck baby." He moaned, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. "You feel so good, so tight."

You moaned into his lips as you brought your hands into his hair, tangling through it as he quickened his pace. He felt so good, like he was made just for you.

You pulled on his hair and he couldn't help but moan into your mouth. "Steve, your so fucking good." You were practically screaming at this point, silently grateful his parents were never around. "Please Steve, let me cum."

Steve brought his thumb to your clit, softly circling it while keeping up his pace. He sucked marks into your neck as you withered beneath him.

It didn't take long for you to fall apart around him, screaming his name as you came all over his cock. Your words of praise and moans driving Steve closer and closer to the edge.

"I'm gonna cum baby." Steve panted as his thrusts became sloppier. You brought your legs up, wrapping them around his back, allowing him to thrust deeper into you.

"Cum inside me Steve." You moaned, the look of pure pleasure on his face driving you absolutely crazy. "I wanna make you a daddy."

Your words pushed him over the edge as he thrust deep into you, moaning your name as he shot ropes of cum deep into your cunt. He looked so beautiful, face contorted, mouth hanging open, hair messy and stuck to his face.

He slowed his pace as he came down from his high, refusing to pull out and let even a drop of his cum out of your cunt.

He flopped his weight on top of you, both of you panting as you brought your hands to his back, trailing up and down. "I love you Steve." You whispered, planting a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you too baby." He smiled down at you, eyes full of love and happiness. "You're going to be the best mother."

#steve harrington supremacy #steve stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #stranger things season 4 #stranger things imagine #steve harrington smut #smut #female reader #oneshot #imagine #steve harrington fanfic

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grrlsoft · 2 years

Text

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ genius of love : eddie munson

summary : while grounded, your beloved boyfriend Eddie comes to visit you, but still can't resist from getting you into trouble.

pairing : Eddie Munson x gn!reader

author's note : obligatory soft eddie fanfic....im sorry i just love him and he deserves sweetness :( i feel like he would rlly enjoy spending soft nights with his sweetheart u know... *bites my hand off*

(also most of my fics r song inspired so this one draws inspo from genius of love by tom tom club !!)

warnings : sort of suggestive at points, but generally sfw. lots of kissing. eddie is a big softy. also typos perhaps.

this fic is spoiler free !!

the rain outside is loud, thundering against the tiled roof of your house as you lie in bed. you're snuggled up under your white bed sheets, eyes drooping with sleepiness as the warmth of your blankets beckons you into a soft and sweet dreamland. you pull them up all the way to your nose and you inhale the comforting scent of laundry detergent.

your Tom Tom Club record spins quietly in the corner of your room, drowning out some of the rain. you listen to Tina Weymouth's lovely voice and slip into sleep, but a sudden clink against your window rips you away from your trip to a blissful slumber.

you blink a few times and turn your head to gaze at your window, another soft clinking sound meeting its glass barrier. you groan, untangling yourself from your sheets as you step onto the carpeted floor of your bedroom. you stumble over to your window and open it, the cold night air blowing harshly against your face. you don't dare to stick your head out the window any farther, unless you'd like to get rained on.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, will you let down your hair?" a familiar voice calls to you.

"my hair isn't long enough for that, you dork," you reply, making your annoyance clear. you receive a chuckle in return.

"Eddie, how many times have I told you not to throw rocks at my window?" you say as you look down onto your front yard, your boyfriend's lanky frame apparent in the darkness.

he had made an unfortunate habit of doing this. instead of using the front door, like a normal person, he would pick apart your pebbled walkway and throw rocks at your window to get your attention. it reminded you of a fairytale, as if you were a princess locked away in a tower, Eddie being your knight in shining armor to come and rescue you (although slightly less romantic). you liked that he wanted to see you, sure, but his means of doing so we're…inconvenient.

"they're not even that big, it won't break anything," Eddie calls up to you, his ever present grin plastered on his face. you roll your eyes.

"you're so annoying," you huff. you don't want to show any excitement in regard to his visit.

"tell me about it when I'm not getting rained on. can I come in?" he asks you, and you reluctantly oblige.

you watch with the slightest bit of nervousness as he skillfully climbs the tree on your lawn, jumping onto the small ledge just outside your windowsill. he carefully steps through your window and closes it behind him, finally turning around to face you with an all-too-pleased expression adorning his handsome features.

"ta-da," he exclaims as he spreads his arms out wide, bowing. you shake your head and bite back a smile.

"I'm getting better, huh?" he says, shaking the water off of himself like a dog after a bath, "I didn't even fall this time."

"whatever you wanna tell yourself, Munson," you sigh.

all he does is smile and you know that you can't really be angry with him. the sentiment behind his visit is too sweet.

"let me go get you a towel," you break the momentary silence, walking out into the hallway, "you're dripping all over my carpet."

"oh, my sincerest apologies," you hear Eddie say and something compels you to think that he's not really sorry. you wander back over to him and throw the towel into his arms.

"what are you doing here, anyway?" you ask him as he rubs his face against the soft fabric. you know the answer but you want to ask him anyway.

"wanted to see you," he answers with no hesitation, not even bothering to look at you. your cheeks heat up slightly at how sure his words are.

"Eddie, do you not understand how being grounded works?" you quirk a brow at him and he finally looks back up at you, "I'm not supposed to see anyone. especially you."

"well, those are your mom's rules, right?" he puts his hands on his hips and you nod, "and guess what? you're mom's not here."

"it doesn't magically disappear like that, Eddie," you say and he shrugs. he tosses the towel you handed him onto the floor and wanders over to you, grazing his hands along the sides of your arms. you shiver.

"would you like me to leave?" he queries smugly.

"...no," you answer reluctantly and he smiles.

"thought so."

you do enjoy his company, that's something you're certain of. there isn't a day that goes by that you don't want to spend with him - spread out on his mattress in his trailer or watching MTV on your couch. he is comforting. he feels like somebody that you could spend the rest of your life with (you had been secretly meaning to tell him that, but it was far too embarrassing).

"you're still soaking wet," you murmur as you observe his rather damp state, "take your shirt off."

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you and you already know what he's about to say. you brace for impact as his mouth drops wide open.

"oh, how very forward of you!" he exclaims and you flush, averting your gaze from his large, brown eyes.

"Eddie, that's not what I-" you stammer awkwardly, your eyes flitting from him to the floor, "I just don't want you to get sick."

"sure, sure that's what you meant," Eddie smirks impishly, leaning down to whisper in your ear, "I think you're just asking me to strip."

"I am not!" you almost yell, and Eddie laughs at how red your face has become. you want to push him away, but Eddie's gentle touch against your hip distracts you from doing such a thing. he grins at you and tugs his shirt off, leaving you to gaze at his bare chest, littered with tattoos.

"like what you see?" he waggles his eyebrows at you and you scoff, looking away. you do, why wouldn't you, but he doesn't deserve to hear you say such a thing. not when he's acting like this. you like to leave him begging for more sometimes.

your attention is refocused when you're suddenly pushed against the side of your bed, Eddie's arms lacing around your frame. you open your mouth to say something but Eddie silences you with a kiss. his mouth is warm and his lips are rough, like usual. he presses his nose against your own and runs his hands up and down the sides of your body, tugging at the fabric of your night shirt. submitting to his wishes, you loop your arms around his damp neck and pull your lips away from his. you stare into his pretty brown eyes, feeling like you could get lost in them forever.

"missed you," Eddie mumbles, his voice so quiet you can barely hear him. your eyes close as his thumb strokes the skin of your stomach. it grazes the band of your underwear and you stifle a gasp.

"you'll see me tomorrow. I'll be ungrounded then," you whisper, trying to ignore his attempts to take your clothes off. Eddie frowns a little and lays you back onto your mattress.

"I know," he says, his gaze wandering over your figure, something he can't help but do, "but it's different when we're at school."

"there's always after school, you know," you reply sympathetically. he doesn't seem satisfied with your answer.

he marvels at how pretty you look, your hair all spread out on your blankets and your large eyes, like little moons, that gaze up at him cautiously, expectantly. he takes in the beautiful whole of you and you can't help but feel as if you're being studied, like a little thing under a microscope. you clear your throat and turn your head away from his scrutinizing stare.

"you've got a nice side profile," he comments randomly, his words enough to draw your focus back to him.

"you think so?" you blink. he nods.

"yeah. sweet face, too," he replies with a flirtatious wink.

your cheeks burn crimson as you smile at him and he leans down to kiss you again, harsher this time. his hands graze your neck and tangle in your hair.

"you're not so bad yourself," you say in-between the slow movement of his lips. Eddie chuckles at your teasing response, his teeth bumping against yours for a brief moment. he climbs on top of you, caging you between his arms and pressing you into your white duvet, but his lips don't leave you until he finally needs to breathe. he pulls away, leaving the two of you desperate for oxygen. you stare up at him, at his bare chest and many tattoos and perfect hair, heaving. his eyes are half-lidded and filled with a look you know all too well.

"you're so damn pretty," he says, a frequent compliment of his, and his eyes don't leave you. you smile gently and spread out your arms, beckoning him into your embrace. he obliges your wordless request and leans into you. he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, sighing deeply.

you listen to the rain and your Tom Tom Club record keeps spinning. you close your eyes as you feel Eddie's heartbeat against your chest, the moment so blissful and sweet that it's better than any dream you could've had while asleep.

"you feel nice," Eddie murmurs against your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin, "warm."

you hum in response and comb your fingers through his frizzy, brown locks. he moves his face to gaze at yours, a dreamy and loving look in his eyes. he ghosts the tips of his fingers across your cheek, bringing you into a kiss once more. he mumbles soft I love you's under his breath and you make a small noise of satisfaction when he bites your bottom lip. his hands go up your shirt once again but the sound of the front door opening downstairs ruins the sensuality of the moment.

"shit," you hiss suddenly, and Eddie pulls away with a confused look on his face. you turn your head away from him, listening to your mother's keys jingle faintly.

"shit, my mom's home," you say frantically, attempting to sit up with Eddie still on top of you.

"the hell is she doing getting home now?" Eddie questions, seeming to not realize the seriousness of your situation.

"she works late nights and-" you splutter, "Eddie you have to go!"

"what? why?" he questions, nose to nose with you. you feel overcome with the sudden urge to smack him, forgetting the sweetness of his demeanor before.

"because my mom will kill me if she sees you here! you were the one who got me grounded in the first place!" you explain, panic apparent in your eyes.

"I could just hide in your closet-" he tries.

"Eddie, if you don't leave, I swear to God I'll be the one that kills you," you threaten.

Eddie draws a long sigh, pulling his shirt back on and stepping backwards towards the window. he opens it and shimmies his way through, his eyes still locked on yours. you meet him between its white frame, disappointed that your visit had ended so soon. if anything, you wanted him to spend the night.

"I love you," you say suddenly, gently. Eddie's eyes soften as he looks at you, becoming soaked with rain once again.

"shit, sweetheart, I'm crazy about you too," he grins his familiar Eddie grin, the one you're so obsessed with, "and I would stay here and whisper sweet nothings to you forever, but I am getting drenched and I don't want you or your mom to kill me."

all you can do is laugh but you're quickly silenced when your mother barges into your room. you flip around to face her, your heart in your throat.

"(y/n)?" she says. you blink owlishly at her.

"hi mom," you squeak out, fumbling with your shorts. she looks at you for a long while, gaze flitting from your figure to your window.

"what are you doing with your window open?" she asks you. you open your mouth to say something, then turn around, half expecting Eddie to still be there.

but he isn't. he had gone as soon as he had come to you.

you let out a long sigh of relief and turn to your mother with a shrug.

"I, uhm, forgot to close it, actually."

"well, make a habit of doing so. you're gonna bleed the house of all its warm air, otherwise," she says, then exits your room with a quick goodnight.

you stand in front of your window for a long while and then finally get back into your bed, sighing from the night's ordeal. you already miss the feeling of Eddie, his lips against yours and his hands stroking your skin. your Tom Tom Club record continues its spin, and you close your tired eyes as Tina Weymouth says that he's the genius of love.

you sink into your covers, fully agreeing with her.

#MORE EDDIE HAHAHA #anyway uhhh i love. this boy. so much #eddie munson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #katherine's fics ∘˚˳° ♡

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sensei-venus · 1 year

Note

What do you think of Eli finding out his girlfriend is pregnant when he cooks her favorite meal for dinner but the smell of it makes her physically sick which is obviously backwards and he thinks it's his fault at first but then he puts the pieces together

- gemini sensei

(Unedited) ( @gemini-sensei )

Eli would be so happy to make her a meal. One he knows he loves and he can make pretty well by now after being together for a while. The two of them have been kinda busy so when they both finally have the time to sit down and have a real home cooked meal he is over the moon about it.

He goes to the grocery store after work and picks up everything he needs. It takes him no more then fifteen minutes to grab everything he needs and heads home.

He is happy to find that Reader is no where in sight. Perfect opportunity to surprise her with a nice home cooked meal. He sets everything down on the kitchen counter and starts preparing everything. He takes the rest of the day to cook all of the food he bought.

He double checks everything the whole time to make sure he’s putting everything together right and cooking it just how he knows she likes it. By the time he’s done she should be home.

He’s actually putting the plates on the table when she walks into the house. He looks up for a split second as he puts down the last plate. He’s grinning ear to ear when he says “Hey babe look what I made you, it’s your favorite-“ but he doesn’t finish the sentence because because Reader is covering her mouth and nose with her hand and bolts from the kitchen area.

He only has time to process the sound of the hallway bathroom door slamming open and the sound of loud gagging and the watery sound of vomit hitting the toilet water.

He sets the plate down and rushes to the bathroom. The door is still open as he walks into the bathroom and finds her kneeling infront of the open toilet. He gets down next to her and try’s to hold her hair and rub her back a little . She coughs a little as she finishes her last vomit session. Eli rips off some toilet paper and hands it to her to whip at her mouth. With shaky hands she takes it and whips at her irritated lips.

“Hey it’s ok, is your stomach messed up? Did you get sick at work?”

She shakes her head as she regains her voice.

“No I just- when I smelled the food for some reason it made me get nauseous all of a sudden. I don’t know I have t been feeling great for the last two or three weeks to be honest. Puking is kinda new though. Then again Iv kinda been bloated, maybe I needed to puke-“

Eli cuts her off by grabbing her shaking hand. He looks at her, his eyes scanning over her.

His drain is working on overdrive as he thinks to himself.

“Shit-babe, I- I think your pregnant!” Reader’s eyes widen. She didn’t think about that, for a moment it didn’t even come to mind. Sure she wasn’t on the pill and they occasionally didn’t wear condoms but- it started to make sense.

She was bloated, her hips hurt, her sense of smell was all messed up. Her breasts where starting to get tender all of a sudden. But the thing that made her really believe his idea was the fact she was late, just by four days but still, that was something.

“My period is late, just by a few days but…”

“We are having a baby!!!”

Eli hugged her while they still sat on the floor. He wanted to pick her up and spin her around but her thought against it. They both laughed as tears started to form in their eyes. They talked about having kids before and they both wanted them. Maybe it was a bit earlier then they where originally thinking, but they where still happy and excited about the new development.

Eli nosed at her cheek for a minute and his lips got closer to hers but she quickly stopped him. He raised a brow. She giggled saying “As sweet as a kiss may be, I kinda just threw up.” He rolled his eyes with a small pout “I guess your right.” The two of them separated and just sat on the cool tile floor for a good minute.

Reader quickly flushed the toilet saying “I should probably take a test to be sure and then we can go to the doctor to completely confirm it I guess.” Eli nodded giving her a kiss to the cheek.

“I should probably get that food packed up and try to air out the kitchen. I don’t want you getting sick again.” He said get up, he held out his hand for her and helped lift her up off the floor. She quickly hugged him saying “I still think it’s very sweet that you made my favorite meal, even though it now makes me sick to my stomach, which sucks. I love you.”

Eli rubbed her back as they hugged for a bit.

He rolled his shoulders saying with a small smirk “I love you too Princess. And don’t worry, the guys at the dojo won’t complain about leftovers, they eat like animals anyway. But don’t tell Daniel I said that.” They both laughed at his comment.

Eli couldn’t wait to see that stupid little plastic test with the pink lines. Showing that he was right and that they where about to start a family together.

Soon enough he and his girlfriend would welcome a new baby, a new family member into their little home.

#cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #hawk moskowitz #eli hawk moskowitz #cobra kai hawk #cobra kai hawk x reader #hawk x reader #eli moskowitz x reader #cobra kai eli #eli moskowitz #hawk moskowitz x chubby reader #eli moskowitz x chubby reader #pregnant reader #pregnancy headcanon #pregnacy

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mackeydoodledoo · 2 years

Text

The Florals: Chapter 5

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x (Fem MC)Reader

Summary: You and your best friends are one of the most popular local bands. After a gig you meet the bartender, who has caught your eye and interest.

Chapter Warnings: Sad Chapter Ending

A/n: None

Chapter Key: Italics = Thoughts, Bold/Indent = Text Messages, [Bold/Italic] = Singing, +*+ = Time skip

Chapter Theme: Anywhere You Go - Clubhouse

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

When you pull into work the next morning, you walk into work, expecting to just go through a normal day of working. However, you look up and see your bandmates hanging around the register, where Roy was the only one on the other side.

“Guys... What are you doing here?” You ask

“So, remember how we had an overly successful show last Saturday?” Lark reiterates the night to you

“Yeah?” You ask

“Well this kid that has super rich parents has personally asked us to be the main event for their party!” Lark explains to you

“When is it?” You ask, now feeling fully awake

“In a couple of weeks from this coming Saturday,” Rose explains

“Shit I’m practically working all week,” You groan

“That’s why we’re here,” Pine says, “We’re trying to convince Roy to give you vacation time for that specific week.”

“I told them I’ll put it through,” Roy chuckles

“I still don’t know,” You continue to contemplate

“This person is also very LGBTQ+ friendly, better yet, they’re in that community,” Poppy adds, “It’s kind of like a pride party they’re hosting.”

“Say less,” You immediately say, “Tell him we’re in.”

“One condition, the kid wants Wanda to come as well,” Lark adds

“I’ll pull some strings,” You say

“Go get your woman's,” Lark teases as your four friends make their leave from your workplace

“They’re such an interesting bunch,” Roy smiles

“You have no idea,” You smile

+*+

By the time your lunch break came around, you bring over food like usual and wait for Wanda in the patio.

“Hey, sorry I’m a little late,” Wanda sighs sitting in the opposite chair from you

“No worries Wands,” You say, smiling

When Wanda looks up from adjusting herself, she notices the undisappearing smile on your face.

“What’s up, you’re overly in a happy mood today,” Wanda says

“So, apparently there’s this LGBTQ+ friendly family hosting this real cool party in a couple of Saturday’s from now and I guess they noticed your performance last weekend and they asked for you to also be there. Not sure to perform or as a guest.” You explain

“They... Want me there?” Wanda asks

You nod.

“I’m in,” Wanda doesn't give it a second thought

“Great!” You smile

The both of you share lunch like every other day you two spend your lunch breaks.

+*+

You finish rolling the sleeves on your flannel as you hear your phone go off.

Hey, I’m prepared but I don't know if my outfit is... Bi enough.

Why not ask Vision?

He... I... Didn’t tell him.

Oh... Okay shoot, send me a photo

You wait for your phone to ‘ding’ once more and you open your phone. Almost immediately you dropped your phone onto your tile bathroom floor. She showed that she was matching your aesthetic, but instead of ripped jeans and a flannel, she was wearing a skirt and a crop top.

Looks perfect to me. Remember, you aren’t impressing anyone (other than me of course)

Right ;) Are you heading over?

Yeah, just about to leave my place.

You grab an additional jacket and any other essentials and head out the door.

+*+

When you texted her that you were waiting, one of the songs in your setlist for tonight came onto your radio from the queue. Instinctively your hands and feet began following the rhythm. However, was short-lived when you see Wanda opening the door to your car.

“I wasn’t interrupting a session was I?” She asks, getting into the passenger seat

“Not at all,” You chuckle, beginning to input directions to the kid’s house

Just before you pulled out of the lot driveway, you couldn't help but hear the continuous rustling from Wanda.

“You okay?” You ask

“Sorry,” She says, “It’s my first time wearing a skirt like this and... I’m having a hard time adjusting to it...”

You shift the car to park and reach into the backseat for your additional jacket and drape it over Wanda’s legs. She looks at you as you shift the car into drive, beginning to follow the directions.

+*+

You turn onto a dirt road, no other houses in sight other than the ones from the previous road you were just on. Out of precaution, you drive slowly.

“Does this give horror movie vibes to you?” Wanda asks

“One hundred percent yes,” You reply

However, as soon as you turn the corner, loads of cars packed the driveway and the house...

Oh man that’s a huge ass house...

Before you could find a parking spot along the driveway, someone knocks on your window, nearly scaring you shitless.

“Invitation?” He asks

A whole fucking valet person?!... How much money does this family have and what or who do they work for?!

“Apart of one of the main bands tonight,” You say, showing him the email that Lark had shared with you and your bandmates

Instead of allowing you to continue up to the driveway, he gestures off into another direction.

“Oh shit a whole parking space just for the entertainment?” You ask yourself, beginning to drive carefully into that direction

You immediately spot a familiar car and park next to it.

“You ready?” You ask, turning to Wanda

She nods as she takes your jacket and puts it on her as she follows you out of your car. You take her by the hand unknowingly and begin making your way through the party to find your friends.

“About time you showed up!” Lark comes up to you, “Opener bands are going on right now!”

“You must be the fire-head drummer that’;s seemingly cutting it close,” A kid comes up to you

“I’m notorious for cutting things close,” You chuckle

“Glad you brought Wanda,” He greets himself, “I’ve seen the video, glad you agreed to sing with them.”

Wanda turns to you, panic setting into her face.

“Hey Wanda, I’m messing with you,” He smiles, “I wanted you here as a guest. By all means if you want to perform with them go right ahead.”

He walks away to greet other guests as Wanda sighs in relief.

“Well, would you want to perform with us again?” You ask her

“Strel, that time was to fill in for Pine,” Wanda sighs, “But... I did have fun with it.”

“Your choice babe,” You chuckle, “I’m gonna go to the bar, you want anything?”

“No I’m good thanks,” She answers

*Wanda’s POV* You watch as Strelitzia walks off to the outdoor bar.

“So, you and Strel huh?” Lark teases

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” You clear your throat, trying to keep your gaze off of Strelitzia who was still at the bar

“Come on,” Lark chuckles, “I've never seen Strel go the extra mile for a girl unless she-”

“Lark what did we tell you about teasing Wanda about her close friendship with Strel?” Rose sighs in annoyance

“Officer Hill,” Lark greets the woman behind Rose

“Maria outside policing hours,” Maria corrects her

“Wow is everyone bringing plus ones except for Poppy, Pine and I?” Lark sighs in frustration

“Save the flirting for after our gig Lark,” Strelitzia comes back over

You nearly jump out of your skin as Strelitzia’s arm hauls itself over your shoulders. You look into her other hand and see a smoking red drink in her other hand.

“You wanna try some?” She offers the glass

A smile creeps across your face as you slowly take the drink into your hands. You swirl the drink once before taking a small sip through the straw.

“Sweet?” She asks

You felt her lean into the side of your head, her lips hovering over your ear.

“Sweet as you,” She whispers

Your face flushes as you process Strel’s compliment.

“You hungry?” She asks

You nod slightly. She straightens her body out as she looks around for anywhere that involved food. She was about to walk right over to a spotted food table, you see the kid gesturing you over to the stage area.

“Maria can you get Wanda food?” She asks her

“Yeah, leave her to me,” Maria says

*Strelitzia’s POV* You gesture to your bandmates to the host as they began getting the hint.

“Let’s rock,” Lark fist bumps the air

+*+

You pull the sticks out of the stick bag attached to your floor tom as you wait for Poppy and Rose to finish tuning. Your set didn’t even start and you hear the crowd go absolutely nuts for you guys.

+*+

*Wanda’s POV* Watching from afar, rather than from the bar, you began developing an appreciation for live music. Well, you’ve always had that. But, this time, it was different...

Being friends with a band... Getting that all access exclusive... Even getting close with the drummer... I can truly see why live music is better than just simple in-studio experimenting...

When Vision used to bring you into his studio when you first began dating, he would show you how he created his music, both in the booth and on the mixing board. You vividly remember how there were barely any instruments that he played. He had the money to hire people to do the instrumentals for him... But for a group of friends to actually put in the effort to learn instruments...

Hell... Learn each others’ instruments, it’s a one-of-a-kind type of music...

“You’re really keeping that gaze of yours on Strelitzia,” Maria teases you

Your gaze finally escapes hers as it changes to Maria; a clear smirk swiping across her face.

“How about you and Rose huh?” You make a comeback, “You were eyeing her up AND down.”

You’re the one smirking once Maria hides herself in her drink, trying to hide the blush on her face.

“Got ya,” You chuckle, taking a big drink out of Strelitzia’s drink

*Strelitzia’s POV* “Hey where’s my...?” You come back over to Wanda and Maria

You were gong to have more of your drink., long forgetting you gave it to Wanda to hold onto just before you went to do your set.

“Oh,” Wanda hiccups, “I drank it... Are you mad?...”

“Why you;d I be mad?” You smile, “You just look drunk right now.”

You take her glass and place it on a nearby table as she stumbles into your arms.

“I gotta get her back home before Vision begins questioning why Wanda is out so late,” You say, “And drunk...”

“Didn't you drink too?” Lark asks, chuckling

“Hours ago Lark, I didn’t even finish it,” You state, “I’ve been sober for awhile.”

You help Wanda into your passenger seat as you buckle her in like a child.

“You’re super pretty,” Wanda giggles

You slow your pace as you look at her.

“Well,” You clear your throat, “Have you seen yourself?”

You shut her door as you make your way around to the driver’s side.

“Can we get food before you drop me off?” Wanda asks

“Girlie, you had food in there,” You chuckle, beginning to drive off into the night

“But I want fast food,” She pouts

You jokingly sing at her request, knowing it was quite late. But, it was Wanda. For her, you’d do anything.

“Okay,” You cave

You tell your phone’s navigation app to input the nearest fast food place.

+*+

You shift your car into park as you allow Wanda to finish up her food.

“Hey how are you feeling now?” You turn to look at Wanda

“A lot less dizzy,” She answers, “But, I’m not ready to leave just yet though.”

“More than valid, take your time,” You tell her

Within the awkward silence, Wanda looks up at you. The both of you lock eyes and you can easily see her pupils dilate and the lights from your control panel reflecting from her emerald eyes; the blue light making her eyes look like a blue-green color. She leans toward you as you lean in at the same time and softly. Oh so very softly, your lips meet hers. Her eyes flutter closed and she returns the kiss.

Her lips are soft...

You kiss her again, and again, and again and again before she abruptly pulls away and gasps.

"I-I’m sorry I need to go," She says as she hastily opens the car door and shuts it

"You still love him, don't you?" You ask, rolling down the window "Regardless he hasn’t taken you out in weeks, he didn’t pick you up from work. Not to mention he didn’t show with you to our show...."

Wanda looks away...

"When was the last time he told you the three words?" You ask

Wanda still doesn't respond... her back is turned to me...

"Wanda..." You say, trying to get an answer out of her without demanding it

"Ages," she finally answers, "I’m not sure exactly how long but he is still good to me."

"Sure sounds like it’s been a long time if you don’t know exactly when the last time he’s told you he loves you" You state, “Which is probably true.”

She looks at you finally though kind of pissed off. But you also hear her sniffle before she turns her back again to you and begins walking again... She opens the door and closes it... That entire time she had her back turned to you. You growl under your breath and “punch” the gas. After rounding the corner you abruptly slam on the brakes. You let tears run down your eyes and land on your pants and pinch the bridge of your nose…

*Wanda’s POV* You stand in the elevator, waiting for the goddamned thing to reach your floor. Your face falls into your hands as you sigh in frustration, contemplating on what you just did...

I kissed Strelitzia... But... Was I... Drunk? Don’t think so but, I... Liked it... NO! We can’t think like that... We have Vision, we love Vision and Vision alone...

Chapter 6

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #scarlet witch x fem!reader #Scarlet Witch #Elizabeth Olsen #marvel #female reader

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tobi-momo · 3 years

Text

A Misunderstanding

PAIRING: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

GENRE: Angst | Hurt/Comfort | Reverse Comfort

WORD COUNT: 3k

A/N: ok ik this is long but this idea came from literally nowhere but i decided to write it thank you @combat-wombatus for helping me you helped put ideas in my brain<333 now i wasnt originally going for a happy ending but im really bad at angst so enjoy the shitty ending :)

“Please, Y/n, you know I didn't mean it,” he pleaded, his large hands desperately grabbing at your form while you push him away, your breaking sobs making his heart shatter. “Please, baby, don’t leave me,” he begs, falling on his knees in front of your trembling body, not being able to tear his eyes off of your heartbroken ones. He needed you to stay. He needed to show you that he isn’t that guy and that he would do anything for you. It was a one time thing. He wasn’t even sober. It wasn’t him. It was the alcohol. He wasn’t thinking straight. Please forgive him, please, please, please.

But you couldn’t. No matter how hard or how much you loved him and wanted to, the pain that ripped at your heart every time you looked at him was too much to bear. So you didn’t. You turn your blurry, glassy eyes away from him as he grabs your hand and forces it into his; your lips quivering and knees shaking. You couldn’t keep the betrayal and agony inside, whining and weeping at him, your knees giving out before your legs slam against the floor, your head near the carpet as you try and keep your affliction at bay.

“Y/n, please,” he whines, tears streaming down his pale cheeks; his admission of his unfaithfulness drained the color from his face. “Please forgive me, I need you, I love you so much.”

“W-” you sniffle, not knowing what to say. You knew you didn’t have to say anything at all, that you didn’t owe him any words, but you just...you just needed to know. “Why,” your voice quivered and cracked, your throat sore, “why did you,” you take a long breath, grabbing your chest to try and stop the heartache, the sudden cramp that formed where it used to be filled with warmth and love, “do this to me? With her?” You look up at him once with wide, searchful eyes as you ponder the reasons and look for the answers in his empty pupils.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, baby, I didn’t know what I was doing, please,” his voice stammers, trying to get you to understand that he really didn’t know what he was doing. “I would never do this to you, I-” “But you did.” Your tone is no longer sad and confused, but angry and fed up. His head backing up quickly, not expecting the response. “You made a promise, Tetsurou, remember?” You glare at him with menacing eyes as you hold up the very finger he kissed and placed the ring on on your wedding day. The beautiful diamond ring that had his initials carved in the interior and little gorgeous jewels that made the walls sparkle once hit with the hot sun was no more; the dark, gloomy piece of rock and metal meaning nothing but lies and mistrust.

“No, Y/n, please. Don’t do this to me,” he adjures guiltily.

“Don’t do this to you?” Your voice laced with deadly venom, standing and backing up, wiping your mouth with your hand in annoyance, placing it on your hip. “You did this to me! You did this to us! You went out! You got drunk! You fucked someone else! And not even a random girl! No! You just had to fuck your ex!” Your voice cracked again before you inhaled sharply and covered up your struggle.

“Y/n, I didn’t know what I was doing!”

“And that’s an excuse?? What, so now you can go fuck whoever you want and say ‘I didn’t know what I was doing!’” you mimic, “so you can get away with it every time?”

He didn’t answer. He looked at the ground, understanding exactly where you came from.

“Hm? Are you gonna answer me, or sit there like a coward?”

He could tell fully well you were just saying this because you were hurt. You didn’t mean any of it. You loved him. No matter what, you will always love him. Trusting him was out of the box for a while, maybe forever. But he can’t lose you. He knew you were soulmates- he knew you were made for each other. There was a reason you guys made it this far and only had big problems now. He needed to find that reason and use it for himself to win you back. He needed you back.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, your dramatic hand gestures coming to a halt at his words, your figure coming to a stand still as you wait for him to finish. “You don't deserve this. You don’t deserve me. Please know that it was a mistake and that I’ll never do it again ever, ever, ever,” he repeats, wanting it to sound as sincere as he means. “Just please give me a chance to make this up to you, please don’t leave me by myself without you,” he sobs out, putting his head in his hands.

You knew you shouldn’t feel bad for him. But god-fucking-dammit are you feeling bad for him. You knew you still loved him, you knew he still loved you- that much was obvious. You couldn’t see him for a while, no. Could you guys work it out? Maybe stitch the wound? Wait until the scar is barely visible anymore? Would that even work?

“Tetsurou,” a single, hot tear dripping down your face as you point to the ground. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

“I know, I know, just please give me a chance to help fix this!” He cries at your feet, his body bundled in a ball of self hatred and guilt. “I can do it, baby. I can help things go back to normal.”

“I don’t think they ever will be normal again.”

He whines, trying to negotiate with you as much as he can. “Let me fix us. Let me give you my everything again, let me show you that I’m all yours and no one else's, please,” he moans in anticipation for rejection, knowing the chances of you agreeing were next to zero.

The next few hours are silent. Him alone in the bedroom. Crouching on the floor as he ponders your possible answer. You work in the kitchen, making food to satisfy your appetite. He could hear your sniffles from the bedroom and picture you wiping your tears as you carry the pots on the stove. God, he was the biggest piece of shit ever known. What the fuck went through his mind when he was fucking his ex? He only remembers some of it, them waking up in bed together after, only wearing undergarments underneath the sheets and him holding her waist as if she were you. He thought they had ended on good terms, knowing that they were better as friends. He rushed out the door, not being able to stay in the same room without getting sick. He knew what he had to do.

He opens the door to the living room, a slight creak gaining your attention as you stir the sauce in the pan. Your eyes are puffy, your lip still trembling as you try to turn away from him. He only takes about two steps forward before he stops, trying to find the words he wants to say.

“Listen, I know you said you needed time, and I’m not rushing you at all whatsoever. I want to give you all the time in the world to think this over. If you need, I can go to Kou’s house and stay there for a while. He won’t mind. I just want to give you the space you deserve.”

You nod in response, your head still facing away before he whispers an “I love you” before he slips out of the apartment.

~.~.~.~

The next few days were tortue. Not being able to sleep in the same bed he would sleep in with you, not being able to watch the same tv shows, not being able to even be in his presence at least once a day like you used to melted a hole of despair inside you: eating away at your emptiness, taking away the numbness that you so desperately needed right now. The feeling came back- the one that you tried shutting out three hours ago. It crept up at you, flipping your stomach and weighing your lungs down to the floor, your throat sore and dry. Your eyes wet with a blurry wall as your tears build up once again, missing your cheeks as you crouch down looking at the floor, falling on the tile. The droplets containing your anguish splatter on the ground, your raggedy whimpers echoing throughout the vacant apartment, making it all the more obvious he wasn’t there.

Knock knock knock

Was that the door?

Your wide, unbelieving eyes turned to the wooden door frame; the knocks getting louder and faster. You quickly stand up and try to collect yourself, preparing to have a long talk with Tetsurou. You grab the handle, turning it- the door opening with a tiny creak.

Oh.

“Hi! Kuroo left his jacket at the party the other day, is he here?”

Oh, that bitch.

“No. He’s not.” You deadpan, not finding her cheery, happy expression amusing.

“Oh no! Uh, well, here, can you give this back to him for me?”

“Stop smiling at me like you aren’t part of the reason he’s gone.” You snark, glaring at her with sharp eyes as she backs up, confused.

“W-what?”

“You heard me. Don’t act fucking clueless.”

“Excuse me? Who are you to talk to m-”

“Oh, cut the shit,” you roll your eyes, “I know you slept with Tetsurou, you don’t need put on whatever the fuck this is,” you gesture at her.

“What the hell are you talking about? What are you, fucking crazy?” Your eyes narrow in confusion, your disgusted scowl lessening at her words.

“Right. You probably don’t remember because you were blacked out,” you add sarcastically. “He told me what you guys did. Now you know. So, I would love it if you would just leave.”

“What are you- Me and Kuroo didn’t do shit last night. I drank like two beers and was hanging out with another girl the entire time,” she explains, looking offended. Your face loosens into an expression she couldn’t read. “He blacked out early and passed out on the couch while I was busy talking with the other girl.”

“Huh?” You whisper, your disoriented thoughts not aligning to a proper conclusion.

“I didn’t go to bed until like,” she thought back, “I don’t know, three in the morning? There were people passed out on the floor so I decided to take the guest bedroom with her. I was still awake when Kuroo came into the room, I’m guessing because he thought it was yours, based off of how he kept mumbling your name and shit,” she exhales, “he grabbed onto me once he got in and just clung.” You glower at her, huffing. She sees this, sighing before continuing, “Calm down, remember nothing happened. Remember that girl? She ended falling off the bed because I was scooting away from his clingy ass.” You look at her blankly, trying to fit the pieces together. “She ended up leaving the party completely,” she mumbled in embarrassment before you speak up.

“Then why did he tell me you guys had sex?” You mutter quietly, although assuming she heard since her head backed up while she quickly scoffs.

“I swear to God, that man. Listen.” You look up into her eyes- her genuine eyes. “Me and Kuroo didn’t do a single thing. I didn’t do anything to him and he didn’t do anything to me. I’ll have a conversation with him later because he is an absolute dumbass,” she breathed.

What the fuck?? You were just supposed to believe her?

“How am I supposed to believe that?”

“Me and him ended a long time ago. I don’t like him like that and I haven’t for a while. And seeing he was bragging about you the entire time at the party, he’s over me, too. Besides, I’m not even into guys that much anymore anyways,” she grinned and winked at you. The shock and realization hit you like a truck. She wasn’t even- oh my God. She chuckled at your expression; you ran away from her to the counter to get your phone, quickly unlocking it and tapping on Tetsurou’s contact.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mumble over and over. To tap the call button, listening to it ring as you bring your phone up to your ear, hearing him pick up the phone almost immediately after.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” He sounded worried. It’s only been about a week, he had hoped that you weren’t going to leave him.

“Get over here, right now, Tetsurou.” Your voice made it seem like it was urgent, so he quickly picked up his jacket from the couch, and you could hear the jingling of his keys as he grabbed them and opened the door, almost slamming it shut once he left.

~.~.~.~

“Y/n?” He asked at the open front door, wondering why it wasn’t closed. “Y/n, you have to be careful and close the door, we have them for a reason, you know,” he said as he walked in. Even after being at the line of a break-up, he still cares for your well-being. He didn’t even do anything wrong and he was still caring for you as a loved one should. He always did everything to make you feel comfortable and safe, so once he knew that he had slept with his ex he was completely devastated to his core. He didn’t want to do this to you, but you had the right to know.

“Tetsu.” You called. Already back to nicknames? This is good, right?

“Yes? Y/n?” He was scared, to say the least, feeling awkward and not knowing what to do. He walked scarcely towards your figure sitting on the couch, not caring to drop his keys and jacket on the counter. He had a feeling this might go wrong.

“We need to talk.” Shit. This is exactly what he didn’t want to hear. Hearing those words he couldn’t help but think that you were going to make him pack his stuff and go. “So, I talked with your ex.” You speak slowly, not wanting your words to come out wrong. You don’t want him to take any of this in a bad way at all. Yet his eyes widen drastically, his heartbeat racing and his nerves pricking him. “You are just one big dummy, aren’t you?”

What? What are you talking about?

“What?”

“You didn’t sleep with her. She told me everything that happened that night. She’s not even into guys anymore. Tetsu-”

This couldn’t be happening. Not only did he accuse himself of cheating, he accused himself of cheating with his ex, and that he cheated with his ex at a party, while you two are married. And then it turns out it wasn’t true? What the hell was wrong with him? He jeopardized your entire relationship because he was too drunk to know what was going on.

“Wait, what?” He yells, angrily sitting down on the couch, “so you’re telling me-” you nodded and hummed an ‘mhm’ in response. His hands find their way to his hair, pulling at the roots and scratching his scalp, his low grunts of pain and fury seeping out of his throat as he frustratingly comprehends what he just did.

You rush over to him, grabbing his wrists and pushing them down to his lap as fast as you can, making his eyes find their way to your blown out pupils. You can see the hot tears prickle down his cheek as he frowns at you, completely and utterly defeated.

“Tetsu, I don’t want you to hurt yourself, it’s okay,” you reassure, giving him a happy smile. He wanted to smile back, but he couldn’t control the broken sob that escaped him. “Hey, hey,” you try to grab his attention as he pulls his head down, crying. “It’s okay, baby, it’ll be okay.” You wrap your arms around his head, protecting him as you softly coo and ‘shh’ him quietly in his ear. ‘I’m sorry’ kept coming out of his mouth as he clinged to you, not being able to help his want to be closer to you. The realization that he just almost broke your heart completely and he had worried about divorce for this shit made him want to just rip his scalp out. He was so stupid. So, so so, stupid. “Tetsu, look at me, please. Look at me,” you whisper, bringing your hand to his chin, dragging it up so you could catch sight of his hazel irises. His eyes red and puffy, his cheeks wet and his eyes droopy, you couldn’t do anything but frown at the sight. He hated himself right now, not wanting to face the embarrassment and the humiliation of the situation.

“You don’t deserve me, I’m so sorry,” he whimpered in your arms, gripping them tighter and tighter for comfort- you knowing that he needed it right now. You had already pulled him into your chest, feeling his wet tears soak your shirt, your hands rubbing his back and your fingers gently grazing his throbbing scalp.

“It’s okay, I forgive you, Tetsu, you did the right thing by telling me you did it instead of hiding it from me, and then it turns out you didn’t do it at all.” Your cheeks start to feel hot, and you don’t even realize your sniffles until you could feel a dam break at your water line. You couldn’t stop them, the tears of relief. You didn’t want to stop them. You were glad that they were her, glad that they were for him, glad they were because you knew the truth, glad because you knew you two would be okay.

You looked back at your ring, watching it bloom like a flower in the spring, the meaning coming back to your marriage. It wasn’t just metal and rock anymore, it was a gorgeous promise.

“I love you, Tetsurou. Don’t forget that. You’re staying with me, alright?” you whisper into his hairline.

“Thank you,” he cries.

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loving-all-for-loki · 3 years

Note

How about a Loki x reader.. Tony moves his baby sister into the compound after something happens to her but he won’t tell anyone what. She refuses to leave her room until everyone is in bed. She comes out one night and is caught by Loki. She immediately apologizes and becomes so shaken up that she drops her things and breaks a glass. Then it hits him why she was secretly moved in. Tony had discovered his little sister living in a bad situation with her now ex and suffered years of abuse. Loki decides then to take his time to make her feel safe again and they eventually fall for each other.

A/N: I hope this works! I got really sappy at the end, but I also don’t know how to end these one shots. This is a bit of a lengthy one, so bear with me.

He’s Not Him

Summary: Tony Stark has enough of his sister’s ex and moves her into the Avengers Tower. After taking notice of her shy and timid behavior, Loki digs deep at her past, making him want to make her feel safe.

Pairing: Loki x Stark!reader, Tony Stark x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 2993

Warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of domestic abuse, language

Forever Tags: @mm2305

Y/E/N - your ex’s name

*If you or someone you know is being domestically abused, please reach out to 911 or call 800.799.SAFE (7233) for help. Love you all*

Tony storms into his sister's apartment. After standing outside of her door for a half hour, he bashed in the door at the the sound of a scream from inside. Frantically, he pushes his way around the furniture and bursts into your bedroom. His eyes go wide at the sight of you on the floor in a ball and your ex boyfriend above you with a fist out. Stark grabs your ex’s fist and rips him away from you, pushing him into your dresser.

“Get the fuck out!” Tony screams.

“Oh, the great Tony Stark is here. What are you going to do? Drop a bomb on me?”

You’ve never seen Tony’s skin turn so red. He storms forward and punches your ex square in the nose, sending him down on the ground. Tony unleashes all his energy until the man is left with a broken nose and multiple bruises.

“Get. Out.”

Your ex runs out of your room, without missing the chance to break a few things, and out of your apartment. You look up out of your ball to see Tony rushing to your side with panic in his eyes. He lifts up your head as you climb into his lap.

“Come here, darling. You’re okay. You’re safe now.” He coos.

You cry into the crook of his shoulder as he rocks you back and forth, his hand on your back.

“I’m getting you out of here,” He says, placing you on your bed, “I’m taking you to the tower with us.”

Tony leaves you on your bed as he gets a suitcase and packs your things. He gathers all of your clothes and some of your possessions like books, drawings, and others. You can feel the tears starting to dry on your skin as you stop crying. Tony doesn’t miss the way you start to uncurl and the bruises on your neck show up. His face drops to see the choking marks on your neck.

“I’m… so sorry, Y/N. I should have been here to protect you.”

You shake your head at him as he joins you on the bed. Tony reaches around your head to undo your ponytail and cover the bruises.

“There, now no one will ask you about them.”

You give him a gentle smile which eases him a little. He leans forward and kisses your forehead before taking your hand and helping you up. Tony and you walk out of your building and into the garage where Happy is in the car. He drops you off for five minutes to go talk to your landlord about you leaving.

“You’re going to be okay,” Happy reassures you.

“Thanks,” you manage to get out.

He gives you a warm smile. He has always made you smile throughout the years. Tony comes back, joins you in the car, and takes off to the tower.

Upon arrival, you look up at the large tower in awe. You’ve visited a couple of times, but that was a year ago since your ex didn’t allow you to see Tony much. It’s always been impressive. You were thankful for Tony letting you live on your own and make something of your own life instead of letting you mooch off of his fortune, but you do regret sometimes not letting him support you more. You were always so proud of him.

Tony carries your luggage as he leads you to the elevators. He looks down at you every so often, noticing the anxious way you bite your nails.

“You’re safe here. We have the best security and you’ll be surrounded by trained assassins and heroes. They’ll protect you, I promise.”

You nod your head at Tony’s words. As much as they help you, you don’t really want to see or talk to anyone. After having your ex break into your house every day for two weeks, you want to be alone except for the occasional visit from Tony.

The elevator doors open and reveal you and your brother to the Avengers who are all lounging in the living area. They turn to look at you with puzzled faces, making you nervous and hide behind Tony’s arm. He lets you stay behind him instead of forcing you to say hi as you exit the elevator.

“Everyone, this is my sister, Y/N. She’s going to stay here from now on so be nice to her,” Tony announces.

Everyone says hi to you but you stay silent behind Tony. He doesn’t question it even though the others look at one another in concern. Steve thinks to himself that you can’t be that rude, but given the way you look, everything must be very different to you from the rest of your life. You look shocked and scared.

Looking at the Avengers, you take in each and everyone’s appearance. Bucky and Nat look the scariest in your opinion and you make a mental note to stay away from them. Sam, Steve, and Clint look nice, but Wanda looks like the sweetest lady in the universe. She has a smile that warms your heart. Turning to your right, you see two very tall men standing and staring at you.

The taller one has blonde hair and a big grin on his face. He has a large stature, but he does not look intimidating. He has a golden retriever energy to him, but the man next to him is a different story. With his pitch black hair and powerful stand, the other man stares at you with daggers in his eyes. He sends shivers down your spine without saying anything.

You drag your eyes away from the intimidating man and follow Tony down the hallway. He leads you to your room where you get settled in, unpacking your clothes and putting away your things. Laying in the bed, you take a big nap which is needed. You feel as if you let out a breath you’ve been holding for days. The idea of being away from your ex finally settles in and you feel the wave of relief wash over your body, letting you drift away into sleep.

You’re woken up by Tony letting you know dinner is being served. He lets you know that you’re not being expected to come out and eat with everyone, which you appreciate. Ten minutes later, he comes by your room and slips a plate of food in your room as he opens the door, letting you eat alone.

Tony returns to the living room by the other Avengers eating and gathered around the couch. He takes his plate and sits next to Pepper who has her own food, smiling at him as he joins.

“So, your sister?” Sam asks.

“Don’t even think about it. She is not to date any of you.”

“Woah, I didn’t say that,” Sam laughs.

“But we know what you meant,” Steve chuckles, rolling his eyes, “She seems shy.”

“She is. You probably won’t get a lot out of her.”

“Can I ask why she’s staying her?”

“No.”

Steve shares a look with Bucky. The elevator door opens and Peter walks into the living room.

“You guys started dinner without me?” He asks, jokingly.

“Early birds get the worm,” Steve laughs.

The group chuckles and keeps eating their food.

“Is Y/N a new Avenger?” Steve asks.

Tony sighs and rolls his eyes at the question. Everyone notices the annoyance in Tony with talking about you and collectively decide to stop asking questions. It’s clear he doesn’t want to talk about you much.

“No, she’s not.”

“Who’s Y/N?” Peter asks.

“I’ll fill you in later,” Nat replies.

The day goes by fast and you find yourself staring out at New York in the moonlight. You have always enjoyed the night time. They say New York is the city that never sleeps, but you’ve always found peace and warmth in the New York night. Everyone goes out to party or to bed. It’s a time of joy and relaxment.

You hear the last door shut for the night, signally everyone going to bed. Looking outside of your door, you don’t spot anyone so you sprint outside to the kitchen with your empty dinner plate. Upon entering it, you search the walls for the light switch for about five minutes. There’s no other light than that except for the over. You finally find it and switch it on. As you turn around, you’re startled by the frightening black haired man standing there.

Scared, you drop your plate, shattering it on the tile floor. Your eyes go wide as you start to back up against the wall. Without saying anything, the man takes a step forward, scaring you half to death. Your mind plays tricks on you and all you can think about is your ex breaking into your home. You start to have a panic attack, sliding down against the wall, and curling up into a ball.

You miss the way Loki’s eyes go wide. He watches you descend into an anxiety attack and doesn’t know what to do, knowing he’s who caused it. Quickly, he rushes down the hallways and bangs on Tony’s doors.

“What do you want, Reindeer Games?” He groans.

“Your sister…”

Tony doesn’t wait for another word for following Loki down the corridor. He spots you panicking in the corner of the kitchen and grabs you, lifting you into his lap. You grab onto his neck and pull him close, crying into him. He lifts you up and carries you off to your room without saying a word to Loki, leaving him standing in the kitchen agape.

Not knowing what to do and unable to relax, Loki makes his way to his room and opens up an old laptop Thor had gotten him. After spending thirty minutes just to figure out how to work it, he starts googling things about you. He starts with your name and finds multiple articles on you and Tony, the Stark Industry Golden Children. You left when you were eighteen, wanting to make your own life and not follow in the family’s footsteps. He gives you credit for being yourself, something he had struggled with. He knows the feeling, not wanting to be your family.

Then a certain website catches his eye, Facebook. He finds a profile of you filled with photos and text. There are some of you with friends in the town, a couple of old coworkers wishing you a happy birthday, then there’s a photo of you with a man. There are no other photos of you with him other than this one a couple months ago. He keeps scrolling to find more photos of you with him, but they all stop after that first one. Clicking on something tagged in the caption, another profile pops up.

Y/E/N’s profile. Filled with photos of drunk nights at the club, shirtless gym time, and quotes from misogynistic authors, Loki finds himself despising this man he does not know. He scrolls through finding very little of you in his account, as if you don’t matter as much to him as he does to you. Closing his computer, Loki decided to go check on you. He’s frustrated by whoever this man is, not knowing whether he’s important or not.

Loki peeks into your room to see Tony laying next to you, brushing through your hair with his fingers. Tony looks up and meets him in the eyes. There’s slight anger, but Loki doesn’t feel pushed away. He takes a step in before Tony leans into your ear and whispers. You look up and over to Loki, but you don’t ask him to leave. Loki continues to walk into your bedroom quietly, but with a small gentle smile on his face.

“I’m sorry for scaring you earlier,” he says, “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. Thanks,” you mutter.

Your voice is small and timid like a mouse. He can hear the hesitation in your voice, not knowing whether he should talk to you or not.

“Are… you okay?”

“Yes.”

Another awkward pregnant pause erupts between the two of you. Loki looks around your room as Tony continues to hold you. He whispers into your ear again before leaving.

“I’m going to go back to my room,” he says, “call me if you need me okay?”

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Of course, anything for my little sister.”

He kisses your forehead and heads out of your room, leaving you and Loki alone. You don’t mind his presence anymore. After Tony tells you that Loki isn’t your ex and you’re okay, you’ve accepted him.

“I have to ask… who is that man on Facebook?”

Loki gives you a quizzical look. You think for a moment about how Loki got on Facebook and what guy he’s talking about.

“His name is Y/E/N.”

Your body clenches at the sound of his name and Loki takes a step back, looking at you. He’s never seen anyone physically close up just from a name. It may be some Midgardians thing he doesn’t understand, but the way that you are shaking, he thinks otherwise. He sits down next to you and wraps his arms around your shoulders. You lean into his touch as you attempt to calm down.

He’s not here. I’m safe. He’s not here. I’m safe.

You keep repeating that in your head, reminding yourself that you’re safe in the tower like Tony said. Looking up at Loki, you see his concerned face. He cares. This man you barely know cares about you.

He’s not him. He’s not him. He’s not him.

“I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I’m being quite an ass asking you these questions without manners. I’m Loki.”

Loki, not Y/E/N. He’s not him. He’s not him.

“Well, L-Loki,” you say with a stutter, “He’s uh… my ex. Ex boyfriend.”

“Ah.”

He nods as he takes in the information at hand. Your ex, who makes you quiver in fear even over people who have done nothing to her, has no photos of you. He shares his lavish lifestyle that most would presume belongs to a single man. Loki looks back at your depressed ridden face. The color in your skin has drained from you and you’re staring blank cold at the wooden floors under your bed. Loki places a hand on your neck to move your hair and give you a light massage, but you flinch away from him before he is able.

Loki’s never seen so much fear and worry in someone’s eyes before. You jerk away from him muttering yourself, as if it were taking everything in you to not scream. He looks over you to see bruises along your neck where your hair had moved from when you moved. A wave of anger runs through his body, infuriating him. He did that to you. That’s why you’re so afraid of him.

“Did he-”

“Yes.”

Loki rises from your bed and clenches his fists. You see the anger pouring from him and rush to his side before he can storm off. You grab his arms and force him to look at you.

“Please, don’t… don’t do anything.”

“Why shouldn’t I? No man should ever do that to a woman, especially you.”

“Just let it be.”

He releases his fist but the fury in his eyes doesn't. You pull him towards you to make him sit again. Moving in closer, you lean into him. Loki wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his lap. The two of you lay down in your bed, you curled up on him as he held you, running his fingers in your hair.

For some reason, Loki feels as if he has to protect you. The way you ball up gives him this sense of innocence about you. You haven’t done anything to deserve those injuries, just live your life and try to find love. Loki always knew there was a good reason to hate Midgardians, not just for their stupidity and now he’s found it.

The two of you fall asleep without realizing it. The light from the sun peaking in the windows wakes you. Stirring in bed, you look up to see Loki under you, his arms holding you against him by your waist. You're cradled into his chest as his chin barely rests on the top of your head. Loki’s eyes flutter open at the feeling of you moving on top of him. He looks down at you and smiles.

The way the light shines on your face makes you look angelic. Your smile warms his heart and the warmth of your body against him makes his heart jump. You turn over to face him, leaning up on your shoulders over his head.

“Hi.”

“Hello, darling.”

“You slept here.”

“Both of us did, actually,” he laughs.

You drop your head laughing. Loki’s sweet laugh fills the room and blesses your ears. He’s not too bad to be around. He’s quite kind and sweet.

“Thank you for last night.”

“For what? If I remember correctly, I gave you a panic attack.”

“I mean the way you calmed me down and held me. It was needed.”

“Well, I’m glad I could do that for you.”

Loki means it when he says it. Looking at you now, there’s not much he wouldn’t do for you. You don’t deserve what the world gives you, especially that asshole Y/E/N. He would hold you for the rest of time if that meant keeping you safe.

You won’t lie either when you tell Loki he makes you feel safe. Every day before he sneaks off to his room so the others don’t know he spends the night with you, you tell him that he makes you safe. He never believes you. He’s shocked that anyone could feel safe with a monster like him, but after all to you, Loki is not him.

#loki x reader #loki fanfic #loki #loki x reader fluff #tony stark x sister!reader #tony stark x reader sister #loki x stark!reader #loki x reader stark #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson fluff #marvel x reader #loki oneshot

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anlian-aishang · 3 years

Text

Kinktober Day 12: Food Play & In The Kitchen & On The Floor

"Slice of life. Reader baking in nothing but Levi’s shirt. He comes out. She somehow manages to get batter on her neck (and it’s her sweet spot) so when he says “Let me get that for you.” He’s sucking on her neck and already she’s moaning. His hands travel up to her breasts, cups them, massages them, making her moan until he has the bright idea of ripping the shirt apart so she’s in her bra and undies, lays her on the kitchen floor (it’s fine, it’s clean. This IS Levi’s house we’re talking about) and carefully, seductively, calculatedly pours cake batter on her body and cue the beginnings of smut. (Licking, sucking, moaning, fucking) you get the picture."

word count: 1800

tags: smut, levi x reader, penetration, fem!reader

while writing this, i listened to

Remember! Levi hates art theft.

An early morning clarity: after only your first night with Levi, you already knew that you wanted another and another, then maybe the key to his place. Looking over to your side, admiring his sleeping state - lips slightly parted, strands of hair flopped onto his face, arms crossed and curled up, blankets bundled him entirely. From your back, a purple dawn warmed golden, painting him in sunrise. Pristine white sheets, an idyllic daybreak, Levi asleep beside you - you wouldn’t even need to grab anything from home, you had everything you needed right here.

Smitten from the start, you felt those same butterflies that you used to get at slumber parties. Naivety thought to shake him awake, bounce on the bed, start a pillow fight. It was not the fear of getting your ass kicked that stopped you, though, it was the thought of something even better.

Last night, you had won him over, evidenced now by the lingering sting at your middle and his hushed filthy slut still ringing in your ears. Chills at the memory, a smile you hid underneath the comforter.

Rolled on your side, brows knit as you tried to read his resting face, which did he love more - making things clean or making dirty love?

What about both?

// // //

When you heard his footsteps drawing closer and closer, the sift of slippers on tile floor, you felt your heart start to race. What you had set up for him now, you had a feeling this would charm him even more than you had last night. You shivered, dire anticipation of the pleasure you were sure to feel - sooner with every step.

Hand rested on the countertop, a subtle alert to his arrival. Your eyes stayed diligent on your cookware, resisting the temptation to look up. An avid smile was not as muted.

Admiration in his tone as he took in your spread, “Look at you making all this mess…” his cupboards left ajar with flour-dusted fingerprints on them. Not an inch of space left on his kitchen island. Everywhere was covered, even you - some batter here, some powder there - the only clothing to your bare thighs. Even your shirt was -

My shirt.

Elbow perched, leaning on the granite slate. Dilated pupils turned to slivers, “...making all this mess in my clothes.”

Anyone else would have gotten an earful, but you knew you were someone special to him - last night’s remnants of endorphins sang the proof. Your whisk maintained its speed even as you shot him a wink, “I didn’t wanna get my clothes dirty.”

Levi cocked a brow, “So you wear mine instead?”

“Don’t get so mad,” you teased, “it was a day old anyways.”

The shirt he had worn to bed and woken up without - firm wrinkles and his scent still on it, now milk, sugar, and egg yolk to add. Levi pinched the seams, examined, and scoffed, “You’re filthy.”

Hand found his at the hem, fingers intertwined, you lifted his hold to your lips and spoke against him, “You love it, though, don’t you?”

Levi grit his teeth, unable to suppress the smile warming across his lips. He did.

// // //

Deviant fingers snuck underneath your borrowed cotton, clutching the fabric and your breasts, “I want it back.” Soft lips on your tainted neck, eating up the raw batter that just so happened to get there, “And I want you clean.”

Bangs wisped against your nape. A hardening at your hips to which his briefs were the only barrier. Shivers sent down your spine, ones he felt at his front - pressed to your back. Breath caught in your chest, voice barely a whisper, you still strove for snark, “You’ll have to do it yourself then.”

Levi tilted his neck, silent chuckle brushed your shoulders. You really had no idea what you were asking from him - no idea how thoroughly he would come through. Until then, though… he would work you up for it. Kisses continued their pursuit, smacks on your cheek, tracing of your jawline, sucking along your neck. Bruises for all to see, especially you - suggesting that perhaps you would not have to work so hard for that key.

You rolled your head back, lips inadvertently parted in pleasure. Your moans were enough, still - Levi could not help a peek. Morning glow reflected off your shimmering skin. In your stance, a perpetual quake, seasoned with twitches. Two familiar hills made their peaks into his shirt. Even as you were being consumed, you were still attempting to stir the bowl, cycles becoming lazier and lazier. Levi bit down on your shoulder, stifling a smirk. Fucking adorable.

It gave him an idea, one you never could have seen coming from your clean freak, one he never would have done otherwise - but it was just who you were, always managing to bring out a side of him that no one else had ever seen, one he did not even know he had.

Calloused hands left your curves for only a second, just long enough to take hold of his threads and rip them apart from the inside. New exposure, nakedness, and just the thought of how much he wanted you - a man of composure destroying his own belongings just to get to you that much faster - you felt your buds instantly harden, arousal spilling to your thighs. A gasp you were helpless to contain was both savored and ignored, followed by the sudden grasp of his hand atop yours, a calculated grip of the mixing bowl as well. Fingertips dipped in, and even in your haze, you were already envisioning him sucking himself clean. Eyes rolled back, imagination wandering, and therefore missed how they cupped into a C, scooping up the mix - disrupting its intended purpose with plans of his own.

The sound - slap! - and the touch - smack! - brought you to, awakened from your daydreams of him, discovering a reality that was even better. Silky smooth texture brought to your most sensitive areas - all of them immensely grateful for this new stimulation, even if at the cost of a morning spent baking.

It’s gonna go to waste!

“L’Levi!? I was gonna use that!”

Not a waste.

A ghost of a smile, “So am I.”

Mist turned opaque, but you managed only a stammer - cut off when his lips returned to the neck he had just licked clean then dirtied again. Tongue traced your skin, a perfect path hit all of your checkpoints. Tight grasps of his rough hands around your arms, locking you in place, imploring you to face and come to terms with this novel sensation.

One completely new experience, and one that was new to you until just ten hours ago. Levi’s mouth and hands swallowed you whole, guzzling every inch, all of you for himself. A mess of his own, now, as his member leaked onto your slit.

“L-Levi,...”

Levi’s voice, his tremble - you were not alone in faltering, “Y-Yeah?”

“P’Please…!” You stuttered, saliva spluttering along with your words, “P’Please, put it in me…”

Oh, you really had done this all to yourself - constantly offering up better and better ideas. Simultaneously put into you at the same time: his yearning erection to your wet walls, his sugar-coated digits into your parched mouth. Already overstimulated, you somehow managed to take him all at once - clenching around him, sucking him clean, and earning yourself an, “Atta girl…”

A couple of preemptive thrusts, just enough to ensure that you could take him again. Last night’s evidence rang clear: hypersensitivity still screaming, dams just rebuilt had crumbled again. Thinking back to the confidence you set up the scene with, you scoffed at your previous self - you should have known: Levi Ackerman was beyond any expectation.

How your fingers so desperately clutched the countertop edge, the buckling of your knees, the coat of sweat on your figure, Levi revered them foremost, but thought to spare you the stress. Sunday mornings were meant to be relaxing, and here, he had you exhausted. The tenacious versions of you had it coming, but not the sweetheart who woke up early to make him breakfast. Some thanks.

Too early in the relationship to know - you did consider it an apt reward. The bridal-style hold he took of you, though, it felt as if you two had marched down the aisle long ago. Arm wrapped behind your back, knees tucked together, bound securely against him. Reclined, not thrown, to his spotless kitchen floor. Levi, atop you, could see your reflections in it. If anything, you were the one dirtying his place. A reassuring kiss, Don’t get it twisted.

Careful caress and soothing contact. Disintegrated was the ferocity he fucked you with before, remaining was that passion - not a passion to push you to your edge, but to take hold of your hand and guide you to it.

“Lie back. Relax.” Interrupting himself with a return to your lips, “And let me do the rest.”

// // //

Another layer of cake - poured slowly, licked up even slower. Another demonstration of how he valued your needs over his.

Back arched against tile floor - a trade off of pain for that much pleasure. Writhing, squirming, aching, for every last inch you could get of him. Fingers curled into his back, strong enough to take it, enduring your scratches that were feral enough to scar. Legs knotted around him, yanking him deeper and faster. Mere pebbles of regard for him, his stamina, the bruises he would have tonight courtesy of this morning. Wrapped up in your own world now, priorities lie in yourself - Levi smirked, content to be thrown to the wayside in your selfish search for satisfaction.

An endeavor so admirable, he could not help but reward it.

Hipbones rocked into your curves, his tip so tender in roughing up your patches, a conscious acceleration in his pace erroneously made uncontrollable. Covered in dessert, his appetite, by his abdomen to your torso, chest to chest, by the fingers that intertwined with yours and coaxed you both to climax.

“C’mon, sweetheart…”

At the pet name, you shivered. At your shiver, he stiffened, “Cum with me.”

An order, though kind, you took it for what it was - an order. Eyes widened in realization, this morning you so carefully thought up and set up, wasn’t it so that you could entice him? Heart thumps, breath catches, you staved them off in the snatch of that command, no matter how loving it was.

Vice grip of his locks, hard press of his undercut brought his ear to your lips. A bite and a hiss, “Listen, Levi… you’re gonna cum with me.”

And “fuck - !” If that did not rile him. The Type A neat freak, who would have thought that this demanding girl with dirty words would have been the one to win him over - the one to make him feel what nothing else, no one else had?

Last to expect it, incapable of managing it. A series of harsh pants buried in your neck, a climax that seized all of him - one that made him cling to you throughout, your ears the ones lucky enough to hear the praise for it. An explosion of pleasure, an aftershock of feelings for you.

The key to his heart this morning. The key to his apartment as soon as the locksmith opened.

// Kinktober Year 2 Masterlist //

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stope07 · 3 years

Text

Pain (Void Stiles/Issac’s Sister reader)

Aurther-eratothemuse

Cash App- https://cash.app/$Luvtoldu

Pairing- Void Stiles / Reader

Warning- You find out and read it

You had always been good at hiding your pain. You hid it from your father, who would abuse you, and you hid it from your brother, who went through it with you.

The only difference between you and Isaac was the fact that he wasn’t left with the immense self-loathing that weighed on your shoulders after your father was killed by the kanima.

You’d hated yourself ever since you could remember. Your body curved in all the wrong places, your grades were always lacking in school, and it didn’t help any when your father solidified any insecurity you ever had about yourself. When he died, you had hated yourself for being happy he was gone.

Isaac had been the only one keeping you going. You’d been in the thick of it together, and he would take the brunt of the abuse to keep you from getting it. He was your big brother, after all.

You hated yourself for getting him into trouble.

When he became a werewolf, he had more to worry about than just you. With the threat of your father no longer there, you found yourself spending more and more time alone. It never felt right to tag along after Isaac and the rest of the pack.

You’d just get in the way.

The scars on your thighs increased the longer you were alone with yourself. Alone with your thoughts. Alone with the hatred. The more problems that arose in Beacon Hills, the worse it got.

You hit your lowest point around the time Stiles got possessed by the Nogitsune.

Looking back now, you’d say it was the unintentional turning point in your life.

That was the day you’d decided to end it. The day you were finally going to let Isaac go. Let him be happy and not have to worry about you ever again. He had Allison now. He had the pack. He had a family. He didn’t need an awkward, dysfunctional sister to ruin that for him.

You were going to make his life easier.

You’d decided to do it in the bathtub. You honestly hadn’t wanted to do it in the McCall’s house at all. You didn’t want to make a mess. You couldn’t do it in the woods, though, because then they’d waste time searching for you.

So the bathtub it was.

When you’d lowered yourself into the tub and rolled up your sleeves, razor at the ready, you heard it. A small chuckle coming from the shadows of the adjoining bedroom. You froze, peering into the darkness to meet a dark pair of familiar eyes.

“Don’t stop on my account, my dear,” he called, leaning on the wall in an almost nonchalant manner.

You flushed in shame, attempting to hide the razor behind the barrier the tub provided before answering, “Stiles? What are you doing here?”

“I could smell your misery since the moment I took control of this boy,” Stiles pushed himself off the wall and made his way to the door adjoining the two rooms. “Your pain,” he spat as he came to stand in the threshold, “Your hatred.”

“S-Stiles?” you whispered, but you knew the thing standing before you was no longer your friend.

“You’re the perfect picture of chaos,” a smirk crossed Stiles’ lips before he quickly advanced on you. Your scream died in your throat as he gripped your neck, pulling you up from the tub. You dropped the razor in place of grabbing the hand that had soon pressed you against cold tile, making it difficult to breathe.

“Those idiots couldn’t sense it. They couldn’t see how broken you are behind those half-hearted smiles you give them. How much you just want to disappear. Well,” he steps into the tub, pressing the length of Stiles’ body against yours, “I noticed.”

You shiver as he nestles his nose into your neck, inhaling deeply, “I can smell it on you.” You feel tears brimming at your eyes and let go of the hand at your neck. This wasn’t the way you’d planned on going, but if he wanted to do the job for you, you weren’t going to stop him.

“Do it,” you feel him pull back and meet his sickly eyes with your own, “If you’re going to kill me, just get it over with.”

The Nogitsune laughs; a full, hearty laugh that reminds you of how Stiles would laugh whenever he was genuinely happy, “Kill you? You think I’m here to kill you?”

Your brow furrows, “Aren’t you?”

“Why would I kill the perfect source of pain?” his hand loosens from around your neck, moving to cup your jaw. “Now, take all of that pain,” his lips are just a breath away, “and give it to me.”

You gasp as his mouth connects with yours, and you go lightheaded as it feels like he’s draining the life out of you. You brace yourself on his shoulders and feel him press his full body against you to keep you propped between him and the wall. His knee goes between your legs, locking you both there.

You hear a breathy groan pass between his lips, muffling against your own. His lips crash against yours in what seems like a desperate effort to get more. More of you. More of your pain. Whatever he was taking from you, you found yourself giving it freely as the kiss went on.

He wrenches himself away from you, panting as he wipes his mouth. He keeps one hand entangled in your hair as you look at him in a daze. Your heart is beating ferociously and you’re gasping for air nearly twice as hard as he is. Before you can even think a coherent sentence, he seems to have regained enough composure to grip the back of your head by your hair and roughly pull you to focus on him.

“More,” passes through his kiss-swollen lips as he attacks your neck. You feel that same lightheadedness as he latches onto your pulse, his free hand sliding up the hem of your shirt. As he takes more from you, you find it to be an almost ecstatic feeling. You’re unable to stop the moan that rips from your throat as he bites down, taking blood with the pain.

You feel your hands move on their own accord. They go to his messy hair, gripping him in an effort to just grab onto something. You felt so lost in this moment, as if the only thing keeping you sane were his lips on your body.

“More,” the word comes from your own parted lips this time. What are you asking for? For him to take more of the pain? For him to take more of you? You honestly didn’t know. All you knew was that this was the most alive you’ve felt in years, and you wanted to keep feeling this way.

If this demon was going to give that to you, you’d let him take whatever he wanted.

The Nogitsune seemed to know what you were asking for as his lips disconnected from your neck with a smack and he ripped your shirt off your body in one fluid movement. His hands traveled behind your back, your bra soon following your shirt. Every touch he made seemed to linger, and it wasn’t until he was between your knees, gripping your scarred thighs, that you noticed the black veins that appeared whenever he touched you.

You were still gripping his hair for dear life as he smirked up at you, sliding a hand up your skirt before ripping your panties down to your ankles, “Even now, you’re still in chaos. You’re torn between wanting to feel again, and knowing that you’re supposed to hate me.”

You were about to retaliate when he dragged his index finger along your sex, “After all,” his smirk never faltered as he pushed the skirt up higher, “I am the enemy.” You nearly scream as his tongue darts out over your clit, working its way over your core. You can feel the fox’s grin as he works you over relentlessly, gasps and moans involuntarily ripping from your throat. You know your grip in his hair must be almost painful at this point, but it doesn’t slow him down one bit.

You don’t know whose name to scream out when you go over the edge, panting and writhing against the wall of the bath.

The aftermath of your orgasm is pushed forward by his tongue as he greedily takes all you can give. He detangles your fingers from his brown hair; that damned smirk is the first thing that comes into your vision as he stands upright again.

He leaves you there, in a daze and shivering against the cold tile at your back as he steps out of the tub. He looks back only once as he reaches the door, a Cheshire grin playing at the lips which were only moments before at your most intimate of places.

“Don’t do anything we’ll both regret, my dear. That was the best meal I’ve had in the last five hundred years.”

#void stiles #smut #void stiles smut

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beyondspaceandstars · 3 years

Text

Around Your Neck

Bonus: Part 2

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader feat. Voyeur!Zemo Warnings: SMUT, NSFW, penetrative sex, choking, metal arm kink, fingering, public sex, voyeurism, degradation, humiliation, dirty talk - 18+, minors DNI. Summary: Zemo was quite intrigued by you and Bucky fucking on his plane that he takes some bold steps when he sees you two running off to do similar activities on another one of his properties. A/N: alright! this idea actually stems from a conversation that took place in the original ‘Around You Neck’ piece. A reader (see full exchange below) threw around the idea of Zemo watching and someone second but it took me a while to actually get down how to go about this although i think i got it I THINK I DID GOOD. i enjoyed it so fingers crossed this lives up to any expectations

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 3

Things had gotten hot and heavy between you and Bucky once again upon settling into Zemo’s place.

Once the gig was up and everyone was fully aware of your particular interest in a particular arm, you didn’t even attempt to hide your lustful gazing.

And something about that sure got Bucky going.

He pushed you against the wall of the fancy bathroom. His lips were on yours from the second he made some lame-ass excuse to pull you away from Sam and Zemo.

Sam had chosen to ignore it, not feeling like now was the time to lecture either of you. Zemo on the other hand had watched silently as Bucky’s hand gripped the back of your neck and your thighs twitched in response before you two disappeared into the bathroom.

You had felt Zemo’s eyes on you two as Bucky fumbled with the door before shoving you in, deepening the kiss, but you had chosen to ignore it and instead got caught up in the sensations of your boyfriend.

Nearly everything in the world had been forgotten the moment Bucky lifted you up and your legs wrapped around his torso. He walked you carefully backward, your back hit a wall.

“You’re driving me absolutely mad,” Bucky whispered in your ear, his voice as rough and passionate as his actions. His hardness grinded into your heated core as he spoke, earning a pathetic whine from you.

“I-I haven’t done anything.” You just about giggled at the end of your claim of innocence. Bucky responded by attacking your neck with kisses, nipping and sucking as he made his way across your hot skin.

You let out a light moan and made your own grinding actions against him. He shook his head, trying to taunt and deny you, but then little begs fell from your lips. The sweet sounds of “please” always made him absolutely weak - not that he’d ever admit it. Instead, he slowly let one hand make its way to your pants button while his metal arm held you perfectly.

When you realized the position, you swore you could feel yourself getting wetter. Just the realization he was holding you with one arm - the metal arm - so effortlessly while his other hand started work on giving you some relief made something turn in your stomach.

Bucky must’ve realized all this as he let out a deep chuckle once he undid your pants and shoved his hand into your panties. Two fingers first started little circular motions on your clit before moving them over your soaking folds.

He inserted the, slowly, letting you feel every inch of his fingers. “So fucking wet,” he groaned in your ear as he planted a kiss on the corner of your mouth. “Haven’t even done anything yet it’s a fucking puddle in your panties. Ridiculous.”

The degrading words did not help your situation as you let out a loud gasping moan. Bucky was enjoying this, letting you be as loud as you wanted despite the others clearly in the house. You could only hope that they had decided to leave upon catching wind of what you two were up to.

But that turned out not to be the case.

As Bucky began adding a third finger to the mix, the bathroom door opened. At first, you didn’t even notice it. Eyes closed, your brain was only focused on getting your boyfriend to hurry up and fuck you, you were totally lost in your own world. For your super-soldier ex-assassin boyfriend, though, it was harder for him to turn his senses off.

Abruptly, all motions stopped. Bucky lifted his head from your neck as his fingers stilled inside you. You opened your eyes unwillingly and looked down at your boyfriend. His eyes were wide as yours were furrowed in confusion.

A heavily accented voice cut through the silence from the doorway. “Don’t stop on my account.”

You gasped - and this time it wasn’t one of pleasure. You started wiggling, trying to get a now furious Bucky away from you. He caught on and ripped his hand from your pants. Angry but still handling you with care, his arm placed you back on the ground. You turned away from the door, trying to fix your clothes as Bucky faced the intruder.

“What the fuck are you doing? Get the hell out.” Bucky’s voice boomed throughout the room, bouncing off every tile.

You flinched at the sound as you turned around, presently decent. Your eyes fell on Zemo who was currently leaning against the doorframe, a stupid smirk on his face and a fire in his eyes.

He shrugged, completely unbothered, and slowly closed the door again behind him. “Can’t a man watch what’s happening in his own home?” You and Bucky shared a questioning glance. “You two just seem to like sneaking off. Forgive me if my curiosity has peaked but this is a fascinating situation.”

“What the hell are you going on about?” You sighed, frustrated in more ways than one.

“I’m a man who likes to know what’s going on,” he crossed his arms, “especially when it’s happening in my space.”

“I really don’t-,”

“He wants to watch,” Bucky cut you off but his eyes were still trained on Zemo’s cocky, slightly too proud stance. Your stomach unexpectedly fluttered.

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “W-Watch?” Your voice was suddenly weak as the frustrations - the good ones - hit you again.

“Hmm, interesting,” said Zemo as if he was casually thinking out loud. As if this was the perfect time for some brainstorming session. Your blood was boiling at his casualness.

You rolled your eyes, biting the bait that he cast like a foolish, edged woman. “What’s interesting?”

“You didn’t say no.”

You and Bucky began spewing protests to his claim.

“I-I was in shock-,”

“It doesn’t mean anything-,”

“You’re insane-,”

Zemo lifted his hand to stop you both. Your two voices were getting muddled as your words fought to defend. You gave in, quickly halting all complaints. You could see from the corner of your eye Bucky watching you a bit cautiously now but you didn’t want to face him. You still, for some reason, felt hot and bothered by this… proposition.

“Am I really that insane?” He asked, taking a slow step towards you. “You think you’re hiding it but you can’t stop shifting your stance and those pretty thighs won’t stop squeezing together.” Zemo paused, chuckling a bit to himself. You glared, keeping your eyes locked with his despite how overwhelming it all was. “Are you going to tell me that I’m wrong, dear? Because I don’t think I am. In fact, I think you’d more than just enjoy it. I think you actually crave it.”

Your heart sank at Zemo’s publicized revelation. How the hell did he even pick up on that? Was he somehow in your fucking mind? Your eyes searched his expression, looking for signs that he was pulling your leg or playing some fucking games but his features were cold with a hint of curiosity. You weren’t sure what to say because, well, he really wasn’t wrong. But this didn’t stem from some blatant attraction to Zemo (even though that desire certainly was harboring deep, deep within you), you had always had some interest in sexual adventures on the more voyeuristic side.

Bucky, however, didn’t know any of this.

For all the intimate actions you two had already explored -- including the new-found metal arm kink -- you hadn’t brought this up, finding it to be some ultimate, untouchable achievement with your partner.

Bucky said your name, pulling you out of your dazed thoughts. You finally faced him, taking in his not-so-surprising expression of wonder. “Is that true?” There was something in his tone that made your heart leap. He was… excited, you thought. “Is this making you…”

Your mouth opened but no words came out.

Zemo opted to answer for you. “You know it is, James.”

Bucky licked his lips and took a couple of steps towards you, focused on getting an answer personally from you. He was very close now, pretty much towering of you. “Does the thought of someone watching us make you wet?”

His words hit the room like explosive bombs. You gasped at the boldness, trying to act all surprised at the question, but your body couldn’t hide anything, especially not when Bucky’s metal arm came up to trace invisible lines across your neck. He held your head up, forcing you to keep your eyes on him. The entire situation felt so powerful.

“N-No.”

Both Bucky and Zemo let out scoffs in disbelief. You sighed, defeated.

“Oh, really?” Bucky inquired as he began walking towards you again, getting so close that you had no choice but to back up. You hit the wall once again, feeling almost in the position from earlier.

Without any warning, Bucky undid your pants and once again shoved his hand back to your core, letting his fingers run over your folds. If your panties had a puddle earlier, it was now a full-blown ocean down there. You yelped in surprise.

Bucky hummed as he let his fingers play. “I think the thought makes you very wet.” He pressed into you just a bit more, enough for you to now feel his erection through his jeans.

As Bucky inserted two fingers in you, he moved his head to meet yours. You grabbed onto his shoulders as the hand on your throat forced your head to tilt to the side, making room for him to whisper in your ears.

He pumped his fingers slowly as he spoke, “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” You let out a pathetic whine. “Yeah, you sure are,” Bucky chuckled. “I can feel it. I can feel you soaking my hand and why is that? Because someone is watching you? Someone’s watching you take my fingers like a good girl while my hand is wrapped around your pretty throat, just how I know you like it. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Bucky sneered, his voice full of arousal and jealousy, at the little pet name Zemo had used on you. You just about collapsed when he spoke. If it hadn’t been for Bucky’s strong body pressing into yours, you would’ve melted into the floor. Not to mention, you could feel Zemo’s eyes taking you in, raking over you so shamelessly as you twisted and squirmed from Bucky’s skilled fingering.

“She is quite the sight,” Zemo commented, making observations as if you weren’t even in the room. For some reason, that made everything hotter.

“M-More-,” you choked out and began grinding your hips against Bucky’s body. His grip on your throat got a bit tighter at your movement, forcing you to let out a moan.

“You want more?” Bucky taunted you as his thumb came up to circle your clit. You yelped, moving your hips even more. His body was still holding you down. “You want me to fuck you right here for him to see?��

Your eyes had fluttered close by now but Bucky wasn’t dealing with that. The hand on your neck left and found its way into your hair. He gave your hair a tug, forcing you to keep looking at him. His eyes bore into yours, full of lust and pleasure. His features, though, were harsh and serious. You felt your orgasm coming in hard. You couldn’t even think straight to nod at his ridiculous question.

Bucky seemed to know all this, though. Just as fast as he put his hand down your pants, he removed it, making you let out an angry, pitiful whine at the loss of contact. Bucky just shook his head and forced you to turn around. Now your front was completely pushed against the wall and Bucky was working fast to get your pants and panties off.

You couldn’t really see anything behind you now and somehow, this got you going even more. You lost pretty much all control in this position. Your awareness was flying out the window. You had no idea what Bucky’s next moves would be and you certainly didn’t know how Zemo looked taking this all in.

Suddenly, though, a hand came up to your cheek, brushing back your hair. You knew immediately it wasn’t Bucky.

“You look so pretty, dear,” Zemo whispered. His hand caressed your cheek as his eyes stared into your blown-out ones. “Like an absolute goddess.”

Before you could even respond or at least show acknowledgment, Bucky entered you full force, his hips completely jutting against you. You let out a cry at the fullness, completely stunned by the boldness of your boyfriend. He groaned lowly in your ear as he worked his way well deep into you.

“B-Bucky-” Your cries were loud as you adjusted to the size of him, now planted rightfully in you. While there was some discomfort, all you could register was the pleasure you had been denied for what felt like forever.

“Shh,” he hushed you, his mouth right against your ear. “You’re taking it so well, doll. My good little girl.”

You could’ve sobbed at his words of encouragement. He watched you for a second, still paused inside you, before feeling that you were okay. Then the pumping began, in and out of you, just as powerful as when Bucky first entered you. His rhythm was hypnotizing as he fucked you forcefully into the wall.

Upping the ante a bit, his metal arm came around to your neck, squeezing gently but with determination. You felt yourself get wetter at the action.

“There you go,” Bucky mumbled, sounding lost in his own daze. “Just like that, sweetheart. Got me fucking you against a wall, my hand around your throat, while we have a little audience. But that’s what you wanted, right? You wanted to show off how you like to get fucked.”

Somehow, his words were so degrading yet so pleasing. They went straight to your core causing the sound of your wetness to begin filling the room. You heard Zemo chuckle at the shift.

“Such a dirty girl you have, James.”

Bucky scoffed. “What a naughty girl I have. Didn’t even tell me she likes it when people watch.”

You whined at the statement but didn’t have much time to ponder it as Bucky pulled out of the way out only to shove right back in, forcing you to take his length in one motion. Your cries were becoming a regular thing now, completely engrossed in the situation.

“That’s it, sweetheart, so good,” Bucky grunted in your ear as his hand on your throat got tighter. “Gonna cum for me, yeah? Gonna come while he watches? Come on, doll, let him see how pretty you look falling apart.”

That was all it took. Your orgasm rushed through you the second his words stopped and he gave another strong pump. Slightly ashamed of yourself for how little it took for you to cum, but who could really blame you? Denied twice, you were always on that teetering and all that was needed was Bucky’s permission.

You shook under Bucky as he stilled inside you, letting his own orgasm take him over. He finished inside you, groaning and moaning pleasantly in your ear as you squirmed. The sensation of it all, from the warmth of Bucky filling you to Zemo’s eyes still shamelessly watching, had you overwhelmed quickly.

Bucky whispered sweet praises in your ear as you two calmed down. “So good for me, sweetheart. Absolutely fucking perfect. Can never get enough of this.” His words made you feel warm and definitely helped you catch your breath.

When he saw you were going to be fine, Bucky pulled out and reached for a towel to clean you up. He was gentle and caring, a complete contrast to just minutes ago.

Pants and underwear returned to your body and you pushed yourself slowly away from the wall, carefully finding your footing.

Once you and Bucky had straightened up your appearance, Zemo spoke.

“That certainly was a real treat,” he said with a cocky smile playing on his lips. You couldn’t really face him and instead focused on the floor. Bucky placed a gentle hand on your waist. “Nothing to be ashamed of, dear. I think we got what we all wanted, right?”

You mustered the courage to at least look up at Bucky who was just rolling his eyes.

“Could you leave us for now?” Bucky sighed.

“Why?” Zemo asked. “Going for round two?”

You shook your head, fighting your own urge to roll your eyes. No matter how mad you actually wanted to be, though, you had certainly found a lot of pleasure in the events just seconds earlier.

Bucky went to snap back with some remarks but Zemo cut him off. “I’m just kidding,” he said and then began walking to the door. “Thank you for this opportunity. It will certainly be treasured.”

With that, he exited, leaving you and Bucky standing there, staring at one another. Surprisingly, nothing had felt it changed between you two. In fact, you felt better now that that little secret of yours was now out in the open.

“So,” Bucky began with the tiniest smirk, “are there any other kinks of yours I need to know about?”

You groaned as Bucky chuckled, finding way too much amusement now. “Shut up.”

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vidalinav · 3 years

Text

Stu(died)-Chapter 3

Summary: Cassian takes care of a sick Nesta

Nessian Modern AU-university setting.

Masterlist, Stu(died) Chapter List

(Rolls eyes hardcore) I am continuing this fic for literally five people. Smh.

Nesta comes to their tutoring session late and that’s the first thing that tips him off. Already his phone is in his hand ready to call 911. He has Nesta’s number in his phone saved. The first person listed in his text log under Nerd. He can always text or call her. He belongs to The Rat Pack in Nesta’s Snap Chat group, and he knows he can always contact Emerie or Gwyn if something is truly wrong. Yet he dials in 911 and his thumb hovers over the call button.

If she doesn’t show up in fifteen minutes, Cassian swears he’ll call.

Nesta’s never late. In fact, she’s annoyingly early. She practically has a stop watch in her hand at all times, counting every minute she waits. When Cassian comes running in five minutes later, as he so often does, panting with some excuse, Nesta doesn’t even bother looking up from her textbook. She merely gestures to the seat, a heavy sigh on her lips, like she’s running out of time to bore him death even as she fascinates him to pieces.

Her books should already be splayed onto the table, her pencils straight and neatly lined up. Today, the table is empty.

He’ll give it fifteen minutes and then he’s calling.

But Nesta shows up before another minute ticks by. She steps out of the elevator wearing that grey polo he’s seen on her a million times. She lugs her way to him, dragging her feet with the weight of those textbooks he’s sure are in her bag.

She’s wearing a mask, today, and that’s another thing that sends his brain screeching somethings not right here! It covers half of her face, and her eyes look tired from where they peak above the fabric. Cassian doesn’t even bother waiting for her to settle. Already he’s crossing his arms, his brows crinkling with concern and something like irritation.

How dare she think studying is more important than her health.

“Go home,” he says as she nears. Nesta only blinks as if as not understanding his words. The fact that she doesn’t immediately argue is enough for him to start gathering his things.

“What are you doing?” She says as he stuffs his notebook in his bag, “You have an exam in two weeks.” Nesta sets down her own, it slaps at the table with a heavy thump. Cassian can hear the zipper unzipping but not as well as the cough that roars out of her mouth.

It’s loud and wet, and Nesta pauses as if to get her bearings, covering her mouth with her arm. She coughs and coughs and Cassian lays a hand to his own chest. He can almost feel how much it hurts, how she gasps.

Cassian shakes his head, “No, I’m taking you home.”

Nesta’s brows furrow and she gets that look in her eyes. He just knows she’s going to fight him on this. “I--”

Cassian cuts her off, “please, save your breath. You’re going to make everyone sick.”

“I’m wearing a mask!” Nesta argues.

“It’s almost midterms.” Cassian gestures to the other occupants in the library. He sees one person with their hoodie pulled up over their head, clearly sleeping... and moves on to someone else. A group in the corner who’s standing by a whiteboard. “You want to take your chances with sleep deprived students?”

Nesta seems to think about that. While she does, Cassian zips up her bag and throws it over his shoulder. It’s as heavy as he thought it might be. Briefly, he thinks of making a joke about how she must have stuffed a body in here, but he doesn’t think she’d appreciate it, given how quiet she is.

Mentally, he starts making a list of everything she needs. Medicine? He’ll get the pills and the syrup, never mind if she scrunches her nose at the taste. He’ll get her soup. Not the canned. Cassian will buy the ingredients. He’s sure he can make something appeasing. Vaguely, he can remember his mom’s recipe. Beef broth and cabbage and squash. Hopefully she can stomach it. Never mind, the salt will be good for her.

“Hey,” she whines, blinking up at him slowly, “give me my bag.”

“Have you not heard me? You need to be home lying down. Not here, helping me study. Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? I’m taking you home.”

Nesta crosses her arms and the intimidation tactic seems ridiculous with her face half covered and her endless sniffling. “You can try, but I’ll just refuse to tell you my apartment number.”

Cassian scoffs, “I know where you live. I can see your room from the house when you study at night.”

“Who says that out loud?” Nesta shouts.

She must be terribly ill if she’s yelling in a library. That’s all he can think as he gestures to the elevator, bags in hand.

“Never mind that. Let’s go,” Cassian says, walking ahead without her.

He can’t hear her shuffling though, so he turns back to find Nesta leaning on a chair, holding her stomach. He can already feel himself sighing.

Cassian rushes back just in time for Nesta to rip off her mask, and move to the closest trashcan. It’s situated under one of the bulletin boards and as Cassian sidles up to her, rubbing at her back and pulling her hair away, he looks to the papers tacked to the board.

Join the rowing team. Looking for tutors. Research participants wanted.

He can hear the retching and Cassian reads on.

Babysitter wanted for professor, transportation needed.

“I haven’t thrown up since middle school,” Nesta says pathetically. She frowns as he hands her his bottle of water. Her nose and cheeks are red and for some reason he thinks of Rudolph, lighting the way for Santa through the storm.

He feels bad for little Rudolph...

“Now will you let me take you home,” Cassian sighs. He hopes it doesn’t sound like an ‘I told you so’ but she should really be lying down. He lays a hand to her forehead, but she brushes him off, moving towards the bathrooms.

“I’ll wait right here,” he says, but Nesta moves ahead as if she doesn’t hear him at all. Cassian can’t find it in himself to mind. A sick Nesta is guaranteed to be a stubborn Nesta, he just knows.

When she gets out, she looks surprised to see him and that’s another look that just proves how sick she must be. It’s a fairly obvious prediction that he’s going to wait next to the girl's bathroom, counting ceiling tiles. It’s a perfectly ‘Cassian with Nesta’ thing to do.

“You’re skipping class?”

Nesta coughs again, and she looks perfectly pitiful as she blinks her tired eyes. Cassian can feel his lips frown, and he shifts her bag more securely on his shoulder if only to keep himself from reaching out for her. Already he can feel his hands bunch into fists because he wants to grab her own and squeeze it until she's reassured. He wants to hug her until she feels better.

But he can’t.

Cassian lists every action he wants to do. Kiss her forehead where Nesta rubs her hand, because she must have a headache from how sick she is. Put on her favorite movie, so she can fall asleep to its sound. Run to every store, raiding every Walgreens and CVS until he comes back with a pharmacy.

What might she allow now that she’s sick? Will she let him fuss like he wants to?

But Nesta rolls her eyes in that haughty way of hers. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t do what?” Cassian asks and he wonders if she can read his thoughts. If she studies him so well, reads him like one of her textbooks, memorizing facts and facial features.

“You can’t skip class,” she argues. “Why am I tutoring you if you’re going to skip class?”

At the words, all Cassian wants to do is sigh. She’s thinking about attendance at a time like this...

“Nesta, there is no class more important than you.”

Her brows crinkle at the center like she’s going to start arguing, but Cassian allows himself one touch. He places his thumb there, between her brows, smoothing out the lines. Nesta rips away, blinking up dazed and all too confused. Cassian would laugh at the look, if he didn’t need the distraction.

He juts his head to the elevator quickly. “Let’s go. We can walk slow, so don’t overexert yourself.”

Nesta scrunches up her nose, so cute and red, but she follows him anyway albeit a little petulantly. She holds her hand out for her bag, but Cassian turns toward the doors, pretending not to see.

“How does me being sick make you bossy?”

Cassian doesn’t dare to respond. He doesn’t know whether he’ll admit that he wants to take care of her, that’s he’s so worried a knot twists in his stomach, or if he’ll make some joke, he knows will make her mad. Maybe that’s the better option, he thinks. He can handle a mad Nesta. He likes a mad Nesta, but a Nesta who so easily rejects him?

Cassian doesn’t know about that.

“You don’t have any classes left this week, right?”

Nesta coughs into her sleeve before answering. Though she means to sound queenly, she only sounds sick, “you know where I live, and you also know my class schedule... seems suspicious if you ask me.”

“I’ve known you for two years.”

“And murder victims are three times more likely to be killed by someone they know."

Cassian huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, “Do you still go to sleep watching SVU? Or have you switched to Lifetime movies where the babysitters always try to kill the wife?”

“People should be wary about the people they know,” Nesta shrugs as if that’s answer enough.

Cassian snorts, “well you don’t have to be wary of me.”

As the elevator doors open, Cassian gestures for her to go first and Nesta does, but not before crossing her arms.

“That’s just what a murderer would want me to think.” She squints as if dissecting him, limb by limb. “You kill me, and I’ll haunt you. You won’t be able to sleep at night without thinking of me.”

Too late, Cassian thinks.

It’s much too late for that.

Rudolph has the patience of a five-year-old when she’s sick. Cassian learns this fairly quickly when he runs inside a Walgreens on their way to Nesta’s apartment.

There’s a bench that she can sit on, where she can wait if she feels tired, but no. Nesta decides she needs to run errands. She has an entire basket filled by the time he finds her again. She’s by the greeting cards, holding three open at a time. Cassian huffs with a receipt and medicine in hand.

“Here,” he says, giving her the cough medicine. “Take some of this.”

Nesta doesn’t even bother with pouring. He watches as she rips the cap away, taking a swig right out of the bottle, gulping it down.

“That’s way more than the suggested amount,” he cries, “you can get drunk on this stuff!”

“Good, maybe I’ll forget this day ever happened.”

Cassian sighs... it seems all he does is sigh when she’s like this. A sick Nesta is a petulant, irritated Nesta with a permanent furrow between her brows.

“I know you feel sick,” he tries to placate, “but I bet you’d feel a whole lot better if we get you home as soon as we can... so you can lie down and sleep.”

Nesta only picks up another Halloween card. She ignores his suggestion, laughing under her breath as she reads whatever inane joke is written there. Soon, she’s coughing though, and Cassian reaches for the basket just to stop himself from rubbing a hand down her back, combing his fingers through her hair.

Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn, his thoughts scream.

Cassian looks to the contents to distract himself from her watery eyes, and that’s when he notices what she’s grabbed. It seems that while he was in the cold and flu aisle, Nesta was raiding the snacks.

“What is this?” He gestures to the basket. Two boxes of cereal. Caramel corn. Baked Lay’s and cans of Arizona tea. Cassian takes one and holds it up. “Really Nesta?”

“What it’s green tea!” she argues, shoving another card back in its slot.

“This is all... junk,” he tries to explain, but Nesta’s already glowering.

“Look I don’t question your decisions. You don’t question mine.”

Cassian gives her a bland look. “You question my decisions all the time. Before we came in here, you literally said ‘why are we going in here, Cassian? Weren’t you supposed to take me home.’ You said that.”

Nesta simply raises her chin, pulling out another card. “I recall no such thing.”

“Fine,” Cassian grumbles, “if you want to eat yourself to an early grave and ignore everything that could potentially make you feel better than that’s just fine with me.”

“Good,” she says, putting back the other cards. Nesta settles for a pop-up that sings Monster Mash when she opens it. She sets it in the basket he holds, walking ahead without even looking back. “I’m ready to check out.”

“Really?” Cassian jokes, mockingly. “Are you sure you raided the candy aisle?”

Nesta stops in her tracks, peering through the section with printer ink and paper as if she can see the other side. He swears he’d facepalm if he wasn’t carrying all this stuff.

“You’re right,” she says, nodding.

“Wait!” Cassian calls. “Where are you going? Nesta!”

Too late. He can already hear crunching bags.

The variety packs.

Cassian sighs, lugging their things to the aisle next door.

“Can I use these vegetables?” Cassian asks, as Nesta shoves open the door to her room. He’s surprised she’s not still by the freezer. When they first get back to her place, she sticks her head in there and he wonders if he should suggest taking her temperature, or if she’s doing it just to show him she’s annoyed.

Perhaps her ears bleed from the sound of his voice.

That seems like something Nesta would say.

“They’re Emerie’s. Why?”

“To make soup,” Cassian explains, rifling through the contents. There’s zucchini and summer squash. Onion, fresh parsley and carrots. Cabbage and lettuce. Fresh fruit. He can make a nice stew out of this.

Nesta scoffs, “I don’t need soup.”

She enters her room, shoving the door back behind her until it leaves only a crack.

“You can leave now,” she yells. “I’m home like you wanted.”

“Are you lying down?” He asks, crossing his arms sternly though she can’t see him.

Nesta sighs loudly, “you’re annoying!”

“Maybe if you got some rest, I’d be less annoying,” Cassian sings brightly.

He can hear the soft sound of her voice. “Doubt.”

Cassian shakes his head with a smirk. He opens his snapchat where The Rat Pack is the first on the list, but the group name has changed... to People I Tolerate.

That’s got to be Nesta.

Cassian laughs under his breath and types. Can I use your vegetables? Making Nesta soup.

Emerie’s bitmoji pops up at the bottom, but the person who texts back first is not Emerie, but Gwyn.

You’re at our house?

Cassian can almost hear her voice. Stern and cautious. He’s almost certain she doesn’t like him. Gwyn looks at him with even more disdain than Nesta when he's around. That stay away from my friend look.

He sighs. Yes, Nesta’s sick.

Gwyn’s quick to respond. I can come home early. I need to drop off a paper, but I can be there in 30.

Cassian rolls his eyes and types, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of her.

Nesta’s face pops up. I can take care of myself.

“No, you can’t!” Cassian yells.

“Yes, I can!” Nesta yells back, but then she starts coughing again and he can hear her groan in the other room. Cassian raises a brow at her door.

I’m going to make soup. I’ll make enough for all of you, but can I use stuff from the fridge? I’ll replace it all.

Emerie’s face pops up and then disappears quickly. He’s about ready to go to the store himself or at least next door to the House, but Emerie’s text appears.

I have no objections to this.

Cassian smiles in relief, and he’s about to set down his phone when another notification appears. It’s Emerie again.

And if you make good soup, you can stay indefinitely.

Cassian sends a winking emoji. Nesta sends back the emoji with the straight mouth and eyes. Before he can frown at what that means, Cassian sees that the group name has changed... to Three’s Company.

That’s got to be Gwyn.

Stone cold, Emerie texts back.

Cassian decides he’s going to ignore that for the moment and focus on the objective at hand.

Soup.

Cassian pulls out the vegetables and looks through the cupboards. Emerie, it seems, has all the good spices. He finds the broth packets stored in the back, and he pulls out some beef from the freezer. It’ll need to defrost but he can start the broth now, get the vegetables soft, and brown the beef later. It’ll take a couple of hours anyway.

Occasionally, he hears a cough as he works. Then a sweet laugh... followed by a cough and a groan. Cassian feels bad for her he does, but he can’t help but find the whole situation amusing. She should be resting and yet she seems to be wide awake.

Nesta doesn’t come out of her room though. It’s as if he’s not even there, and he takes that time to look over her shared apartment. There are three doors, each with a letter at the front. The N is blue, the E, green, and the G, pink. He doesn’t know how it’s possible to have a living room that looks like all three, but somehow it works. It’s studious and bright. Colorful, but subdued. There are way too many throw pillows and books scattered everywhere, but there’s also a TV with a fireplace under it. He can just imagine Nesta laughing at scary movies. Some slasher fic she’ll watch like she’s taking notes.

He can imagine Nesta everywhere, in fact.

This is where she eats. Where she sits. Where she studies. This is where she trips over shoes if they’re not neatly lined up and where she complains about dirty dishes. This is where she cooks... if she does cook. Cassian doesn’t know.

Maybe he’ll get to find out one day.

Once the water starts boiling and the meat is in the microwave to defrost, Cassian goes to check how Rudolph is doing.

He knocks on her door lightly, pushing it open. “Nesta?”

Cassian’s never seen her room before, say for when she sits by the window with her curtains wide open, and just like then, it seems like an invasion of privacy to do so now. But Nesta’s plopped on top of her bed, tucked beneath her blue comforter, and she sets down her phone when he appears at the door.

Her whole room is filled with blues and creams, and it looks exactly what he imagines Nesta’s room to look like. The large calendar, an agenda on the desk, bookshelf after bookshelf lining her walls. There are also things he doesn’t know of her yet. Pictures and posters and a.... stuffed lobster? Cassian holds it up.

“Would you stop looking around?” Nesta groans. She has her arm resting over her eyes, and he wonders if it’s because she doesn’t want to see him looking or if she feels that bad that the light is bothering her.

She should be getting some rest, he thinks.

“Where did you get a stuffed lobster?”

Nesta coughs out her response.

The sound makes Cassian grimace, his chest ache with need, but he doesn’t rush over like he wants to. This is her house, her room... and this is Nesta who doesn’t like to be coddled by anyone.

“It’s a heat pack,” she says at last, after she catches her breath.

“A heat pack?” Cassian looks to the soft red claws that dangle. He’s never seen anything so soft be a heat pack.

“For cramps,” she says as if it’s obvious. Nesta must take his silence to mean ignorance for she lifts onto her elbows, raising a judgmental brow. “Please tell me you know what periods are or am I am going to have to go back to teaching you biology?”

“No,” Cassian draws out, “I know what periods are.”

Nesta mumbles a thank god and Cassian watches as she shifts under the covers, pulling them up until they hover just beneath her mouth.

“Are you cold?” Cassian asks, looking around her room. He spots his burgundy hoodie neatly folded and nearly yanks it from her desk. “Here. Wear my sweatshirt.”

“I just washed it,” Nesta whines, “I was going to give it back to you.”

Cassian’s confused by the words, but he merely gestures for her to budge up. He’s thankful when she doesn’t argue. He rolls the sweatshirt over her head and Nesta fits her arms through the sleeves.

“You didn’t have to wash it,” he says, watching as she pats down her hair. If only he could pull it up for her, comb his fingers through it. She could use his scrunchie too, if she wanted.

Nesta rolls her eyes, and he can only imagine what she thinks. He can practically hear the words. Of course, you wouldn’t care about clean clothes.

Her expressions practically give her away--everything she feels and thinks. Cassian wonders if he knows how open she is to the rest of the world. He wonders if she’d hate him if he told her this.

“It was going to smell like me,” she frowns.

Cassian wants to huff out a laugh. That is perfectly fine by him.

“Stop laughing,” she whines, “I’m being serious.”

“Yes, you’re being very serious.” He can’t help his smirk as he gazes up at her. He doesn’t even realize he’s on her bed, sitting to the side of her all bunched up in red. Her nose to the fabric. He almost wants to say she looks cute in his hoodie, all sick like that, but he knows she’ll only bite at him, remarking about how he has some weird fetish for sick girls.

Cassian holds back a laugh as he hears the microwave ding. He needs to turn the meat around, so it doesn’t cook through, but Nesta grips his arm. His head whips towards her and... Nesta’s gazing up at him. Her eyes are a soft blue. Just like her room.

“You’re warm,” she says. To explain herself, he thinks, and why she holds him as if she doesn't want him to move.

Cassian’s lips raise lightly, and he places the back of his hand on her forehead. “You must be worse than you’re letting on if you're okay with me being in your bed.”

Nesta scoffs, “you’re on it. Not in it. I’ll make that distinction very clear.”

“You can’t be that sick then,” Cassian shrugs, smiling. “If you’re making everything sound like a tutoring session.”

Her cheeks flush a bright pink and Cassian thinks she must have a fever. He wonders if he should search for an ice pack or make one, so she doesn’t get too hot.

“Are you tired?” He asks, noting how slowly she blinks. “You did drink a lot of cough syrup.”

“I also took a NyQuil,” she says, closing her eyes.

Cassian huffs, “remind me to teach you how read warning labels when your fully coherent.”

He can hear the microwave ding again, and it reminds him of an alarm. Wake up! It seems to say. Being in Nesta’s room does feels like falling asleep. Rather dream-like and hazy. The microwave dings incessantly, but Cassian doesn’t want to wake up just yet.

Her hand is still on his arm. It’s so much smaller than his and he wants to trace the skin there and see if it’s as soft as it looks. Cassian doesn’t dare look at her, in case she doesn’t just bang together two loud cymbals and tell him to get up and out and away.

Cassian looks ahead instead, fixing his gaze on the stuffed lobster on her desk.

“Nesta,” he starts and then swallows. He feels nervous, his hands clammy. “Nesta, I really think you and I... we’d be good together.”

Cassian takes a breath, and he stares at the lobster as if it’s her face. “We’ve known each other for a long time now and I... I haven’t hid how I feel about you.” His heart is beating way too fast, and he doesn’t feel any freer from speaking the words, but Cassian decides it’s time to rip the Band-Aid off. “I thought maybe... we could try it out. See if you might be comfortable with it. If you might like me... too?”

He doesn’t know why he words that like a question, but Nesta doesn’t say a word. Cassian looks back, hoping there’s no disgust in baby blue. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she just outright says he’s trash and she’ll never like him.

But Nesta’s fast asleep.

Cassian doesn’t bother sighing as he grips her limp hand, setting it on the blanket. He doesn’t bother being disappointed when he tucks the comforter around her. Her cheeks are a lobster-red and he rubs a thumb lightly there, wondering what it would be like to hold her face in his palm and kiss at her nose. Would she complain as he pecked her lips? You’ll get sick Cassian.

Then we can stay in bed together, Nesta.

No. Cassian’s not disappointed at all.

He’ll tuck away his dreams where tomorrow lives.

Today, he’ll stick to what he’s good at, so Cassian heads to the kitchen to make soup.

~ ~

Mwahahahaahah

In case you missed, here’s the stuffed lobster in the flesh.

Tagged:

@arinbelle @my-fan-side @sophilightwood @nestaarcher0n @duskandstarlight @soitsgorgeous @swankii-art-teacher @lordof-bloodshed @thewhelk @daisy-in-danger @highqueenevankhell @lovelynesta @sirendeepity @champanheandluxxury @ladynestaarcheron @moodymelanist @teagoddess99 @spoilersteph @angelic-voice-1997 @bo0kmaster69 @drielecarla @generalnesta @cozycomfyliving08 @confusedfandomslut @dread3r @sv0430

"Why am I still writing this fic?" I say angrily, as I angrily type it in my angry word document.

#nesta archeron #cassian #nessian #nessian fanfiction #vidalinav writes #Stu(died)

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wkemeup · 4 years

Text

Crawl Home to Her

summary: Stranded without coms, alone, and bleeding out in the middle of a Russian snow storm, Bucky is content to let nature take its course. Only you won’t seem to let him go. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8k warnings: passive suicidal thoughts, hallucinations, ghosts???, its all very confusing but humor me ok, a/n: based on Work Song by Hozier ✨

No grave can hold my body down I'll crawl home to her

Laid amongst old wooden floors rotted in decades of weathering and the whistling brush of wind sweeping in steady drift of snow from the open doorway, Bucky wondered whether he might have preferred the coffin of ice Hydra once shoved him in for storage.

The chill nestled deep into his bones and he tried not to focus on the small puff of breath as it touched over chapped, cracked lips. It was the only warmth he had left and that, too, was leaving him.

It was getting hard to breath under the sting of freezing temperatures barreling into the cabin; sharp, like crystals had formed in his lungs and punctured into his chest from the inside. The fireplace long extinguished, his rifle laid in a heap amongst his tactical vest and gear too far out of reach. He was unprepared when the mercenaries barreled in through the windows, leaving shattered glass along the floor, safe house exposed to the elements of a Russian winter.

He’d stopped shaking an hour ago, which he knew was a bad sign. His body had given up on fabricating false heat through the tremors in his arm and legs, the twitches of his breaths, the chattering of his teeth. The serum only did so much before he was left with the frayed remnants of his humanity to cover the slack.

Bucky’s fingers dipped down and glazed over a thick, warm pool at his stomach. He pulled his hand back to find an unsettling, deep red coating his skin. It was warm to the touch and it dripped down along his fingertips into his palms, soaking into the dried patches.

A violent cough suddenly broke through his chest and Bucky’s head fell back to the floorboards, a dull ache in his stomach from the effort. He could taste copper on his tongue as a fuzziness began to take over, like he was floating on the edge of a cloud, somewhere high up in the sky. It was a pleasant feeling, he decided, a break from the world that had not shown him kindness in nearly a century.

He stared up at the ceiling, at the blades of a fan lined in decades of dust, as it spun around and around and around and around and —

“What the hell are you doing?”

Bucky jolted awake, a sharp flinch through this nervous system like the current of electricity. Eyes wide open, he turned to find a figure sitting on the loveseat to his left. The fabric was torn in the trajectory of dozens of bullets, cotton lining oozing out the cushions and littered amongst the snow. It was too dark to see but the dim flicker of the swaying light in the kitchen illuminated the corner for only a second. It was enough to still his heart.

“Y/n?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, a scowl on your face as lips pursed together.

“Hey Buck.”

No.

No. That—that can’t be right...

You were wearing a SHEILD crewneck with a rip on the hem of the sleeve, faded in color from the wash, and a pair of sleep shorts he’d seen you in dozens of times. The slight imprint of a pillow case fold on your cheek, your hair a little out of place in sleep, and cast in the glow of sunshine through his bedroom window despite the stars littering the night sky outside the cabin’s door.

It was what you were wearing when he left on assignment two weeks prior. He knew because he memorized every moment he left you behind.

There was always that uncertainty, that knowledge that every mission could be his last, so he took the time to bring you with him; a memory, an image, of you laying under rustled sheets, curled up against his pillow with that pout on your lips as you told him ‘five more minutes, baby’ when he was already ten late.

He held that memory close because he could feel himself slipping. The blood pooling at his stomach was seeping into the floor beneath him and he felt dizzy, the spin of the fan above him throwing him off balance even as he laid completely still. It was the last good thing he had left -- this image of you -- because he knew it was time to let go, time to let the universe make things right again, to take him from the time he never belonged in.

There was a relief in that... almost.

"You’re not giving up, are you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth as your voice pulled him back sharply from the edge of dreamless sleep. He glanced over to you and found there wasn’t a trace of goosebumps on your skin amongst the snow sliding along the floorboards by your feet. You were unbothered by the rush of wind barreling in through the open door though it picked up in the small wisps of your hair, carrying them away from your face before it settled again.

“This isn’t happening. You’re not real,” Bucky chanted under his breath, but the way you were looking at him—Jesus—he'd seen that look too many times before. The pinch of your brows, the slight tug of your cheek between your teeth, your eyes narrowing down on him from a distance, never in anger, but determination.

Bucky closed his eyes, clenched his jaw real tight, but he could still hear as you push yourself up off the couch, the slight squeak of floorboards under your feet as you paced. Bucky dared to steal a glimpse and you were kneeling down over one of the mercenaries he was able to get a shot in before hell broke loose. You pursed your lips, tilted your head just so, and pulled off his helmet to get a better look. It rolled a good few feet before it hit a sudden stop against the edge of the couch.

It was the wind, he told himself. His mind was playing tricks on him again.

“Jesus, they make ‘em big around here,” you murmured to yourself before you pressed two fingers to the side of the man's neck. You started ruffling through his pockets for weapons and Bucky could hear the jingle of coins in his pockets, the swish of the fabric. He was certain he’d gone mad.

“You need to get warm, Buck,” you told him and a coat dropped down on his left. “You’ll die if you don’t.”

“You’re not real,” he argued, keeping his eyes closed, hoping that you’d just disappear and let him die in peace. “You’re... you’re in my head.”

It was hard enough knowing he was going to die in Russia of all places before you ever knew he was in trouble, hard enough to imagine you crying over his body as his skin paled to blue and grey, hard enough that he’d already said his last goodbye, already had the last kiss from your lips…

“It doesn’t matter if I’m in your head or not, Bucky,” you warned, though he was almost certain he could feel the warmth of your breath touch his skin as you leaned down next to him. “You’ll die if you stay here. Do you understand? You’ll die."

Your hand slid into his hair and he could feel the trace of your fingertips, your nails, on his scalp; combing through locks matted in blood and dirt and drawing shivers in his spine untouched by the cold.

He whimpered, tears burning at the corner of his eyes, because you were right there and somehow not at all. He didn’t want to say goodbye but his energy was draining. It slipped from him in every breath, the pain becoming a tired memory and he knew his body was giving in.

He’d spent so much time fighting in his life. He just wanted to rest. That’s all. Just some time to rest...

“Bucky!”

He snapped awake, heart beating frantically for a few minutes before it lulled again; his breaths too short, too far apart.

You were hovering over him, hair falling down into your face and there was real fear in your eyes. Your hands settled on his chest, trying to draw his attention back to you and he was certain he could feel the pressure of it, the grip of your fingers to the fabric of his shirt. The touch of a ghost.

“You need to get up. We’ve got to get you out of here,” you ordered, hands fumbling for the coat you dropped by his side and trying to drape it over him, but he pushed your hands away. You sat back on your heels, wide eyed, desperate.

“I’m already dying, sweetheart,” Bucky choked out, voice raspy and raw. “There's nothing left to do. Coms are out... nearest town is a dozen miles away... I’m-- fuck—I've got at least four bullets in me. This is it, honey. I’m-- I’m sorry...”

It hurt as he said it and he dared himself to meet your eye. Draped in sunlight and all that was ever good in his life, you were an ethereal wonder; a stunning image of the women he left behind, even if his mind was fading on the edge of insanity. It was nice, he thought, to see this memory of you one last time, to hold onto it tighter as the darkness gently carried him away from this world.

His hand lifted slowly, wanting to touch you one last time, and he was surprised when it didn’t slip straight through you like a ghost, but instead, landed tenderly against your cheek. So tangible, warm to icy chill of his hand, he could feel the clench in your jaw, the strain of the muscle, the divot of a scar by your ear.

A final blessing he didn’t deserve.

“Bullshit.”

He winced as you grabbed a firm hold of his wrist and pulled it from your face. Everything started to hurt again, in his chest, his stomach. He was falling apart.

“I’m so sorry, honey, I’m—I’m not making it out of—”

“Bull. Shit.”

You slammed your hands to the floor beside him and suddenly, you were up and rummaging through the kitchen, tossing old utensils around and making a mess of the withering cabinets. You tore them to shreds, emptied the drawers onto the floor, the shattering of glass and the crash of metal to tile in an unsettling scream.

“You don’t get to do this. Do you hear me? Not after all you went through! Just to die in fucking Russia!”

Bucky swallowed though it tasted like bile. You tossed out the mugs from a cabinet with the swipe of your hand and the sound they made as they crashed to the floor skipped several beats in Bucky’s dimly beating heart.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky tried again, voice falling on empty, a whisper, “no one’s comin’...”

“Then you fucking get up and get to a goddamn phone!”

You froze then, your hand curling around whatever you were looking for with a sigh of relief. As you stomped back over to him, Bucky looked down at your grasp to find two sets of hand towels and an ace bandage clutched in your grip.

You were grumbling under your breath as you sank down to your knees. Hands shaking, you pushed up at the thin fabric of Bucky’s shirt. He didn’t even hiss as the cold air touched his skin. That wasn’t good.

You pressed a towel to his open wounds, hard enough for Bucky to groan at the impact and he bit down hard on his tongue. There was no apology as you wiped away the pools of blood, tossing aside the soaked towel to the corner and pressing down a new one in its place. You were angry, furious even, and Bucky had only seen you like this once before.

The Hydra base in Siberia. He was surrounded, ordering you to get back to the jet without him though he had no clear path to an exit. It was a diversion, one you saw through instantly, because he had no intention of leaving that warehouse, not as long as you made it out alive. You almost killed him yourself by the time the last Hydra agent fell to the floor. Panting, covered in blood, you had slapped him hard across the face before you gripped at his shoulders and kissed him.

The first kiss between you.

The beginning of it all.

Fitting it should end like this, too.

“Sit up,” you demanded, pulling Bucky back from his memories.

He sighed as he stared up at you, your teeth gritted as you pressed down harder to his wounds. Everything hurt. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe.

“Sit. Up.”

“I can’t,” he whimpered, voice breaking in the effort. “I-- I can't, honey. I’m sorry. Just—Just let me go. It’s time, Y/n. It’s okay…”

There was a silence, one that carried over the scream of the wind outside and the scratch of tree branches against the shattered windowpanes. Bucky’s own breaths were shallow, raw and wheezing through his lungs, and they sat in pained contrast to your silent, elongated inhales, the seconds you held them before you released it. He could have heard a pin drop even over the whistling wind and the mess in his chest.

“No.”

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “No?”

“No,” you gritted out, sinking back onto your heels. “No! You don’t get to just give up, Bucky. You don’t get to leave me behind!”

“You’re not even here...”

You clenched your teeth, biting on the inside of your cheek. “Maybe not. But you know exactly where I am back home, don’t you?”

Bucky’s jaw wired shut in an instant. It was what he’d been avoiding, why he clung so hard to the image of you as he left, the glow of the sunlight on your skin and the sleepy mess in your hair. The perfect memory to take when him as he died, but it was being ripped from him, torn away in an instant because as you knelt beside him, your ghost began to change.

Dark circles colored under your eyes, a sunken look hollowing in at your cheeks and temples. Your hair fell down from the bun at your crown and braided down the side, a nervous habit you’d taken up to keep your hands busy when you were anxious. Lines formed on your lips, cracking along the center; broken skin now exposed on your knuckles from a restless night in the gym.

Tear tracks burned down your cheeks; some old, some fresh, and your eyes were bloodshot red.

“Please, stop,” he begged, trying to will his mind to give him the memory he had before.

“You know what this is doing to me,” you told him. “You missed your checkpoint eight hours ago, Bucky. We both know what that means. We both know I’m scared out of my mind for you. I’m panicking. I’m desperate to find you and you’re going to give up before I can.”

Bucky closed his eyes, choking back tears as he pictured you frantically pacing back and forth in the intel room next to Steve, waiting by the satellite phone, waiting on a call that would never come. His coms had been destroyed in the shootout, torn and shattered under the boot of a Russian enforcer. There was no way to get word to you, no way for you to track his location. He was entirely on his own.

You would have figured that out by now, too.

He could practically hear your voice as you shouted for an update every few minutes, biting the head off of an Agent who dared to give you any answer outside of Bucky being found safe and on his way home to you. He could see you clenching at your fists, digging your nails into flesh, and shrugging off Steve as he tried to ease your distress. You’d be terrified, with a deep kind of unsettling dread burning like a hole in your stomach. He knew, because it was how he felt when you were on assignment. It was agonizing.

“Don’t do this, Bucky,” you said quietly, softer now, begging. “Don’t give up. Don’t—Don’t leave me.”

He could hardly keep his eyes open, every breath drawing him further away.

“You’ll be okay,” he said slowly, achingly, though a flash of shock widened your eyes. “You’ll be okay without me.”

Bucky’s fingers crawled along the floor to you, nails digging through a mess of blood and splinters before the curled sweetly around the palm of your hand. He squeezed it gently, the most he could manage, and he watched with a fading smile as you stared down to where he held you.

“How could you say that?” you whispered, gaze glued to blood stained hands. You swallowed, a tear slipping past your eye as you turned to find ocean blue. “How could you possibly think that would be true? You’re my life, Bucky. I need you. You can’t—Please, baby. You have to come home to me. You have to.”

“You’ll move on,” he exhaled, closing his eyes as the exhaustion started to pull him under. “It might take some time, but you’ll be fine, honey. You don’t need me. You never did.”

“That’s not true—”

“You were always too good for me,” he chuckled sadly to himself. “At least now you can find someone who really deserves you…”

“Dammit, Bucky!” you cried, hands gripping into the fabric of his shirt and shaking him until he opened his eyes again. “You don’t get to just throw your life away because you have some backwards, fucked up notion that you’re not good enough to love me because newsflash, you idiot, I don’t care! I love you! I love every goddamn part of you and there is not a person on this planet, or any other, that I want to love me the way that you do!”

There was a silence that followed. The whistling wind and the scratch of branches on exposed windows the only solace between you. Your features softened, your hands releasing from his shirt and you gently patted his shoulder, running your fingers along his neck to touch the side of his face. He leaned into the palm of your head, jaw quivering as he bit back tears.

“Why are you here?” he whimpered, voice cracking as a sob crawled its way through his spine. “Why-- Why won’t you just let me go?”

Tears spilled out the corners of Bucky’s sides, sliding down along his temples and soaking into his hair. He was exhausted and aching and – god—he just wanted to sleep.

You smiled sweetly at him, brushed the hair from his eyes. “It’s you, Bucky, don’t you get that? I’m in your head, remember? I’m apart of you. Stop fighting yourself and come with me. Let me help you survive this. It’s why you brought me here in the first place.”

“No... that’s…” Bucky shook his head, heart racing a little faster, “that’s crazy.”

“Crazier than talking to yourself?” you chuckled light-heartedly. “It’s been you this whole time, Buck. Look.”

You gestured to the floor leading into the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a trail of bloody footprints in the size of his combat boots leading into the mess of shattered mugs and scattered utensils. His palms had tiny pieces of broken glass in them, colored in the paint of the kitchenware on the floor.

Then, you showed him the wrapped bandage at his stomach, the one with his own bloody fingerprints at the clasp. He’d done it all himself.

“Your imagination can’t do all that for you, baby,” you said, a soft smile on your face, though it faded to something solemn as he stared at you in shock. “You’re dying, Buck, really dying and I know you’re scared. I know you want to come home. Stop fighting me. Stop fighting yourself.”

“I don’t--” he swallowed, though his throat was dry and it burned amongst the cold air, “I don’t understand…”

“The mind is a funny thing,” you shrugged. “It does what it has to, to keep you alive. This is what you needed, to be reminded of the love you have waiting for you back home when you survive this.”

You nodded to the edge of the cabin, and sure enough, there was Steve standing at the door. Hands tucked into his pockets, wearing the thin white shirt and suspenders from their youth, though it looked a little funny now on the man he was today. He was smiling, that hopeful kind of look in his eye that Bucky never quite learned how to replicate.

Sam stood next to him, hand on Steve’s shoulder, smirk plastered across his face as he nodded at Bucky; the strange and varying brotherhood between the two of them full of bickering fights and unbridled loyalty.

Natasha was on Sam’s left, arms folded, scowl present as her eyes flickered down to the mess of bodies littering the floor. She raised an eyebrow at the burly looking soldier you’d rummaged through the pocket of— or, or maybe it was Bucky, he was still trying to wrap his head around it – and nodded as if she were impressed.

Then, there was Shuri and T’Challa. Lang and Barton. Wanda and Vision. Peter Parker sneaking his way in behind Steve, looking just damn excited to be standing in the presence of Captain America. Even Tony Stark stood in the corner of the cabin; arms crossed, sunglasses on, observing from a careful distance, but still present.

“You’re not alone, Bucky,” you said quietly, drawing his attention back to you. “Not here. Not at home. Please don’t give up on your family. Don’t give up on all you’ve built. We’re waiting for you, honey. Come home.”

A blur in his vision, Bucky couldn’t quite focus on your silhouette, not until you tenderly brushed the tears from his eyes, droplets on the edges of long lashes. He clenched his jaw, searching for a stronger breath as you held his face. Your lips pressed down to his forehead and he found his strength again.

“Okay.”

Bucky grabbed onto the edge of the couch and pulled until his muscles were at their limit. A scream tore threw him, his body raw and broken and falling apart at the seams. It burned in his throat, in his chest, and it echoed deep into the empty cabin. It was no louder than the wind outside.

“Okay,” he repeated as he sat up with his back pressed against the couch. He clutched at his stomach, heavy breaths in his lungs. The bandages were holding up, with little leakage onto his palm in all the effort.

When he looked back over to you, he found you smiling, proud, though your appearance had changed again.

Your hair was pulled down to a bun at the nape of your neck, a few strands falling out the sides. Dressed in a large winter coat with a thick fur around the hood and mittens on your hands; the navy-blue jacket you’d worn in your mission in the Swiss Alps last year where you’d convinced Bucky to stick around a few extra days in the blizzarding cold. You’d told him then how much you loved the snow, the mountains, but mostly the hot chocolate, the fireplaces, the snuggling in close to him at night. It was a pleasant memory.

Bucky smiled back at you, though it took most of his strength. He turned to look at Steve and the rest of his family, but they were gone, disappeared to thin air and his stomach lurched as he quickly shot his eyes back to you.

“You ready, baby?” you asked him sweetly, nodding towards the door.

“Stay with me. Please.” He felt childish as the words left him, talking to what amounted to nothing more than particles of snowfall and thin air, but it carried his whole world.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you replied, as if it was never a choice at all, and you offered your hand.

Bucky nodded, stringing together all the strength he had left in his body and slipped his hand into yours. He tried not to think of the logistics of it all, how he was really getting up on his own because you weren’t here to tug him to his feet. It created a dull ache in the back of his head and he figured he better not mess with the remaining functioning pieces of himself. Let his mind get him through this, even if he felt absolutely insane.

“Put the jacket on, honey,” you told him, bending down to grab the coat of the mercenary you’d swiped earlier. “It’ll be a long walk in the cold.”

“Y-yeah, okay.”

The wind barreled in from the open door and it pushed at the little balance Bucky had left, leaving him to sway unsteadily, grunting at the pain that resulted in his stomach. He clutched at the wrapped bandages, relieved when fresh blood did not add to the stains on his fingers and palm.

“Time to go,” you urged him, nodding to the door. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Bucky stared out into the blanket of darkness beyond the door, the snow falling and dancing amongst the violent sweeps of wind, illuminated by starlight untouched by the pollution of a city. He didn’t know where to go, but you promised you’d guide him; a piece of his subconscious that must have picked up on a sign along the road at some point, he figured.

As he made his way to the brutal cold, shivers tremoring in his spine and his feet limping dragging along the floor, facing a journey across miles of exposed land, he was thankful he wasn’t alone.

***

Bucky had never been so cold in his goddamn life; not even when Hydra would put him on ice.

It had been a relief then, a dreamless sleep and safety away from his captures, but this – this was torture in itself. His boots dragged through two feet of snow, the winds picking up the further he trudged out into the darkness. He wrapped the scarf tighter around his face, trying to shield himself from the cold, though ice crystals had formed on his lashes.

Everything hurt and each step was more painful than the last, but he kept moving.

“You’re almost there!” you shouted over the scream of the wind in his ears. You were smiling, jogging out a few paces ahead. It was easier for his feet to carry him when it was you he was walking towards. “Come on, sweetheart. One more mile. That’s it.”

Bucky panted, his breaths far too labored, his head feeling quite fuzzy, but as he looked over your shoulder, he spotted a light in the distance. Blurred by the snowfall, but still clear as day. A gas station with half the letters missing in its name. His saving grace.

“I’m coming, baby,” he whispered and for the first time, he wasn’t talking to the mirage beside him, but the woman waiting thousands of miles away.

Picking up in pace, Bucky pushed himself harder than he’d ever tested the limits of his body before. He knew that without the serum, he would have been dead before he even left the cabin. There were few moments Bucky was ever thankful for the hell he’d been through. This – giving him a second chance to get home to the love of his life – was one of them.

“Careful,” you warned him, gesturing to the trail of red droplets in his wake; blood that had seeped out from the soaked bandages at his stomach and trailed down under his coat to the snow below, marking his path.

Bucky nodded, determined as he finally broke through to solid ground, to dirt roads plowed just enough from the snow, and sprinted the rest of the way. You were on his heels, cheering him on like you did when he first got back on a treadmill after he broke his leg in New Mexico last year. He was smiling so wide it hurt his cheeks, laughing as artificial light illuminated his path.

He shoved his shoulder to the door, winced at the sound of the bell above, and charged straight up to the counter.

A man in a thick overcoat and a fur hat stood behind the counter, reading a newspaper quietly to himself, and paid no mind to the man frantically rushing up to him. He glanced up in Bucky’s direction, eyes flickering to the blood trailing in his wake, before turning back to his paper.

“Phone,” Bucky panted. “I need a phone.”

The man didn’t respond.

“Russian, Buck,” you reminded him quietly to his right.

“фона,” Bucky tried again, slamming his hand down on the table.

The man rolled his eyes and set the paper down. Stone cold expression, he took his time as he muddled around behind the counter, leaving Bucky on edge. You nodded at him, running a hand along his arm to keep him calm.

Then, the man set a flip phone down on the counter. He didn’t say another word as he sat back onto his stool and picked up the paper again.

Bucky grabbed the phone and quickly stumbled his way back to the far end of the convenience stores. Brushing up against rows of chips and shouldered a few to the ground, he was starting to lose his balance again. The dizziness was kicking in and it became evident as he tried to dial the SHEILD emergency call number and kept hitting the wrong numbers.

“Breathe,” you said softly as Bucky started to panic. “Try again.”

Deep inhale in, Bucky typed the ten digits and held the phone to his ear. It rang three times.

“Good morning,” a voice replied, deep and clinical, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky leaned his forehead to the glass of the freezers, cold compress on his skin touching a blaze of heat.

When did he start sweating? When did it start to soak through his clothes?

There was a stickiness under his feet and Bucky glanced down to find blood dripping down from the edge of his coat and staining the dull-white of the plaster floors. Dark red seeping into the cracks between tiles, filtering through years of dirt and dust and muddied tracks. The outline of his boots in perfect pattern.

“Good morning,” the voice said again, “this is Sandbox Bakery. What can I get for you?”

Bucky swallowed, trying to find his voice, but he was sure he’d left it behind in the cabin. He could hardly hold himself up, his hand slipping on the handle of the freezer doors, nearly taking him down to the ground amongst the blood and dirt.

Under hooded, heavy eyes, Bucky glanced over at you as you nodded encouragingly at him, but there was two of you; swaying over one another, blurred, out of focus.

“Good morning, this is—”

“Baklava,” Bucky muttered the code word between labored breaths, the meaning of it sitting somewhere along the line of I shouldn’t be alive but I am – Fucking come get me. The dizziness was starting to take hold on his body and he leaned his shoulder against the freezer doors in search of the cold glass to offset the burning heat on his skin.

A darkness started to tunnel at his vision, thick black rings closing in around him and he tried to grip at the handles on the doors, but he missed each time; his fingers too weak to grip onto the edge, his vision swaying and doubling over.

The agent on the other end of the phone was asking him questions, but they barely registered, like white noise no louder than the burrowing winds past the door. Bucky clutched at the handle, phone slipping from his grasp as it fell to the ground. He stumbled backwards, hitting a tower of plastic cups as they collapsed around him.

“Bucky, lie down,” you warned gently as he struggled to hold himself up.

“I’m—I’m okay,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper, unintelligible, before the darkness caved in completely and he met the floor.

***

When Bucky came to again, it was to hands gripping harshly at his arms, at his legs, dragging his body onto a rock-hard surface that smelled of plastic and the sting of sterilizing alcohol. Pain ripped through his stomach at the sudden movement and he whimpered quietly, painful breaths in, lips quivering as he tried to bite down hard on the dried, cracked surface; the movement jarring enough to make him wish he was back in the cabin amongst the snow and broken glass.

But there was a hand encasing his. One that was soft, impossibly gentle, a slight squeeze, and Bucky realized there were voices around him. Muffled, barking orders, but they were distant, like an echo at the edge of a ravine. They were too far away for him to hear.

All except one.

“Stop it! Jesus, you’re hurting him,” one of the voices warned; soft and melodic, even within the tension, within the slight tremor of panic. It was a voice that called to him, as the grip on his forearm tightened, and Bucky forced his eyes open.

He was seeing double, couldn’t quite focus on what was right in front of him, but he could see the three agents dressed in black combat vests huddled over him, strapping him on the stretcher while a petite Englishwoman with mousey brown hair and slender fingers worked to stabilize the mess at his stomach.

Then, he focused on the voice to his left, the kind voice, the familiar voice – yours.

“We’ve got to get him out of here, Simmons,” you urged, glancing back at the doors to the shop and the chaos of broken aisles in between. “God knows how long he’s been here like this...”

“I just need to stabilize him before we make a break for the jet,” the woman with the quiet English accent replied. She pressed down hard on Bucky’s stomach and he was surprised to find he didn’t feel a thing.

Bucky swallowed back the dryness in his throat, trying to find his own voice, catch your attention in some way, but you didn’t seem to notice him watching you.

“It’s been ten hours since he missed the checkpoint. Ten hours,” you stressed, your free hand reaching up to brush back hairs from your face, tucking them behind your ear. It was then Bucky noticed the braid sitting over your shoulder, the dark tactical suit, and the discoloration under your eyes. There were marks in the shape of crescent moons on your hand from where you’d dug your nails to your skin. You looked tired, scared; it was different than how you appeared when Bucky collapsed.

You gritted your teeth, brushing away tears Bucky so desperately wanted to reach to wipe away if he could only move.

“We don’t know how much blood he’s lost or— or if he has internal bleeding or--”

You froze suddenly, words pulled right out of your mouth as Bucky’s hand twitched under your grip. Slowly, you turned to meet his eye with a kind of panicked shock and relief and an array of complex emotion.

“Bucky?”

He nodded, a weak smile on his face.

You nearly cried. “Oh, thank God you’re--”

“You stayed,” Bucky muttered, voice groggy and slurred. A tired smile etching up against broken lips.

You blinked, biting back your tongue as your eyes shot over at Simmons. She shrugged, working quietly to reseal the bandages at Bucky’s stomach. There was a smile on Bucky’s lips, broken and cracked in dried blood, almost hazy, like he was floating high above in the clouds.

“Honey, I’m here now,” you told him, voice a little cautious, but Bucky shook his head, though his vision was starting to leave him again, the comforting pull of darkness wrapping its arm around him.

“You... you really stayed with me...” His voice was barley a whisper.

Your eyes widened, a fear taking over and your quickly snapped your attention back to the agents surrounding him.

"We need to get him out of here, now,” you ordered as Bucky’s eyes started to flutter closed again and he did not return the grip to your hand when you squeezed. Sudden movements and he was lifted into the air, though your grip on his hand did not leave him.

He fell back to the darkness before the cold air of Russian winter could touch his skin.

***

The first thought Bucky registered was that he was warm. Not warm enough for sweat to form on his brow, but enough so that a chill didn’t press its way into his bones, enough that the thin layer of a freshly washed blanket draped over his legs chased away the goosebumps on his arms.

He blinked his eyes open gently to take in the stream of light from the window to his left and the reflection held against bare, white walls. The room was not one he knew and quiet murmuring of strangers passing by outside in a language he couldn’t place didn’t help the rush of panic etching up through his veins.

Bucky turned to his left to see a monitor carrying his heartrate and the increasingly frantic rhythm of his pulse. There was a bruised mark on his right forearm around an IV that stemmed to a bag hanging over his head.

Could be filled with anything, he reminded himself. Always on the defense. It was how he stayed alive.

A hand settled against his stomach to find it wrapped in bandages, no longer searing in pain, but still sore; a dull ache left behind to remind him it was real, that he’d been shot and left for dead in the frozen wastelands of Russia, that he’d walked miles alone in a blizzard and found comfort in the ghost of –

Bucky jolted upright, a hiss pulling swiftly from clenched teeth as a sharp pain reemerged at his stomach. He groaned, breaths coming in a little heavier now as he glanced around the empty room. Up at the open door ahead of him, he watched as stray physicians and nurses passed by in white lab coats talking quietly amongst themselves in... German, maybe? His brain was too foggy to register much of anything.

“Y/n?” he called in search of your ghost, but his voice was too weak, he could barely hear it himself.

Kicking the blankets away from his legs, Bucky felt a chill sweep up his spine. The pain was excruciating, but he’d been through worse. He ripped the IV from his arm. He kept his hands gripped tight to the mattress, setting his bare feet to the cold floor and wincing as the pain in his stomach worsened with every movement.

But he needed to get out of here. He needed to get home to you. He’d promised.

He set his stance to the ground, careful to hold himself up on the edge of the bedframe, but his legs were shaky under him, muscles unused and tired and so incredibly useless, his left hand started to warp the plastic of the railing in his frustration.

“Bucky?”

Wide eyes shot to the door to find you standing in its frame, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in your hand, lips parted in shock. Your hair was swept to the side in a long braid, dark circles hanging under your eyes, your clothes wrinkled with days of use.

He tried to speak, but suddenly, his hold on the bed frame gave out. The smell of dark roasted coffee beans filled the air before he even met the ground and his skin touched the ice of tile flooring. Sharp pain in his hip and a heat of embarrassment in his cheeks, Bucky tried to find an ounce of his dignity on the ground.

You slid up on your knees beside him; coffee cup noticeably missing from your hands as it laid in a puddle by the door to his room.

“Jesus, Buck, what were you thinking?” you gasped, hands roaming down over his arms, fingers warm to the touch from the coffee you’d held between your palms. A worry line creased in your forehead, lip tugged between your teeth as you grazed your touch over his face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones and jawline in concentration as you inspected for damage.

Bucky closed his eyes, a little lost in the feeling of it as he leaned into your touch, missing you and wondering how he could possibly feel that heat from your skin.

“You’re lucky you didn’t reopen your stitches,” you murmured, hands touching gently at his wrapped bandaged around his waist. It was still white, at least, so that was something. The scowl on your face was a comfort, something familiar, and he was thankful to have it.

But there were small differences he noticed as you tried to help him back up into the bed. Like how when the light from the window touched your skin, it reflected a little differently, got caught in your eyes and you’d have to squint away from it. Or how there was a new scratch on your jawline he hadn’t seen before. You huffed a hair away from your face as you struggled to life him back to his feet and it fell back into your line of sight almost instantly.

“Give me a sec, I’ll be right back,” you told him before you pressed a quick kiss to his forehead, hands sinking into his hair. It felt so real, he almost convinced himself you were really there.

When you came back into the room, a nurse was at your side, hands planted firmly on her lips.

“I thought you were joking,” the nurse huffed in a thick German accent, exchanging a glance with you. You shrugged, scowl present but lips curved up in a smirk. The nurse groaned, sinking down to the floor to grab Bucky’s arm. “Why would I expect a man who’s been under for nearly a week to just up and walk out the room? Huh? I wouldn’t! No one is that foolish, Sergeant Barnes.”

You were laughing quietly beside her as you helped to guide Bucky back up into the bed. As he settled back into place, he found himself watching you intently as you conversed with the nurse. She told you keep your eyes on him, that he was a flight risk, and that she’d be back to check on him again soon. You nodded, thanking her for her time and quickly pulled up a chair beside his bed.

“You've got terrible timing. You know that, right?” you chuckled, shaking your head. “I haven’t left this room for days, Buck, and the second I go to get coffee, you decide to wake up.”

“How long?” he asked quietly and the smile faded from your cheeks.

“Five days,” you told him. “Almost six.”

“Longer since I missed the checkpoint, then,” he reasoned, pinching at his brows. “We should get moving again. I’ve got to get home.”

“What? No,” you said quickly, leaning forward in your chair in an attempt to set your hand on him, but he pushed it away. It seemed to surprise you because you paused for a moment before you said, “Bucky, you’re still healing. You need time before we can—”

“I didn’t almost bleed out in a goddamn cabin in middle of Russia just to end up trapped in some hospital in Germany and still not make it home!”

Bucky threw the blanket off of him again, pushing himself to the edge.

You rushed forward, grabbed a hold of his shins before he could swing his legs off the side of the bed. Your grip was forceful, but not enough to hurt. You planted your hip down on the bed to block his path.

“We’re staying here, Buck,” you pressed, a slight tremor in your voice. “You almost died.”

“Why are you arguing with me about this now?” Bucky groaned and the flash of confusion on your face went unnoticed. “You’re the one that convinced me I had get home, aren’t you? You’re the one who wouldn’t just let me die and made me walk into a fuckin’ blizzard while I was bleeding out! I have to get home to you, right? That’s what you said! I’m not giving up on her – or, or us – or... fuck it— on myself, ok? Whether you’re with me or not. I have to get home to her. Even if I have to fucking crawl.”

Through the frantic swelling in his chest, the heavy pants of his breath, and the dizziness forming back in his head, Bucky didn’t register how quiet you’d become until his eyes flickered over to you. Your body was rigid, lips parted just slightly, a semblance of shock in your eyes and Bucky’s stomach sank.

“Is that... Is that what you meant when you said ‘I stayed with you’? Back in the gas station in Russia? Do you... Do you think you’re just imagining me here?” you asked slowly and a burning heat ached into his cheeks. Something like shame or embarrassment or guilt, but none of it stronger than the relief that coursed through his veins as your hand reached out for him, fingers encasing his. Smaller than his own, warmer, and so real he could feel the divots of your lifeline and old scars and the soothing trace of your nails. Tangible. Real.

“I...” Bucky started, stealing a glance up at your eyes before they darted back down to your hands wrapped so tenderly around him. He exhaled a heavy breath. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,” you sighed, bringing his hands up to your lips and kissing sweetly at his knuckles. You pressed the chill of his fist to your cheek and he could feel the warmth burning there. The way you watched him, with eyes so filled with the kind of love and adoration he’d longed for his entire life, it was enough to mend his heart whole.

“I’m here, Bucky,” you whispered, another kiss to the tips of his fingers and it took the breath straight from his lungs. “I’m really here, honey. Your mind isn’t playing tricks on you anymore. You’re not alone.”

Bucky nodded, watching as you peppered kissed along his hands, over flesh and metal like they were one in the same.

“It felt so real...” he murmured, sinking into the way your hand stretched up along his arm, rising over his neck like the crest of ocean waves, and rested to his cheek. He leaned further into the touch.

“I know,” you soothed, your thumb tracing over his cheekbone. “But I’m here now, love. You found your way home.”

Bucky nodded, shifting in the bed just enough for you to crawl in beside him. The dull ache in his stomach lingered, but he didn’t mind, not when you curled up into the crook of his neck, your hand gliding down over the marred scarring on his shoulder, your breath warm against his collar.

“Home,” he echoed, the word slipping from behind broken lips, a curve of a smile etching into his cheeks. He leaned his cheek to the crown of your head, eyes closing in a relief that spread through his chest and through the very ends of his body in a gentle kind of warmth he could only ever hope to find with you resting in his arms.

He found his way home.

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes

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junghelioseok · 4 years

Text

clandestine. | 01

↳ forbidden fruit tastes the sweetest.

◇ jungkook x reader ◇ smut | fluff | brother’s best friend!au ◇ 10.3k [1/6]

notes: this fic was originally going to be a oneshot, but i changed my mind and decided i didn’t want to kill tumblr with a totally unnecessary 50k jk fic so 🤷🏻‍♀️ here is part one of a fic that 100% only came about because @puellaigmotum coerced me into it like 2 years ago (lmao rip 💀) and also bc i have zero self-control and am hopelessly h*rny for jungkook these days and don’t look at me i don’t wanna talk about it okay??? 🙈

warnings: jk’s massive noona kink, some ~under the table~ action, too much detail about jk’s dumb veiny arms probably, but at least he doesn’t have tattoos bc i started writing this before he got them and i don’t need to torture myself anymore than i already do!!!

⇢ 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06

It’s always been easy to spot your brother in a crowd. Passengers flood off the train, jostling around you on their way to the station’s exit, but even in the swarm you can perfectly see Jimin’s golden head of hair bobbing its way toward you, a deep scowl etched across his face. “You’re late,” he says in lieu of a greeting, his honey brown eyes raking over your scuffed suitcase distastefully as he comes to a stop a few feet away.

“And you’re just as impatient as ever,” you retort, coming to a stop before him with your luggage in tow. “Think you can lord it over me since you can drive now?”

“Don’t forget that I’m your ride home,” Jimin scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could just as easily leave you here to fend for yourself.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you tell him, raising a brow in silent challenge.

Jimin stares down at you unflinchingly, and you stare right back. The tension stretches between you, taut and heavy, until every passing second feels like a light year. Around you, the crowd slowly dissipates, but still you remain—two motionless statues locked in a wordless struggle. From somewhere overhead, a monotone voice announces the next train departure times.

Jimin’s mouth twitches. You blink, twice in quick succession.

And then your little brother breaks into a grin—one that’s so wide you fear his mouth may detach from his face entirely. An answering smile settles across your face as you watch him throw his head back, dissolving into laughter that you can’t help but echo.

“Damn it, Chim!” you say, instinctively grabbing onto his wrist when it looks like he might fall over. “Your poker face still sucks.”

“I’ve gotten better!” Jimin immediately defends. “I mean, you’ve got to admit that, right?”

“Nope.” You sigh and hold a hand over your head so you can measure your height against his ever-so-slightly taller frame. “Same old annoying kid I grew up with. Seriously, have you grown at all in the past year?”

“Whoa, too far, Noona.” Jimin takes ahold of both of your cheeks, pinching them affectionately. “You’re only a year older than me, you know. Besides, I’ve been taller than you for two years now!”

“I’m pretty sure hitting puberty at age seventeen isn’t something to be proud of,” you reply, pulling away from him with a mock grimace and giggling when he lets out an offended squeak. Playfully, you reach up to ruffle his hair, scrubbing your knuckles just a little too roughly against his skull.

“Noonaaa,” he complains, drawing out the last syllable until he runs out of air. “Jeez, you haven’t even been back for an hour yet and you’re already being mean to me. When do you go back to Seoul again?”

“Three weeks,” you reply, narrowing your eyes. “But I can and will make these three weeks hell for you. Don’t test me.”

Jimin snickers and drapes his arm over your shoulders. He picks up your suitcase with the other hand, and you thank him with another, gentler hair ruffle as the two of you start toward the exit of the train station. “College hasn’t changed you one bit.”

“And senior year hasn’t changed you,” you say, letting him guide you outside and breathing in the balmy summer evening air. Jimin’s brow furrows as he tries to remember where he’s parked, and you kindly take your suitcase back when he nods decisively and heads toward the left side of the lot. “You excited to graduate?”

He sighs, fumbling in his pocket for the keys as the two of you approach the car. “It’s going to suck. Your ceremony was boring as hell last year.”

“Wow, rude.”

Jimin looks up from where he’s unlocking the driver’s side door. “Am I wrong, though?”

You flash him a grin as he unlocks the remaining doors, heaving your suitcase into the backseat before sliding into the passenger seat beside him. “Nope. But afterward, you’ll be done with high school forever.”

“Thank god.” Your brother rakes a hand through his hair, mussing it further as he carefully starts the ignition and checks his mirrors with all the diligence of a new driver. Once satisfied, he pulls out of the parking space, meandering his way out of the lot and onto the main street.

The ride back to your childhood home is a short one, full of familiar storefronts and landmarks that dredge up all sorts of fond memories. You hadn’t expected your first year of university—away from your family and your hometown—to make you quite so emotional. But before you know it, Jimin is making the turn into your neighborhood, and you can’t stop the way your eyes begin to well up when you see your house in the distance.

As if reading your mind, Jimin glances at you as he pulls into the driveway. “Feel good to be home?”

You nod, blinking back tears. “Feels great.”

He grins. Pulling the key from the ignition, he climbs out of the car and grabs your suitcase, waving for you to head inside. Eagerly, you start toward the front door, but you barely make it halfway up the driveway when it bursts open, revealing your father standing there with open arms and an enormous grin. He’s just as tall as you remember, and looks exactly the same save a few more strands of silver lacing his hair. All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, running up to give him a hug and giggling madly when he tries to scoop you up like he used to do so many years ago.

“Hi Dad,” you greet when he gives up and sets you back down on two feet. “Where’s Mom?”

“Cooking up a storm,” he replies, chortling. Wrapping an arm around your shoulders, he leads you into the kitchen where your mother is hunched over the stove with a spatula, delicious aromas wafting up from the array of pots and pans in front of her. “Honey, look who’s home!”

“Hi Mom,” you say, grinning when she whirls around, startled. The spatula, still dangling loosely from her hand, drips sauce onto the tiled floor, but she barely notices in her eagerness to give you a hug, throwing it down into one of the simmering pots and striding forward to wrap you up in a tight embrace.

“How was your trip?” she asks, pulling back and angling your face this way and that. “Did you sleep on the ride? Did Jimin drive safely?”

The last question draws a protesting whine from your brother, who has lugged your suitcase over the threshold and is now seated at the dining table, fiddling with a spoon. “My driving was fine, right Noona?” he says, his bottom lip jutting out into a pout.

“Yes, Chim,” you agree, laughing at the pleased expression that overtakes his face. Curiously, you walk over to the stove to inspect the food, your jaw dropping as you take in the assorted vegetables and meats. “Wow, Mom. Are you cooking for an army?”

“Jungkook is coming over for dinner,” she explains, following you over and plucking up the spatula again. “That boy has the biggest appetite I’ve ever seen—you remember, right?”

You laugh. “Of course I remember. He and Jimin were always stealing bites of my lunch at school.” Peering over at your brother, you fix him with a mock glare before walking over to the cutting board on the counter and sizing up the pile of onions and peppers sitting there. “It’ll be nice to see him again, though. How is he doing?”

To your surprise, a new voice answers your question—a voice that somehow manages to be simultaneously familiar and foreign. “Why don’t you ask me directly, Noona?” it says, and you whirl around, wide-eyed, to face the newcomer.

This can’t possibly be Jeon Jungkook, is your first thought upon seeing the young man standing in the kitchen doorway. The Jungkook you knew in high school was a scrawny kid—all gangly limbs and a nose that was too big for his face. The Jungkook you knew wore oversized white t-shirts that made him look even younger than he was, a look that was only enhanced by round wire-rimmed glasses that always gave him a look of permanent astonishment. The Jungkook you knew was nowhere near this tall, and definitely not this broad.

But this Jungkook—this Jungkook takes up nearly the entire doorframe with his bulk. Dark eyes stare at you from beneath equally dark hair, his gaze unhindered by his old glasses. A cobalt blue shirt stretches tight over his chest, and you swallow when you notice just how much the buttons are straining to contain the muscle underneath. Black jeans and simple black sneakers complete his outfit, and the entire look is so jarringly different from what you’re used to that you are left momentarily speechless, gaping like a fish out of water. Vaguely, you wonder when he got his ears pierced.

And then Jungkook—or at least, the young man claiming to be Jungkook—takes three steps forward, his entire face melting into a crinkly-eyed grin. You catch a glimpse of the adorably prominent front teeth that always made him look like a rabbit, and that’s all it takes to break the spell.

“Jungkookie!” you exclaim, darting forward to greet him. “It’s been so long!”

“Hi, Noona,” he replies, his grin widening at your approach. In an instant, he has you wrapped up in an embrace, easily lifting you off the floor in a display of strength that would’ve had a lesser woman swooning. His hands curl firmly around your waist, and you have no choice but to wrap yours around his nape, squeaking in protest when he spins you in a full circle.

“Kookie!” you gasp, wriggling helplessly in his grasp and huffing when he only cackles. “Put me down!”

Obediently, Jungkook lowers you back to the ground. His hands linger on your waist until he’s certain that both your feet are planted firmly, and it’s only then that he pulls back to get a good look at your face. “You know I’d never drop you, right?” he asks innocently.

“As if I can trust anything that comes out of your mouth,” you retort with a laugh. “I’ve seen you scam your way out of detention with those pretty doe eyes. Don’t try me, kid.”

Jungkook snorts. “Kid? I’m not that much younger than you. Plus I’m older than Jimin, y’know.”

“By a month!” your brother protests from the dining room, his blond head popping up from behind the vase of daisies serving as a centerpiece.

“Month and a half,” Jungkook stage-whispers to you, cupping a hand and bringing his mouth to your ear conspiratorially. His breath tickles your cheek, and you swat him away with a giggle that becomes a full-on laugh when Jimin lets out an offended cry and rises to his feet. Striding over, he pokes Jungkook squarely in the chest, his eyes narrowed.

“I invite you over to my house and this is the thanks I get?”

Your dad chooses that moment to interrupt from the living room. “Your house? When exactly did you start paying rent, Jimin?”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “Are you taking his side?” he asks in disbelief, glaring at Jungkook when he starts laughing. “I’m your son!”

“I’m your father,” your dad replies.

“And I’m your mother,” your mom pipes up, brandishing a spoon. “And I’m telling all of you to get your butts over to that dining table in the next ten seconds, or no dinner for any of you.”

Your dad, Jimin, and Jungkook immediately fall silent, cowed by her proclamation. Grinning, you join your mother at the counter, grabbing a handful of spoons and accepting the platter of kimchi she hands over. “Direct as always, Mom.”

She laughs and picks up a bowl of rice. “To deal with men like them? You have to be.”

Food in hand, you make your way into the dining room. The table is set, the steaming food arranged neatly in the center, and you watch as your mother takes her seat next to Jimin and leaves you to sit beside Jungkook on the opposite side. Your father beams from his spot at the head of the table, glancing at each of you in turn before turning and giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze.

“Look at you kids, all sitting at the same table again.” He sighs, and you’re certain that he’s thinking back to the last time all of you were together—well over a year ago, at this point. “It’s a shame that your parents couldn’t join us, though, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods. “Yeah, they told me to apologize on their behalf. They have tickets for the theatre tonight, and couldn’t get a refund on them.”

Your father laughs and waves the apology off. “I’m sure we’ll catch them next time,” he says. “Pretty hard to avoid each other when you live next door, isn’t it?”

“Definitely,” Jungkook agrees with a chuckle. Then he turns to you, the silver hoops in his ears glinting in the light from the overhead chandelier. “I’m sure they’ll drop by soon to see you, Noona. Mom wants to hear all about Seoul—I think she’s worried about sending me so far away by myself.”

“Junghyun stayed in Busan for university, didn’t he?” your mom asks.

Jungkook nods. “Yep, he still lives downtown and everything. He wanted to come over tonight, but his work wouldn’t let him take the time off.”

Your mom sighs. “That’s such a shame. Is he at least attending your graduation?”

“He’s driving in the day after tomorrow for the ceremony,” Jungkook confirms. Then he pauses, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. His gaze flickers down to the plate of sweet potatoes on the other side of the table, and before he can even open his mouth, your mother is already passing him the plate. He thanks her with an embarrassed chuckle but digs into the food nonetheless, and everyone else takes it as a sign to follow suit. You’re in the middle of scooping rice into your bowl when Jimin speaks up again.

“So what’s it like living in Seoul?” he asks, his cheeks bulging with pork belly. “You have roommates, right?”

“Suitemates,” you correct. “But yeah, I live with three other people. Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jennie are all great though, so it hasn’t been a problem.”

Jungkook pauses mid-chew to gape at you. “You live with guys?”

“My building’s co-ed,” you explain. “We all have separate bedrooms, but we share a common space and bathrooms.”

Your mother—on the lookout for any potential future grandchildren, as always—perks up. “Namjoon and Hoseok sound like nice boys. Are you friends?”

“Yes, Mom,” you sigh. “We’re friends. Just friends.” And then before she can ask about whether or not any other boys have caught your eye, you quickly turn back to your brother. “So, what’s your plan for next year? Are you and Jungkook living together?”

Jimin hums. “Yep, that’s the plan. Unless you want to live with us too, Noona.”

You laugh. “Why, so I can protect you from all the bullies like I did in elementary school?”

He flashes you a cheeky grin. “More like so I can protect you from all the weird college guys. Who’s this Hoseok guy anyway? Do I need to beat him up?”

“Please don’t beat up Hobi,” you entreaty, giggling when he pretends to crack his knuckles. “Or Joon!” you add quickly when he remains undeterred and makes to stand up from the table to defend your honor. Balling up your napkin, you throw it at him, and both of you burst into hysterics when your makeshift weapon bounces off his forehead and straight into his glass of water. The rest of dinner passes in a haze of similarly playful antics and happy chatter, and by the time the last bowl is scraped clean, it feels as if you’d never even left.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you volunteer, standing up and gathering up the empty platters. Jungkook and Jimin are quick to jump to your aid, collecting any utensils that you missed, and you offer them a grateful smile as they follow you into the kitchen.

“Let me do the washing, Noona.” Jungkook rolls up the sleeves of his cobalt blue shirt to expose a familiar silver watch glinting on his left wrist—a watch that his father handed down to him when he was sixteen, and that had been worn by his grandfather before him. You still remember the day he’d first worn it to school, proudly displaying it even though the band was too loose around his narrow wrist.

He’s grown into it now, you realize. The watch no longer flops around like it used to, and sits snugly in place instead. Your eyes trace the silver buckle on the inside of his wrist before trailing up to follow the network of thin, branching veins in his forearm, admiring the smooth flex of muscle as he grabs a sponge from the wire rack hanging above the sink and squirts some dish soap onto the surface.

“I’ll dry,” Jimin chirps, selecting a towel and brandishing it. “Noona, do you want to help me? We’ll finish faster that way.”

Nodding, you pull another towel out from the drawer and rejoin the two boys at the sink. Jungkook washes quickly and efficiently, and you determinedly avoid staring at the way water trickles along the patchwork veins on his hands as he gives you bowl after bowl to dry.

It doesn’t take long for all the dishes to be washed and dried. The three of you take the time to put them back into the proper cabinets before bidding your parents a good night, heading out onto the back porch. Falling back into old routines feels like second nature, so you plop down onto the steps without hesitation and grin when Jungkook takes a seat beside you.

“Wait, I almost forgot!” Jimin exclaims, bouncing up from where he was beginning to sit down next to Jungkook. “I bought some beer earlier and left it in the trunk. Be right back!”

You watch your brother run off, his floppy blond hair a stark contrast with the deep blue evening sky. In seconds, he’s disappeared around the corner of the house, leaving you and Jungkook alone on the porch steps.

“Chim really hasn’t changed one bit,” you remark with a laugh, turning toward your dark-haired companion.

Jungkook chuckles. “The kid loves his alcohol, that’s for sure.”

“Please.” You elbow him in the ribs. “I know you’re just as bad as he is.”

“Maybe,” he concedes with another chuckle. “But come on, Noona, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy a drink every now and then. What about all that college stress?”

You hum, leaning back on your hands and staring up at the sky where the full moon is just beginning to rise, surrounded by a smattering of stars peeking through the velvety darkness of night. “I never said that I didn’t enjoy a drink, or five.” Jungkook laughs at your remark, and you smile before letting out a soft sigh. “I’m glad Jimin got the beer, though. Maybe I’ll finally be able to stop stressing out about my internship.”

That sobers Jungkook up immediately, his eyes widening as he peers down at you and lays a gentle hand on your back. “Are you still worried? You already got the job, didn’t you?”

You nod slowly, thinking back to the job offer that you had accepted at the end of the semester. It had been difficult finding a company in your desired field that offered internships to first-year students, but with dogged persistence and a lot of luck, you’d managed to snag a summer position. It isn’t due to start for another three weeks, however, and while you’re grateful for the chance to visit your family, part of you also wishes that you didn’t have to wait such a long time. “I just have no idea what to expect, you know? The only jobs I’ve ever had were in retail and food service, and that was all ages ago. I don’t feel ready at all.”

A strong arm settles across your shoulders, and you look up to see Jungkook gazing down at you with something indiscernible sparkling in his deep brown eyes. “You’re gonna be amazing,” he murmurs, his voice whisper-soft. “You know that, right? You always are. This won’t be any different.”

And you believe him. Every detail of his face is bathed in silvery moonlight—the gentle slope of his nose, the sharp angle of his jaw, the little scar high on his cheekbone—and you wonder how you never realized how handsome he is before now. And maybe it’s the low, soothing timbre of his voice, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you—with unspeakable tenderness and gentle affection glimmering in his irises—but you lean in before you can even realize what you’re doing. You don’t look away, and neither does he.

Jungkook’s gaze drops, trailing down the slope of your cheeks until it lands on the curve of your mouth. He hesitates for a split second, his throat bobbing harshly as he swallows and sucks in a breath.

And then his lips are pressing against yours—soft and tentative and just a little bit chapped. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct, your body relaxing as he shifts and pulls you a little more firmly against him. Slowly, his arm finds its way to the curve of your waist and settles there. Your fingers curl around his nape, carding through his silky hair.

It’s only when Jungkook’s tongue darts out to run along the seam of your lips that reality comes crashing back down, your stomach plummeting down to somewhere around your toes as you wrench away from his embrace. “Kookie!” you gasp, your breathing labored. “We can’t!”

Jungkook blinks, momentarily entrancing you with the way the stars reflect in his gaze like glittering diamonds. “Why not?” he asks, reaching out for you again. “You kissed me back, didn’t you?”

Squeaking, you bat his hands away. “Jungkook, no! We can’t! You’re Jimin’s best friend, and god, this is all kinds of weird, and—“

The dark-haired young man looks like he wants to protest more, but the sound of footsteps coming back around the house sends both of you scooting back to your original positions on the porch steps. Jimin appears two seconds later, plopping down beside Jungkook cheerfully and dropping a six-pack of beer at his feet.

“What’d I miss?” he asks, seemingly oblivious to the tension lingering in the air as he pops open a bottle and hands it to you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately, accepting the proffered beer. The cool glass bottle is a welcome relief, and you hurriedly take a long sip when your mind unwillingly begins to wander back to just how warm and soft your dark-haired companion’s lips had been.

Jungkook is much slower to respond to Jimin’s question. His shoulders slump as he reaches down to grab a drink of his own, twisting the cap open viciously and taking a swig. “Yeah,” he mutters, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing at all.”

Luck must be on your side, because Jimin doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss as he grabs a beer for himself and flops backward, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazes up at the night sky. “It’s nice out,” he remarks, looking utterly at ease.

You are anything but. Beside you, Jungkook is sipping pensively on his beer, and you are painfully aware of the heat radiating off his body. Jimin is still chattering away, rambling about whatever pops into his head, and you take the opportunity to sneak a glance at Jungkook. His face is cast in silvery luminescence from the moon, his mouth pulled down into a deep, contemplative frown—and you are once again forced to shake off thoughts of how nice it felt to have his mouth pressed against yours.

This is Jeon Jungkook, you tell yourself sternly. Friend, neighbor, and Jimin’s best friend in the entire universe. You kissed him, sure, but it was a mistake. A moment of weakness. And it won’t happen again.

You repeat that over and over, silently reciting it in your head like a mantra, until, at last, you finally start to believe it.

///

You’re in the middle of brewing a fresh pot of coffee after a lazy morning spent sleeping in when you spot Jungkook outside through the kitchen window. He’s standing in the yard in a sleeveless white tee, wiping at his forehead with the back of his hand as he thoughtfully regards the row of hedges that serves as the property line between your house and the Jeons’ house next door. In his other hand is a shovel, and you can’t help the way your gaze automatically traces his exposed biceps, admiring the way they flex when he finally selects a spot and begins digging.

“Is the coffee done yet, Noona?”

Jimin’s voice yanks your attention away from your gardening neighbor, your vision overtaken by a mess of fluffy blond bedhead as he sneaks into the space between you and the counter and obnoxiously cuts you off from the pot of fresh brew. “Hey!” you protest, but Jimin just gives you a cheeky wink before grabbing a mug and pouring out a generous helping of piping hot coffee. After a moment’s thought, he pours you a mug as well, handing it over with an exaggerated bow.

You roll your eyes, but accept the warm cup nonetheless. Following him into the living room, you make yourself comfortable on the couch as he flops down onto the carpeted floor and turns on the television. Idly, he begins flipping through the channels in search for something to watch, and you endure random snippets of the morning news, a cheesy soap opera, and a series of infomercials before sighing and rising to your feet again. “I’m getting some food. Want some toast, Chimchim?”

“Mmm. Sure.”

Slowly, you meander your way back into the kitchen. Your mother is standing at the counter stirring sugar into her coffee, and you smile as you walk up to join her. “Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, sweetie,” she says, taking a careful sip of her drink. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a log,” you reply with a grin. Grabbing the loaf of bread off the counter, you pull out a few slices and shove them in the toaster. “Do you want toast? I’m making some for me and Chimchim.”

“Just one slice for me,” she says, opening up the dish cabinet and pulling out three plates. Obligingly, you hand her one of the two freshly toasted slices and drop the other onto your plate. Popping some more bread into the toaster, you’re just about to grab the jam from the fridge when there’s a knock on the door.

“I’ll get it!” Jimin yells from the living room. You hear the soft pad of his footsteps in the hallway and the low creak of the front door as it swings open—and then your brother is snorting out a laugh at whoever is on your doorstep. “Dude, why are you covered in dirt?”

You’re beginning to have a sneaking suspicion as to who your guest is, and it’s confirmed when your brother’s question is answered.

“I’m helping Mom plant some hydrangeas out back,” Jungkook’s voice explains, his tall figure stepping into view a moment later. “Can you come help me lift the bushes?”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “You could’ve just texted me.”

“Who knows if you would’ve answered?” Jungkook asks, laughing. “Knowing you, you’d just leave me on read. Besides—” and here he glances over at you, dark eyes glimmering with an emotion that you can’t quite pinpoint, “—I wouldn’t get to see two of my favorite ladies if I didn’t stop by.”

Jimin pretends to vomit at the line, but your mother laughs delightedly as Jungkook takes another step into the foyer and flashes her a winning grin. “Good morning, Jungkookie,” she greets him. “Have you eaten breakfast yet? {Name} was just making some toast, and we’ve got fresh coffee.”

Jungkook’s gaze slides over to you again, taking in the flannel pajama pants and oversized t-shirt you’re wearing. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says, though his eyes never leave yours. “I ate already, but coffee sounds wonderful.”

You are beginning to feel increasingly vulnerable as Jungkook continues looking unblinkingly in your direction. Thankfully, your mom pipes up, drawing his attention away with a decisive clap of her hands. “Coffee it is, then!” she says brightly. “{Name}, why don’t you grab Jungkook a cup?”

Hurriedly, you turn toward the cabinets, trying your best to ignore Jungkook as he chats comfortably with your family. Your success is limited though, and you can feel his penetrating stare lingering on your back even as you fetch a mug and fill it up to the brim.

“Noona.” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, much closer than you remember him being. “Can I have some cream and sugar, please?”

Somehow, you manage to reply without stammering. “Yeah. Sure.” Dumping some of the excess coffee into the sink, you spoon in some sugar and give it a quick stir. Just as you turn toward the refrigerator for the cream, a strong arm cuts you off.

“I got it, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs, backing you up against the counter as he tucks the little white carton into your outstretched hand. His proximity has your heart skipping several beats, and you almost drop the carton entirely when he speaks again in a husky whisper, his mouth at the shell of your ear. “Just a little bit, please.”

You are acutely aware of the heat radiating off of his body, warming your back and flushing your cheeks. Quietly, you open up the carton and pour a splash of cream into his mug, the swirl of white melding with the dark liquid within. “Is—is that enough?”

Jungkook reaches around you to open up the silverware drawer, grabbing a spoon and giving the coffee a stir. “That’s perfect,” he purrs, his hot breath stirring gooseflesh on the back of your neck.

This close to him, it’s easy to forget where you are and who you’re with, but you somehow manage to regain enough of your senses to wrench away and reclaim your personal space. “G-great,” you stammer, picking up the mug and shoving it into his hands, determinedly ignoring the ripple of his arm muscles as he accepts. “Um. Chim. Did you want your toast?”

“Yes, please,” Jimin says, barely glancing up from where he’s made himself comfortable at the kitchen island, idly playing on his phone.

Your mother pokes her head around the doorframe of the adjoining laundry room, where she has clearly started a fresh load if the sound of splashing water is anything to go by. “Don’t make your sister do all of the work, Jimin. Go help her—it’s your food, isn’t it?”

Obligingly, Jimin hops off the stool and grabs his favorite jar of jam, joining you at the counter. He takes the slice of toast you offer him, slathering it messily and taking an enormous bite. “Thanks for breakfast, Noona,” he says, blowing you an exaggerated kiss. “Ready, Kook?”

Jungkook raises his mug of coffee in acknowledgement. “Ready.” Then his gaze flickers back to you, twinkling with silent mirth. “And Noona—thanks. The coffee’s delicious.”

You can’t find the words to answer. Silently, you watch him disappear out the front door with Jimin, following his dark head of hair as it bobs across the yard. His biceps flex as he gestures for Jimin to help him lift a hydrangea bush, and your eyes linger on the stretch of defined muscle, tracing the network of prominent veins running along his forearm before your brain can caution you to stop. It’s almost as if you’re on autopilot, and by the time you zone back in, your gaze has wandered too far south for your liking. Letting out an audible groan, you tear your eyes away from the mouthwatering view of his thick thighs and return to your now-cold breakfast. And you don’t think about Jeon Jungkook again, pushing the image of his broad shoulders and handsome face into the darkest recesses of your mind.

Or at least, that was the plan. Jimin comes back inside after about an hour, tracking mud through half the house before your mother reprimands him and orders him to take off his shoes. Jungkook, thankfully, chose to return to his own home as well, and you immediately banish the thought of him showering off all the sweat and grime that has no doubt accumulated on his toned body. You shove away the mental image of water slicking his golden skin and collecting in the hollows of his collarbones, and when your mind conjures up pictures of what lies south of his waist, you resist the urge to scream into the pile of freshly laundered pillowcases your mom presses into your arms.

You’re just about to head upstairs to scream into a real pillow when there’s another knock on your front door—a familiar cadence that you heard just this morning. And that’s when you realize—to your complete and utter dismay—that Jeon Jungkook isn’t done tormenting you yet. Not by a long shot.

“You again? You do realize that this isn’t your house, right?” you ask, swinging open the door and thanking whatever gods may be out there that your voice remains steady. Then you raise a brow, glancing down at his change in attire. “Wait, why are you wearing a suit?”

Jungkook gives you an infuriatingly impish grin. “Do I need a reason?” His hair is still damp from the shower, a stray lock flopping down across his forehead, and as you watch him brush it away absently, you notice that he’s holding something in his free hand.

“What’s that?” you ask curiously.

Footsteps sound from behind you, interrupting before he can answer. “Jungkookie?” your mother asks, appearing at the foot of the stairs. “I thought I heard your voice. Are you here for Jimin again?”

Jungkook flashes her a winning smile and raises the garment bag he’s holding. “No, I was actually hoping to get some advice. I’ve got my suit ready to go for graduation tomorrow, but I can’t decide which shirt looks better. My mom likes how I look in blue, but I wanted a second opinion from you and Noona.”

To your utter annoyance, your mother coos and gestures for him to come in. He’s already wearing the blue shirt—a pale periwinkle one that reminds you of a cloudless day—but your mom takes the garment bag out of his hand and unzips it to look inside. “What are your options?” she asks.

“Blue, red, and yellow,” Jungkook replies, pulling each shirt off its hanger and holding them up to his chest in turn. “What do you think, Mrs. Park?”

“The blue is lovely,” your mom says thoughtfully, straightening his collar. “But this shade of yellow looks nice too. A handsome young man like you—you really can’t go wrong with any of these.”

Jungkook grins and scratches behind his ear, trying to hide his embarrassment. “Thanks, Mrs. Park.”

The dryer chooses that moment to beep shrilly, signalling the end of its cycle, and your mother darts off to tend to it, leaving you and Jungkook alone in the living room.

“What about you, Noona?” Jungkook asks, just as you’re about to try and sneak out under the pretense of helping with the laundry. “Which shirt do you like?”

“Does it matter?” you ask. “It’s just going to be hidden underneath those horrible black trash bags they make you wear.”

He laughs. “Sure, but what about before and after? You know my mom’s going to want to take a million pictures.”

“Can’t argue there.” Resigning yourself to your fate, you put your stack of clean pillowcases down on the arm of the couch and cross your arms over your chest. “Show them to me again?”

Jungkook raises the yellow shirt, holding it up for a few seconds before swapping it out for the red. “Well?”

You pause to consider it. “Red,” you decide after some deliberation, pointing at your choice. It’s a deep crimson color—almost burgundy—and you rub the silky material between your fingertips before taking it and replacing it onto its hanger. Jungkook joins you with the yellow shirt, his arm bumping into yours as you both reach for the garment bag, and even though you flinch away from the contact, Jungkook doesn’t let you stray very far. A strong hand clamps down around your forearm, and you inhale sharply when he backs you up against the wall and cages you in with his solid body.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jungkook looks thoroughly unfazed as he blinks a few loose strands of hair out of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Jungkook—” you hiss, struggling to see over his shoulder if your mother has returned. “Get off me.”

“Come on, Noona,” Jungkook murmurs. “I’ve seen the way you’ve been looking at me. Ever since you got back—ever since we kissed—”

“A mistake,” you say, cutting him off with a finger to the lips and glancing around furtively to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “That was a mistake.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “Was it? Because I really wanted to kiss you, and I’m pretty sure you wanted to kiss me too. You kissed back, didn’t you?”

“Y-you—“ You clear your throat and try again, cringing at how shaky your voice comes out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

But Jungkook simply laughs. “Don’t I?” He inches closer until you’re chest to chest, his gaze darkening as it flickers downward and lands on your mouth. Your heartbeat quickens, thudding erratically in your ribcage. It would be so easy to push to your tiptoes and close the distance between your lips.

“God,” you huff. “You’re so—”

His other eyebrow rises to join the first. “I’m so—?” he presses, tilting his head as he awaits your answer. The loose lock of hair flops across his forehead again, and this time you cannot stop yourself from reaching up to brush it away.

“Shut up,” you hiss as your fingers drop down to wind into the soft hair at his nape. “Just shut up.”

And then you’re kissing him—really, really kissing him—pulling him down to your level and sliding your free hand up his infuriatingly toned chest.

“See?” Jungkook’s lips curl up into a smug smirk as he pulls away slightly, his warm breath fanning across your cheeks with every word. “I knew you were into me.”

“God, do you ever stop talking?” you retort, pushing him back until you have enough room to switch your positions and maneuver him against the wall.

Jungkook lets you pin him in place, blinking down at you lazily with his mouth still stretched into that maddening little smirk. “Only if you make me, Noona.” His hands slide down your sides, coming to a stop at your hips in an ironclad grip. “Only if you kiss me like that again.”

So you do. Your fingers tighten in his hair as you crush your mouth to his, and when his lips part you slip your tongue inside. Jungkook—still smirking—relaxes and lets you take control of the kiss, but his hands continue to wander. Before you know it, he’s already snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, rubbing warm circles into the soft skin of your waist. His lips move languidly against yours, his tongue careful and gentle in its exploration of your mouth, and you sigh when he tugs you closer. You’re pressed flush against him by this point, pinning him between your body and the wall, and neither you nor he have any intent to move anytime soon.

The sudden slamming of a door jerks you back to reality. Here you are, standing in the living room where anyone could walk by and see you kissing your brother’s best friend—again. Shakily, you pull away from Jungkook with your heart in your throat, putting as much space as you possibly can between your bodies. “Fuck,” you mutter. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. We can’t do this.”

Jungkook’s chest is heaving, his lips swollen and red. “{Name}—” he tries, but you shake your head and cut him off before he can continue.

“You need to leave,” you whisper.

“But—”

“Please,” you say, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. “Please, Jungkook. Just leave.”

Jungkook swallows, hard. And then, much to your relief, he picks up his garment bag, shoving both shirts back inside. “Okay,” he rasps. “I’ll go.”

Elsewhere in the house, you can hear your mother calling for Jimin. Your father is watching TV in his study—you can hear the low hum of voices and a laugh track. Your entire family is here.

And yet, you’ve never felt more alone as you watch Jungkook stride down the hallway and disappear out the front door.

///

Returning to your high school is odd. The hallways and classrooms are familiar, but they all seem smaller than you remember. And were the ceilings always this short? You aren’t sure. What you are sure of, however, is that Jungkook and his family are currently headed your way, with beaming smiles on their faces and colorful flower bouquets in hand. Greetings and congratulations are exchanged, and it isn’t long before you are face-to-face with Jungkook himself, a tight smile on his face as he meets your eyes.

“Hi, Noona.”

“Hi,” you reply. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.”

Now that the graduation ceremony is over, he’s taken off his robe to reveal the red shirt underneath. The silky material drapes over his torso and clings to the toned planes of his chest, and your fingers itch to run across the defined muscle. Swallowing down the urge, you instead gesture toward his parents, who are engaged in deep conversation with your own parents while Jimin chats with Junghyun off to the side. “I guess we’re all getting dinner after this, huh?”

He nods. “Yeah, at that one place downtow—“

“Jungkook! Jimin!” A feminine voice interrupts him mid-sentence, and you watch in surprise as both your brother and Jungkook are suddenly engulfed in a massive tangle of limbs. Immediately, you recognize Jisoo and Lisa—two girls you considered casual friends from your own high school days. The third girl in the trio of friends—Chaeyoung—is noticeably absent, but you don’t get a chance to question her whereabouts. “Can you believe it? We’re graduates!” Lisa is saying excitedly, still clutching tightly onto Jungkook’s shoulders. She’s pressed flush against him, her chest molded to his, and the sudden rush of jealousy that takes root in the pit of your stomach takes you aback with its ferocity.

Calm the fuck down, you instruct your pounding heart. Stop it, right now.

“Has Tae told you about the party tomorrow night?” Jisoo asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. “You guys better be there—and that means you, too, {Name}! It’s been forever since we’ve seen you!”

You clear your throat and attempt to smile. “Yeah, it’s been way too long. It’ll be nice to finally catch up.” Unwillingly, your gaze flickers back over to Jungkook and Lisa, doing your best to maintain a neutral expression when you notice the casual way his arm drapes over her shoulders.

Your attempts are in vain. Jungkook notices your stare immediately, a massive shit-eating grin spreading across his face. One eyebrow rises in a silent taunt, and you swear his grip around her tightens. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes, you instead turn back to Jisoo, finally voicing the question that’s on your mind.

“So, where’s Chaeyoung? I saw her during the ceremony, but haven’t seen her around since. She didn’t leave already, did she?”

“No, she’s still here,” Jisoo answers, exchanging a look with Lisa. Curiosity piqued, you watch her gaze dart over to Jungkook for a split second before returning to you, a tiny smile gracing her face once more. “She’s with her family right now, but she’ll be at the party tomorrow.”

“I’ll congratulate her there, then,” you say, returning her smile with one of her own. Silently, you wonder at the uneasy glance the two girls had exchanged, but decide not to press it, chalking it up to some senior year drama that isn’t any of your business.

“Well, we should probably get going,” Jisoo says after another beat. “We’re off to dinner.”

“We should be on our way too,” you agree, glancing over at where your parents are still chatting, having absorbed Junghyun into their conversation at some point. Bidding the two girls goodbye, you sidle over to join them, trying your best to subtly nudge your parents toward the door.

After what feels like an eternity, your parents finally decide that they’re ready for a change in scenery. The drive to the restaurant is blessedly short, much to the relief of your grumbling stomach, and you are more than grateful for the brief reprieve from Jungkook and his knowing smirk. It doesn’t last long, however, and you mentally brace yourself when you spot the Jeons’ car in the parking lot of the restaurant. Upon entering, you are quickly ushered to your reserved table where the Jeons are already waiting, and somehow in the shuffle you end up right between Jungkook and Junghyun, the former’s face dissolving into a satisfied grin as he watches you sit down.

Then he turns to Jimin, who’s seated on his other side. “Hey, man.”

You bristle at the blatant way he’s ignoring you. But two can play at that game, so you turn to Junghyun with a winning smile, laying a hand on his shoulder for good measure. The older Jeon brother is four years your senior, but despite the age difference, you’ve always gotten along well.

“Junghyun, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been?”

The elder Jeon grins and leans in to give you a hug. “Good, good—work’s insane, but that’s old news. What about you? How’s school going so far?”

You can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you, hot and heavy. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle under the weight of it, and you resist the urge to shiver. Instead, you give Junghyun’s bicep a final squeeze before pulling away, steadfastly ignoring the way Jungkook lets out a disgruntled hiss from between his teeth.

“School is good,” you tell Junghyun. “I’m trying to get all my general requirements out of the way early, so my first semester wasn’t very interesting. I took some more focused classes in the second, though, which made things infinitely better.”

The elder Jeon laughs. “Guess that means you’re on the right track then, huh?”

“Guess so,” you reply, laughing right along with him.

The server stops by to take drink orders, and your parents take it upon themselves to order food for the table as well. You continue chatting amicably with Junghyun as the server returns with a tray of water, sodas, and soju; beside you, Jungkook does the same with Jimin. The only break in conversation comes when the server—a pretty girl with a chirpy voice and a nametag that reads ‘Mina’—leans over to set a glass of Coke down in front of Jungkook. He thanks her with a crooked smirk and a low purr of gratitude that has her cheeks flushing pink, and it’s all you can do not to gape at him like a fish. The flirtatious quirk of his lips, the seductive tone—it all comes far too naturally to him, and you wonder for a moment just where the old Jungkook has gone. The Jungkook you used to know stammered every time he had to talk to an unfamiliar girl, and had trouble looking even you in the eye despite having known you since grade school.

But now, he’s nowhere to be found. The young man sitting beside you remains as calm as can be, shifting his body toward Mina so that he can request a straw.

“Of course, here you go!” Mina’s gaze lingers on his hand as he accepts the proffered straw, eyes widening when his fingers brush against hers lightly.

“Fast service,” Jungkook remarks, his voice dipping into a low, indolent drawl. “I like that.”

Mina giggles and tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She’s clearly about to respond to him—flirt right back, undoubtedly—but your father stands up and taps his glass with a spoon before she can open her mouth. “I want to make a toast,” he says, and you send him a silent, heartfelt thank you when Mina wisely chooses to make herself scarce. “Congratulations to Jungkook and Jimin, our two rad grads!”

An audible groan rises up from your side of the table, where Jimin has buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god, Dad.”

“What?” your father asks innocently. “I really think you’re rad, grad!”

Jimin groans again, muffled by the sleeves of his jacket. “I want the earth to swallow me whole.”

Laughter all around. More toasts are given, and the bottles of soju scattered around the table slowly dwindle down to their last dregs. Junghyun picks up the one closest to him and fills up your glass for the fourth time, drawing a protesting whine from your lips as you try to cut him off. “Wait, that’s not fair! Pour some for yourself too!”

“Relax, we can always order more,” Junghyun says with a laugh, topping off your glass before glancing around to find Mina. Much to your irritation, she’s already headed your way, bearing loaded platters of meat and vegetables and wearing a bright smile that seems to only be directed to Jungkook.

“I hope you’re all hungry!” she chirps, coming to a stop between you and the subject of her affections. You swear she shoots you a dirty look over her shoulder before turning back to the table, her cheerful facade back in place as she smiles at Jungkook. “Where did you want me to put the meat?”

“Anywhere it’ll fit,” Jungkook tells her with a suggestive smirk, keeping his voice soft enough so that only you and she can hear.

Mina cannot hide her answering smile. Likewise, you cannot hide the way your nostrils flare, throat bobbing as you swallow down the ugly feelings bubbling up in your chest. You can feel Jungkook’s gaze roving across your skin, but you refuse to look at him, stubbornly facing the front as Mina distributes food around the table. As soon as she’s departed again—her fingers brushing across the back of Jungkook’s chair in the process—you’re up and out of your seat, heart beating faster than you’d like to admit.

“Restroom,” you say shortly by way of explanation. It’s thankfully empty when you arrive, and you immediately make a beeline toward the sink to splash some cold water on your cheeks.

It’s absurd—this snaking jealousy coiling in your belly and winding up between the slats of your ribcage. Straightening up, you give your reflection in the mirror a stern look, silently willing the feelings in your chest to abate. Gradually, your heartbeat slows into a regular rhythm, your cheeks cooling, and after waiting another two minutes, you decide that it’s been long enough. Drying off your hands, you exit the restroom and wind your way back to the table, keeping your pace leisurely even when Jungkook looks up and catches your eye. His expression is unreadable, and you valiantly ignore his burning gaze as you take a seat.

“How is everything?” you ask Junghyun, picking up a spoon and piling your plate with food from the nearest platter.

Junghyun pauses mid-bite to answer. His mouth opens, but you don’t catch his answer because there is a sudden, heavy weight on your knee. A warm palm caresses the skin exposed by the hem of your dress, slow and sensual and deliberate. Your eyes widen and your lips part, but no sound escapes. The rest of the table’s occupants fade away into the background, conversations and laughter dulling into a low drone. Beside you, Junghyun is still talking, but all you can hear is blood rushing through your ears.

And on your other side, Jungkook is smirking.

The bastard.

Gentle fingertips skim along your skin, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your entire body stiffens, but Jungkook refuses to relent. He’s still chatting with Jimin, chuckling at a joke you didn’t hear, and you wonder how he can remain so calm when you are anything but. Your heart takes off in a sprint, clattering wildly against your ribcage, and for a few moments you are absolutely positive that everyone at the table can hear. Any moment, one of your parents will look over and see how wide your eyes are and how warm your cheeks feel. Any moment, Jimin will look down and see his best friend’s arm snaking beneath the table and realize what’s happening.

And then Jungkook squeezes your thigh, and all thought flies out of your head, dissipating like fog in the sunlight. He’s growing increasingly bold, his fingers trailing up until he can trace the hem of your dress, teasing at the soft material. Your breath hitches in your throat, and Jungkook’s smirk widens. You can see him out of the corner of your eye, trying to hide his smugness behind his soju glass, and for a moment you’re tempted to throw his drink in his face.

But more than that—more than anything else right now—you want him to continue touching you.

He’s sliding beneath your dress now, inching down to the delicate skin of your inner thigh and tracing nonsensical patterns there. You grip the edge of the table as he trails closer and closer to the lace of your panties, knuckles turning white against the dark wood. It’s a wonder no one has noticed your flustered state yet, and you cast concerned glances at Junghyun and Jimin before Jungkook notices your inattention. Punishingly, he slides a single finger into your panties, snapping the lace against your skin and covering the sound with a cough that he buries in his elbow. He can’t hide the way you jolt in your seat though, your knee thudding against the table. Junghyun gives you a worried look, laying a hand on your shoulder as he asks if you’re okay, and you hurriedly nod. And underneath the table, Jungkook resumes his ministrations, languorous and soft and deliberately avoiding the place you need him most, as if he has all the time in the world.

There’s a growing damp spot between your legs. You can feel it seeping through the cottony material of your panties, sticking uncomfortably to your folds. Jungkook’s touch is whisper-soft, caressing along your thigh until your skin is tingling, and it’s all you can do to swallow down the whimper that’s bubbling up in your throat. He’s thoroughly enjoying this—you can tell—and you’re certain he can feel the way you tense up when he suddenly drags a single finger up your clothed slit. A low hiss escapes your parted lips, and in an instant, all eyes are on you.

“Noona?” Jimin asks curiously. “Something wrong?”

“I—” Your mind whirs, searching for an excuse. “It’s nothing. I’m fine. The, uh, sauce was just spicier than I was expecting it to be.”

You haven’t touched a single thing on your plate in minutes, but no one seems to notice your obvious lie. Conversation resumes, and you determinedly pick up your spoon again, intent on getting something more substantial in your belly than the fluttering butterflies that have taken up residence there.

“You sure you want to eat that, Noona?” Jungkook’s voice reaches your ears—a low, dulcet purr that sends electricity shooting down your spine. “You should probably drink some water to cool down.”

And before you can answer—before you even manage to reach for your water glass—he’s slipped his hand into your panties, the warm pad of his thumb pressing experimentally against your clit. The slight pressure has you gasping, your heart pounding hard enough to leap out of your chest as you drop your spoon. Your hands drop down to your lap—one gripping the edge of your chair while the other finds its way around Jungkook’s wrist, and you aren’t sure whether you’re trying to stop him or spur him on. His arm muscles flex underneath your fingertips, and that’s all the warning you get before he angles his hand, a lone finger sinking inside your drenched entrance.

“Oh, fuck.” You can’t stop the strangled curse that escapes your lips, an airy hiss from behind clenched teeth. Your grip on Jungkook’s wrist tightens, but it doesn’t seem to dissuade him at all as he begins a leisurely pace, sinking deeper into your cunt with each thrust.

Luckily, no one hears your whimper. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you bite back the sounds threatening to spill out and instead focus on maintaining as neutral an expression as you can muster. Beneath the table, Jungkook remains relentless. Even when your mother looks over and addresses him directly, he doesn’t cease his ministrations, keeping both his tone and his pace even as he responds.

“Jungkookie, you’ve barely touched your pork belly. Are you full already?”

“Stuffed,” Jungkook replies smoothly. He punctuates the word by adding a second finger, and you almost bang your knee on the table again, your eyes going wide at his audacity.

Your mother pushes the platter of meat closer to him anyway. “No need to be polite, honey. Here, eat up.”

Obligingly, Jungkook picks out a few pieces with his free hand and piles them on his plate. “Thanks, Mrs. Park,” he says as he brings some to his mouth. “It’s delicious.”

Satisfied, your mother turns her attention elsewhere. Jungkook returns his to you, and you almost groan aloud when his thumb brushes against your clit again, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive bud before he sheathes both fingers inside you once more. There’s a growing heat coiling in the pit of your stomach by this point, lighting every single one of your nerves on fire. Your body is screaming for release, and Jungkook seems more than eager to give it to you. He’s freed his wrist from your grip, leaving you to clutch helplessly at the table as he angles his fingers upward. No doubt he’s searching for the spot that will have you seeing stars, and you know he’s found it when a sudden burst of pleasure spikes through you. Your mouth falls lax, and Jungkook grins, thoroughly satisfied.

There’s something building inside you, something that has your tummy tensing and your toes curling in your shoes. Jungkook’s fingers dig deep, his palm rubbing against your clit with every thrust, and it takes every remaining ounce of your self-control to resist the urge to rock your hips into his hand. A bit more of that delicious friction, and you’ll be falling over the edge. You know it, and so does Jungkook if the smirk on his face is anything to go by.

And then a voice is pulling you back to reality, a warm hand settling on your shoulder. You flinch at the contact, your startled gaze flying up to Junghyun’s, and balk when you see him staring at you with equal parts amusement and concern.

“I—what?” you stammer. “Did… did you say something?”

Beneath the table, you feel Jungkook’s fingers retreat, leaving you empty and aching for release. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook wipe his glistening hand on his napkin, a frown that can only be described as petulant settling onto his face.

“Whoa, relax!” Junghyun drags your attention back to him, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I just wanted to say goodbye. I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so I’m driving back into the city tonight.”

“Oh!” It takes you a few seconds to process his words. “Right, yeah. Have a safe drive back. It was good to see you.”

“Ditto,” he replies, flashing you a warm grin. “But hey, are you all right? You’ve been a little weird the whole night. Was it the food?”

Gratefully, you seize upon the excuse. “Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I think maybe something isn’t sitting quite right in my stomach, but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about it.”

He nods and leans in for a hug. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“You too. Bye, Junghyun.”

With the elder Jeon brother’s departure, everyone else quickly decides that it’s time to disperse as well. You adamantly refuse to look in Jungkook’s direction as your parents fight over the bill, focusing your goodbyes on Mr. and Mrs. Jeon even when he glances your way with a knowing little smirk and a soft murmur of, “Bye, Noona.”

You can’t look at him. Not when every movement reminds you just how damp your panties are, your core begging for relief. Not when he’s waggling his fingers in farewell—the gesture anything but innocent. “Bye,” you warble weakly, before fleeing to the car.

The memory of his fingers burns fresh in your mind later that night as you lie in bed, your hand stuffed down your panties and working furiously to find that sweet, sweet relief.

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