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achenetype · 2 months

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content warning: graphic violence, drug and alcohol use, slight dubcon if you squint, death, a lot of death actually, vomiting, eating disorders, riko-typical abuse, riko is his own warning, the ravens kind of all love and fuck each other because who else will, self-harm mentions, explicit sex, thoughts of suicide, the riko/reader/kevin situationship is so intense (here's the playlist, btw) , graphic descriptions of injury/surgery, ravens-typical cult/grooming behavior

thinking about the ravens again. this team of athletes bred to be the best of the best, the bloodiest of the bloodiest. the fierce competition for the top spots (and by extension proximity to riko). i know parties in the nest go fucking CRAZY, like i know there’s someone on the team who always has drugs or alcohol and sometimes this well oiled machine of a team likes to lose its shit.

imagining being a walk-on, freshman year. you’d committed to edgar allan university for their pre-medical program, been offered the best scholarship offer of your life, and in your first biology class this boy with sharp cheekbones and a sharper tongue sits down next to you. he asks you for a pencil, which you give him, and he introduces himself as riko moriyama. over the next few weeks, riko convinces you to come to tryouts for the school’s exy team, and because you’re a little starstruck at the thought that riko fucking moriyama wants you anywhere, you agree.

you hadn’t played exy since your sophomore year of high school, but you’re strong. you can run fast. you’re not afraid to fight dirty. the ravens sign you only minutes after you bruise your knuckles punching the mouth guard out of another freshman’s teeth. you hadn’t even gotten settled into your dorm, so moving out and moving into the nest was no big deal.

riko wants every raven to know every other raven, wants to have a network of sleeper cells through the whole school. your team has players from every major, every background. rich kids, poor kids, every ethnicity you could think of. the ravens are all-encompassing. they’re family. they’re everything. you get paired with someone, a sophomore with an easy smile and skin just a shade darker than yours, and you feel amazing for the first time since leaving your hometown.

the first party happens after you win a match against a school from new york city. it’s in the basement of the nest, this long, catacomb-like chamber that the ravens have turned into their own personal den of sin. you barely register a drink being shoved into your hand before your pair partner is dragging you through a sea of people in black and red to a small table in a back corner. he gestures to the powder cut into neat lines on a silver tray, squeezing your hand, and murmurs, “go on.”

the coke burns your nose like you’d inhaled water, but sharper. worse. from across the table, riko grins at you. his hair hangs messily around his face, loose and curly, and you want to lean into his sparkling space and kiss him, but his partner is right there, their arms linked together and his head resting on riko’s shoulder, and the hivemind has been doing its job—everyone knows that riko and kevin are a thing, are exclusive. you don’t stand a chance, especially not as a freshie walk-on.

your partner claps you on the shoulder and whoops. the music is loud enough to drown out what he says, but something shifts in the air. you’re one of them now. one of us. you drink until your vision goes fuzzy and the pounding of your head matches the bass of the music.

you wake up for practice feeling like shit. it shows.

you’re sloppy, aching and hungover, hungry and tired. it’s unacceptable. really, you deserve it when riko slaps you across the face in the middle of the court and sends you back to your dorm. you deserve it when you open the door and see him standing there, see the knife in his hand. you deserve whatever he carves into your back, even though it feels like he’s peeling your skin off. maybe he is. you’d let him do it anyway, would beg for his fingertips to unsheathe you from the body you spent so long trying to hate and hurt and perfect into something unattainable.

you throw up for the first time in months that night. it becomes a habit. eating in the nest is something that one has to dance around carefully. the running joke is that there are two types of ravens: the anorexics, and the bulimics. starve or puke. the result is the same: lean, hollow things that break when you throw them at each other. riko invites you to smoke with him and kevin and jean, the french boy with silver bands around his neat rows of locs, and you pass a pack of american spirit cigarettes between the four of you until you’re dizzy and nic-sick.

you think kevin doesn’t like you that much.

you think it until he drags you into the showers one day after practice and kisses you, mean, like he’s got something to prove and you’re the only person he cares about proving it to. you should have known something wasn’t right, because the press of riko’s body behind you makes you jump out of your skin. he’s got one hand on your neck, turning you to kiss him while kevin mouths at your jaw and collarbones, and one hand under the sleeve of your jersey, tracing over the uniform lines that cover your arm.

he asks you what you use. “box cutter,” you say breathlessly. “i take apart razors or pencil sharpeners when it’s not sharp enough.” you’re not sure why you tell him so easily, or why kevin drops to his knees and licks a stripe up your forearm, his tongue rolling over both your scars and riko’s fingers.

the second party happens a day later. it’s not technically a raven party—it’s a sigma pi frat party, but every sigma pi brother is also a raven, so it’s basically the same thing. you get tipsy, hit a few people’s weed.

you can’t remember when the last time you saw your pair partner was. god, you must be drunk. he was in your room….not today, not yesterday. maybe a few days ago. a week. before practice.

you realize that he didn’t come back with you in the same moment that you realize you’re going to puke.

in the bathroom, you lay on the cold tile and think about what else you’d forgotten, or just been told not to notice. you knew you weren’t the only member of the team to get beaten after a bad play. you remember rubbing ice over jean’s bruises, watching victoria swallow a small white pill dry after meeting riko for a debrief.

you wonder how many layers of makeup are hiding bruises in this house. you think you’d kill yourself if you had to count. you think you might kill yourself anyway.

(no, you won’t. you have no reason to. you’re untouchable. you have good grades. you have family. you have the ravens. you wouldn’t throw that away by cutting too deep or emptying your drug stash into your mouth.)

someone decides to play spin the bottle and kevin’s hand closes around your wrist, drags you into the circle with him and riko and jean, and a junior whose name is something with an m, manuel or martin or mickey. a few other people take spots—victoria, a freshman like you, but she was recruited from a private school in connecticut—alexei, a sophomore backliner whose english was about as good as his passes—a pair of seniors who give you an up-and-down glance as they sit.

you can feel their eyes resting on kevin’s hand clasped around your arm, jean’s shoulder brushing yours. they could burn a hole through you and into the ground with how hard they stare when riko taps your thigh, signaling you to spin the empty wine bottle first.

it lands on jean and the two of you swap spit for around five seconds before he pulls away. you smile at him. he doesn’t return it. something dark and sick curls up in your chest. you think you might puke again, or at least cough up whatever rot has taken root inside of you.

jean spins, kisses victoria, and retreats to find another drink. victoria makes out with alexei for what seems like a frankly embarrassing amount of time. alexei spins, tripping over his words as he does so, and ends up drooling into manuel’s mouth.

manuel’s spin lands on kevin, who accepts a kiss on the cheek before nudging the bottle with his foot so that it points at riko.

watching the two of them feels like watching a pair of animals try to eat each other alive. kevin swings one leg over riko’s lap and riko very unsubtly rolls his hips, leaning in to kiss kevin fast and sharp and hungry.

you’re so hungry. the alcohol swaying like liquid nitrogen in your stomach has done nothing to make you feel full, make you feel satisfied. you just feel empty and sick.

it gets worse when kevin snakes one hand up to yank riko’s hair, moving from kissing his mouth to sucking bruises into his exposed neck. riko tips his head back and laughs. as kevin matches riko’s rhythm, riko reaches around and spins the bottle, one decisive movement

the neck of it points to you. you feel your face heat up. riko inclines his head towards you in silent invitation.

this is a test, you think through the buzz of weed and alcohol.

you take a deep breath and turn to your left, and riko’s lips against yours feel like lightning. you can feel kevin still mouthing at riko’s neck next to you, the movement of his hips stuttering as riko thumbs over your cheek and lets his tongue slide against yours. “cmere,” he murmurs. “stop holding back.”

you’re not sure what makes you bold enough to catch his lip between your teeth and bite, but the little gasp that comes from riko is indication that you’ve done something right. you kiss him deeper, messier, spit slicking both of your mouths before pulling away.

there’s blood dripping from riko’s lips and you’re satisfied in a sick, wobbling way. kevin separates his face from the crook of riko’s neck to stare at you.

silent invitation. silent test. everything the ravens do is unspoken. you’d think the entire team had some kind of telepathy.

you end up pressed between them. you’re dizzy—the world sways in time with riko’s hand on your thigh, kevin’s mouth between his legs. everything slows to a crystallizing point. riko laughs as he guides you and kevin together, watching the two of you kiss, watching the desperate movement of the two of you against each other.

riko laughs and it sounds like bells. riko laughs and everything is perfect. the bass of whatever song is playing is pounding in your ears, muffled by the door that you're not sure if anyone locked.

when you wake up the next morning, you feel dead. you wish you were when you roll over and see kevin and riko in bed next to you, fitting together like perfect puzzle pieces.

you decide to go for a run before your morning practice, tugging on your shoes and jacket quietly so that neither of them wake up. your feet thud against the pavement as you turn around one corner of the school.

your legs burn. the hickeys on your thighs and chest burn with them, dull flickers of pain that remind you with every breath of riko’s mouth and kevin’s hands.

you’re early to practice that day. and the day after that. you climb the ranks, taking #10 and then #8 and finally, finally, settling on #6. you're second-string, which means you get to play almost every game because red cards are beautiful and impermanent and fold in half like the hinge of a door opening. you are real. you are exactly where you are meant to be.

winter break comes and the ravens are taking a team trip to the southern exy banquet. raise morale, get closer. all that. you lie to your parents and say you’re road tripping with your friends, which isn’t technically false, but it’s not true either. you fall asleep on the bus, your head resting on kevin’s shoulder.

it’s the safest you feel for a long time.

"team trip" turns out to be a rather misleading way to say "working our athletes until they pass out or die." you scream the first time someone collapses during sprints. you cover your mouth with your hand when a forty-pound weight caves in someone's chest and you can see the splinters of their ribs. as a pre-medical student, you end up treating those who survive.

by the time kevin comes to you, shaking and mute with his hand cradled close to his chest, you don't flinch. you memorize the position of the bones: carpals, metacarpals, phalanges. you memorize the look on kevin's face when you walk him to the hotel room of another team's coach after rearranging the bones and tendons of his hand to make the damage look half unintentional.

you memorize the lie riko tells you to tell everyone else. skiing accident. too fast. accident. accident. not on purpose. accident, meaning no one's fault, meaning avoidable, meaning, meaning, meaning.

(when kevin is gone and the rest of the team is on the bus back to west virginia, riko tells you the truth. he tells you between kisses that he didn't ask for but you give anyways. he tells you if you breathe a word i'll fucking kill you in low, guttural japanese, the language you'd been learning to talk only to him and kevin.

you nod, and quietly tell him nani mo iimasen. you won't say a thing.)

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kaitsawamura · 2 years

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WEST

❄︎ stats ❄︎

chapter rating: m for mature, 18+ only mdni

chapter warnings: references to sexual encounters, semi-main character death, caring for a dead body, emotions tied to character death

chapter tags: fabricated pagan practices, semi-multiple povs, rags to riches references, red thread/invisible string, cultural and timeline crossovers, fairy tale mechanics, barely proofread

chapter word count: 12216

author's note: updated links to come!

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The sun rises blazing and golden in the east; Izuku groans, stretching long scarred limbs above his head. He flexes his toes under the furs draped across his lower half. Guilt washes over him as he takes in the sleeping forms beside him; he’s leaving in two hours.

He had met the man in the village bazaar the day before selling daggers and while the conversation had been quick it had flowed easily. The weapons were crafted with exceptional skill and the way the man’s dark hair curled around his tanned ears had caught Izuku’s attention. His name was Alexander and if Izuku could wait an hour near the bazaar, he could show him the best place to stay for him and his men. Izuku had agreed heartily.

Izuku had waited, telling Yuki and the rest of his traveling party to meet him at the same spot within an hour. He watched from beneath the shade of Alexander’s tent as he expertly pulled in potential buyers off the cobbled street to look at his wares. His smile and laugh were infectious and up close he smelled of sweat, cloves, and the sea salt air that lingered heavy on the tongue in the square. It had not taken long for Izuku to come in closer, listening with arms crossed over his barrel chest as Alexander explained the benefits of one dagger compared to another. It was evident that he loved what he did.

When an hour had passed and Izuku could see Yuki make his way down the cobbled path to Alexander’s stall, he felt as if no time had passed at all. The sun was low enough on the horizon that it had fallen behind the stone buildings of the city, casting light behind their white facades. A different type of murmur had begun, as people broke down their stalls and the sounds of nightlife wound their way deliciously to Izuku’s ears. Izuku found himself brushing the edges of Alexander’s robes with soft fingers as he carefully placed the daggers in a small wooden chest. The cloth of his tent had come next and when it was all rolled up, he slung both up on his back.

The rag tag group had followed Alexander for a ways up the cobbled street; Izuku was completely lost in the sights and smells around him. It never failed to be this way when he stopped in a new land. There was so much to see and do. So many people to meet. When they reached the peak of the street which had begun to slope in a manner that made his already tired muscles protest, he took a deep breath and felt the relaxation set in. What appeared to be an inn was just to their right but to the left, to the radiant western sun, was the sea. Izuku was no stranger to being on the water now. He remembered again as he had made his way to the cliff’s edge to look out over that water that it had been two years since he had left home in Japan. During that time, he had been on ships ravaged by storms, ships caught in the middle of warring water mercenaries he came to know as pirates. Some, he had even come to know as friends and crew.

He’d seen countless sunrises, countless sunsets. Some on land, some on the water. And yet, every once in a while, a certain picture would capture his heart so quickly and with such an ache that it did not matter if he had seen a thousand similar images before. The night before was one of those times as he had felt the cool sea air blast up and over the cliff’s edge to caress his warm skin and its bright blue waves stretch, emblazoned by the sun, far into the distance.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” Alexander had watched Izuku as he asked the question on a murmur that sat low in his throat and had Izuku adjusting the waist of his trousers. He had nodded and followed Alexander and his men to the entrance of the inn. A sign above its door was illustrated with a golden sheep and when they stepped over its threshold the smell of roasted lamb and seasoned fish had nearly buckled the knees of the grown men. It was there that Izuku met Rhea.

Rhea was the proprietor of the inn and no stranger to Alexander or his daggers. She had said this with a cheeky grin and wink in both Alexander and Izuku’s direction and despite himself, Izuku had felt a flush creep across his chest and up his neck. Just like his experience with the sea, he was no stranger to lying with man or woman and had owned the heat on his cheeks, smiling sheepishly in Rhea’s direction. She was beautiful with skin dark like Alexander’s, skin that was familiar with hard work and hours in the sun. Her hair was black but when the light caught the locks that slipped from beneath the blue bandana over her head, the strands flashed a red, brilliant like the sunset.

The night had been spent eating good food (the meat was so tender, it melted in Izuku’s mouth and the savory grease dripped down his chin) and drinking good wine. Conversations and tales were shared and when Rhea had offered a bed to share with Izuku and Alexander, he had accepted. The wine had been heavy and slow in his veins but Rhea’s and Alexander’s hands were quick and nimble.

More than one appetite had been settled last night. But now as Izuku looks over the entangled bodies next to him, he can already feel another hunger creeping deep into his bones. They are a month from his destination, Hikuma no Kuni, by his calculations. And it’s odd, a sensation he can’t explain but the closer he gets, he feels a plucking behind his ribs attached to his heart as if someone had tied a silk ribbon around it and was pulling on it. Pulling him in. The closer he’s gotten, the less time he’s spent in each new destination. He slips from the bed on the floor and quietly pulls on his trousers and tunic.

Rhea and Alexander do not stir. It’s for the best, Izuku thinks with a smile tinged bittersweet. There have been many places that have left Izuku with a sense of wonder or contentment; but here… He thinks he would have been happy here. He will not stay though; as he gathers his men, checking the ranks before they board the ship that will take them to a port on the southern coast of Furanko no Kuni, he feels the now-familiar tug in his heart.

There is something waiting for him in the northern land, the Land of the Ice Bear. He knows not what will be there when he steps ashore. But it feels as if maybe his life is just beginning.

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You are happier than you’ve been in some time and even though you know the old gossipping women of the village wonder why you have not bore Konrad any children, you brush it off. What will happen will happen and it seems the two of you are content to move through life just as you are, just the two of you. The days are bathed in a glow unlike most times you’ve experienced; you know you’d caught glimpses of it when you were younger, in the way a certain bird sang in spring, or the way a raspberry tasted fresh off the bush, or the way the sun slanted through your family’s cabin door when it was open through a balmy summer sunset. There are some compromises that have to be made, communication styles that have to be established, but most of the time, everything feels just right.

Two years go by. Two whole years of near bliss. Two whole years before you’re in the little garden that had flourished beneath your hands (wondrously) when you see two horses coming down the trail to your home. As they get closer and you shield your eyes from the sun, you see the one is ridden by Konrad’s father, James. The other, a stocky sorrel gelding of whom you’ve grown very fond, does not appear to have his rider upon him. When they round the last bend and pass through the wooden gate onto the boundaries of your land, it is then you see the body covered and draped across his back. The basket of vegetables you’re holding falls to the ground, its contents forgotten in a sharp sense of panic.

James has already dismounted, standing in front of you as you run to him, sobs already ripping violently from your chest. He puts his hands out to stop you and you collapse into them, trying to get past them; you have to prove somehow that what you’re looking at is not real.

“Konrad,” you cry in anguish as you finally heave out of his father’s reach. But when you come to stand by his horse, your hand shakes above the burlap you know is covering his body. You cannot bring yourself to lift it. A shudder wracks your body. “What happened?” It’s hushed and harsh even to your ears. James comes up behind you, places a steadying hand on your shoulder. You cannot take comfort in the gesture.

“We’re not sure. We think it was a sickness of the heart. He collapsed outside the schoolhouse clutching at his chest. I brought him as soon as I found out.” You felt dizzy, lightheaded; it felt like someone had shot an arrow through your lungs and you were dying. Bile rises bitter and burning in your throat.

“Does Hilda know? Does… does my mother?” The tears continue to flow from your eyes. You’re convinced you couldn’t stop them now even if you wanted to. James nods his head. Of course Konrad’s mother would know first. It was only right.

“Your mother is on her way now. I will stay with you until she gets here and then… then I will leave you two to do what is necessary.” James’ face contorts in that way when someone is trying not to weep. He’s talking about cleaning the body. You can’t even begin to fathom the words that are leaving his mouth even as he speaks them. This can’t be happening. It mustn't be happening. Where is your mother? It’s taking too long for her to arrive. You need her here. Your knees feel weak as you grip at the saddle.

Every sensation feels too much; the sun beating down on you even in the cool breeze, the sound of crickets in the field, the scent of wildflowers flowing about you. But even in your haze you pick up on the sound of galloping hoofbeats pounding down the road and when you muster the strength to look, you see your mother. Her cloak trails out behind her as she flies down the road and when she brings the mare to a stop in front of you and dismounts, it takes everything left within you just to fall into her arms.

“Min Kærr. Min Kærr, oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, my love.” She embraces you, caressing her hand from the crown of your head and down. Her voice is soothing and strong enough to break the dam that you’d put up. All you can do is sob as she holds you. You lose all sense of time but you think at some point she turns to James who seems stricken and grips his hand before he takes Konrad’s horse and leads him to the cottage. James lifts his son’s body over his broad shoulders and takes him inside.

She walks you to the steps of your cottage, setting you there and wrapping her own cloak about you; you’ve begun to shiver. “Stay here. James and I will take care of the horses.” She says it in that matter of fact way of hers. You don’t think once to question it as you sit there on the steps in shock. Kon will never walk them to step over the threshold of your home again.

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She can feel the brokenness emanating from you. She tells you to stay put knowing full well that at this moment, you would not be able to rise on your own anyway. The dark golden mare is coated in a sheen of sweat but she will have to wait. James moves slowly, murmuring that he will care for the horses and then go. He needs to get home to Hilda as soon as possible. They have to tell the girls.

“Mother,” you say on a whimper and your mother’s heart cracks open in her chest. This is a pain she has not had to know in her life. She has experienced loss, yes, but nothing like this. And she says a silent prayer to the gods that she never will.

It is as the runes foretold. For the first time in a long time, the witch wishes she had not known. Something about this would have been easier she thinks as she picks you up to your feet and leads you into the house. Konrad has been laid on the large oak table your father had built for the two of you. The burlap still covers his face.

“We must cover the mirrors, Min Kærr. Do you have some linen we might put over them?” You nod, moving without thinking to the chest in the corner by the hearth. That’s good, those will work just fine. There is only one full length mirror to speak of anyway. She takes it from your hands and tosses it over the seeing glass placed along the wall next to your bedroom door. You move mechanically, coming to a standstill in front of the table where Konrad lies. “We must prepare the body. I will boil the water and oils, you gather Konrad’s clothes. You must dress him and wash him. I will be here with you the entire time, Min Kærr.” It feels as if someone is ripping her own heart out.

You make your way into the room you once shared with Konrad as your mother starts a fire in the hearth and places a large iron pot over the open flame. She scoops water from the barrel in the corner and places it in the pot along with a small bottle full of ceremonial oils she had brought from your childhood home. Frankincense and myrrh for purification and lavender to keep Konrad’s memory alive. As it simmers it fills your home with a heady fragrance that makes you want to crawl under the furs on your bed. But you can’t.

You open the clothing chest at the foot of your bed, the one where you keep special articles of clothing. Like your wedding dress. And Konrad’s wedding tunic. It is still white like the first day he wore it, the red thread trimming the hem still as vibrant. You run your thumbs along the stitches before you bring it to your nose, inhaling deeply. You had hoped that some of Konrad would still be evident in its weave but after two years, his scent is all but gone. There is only a trace, so faint that you have a difficult time picking it up with your human sense of smell. It makes the dull emptiness that has crept into your chest throb with an ache unlike anything you’ve felt before. He’s gone.

Next are his leather trousers, soft and lined with rabbits’ fur. His wedding boots are there at the bottom of the chest as well. By the time you have gathered all the things you need, your mother has brought the cleansing water to a soft boil and is dipping rags into its depths, soaking them with the fragrant liquid. You know what comes next and yet you find yourself overcome with tremors as you lift your hand to the corner of the burlap and draw it back from Konrad’s body. You stop, stilled by the sudden appearance of his face coupled with the knowledge that he is dead. If you didn’t know better, you would wonder if he was asleep.

His lips are full, the hair of his beard and atop his head still gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight streaming in your window. His eyelashes sit long and soft along his cheeks. They only lack color on a small scale. The tunic he wears now is loose about his collarbone and shoulders, only slightly dirtied from where he had fallen. When you reach out a hesitant hand to his own, his skin is almost warm. The stiffness of death has not set in yet so that when you grasp his hand, it is indeed easy to believe that he might be sleeping. You brush your other hand across his forehead, feeling the softness of his hair.

Your mother hands you one of the rags that she’s soaked in the pot; the smell of the oils float straight to your head. And yet you are able to take some comfort in them as you pass the cloth across Konrad’s face and down his neck. You set it aside to remove his outer tunic, undoing the ties near his collar bones. “Mother,” you say softly when you realize you might need to maneuver his upper half to put the clean tunic on. She comes to you swiftly, keeping his body in an elevated position as you slip it over his head and smooth it down his back. When the two of you lay him back down with some effort, you start to notice the tears. They slip silently from your eyes. But they don’t stop and you are not keen to wipe them away. They fall, landing on the clean white linen over Konrad’s chest; you doubt they will leave a mark but even so… Let the gods see when he enters their presence; let them see the cruelty they have allowed.

You both have to do the same awkward dance to get the clean trousers on after you have cleansed the rest of his body. Once the last pieces of clothing are arranged, you step back, a blank expression painting your face pale. It feels like you are a ship lost at sea, floating with no destination in sight. Your mother stands beside you, her hand soft but strong as her arm reaches to pull you to her side by your waist. She remains there for some time, humming a tune you remember only vaguely from your childhood. Its notes lilt pleasantly in your ears as you lean on your mother for support. Time seems to be rushing past you and not moving at all.

On the morrow, you will listen to the wails of Konrad’s mother. You will see tears paint his father’s face. You will place flowers and herbs from your garden along with fresh pine boughs from the forest on his funeral pyre. A different kind of ceremonial flame will be lit. When the last of its heat has burned away, you will gather Konrad’s ashes and keep them until an urn can be carved to hold them.

Tonight, you sleep in your bed alone.

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The witch stands in her hut, hands resting on the wooden altar. Its wood has become smooth with use over the years. She is once again consulting the runes. She feels the change coming; she feels the knowing thrumming in her veins, making her blood spark with hot panic. And her most familiar of methods, like an old friend bearing bad news, has confirmed her worst fears. The hero is on his way. He will be here soon.

On her next trip to the village to sell some of her premade wares, she inquires casually if there has been any word from other ports of new travelers. Yes, how interesting. How many ships have come in, are they emissaries? Trade ships? Pirates? Yes, you are doing as well as you can be. You’re thinking of moving home for a bit. She gains just as many bits of information as she does coins for her remedies.

She does this over the course of the next three weeks. On her third visit, she learns of the foreign ship that’s set to land within a fortnight. No one knows the exact origin of their travels but the men aboard come from a land far from your own. The one thing that is very clear and the same among every village person that tells her the tale is that aboard that ship is a prince. A prince with hair dark and verdant as the trees in the forest and eyes to match. There have only been good things spoken of him; he is kind and treats his men well.

The witch knows she must prepare. She can feel things are moving too quickly to be in her control any longer. But she will find a way. Her fate was decided long ago, on that first day in autumn. She will not stop now. There are things she knows that will be useful to her now. A transformation will do. A transformation for him and a glamor for the trial of the prince and her daughter. The prince will have a chance to change his fate; it is the way of things.

Success in this endeavor is not something the witch expects him to receive.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The hull of the ship is sea battered and sun bleached but it points true as it anchors near the shore. Izuku steps from his cabin below deck, taking in deep lungfuls of chilled air. It is a stunning landscape not entirely unlike his own. He looks up the shore; everything is hues of deep green and stretches on as far the eye can see. In the distance he makes out a mountain range painted in shades of dark blue and green and gray. The village on the shore is bustling with activity as other ships anchor close; most of them are obviously fishing barges. Large white nets hang from their sides. Even from his place aboard his own ship, Izuku can see these are a people accustomed to being on the water; the wood of their ships gleam with care and the nets are not tangled. Yuki comes to stand by his side, the pommel of the sword slung to his waist shining in the bright sunlight. “I could use a drink about now,” he says nonchalantly.

Izuku glances at him quickly, a smirk on his face. “As if the barrels we brought with us from Fransk were not enough to quell your appetite?” He elbows the elder man in the ribs in jest. Yuki watches the prince next to him; they have seen many things over the course of two years. He himself has learned things he never would have expected to in his lifetime. It’s a lot for anyone to take in and yet his prince, the future emperor, wears it well. He has nearly grown into a full-fledged man now with the size and knowledge and goodness to match. Either Yuki, who is nearing the end of his fortieth decade, is getting shorter or Izuku, who is nearing the start of his thirtieth, is getting taller.

“When did you start calling it Fransk?” Yuki jibes back, ignoring the slight melancholy at realizing just how quickly time is passing. He can recall just yesterday how Izuku granted a kindness to him that he still believes should not have been given. Yuki is no longer the same man he was twenty years ago; part of that is because of his own hard work that he’s put in and part is due to Izuku. He is forever in his debt.

“One of the locals from our last supply stop called it that. I guess it just sounds better on the tongue to me. Shall we find a place to stay then? I’m feeling I could use a warm meal right now. And a warm bed. My muscles are aching.” Izuku rubs the back of his neck, feeling the air chill around him. It’s not unlike the winters at home but here it is only summer here.

The gods whisper on the wind: go go go. He hears it as a hushing in the pines.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The inn here is all dark wood and golden flames. There’s a chill outside but inside its walls, Izuku has all but forgotten. There is a roaring fire in the stone hearth and several tables with various travelers are loaded with fresh breads and stews with curling steam. There are not too many other patrons but enough that there is a pleasant hum of activity. The red-headed matron of the inn comes bustling from somewhere behind the counter, carrying a tray of more bread and two mugs of ale.

“I’ll be right with ya!” Izuku smiles and waves off the need for any formalities. It is not wise to proclaim his status in a foreign country; he has newly made scars to prove it. He’ll wait some time before he decides to share that. He doesn’t know that the rumor mill moves fast here and that some already have suspicions of him being a prince. The rest of his men spread out to a large table near the hearth; Izuku can practically feel the weariness seeping out of their bones. He can feel it too. He can’t put a finger on it but it’s as if the string has been pulled the tightest it’s been the whole time except that now it’s tight enough that he’s doing the pulling and he can rest easy in that whatever awaits at the end of the line will come to him soon. The woman comes back, assessing the group at the table.

“The name’s Ada, I own this establishment and I’ll be gettin’ ya what ya need tonight. I can see you’re not from around here so let me just say I have no qualms with anyone that comes through my door as long as ya don’t cause me any trouble, is that clear?” She looks expectantly at Izuku and he immediately decides he likes her; she reminds him of his mother. He nods.

“Thank you, Ada. My name is Izuku and there will be no trouble from us, I can assure you of that. We’ve just come in from a very long journey to get here to your land so we’ll be glad to partake of whatever warm meal and drink you can give us. We’ll also be needing beds but we’re planning on being here for an extended period of time so name your price and we’ll pay it. Whether that be work or coin,” Izuku adds as her eyes sparkle in the light of the fire. She places her hands on her hips and smiles wide.

“It might take me a few days to get ya all your own rooms if that’s what you’re wanting but I think I can manage it. There’s not much work around here at the moment but come fall, it’ll be harvest time and then we’ll be gettin’ ready for winter. It’s supposed to be a monster this time around. Are ya plannin’ on staying that long?” Izuku doesn’t know. He supposes he’ll be here until he finds what he’s looking for, as long as it takes for that strange feeling to go away. The feeling that says something is waiting for him here.

“We could be here. I’m… I’m looking for something. Or someone. I’m here until I find that.” Ada watches him with a grin and a knowing look in her eyes. She nods before getting momentarily distracted by two new guests. Izuku isn’t particularly interested at first. It’s two women, one older and the other younger. But then he gives a closer look at the younger of the two and he feels as if his heart is going to burst out of his chest. He leans farther back in his chair as Ada waves at them in recognition.

“Oh, the salve! I’ll be right there. Let me help these guests and I’ll get your payment. I’ll be right back with your food, Izuku, and then we can discuss your own payment later.” Ada is already bustling away, giving Izuku no time to ask the names of the women that just walked in. He stands, ready to make his way over to them but his head is buzzing with a sensation he’s never felt before. It’s like he’s drunk with it.

And then he locks eyes with you and it’s like the cord around his heart has been set aflame.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

It has been a month since Konrad’s passing. The first fortnight after he had passed was the hardest. You had felt like you were floating on a sea intent on giving you seasickness. You tried to fight it at first; staying at your childhood home helped lock away some of the emotions in the first few days. But the first time you had to make the trek back to the home you’d made with Konrad, it was like the floodgates were opened. It wasn’t even seeing your garden or entering through its door again. It was how empty everything looked and felt. When you went to the chest that held your clothes and his, and realized that the smell that had seemed so faint before was somehow stronger now, you broke.

Your mother was waiting for you when you came back home, eyes and face red with sorrow. She only needed to hold out her arms in silence before you came to her. The tears were gone and so was your strength to stand.

It has been a month since Konrad’s passing. Another Midsommar festival has come and gone. The passage of time takes no prisoners. And even now, when your mother insists that you come with her on this trip to deliver her wares to customers in the village, you obviously want to refuse her. It’s too soon. What reason do you have to speak to anyone? But another part of you, a part of you that has long lain dormant in the wake of Konrad, has come back to life. It whispers to you GO and you think that you must listen.

The day is pleasant and it feels good to be in the sun. There is a small comfort in knowing that the world continues to spin, that life moves on around you. It is also a comfort to see that things are the same as they have always been. The grass is green, the air smells of lilacs and honeysuckle, and the children run in the fields close to the village. They leap, trying to catch dragonflies and their laughter rings true and pure. The cows are lowing in their pastures and in the distance you can hear sheep bleating.

Your hands remain in your lap as your mother guides the summer sleigh along, stopping occasionally to drop off items of various uses and gather the payment for them. It ranges from coins to eggs to jams to bundles of wood. An apron with embroidery on the front. A basket of fresh-picked potatoes. A jar of hand-carved ivory buttons. Soon, the buildings are closer together around you and even before your mother tells you there is only one more stop, you know you are nearing the end of her deliveries.

“Ada needs a muscle salve. Do you want to come inside? She’s been asking after you since it happened. It might do you a little good to see a smiling face besides mine,” she says gently, letting her words float along in the hubbub of the villagers around you. You nod absently, not really agreeing or disagreeing. It feels strange, being here around all these people when the most activity you’ve seen for four weeks is when James and Hilda or your sisters come to visit. You want to feel the world reaching out to hold you; everything feels so alive. You’re not quite ready just yet.

When the sleigh comes to a stop in front of the inn, you notice the color of the sunset spreading out in the west. Crickets are chirping and the first of the lanterns are being lit. There’s a ruckus from within but it’s a good kind. A great many voices are singing along to a jaunty little tune you know well, and laughter bubbles out from the open door. You feel a tug near your heart, a physical one that has you rubbing the spot on your chest where you feel it beat. Maybe you will go in, just for a bit.

Your mother leans over the seat at the front of the sleigh, reaching for the jar of muscle salve she has for Ada. She hands it to you as she hops down, and when you hop down after her, you keep it in your arms. You think you might pass it along to her yourself, you murmur with an unsure smile. Your mother is pleased.

Passing through the doorway of the inn feels like a bit of an emotional shock. There’s so many people. Not that many but you haven’t seen so many of them in quite a while. Faces you don’t recognize pepper the crowd; people on their way to other towns and travelers from very far. Your eyes rove over the guests. It’s how you spot Ada towards the far end of the inn by the hearth. Her face is lit in a warm glow from the flames within its depths and she’s speaking animatedly to the group sitting at the large table near its place. She turns to you and your mother when you walk in and recognition lights in her eyes as she hollers across the sea of faces.

“Oh, the salve! I’ll be right there. Let me help these guests and I’ll get your payment.” She leans back down to the table and adds something more to them before she’s off and running. It’s then you’re paying attention to the men at the table; even from here you can tell they’re from very far away. From their faces to the accents you can hear floating across the other tables to the clothes on their backs. You don’t even notice the man making his way towards you until he’s stumbling into your space. Your heart feels like it’s in a vice as you reach out to catch him, one arm reaching around to his waist and the other latching onto his arm to steady him. Latching on is a bit of an exaggeration; your fingers are nowhere near closing around his bicep so you grab at the sleeve of his tunic instead.

When your eyes look up to his, you feel as if a key has been inserted into the lock of your heart and now it’s been popped open. They’re green, dazzlingly deep and verdant like the trees of the forest near your home. You feel dizzy and suddenly you’re holding on to him as much as he’s holding on to you. He’s silent, not even bothering to apologize for tripping into you and somehow, you do not fault him for this. There’s a quivering in the air around you and it’s like no one else exists in the room. The two of you are vaguely aware of your mother standing there and Ada popping out from the kitchens with a jug of aged mead and a jar of honey. She comes to an abrupt halt when she sees the two of you, eyes widening. But then her face is split by a grin.

“Izuku, I thought you said you wouldn’t cause me any trouble and here ya are, runnin’ into my personal guests.” There is mirth in her tone and in her eyes. She takes your hand and gives it a squeeze. “It’s good to see ya, dear.” You can only take your eyes off of the man she’s called Izuku long enough to acknowledge her. It breaks the spell enough for something sour to take root in your gut. Konrad. His name comes riding unfettered into your mind, like a wild horse. Tossing its mane, reminding you of its existence. You take a step back from Izuku, assured he can stand on his own. He can and does, but does not move from your presence. You do not wish for him to do so; it feels as if there is a war raging within you.

“Thank you, Ada. I’m glad to see you as well.” You leave it at that. No need to let this stranger know what’s happened. But you can feel him lean in, not out of curiosity but as a comfort you think and you’re glad of it, in spite of yourself. There’s no explanation for it you think, frustrated with how your body responds. Luckily, Ada takes her attention off of you as she turns to your mother instead.

“I’ve got your payment but I’ve also got questions for ya about my muscle tea blend. Would ya mind comin’ in the back for a moment to see what I’ve been doin?” Your mother goes rigid next to you; you don’t dare look her in the eyes. The energy emanating from her is thick with displeasure. Still, she checks to make sure you’re alright before she follows Ada to the back. Out of sight and momentarily out of mind, you turn to Izuku. He seems rooted to the spot and when your eyes meet once more, a little shyer this time, you cannot ignore the way your heart beats faster. He is handsome, almost unfairly so, with full lips and a square jaw. He’s just under a foot taller than you and broad with hair a green so dark it’s almost black. But it’s the way he looks at you as if he’s been traveling the world over just to find you.

“Would you like to sit down?” He gestures to the table behind him; you notice for the first time how the men at his table have eyes trained on him in interest. As do many of the other patrons of Ada’s inn. You nod, following him and taking a seat next to him at the long table. The men shift a little restlessly and you realize your arrival must in some way have hindered their food reaching the table. Ada will realize any minute. “My name’s Izuku,” he says again and you think you like the way his voice, clear and deep, vibrates into you from the side. He’s warm and smells of salty sea air and a floral scent you do not recognize. Everything within your tired body wants you to lean into him.

You tell him yours and he repeats it back to you, playing with the syllables in his mouth. His crew introduce themselves in turn with nods of their heads. You ask them questions, feeling your interest in their stories grow with the passing moments. Vast deserts with sand for as far as the eye can see. Lush, tropical jungles with animals you can’t even begin to imagine. A ship in storms with waves as tall as mountains. These have been their home for nearly two years. They come from a land far across the world from you. Places full of hardship but of wonder too. Something cracks open in your chest and light shines through the fissures.

Izuku watches you grow more animated with each story he and his men tell and it feels like his heart is thumping out of his chest. You are beautiful, yes, with long hair braided back and a smile that reaches your eyes the longer you converse. He tries not to notice the way your body fills out the light blue dress you wear. Gestures of your hands continue to bring his attention to each little detail. He hangs on your reactions, watching for the things that delight you. When Yuki tells you the story of how Izuku saved them from a bear in the mountainlands of Fransk because of a story he’d heard by chance from a traveling merchant in Greece, you look at him with a quiet but intense interest that has a heat wave flooding the skin of his chest and neck and face.

The world is closing in on a vortex with you at its center. The string around his heart has gone slack and he knows it's because what is tied to the other end is you.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

You can’t describe the way you’re feeling. It might have to do with the fact that there is more than one emotion flying about in the shelter of your ribcage. Some time has passed since you’ve felt this alive. Even when you were with Konrad. Sadness alights quietly within you but you do not chase it away. You had grown comfortable with Konrad. He was safe and exactly what you’d needed at the time you were with him. But you realize now as you sit and listen to these stories from the mouths of men who seem to be good, that in being comfortable, you had grown complacent. You had denied another part of your nature. A part of you that your mother had encouraged to be closed off.

It can’t be more than half an hour before Ada comes rushing from the back with a tray full of her best ale and rushed promises that she’ll have stew and bread out right quick but it feels like forever. Your mother waits quietly by the front door, not even bothering to show common courtesies for you or the guests you sit with. The taste of ipecac comes to mind as you take in her bitter expression. You rise quickly, thanking the men for the recounting of their adventures to you for they mean more than you would ever be able to describe. Izuku rises after you, taking your hand as you swing your leg over the bench seat. Scars litter his warm skin there and you think if his tunic was not a hindrance, he might have more. You do not release his hand and he does not take it away for a moment longer than necessary. A lifetime within a heartbeat.

“I must go,” you say quietly, suddenly feeling an ache in your chest, a swimming upset in your stomach. He leans in and if in that moment he had kissed you, you know you would have allowed it. When you finally separate, you feel near frantic as if the very idea of being apart from him is entirely the worst thing in the world.

You cannot explain the way you’re feeling. But then again, you think there is no human concept that can explain soulmates. Ridiculous as it might be, you realize in a way that is both sinking and uplifting all at once, that Izuku, a man from a place where the sun rises so close in the east it can be touched, a man you’ve just met, is exactly that: you soulmate. And you think there is a chance that you might never see him again. You think you might finally wither away into nothing if you don’t.

Two losses so similar would end you.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

Izuku watches as you walk away, willing everything within himself not to clutch at his aching heart. You look over your shoulder as you come to stand by your mother at the door. She ushers you out, not even giving Izuku or his men a second glance. It feels as if he has been given a good right hook, one that has knocked him out on his ass. He moves with slow and measured steps to the long slab of raw edge wood that Ada stands behind, readying another bowl of stew for him and his men. She takes one look at him and tips her head back in boisterous laughter.

“Oh, Izuku. I’d know that look anywhere. Ya look as if someone has ripped your heart right out of your chest. Was it her that made ya look such a way?” She nods her chin in the direction of the open door. From his new vantage point he can just make out as you and your mother get in the sleigh pulled by a smart looking and hefty golden mare. She tosses her head and then pulls away into the night. “That’s a sad one, there. She lost her husband, Konrad, but a moon ago.” Izuku turns to Ada quickly, trying to ignore the immediate urge to comfort. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her out and about since the burning of his pyre. That young woman is very near and dear to her mother. She’ll not be lettin’ her get hurt again any time soon.”

The words sound good and kind and natural but Izuku catches the odd expression on Ada’s face when she tells him, says as much to her. “Oh, it’s nothing awful or cruel. It just seems she’s been with her for her whole life. The two love each other more than the breath from their lungs. But she has an urge for going that’s never been fed and I feel like it would do her some good.” Ada suddenly clamps her mouth shut; Izuku thinks it might be because she does not want to betray anyone’s confidence. “The good news is, you might be seein’ more of her now if she’s made the trip to the village today. They live on the outskirts, between Odin’s Valley and Wolf’s Back Mountains. Perhaps your travels might take you there, Izuku.” Ada winks at him and Izuku chooses to be hopeful.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The witch calms her nerves with a tonic of valerian and chamomile. It is almost time. She knows the path Izuku will follow on the morrow, a path Ada will no doubt give to him in great detail. She will find him as he reaches Odin’s Valley and before the small meadow she calls home. There she will cast her spell and give him her rules.

For tonight, she caresses your head in front of the hearth, just like she did when you were a child.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

The next morning after a night fitful with nightmares of snowstorms, Izuku is told just how to reach the little cottage between Odin’s Valley and the Wolf’s Back Mountains. Yuki wants to go with him but Izuku insists this is one thing he has to do alone. The man tries to understand, and thinks Yagi would want Izuku to have this chance. But it leaves him flighty and pacing until Ada asks if he might chop some word for the hearth. By then, his prince is long gone on the back of a midnight steed.

The road to your home is packed dark earth, a well-traveled road. It’s easy to follow; that along with the singing birds and bright blue sky, the grass as tall as his horse’s belly and the smell of green in the air, has Izuku feeling like he might conquer a god if he so chose. It lulls him into a false sense of security, one that proves to be his downfall. He does not notice when all around him goes deathly still and the only thing he now hears singing is the wind. He makes note first of the dark clouds rolling in quickly from the north and then he sees the cloaked figure standing in the field to his right. The hairs on his neck stand on end but he thinks he should investigate.

He cannot tell but he thinks it is a woman and thinks he can confirm so when she speaks to him. He’s not nearly as close as he should be to be able to hear her words so clearly.

“Prince Izuku, do you believe in true love? Soul mates?” The question along with its origin is so out of place that he is shocked into nodding. She reaches out a hand with long slender fingers to the muzzle of his steed. The gelding shivers uncontrollably beneath his legs but does not move. “Yes, I thought you would.” She raises her other hand and blows a powder in his direction. It’s then the horse rears, letting out a shrill neigh and in his confusion, Izuku is thrown hard onto the cool earth. “Worry not, Prince Izuku, it will only paralyze you long enough for me to work.”

Terror slices hot through his veins as Izuku realizes the powder was to immobilize him. He tries to shout, knowing full well he did not see anyone in either direction on the road for miles. In his mind, he shouts at his limbs to MOVE but they will not and it is then he knows, whatever this witch has in mind, he will have to endure. To his dismay, she places a cool hand to his cheek and he knows it is in an effort to soothe him. Like a mother should.

“The young woman you met last night at Ada’s inn is my daughter. My daughter, Min Kærr. It has come to be known by me, whether by the fate of the gods or of a design far greater, that you are meant to be with her. But…” For all her power, the witch’s voice quivers with emotion. “But I cannot let her go, young Izuku. She means too much to me. Her pain has been great these last six years and I cannot bear to see her suffer such pain again.” She pauses, opening a small glass vial filled with a dark red liquid and holds it to Izuku’s mouth. Once more he wills himself to move but cannot. She cradles his head gently as she forces the bitter liquid between his lips; he can feel it trickle uncomfortably down his throat. “Still, I will give you, I will give her, a chance.”

She lays his head back to the cool grass and stands, brandishing a dagger. Its edge gleams sharp in the sunlight. The wind comes in stronger from the north, whipping her cloak from her head and hair from the leather cord at the nape of her neck. He thinks she is playing with things she does not understand but also knows the gods are finicky and that their machinations may not yet work in his favor. Words in a language his mind does not understand tumble from her as she takes the dagger and slices through her hand. She places the bleeding wound to his lips, forcing three drops of blood in with the draught.

At first, Izuku feels nothing. He can see the storm clouds much nearer than they were before and a chill has settled in the air. He thinks a snowflake catches in the hair stuck to his forehead, the skin there wet with a cold perspiration. But there, just beyond the edges of his being, he feels something in his bones. It’s weak, a wave of nausea.

Then comes the splitting sensation in his head. She comes to kneel beside him again, brushing the curls out of his eyes. “I know, Izuku, I know. I’m sorry it must happen this way.” The pain ebbs once more and even though he cannot know what is happening, he thinks he might be able to endure. But as soon as it leaves him, the pain comes back and it feels as if his bones are being crushed. His heart is pounding so fast and hard that he thinks it might fail. Then everything goes dark.

When he awakens, it is to the sensation of snow cutting thick across his vision. Into his eyes, and ears, and across his snout. His snout. Izuku realizes with a start that he is not himself. He stares down his long white nose, through eyes that sit at the level above the witch’s face. Animal instincts roar to life within him but by her own design, he cannot attack her. His lips curl back in a snarl and for a moment she hesitates.

“What… what have you done to me?” He grits it out, the act of human speech from an animal mouth feeling more unnatural than a boy being plucked from the streets to become a prince. The witch has pulled her cloak back up around her head, sheltering herself from the bitter cold.

“I have changed you, Izuku. You are a man enchanted to be an isbjørn, as my people would call it. An ‘ice bear’. But listen closely, for I will give you the knowledge to break this curse and to earn the affections of your one true love.” Izuku turns his bear’s head away from her, praying that this might be some trick of a more divine being. “My daughter must first accept your proposition. Knowing her, she will. If she accepts your proposal, she must live with you for one year without looking upon your human form. You will remain in your bear form during the day and return to your human form at night fall. You will sleep in her bed every night.” Izuku feels the anger rattle into his bones but something tells him to keep his claws on the ground. “You must not tell her the nature of this enchantment. If these stipulations are broken, you will be doomed to live as a white bear for the rest of your natural life. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

There are times in life where the outcome of a decision is not quite clear, the end of the road blurry as if seen through the portal of a murky lake. Even as Izuku knows that he will agree to the witch’s rules, he is not sure that the finish of his story is going to end happily.

“I will leave you now. If you agree, come to our cottage tomorrow evening. I will be waiting.” She reaches out to touch her fingers to his forehead once more. “You will know the way, both to our cottage and to the castle in the north where you will stay with my daughter.” He sees the path laid out in his mind’s eye and a growl of rage erupts from his throat.

If Izuku had gone but a mile down the road and cut through the trees on a path well worn by the feet of your family, he would have come across your home. If he had gone but a mile more, he might have seen your face again. A mile more, and he could have taken your hand in his, asked for a walk in the meadow there. As the witch removes her hand, he feels himself falling into slumber. His massive body slumps to the ground. If he was anything but a white bear, the unnatural storm would kill him.

But, for now, he is a white bear. And he knows with a certainty that flashes hot and bright through sluggish veins right before the darkness of sleep hits him that no matter the outcome of this decision, he would choose this trial in a thousand lifetimes for a chance to be yours.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

You are startled from sleep by a knock on the door. The snort from your father in the next room tells you he might have heard it too but in this storm that can be the doing of none other than the gods, no one has the luxury of waiting to see if someone might answer the door first. Your mother makes her way out before you though and when she opens it, a flurry of snow rushes in on fingers of harsh wind.

You had been scared to death when the storm had set in earlier in the day. But as soon as it had, she had rushed in over the threshold, snow stuck in all the folds of her cloak and skirts, an explanation of being out in the building constructed for making her remedies tumbling off her lips. Now, Yuki stands there in the snow and to your complete dismay, your mother does not let him in.

He holds a lantern aloft, a thick coat set about his shoulders. He has endured many things but nothing as angry as this weather. You can barely hear him; his voice comes to you as a murmur, words missing in context.

“Izuku… gone since… Ada said…” Your mother stops him.

“Your Izuku has not come this way.” She holds a hand up, bowing her head in denial of any other questions. “I can appreciate the concern for your friend but he has not been here. Now, if you’ll allow me, I would like to close this door to keep out that which might harm my family.” Yuki steps back a pace, taken aback by her harsh words. There is a darkness in her eyes that he does not like and a tone to her voice that you recognize well. It is the same pitch and cadence with which she spoke to Torgeir all those years ago.

Izuku is missing. The words ring through your body like the loud clanging of a church bell you had heard on a visit two towns over. When your mother shuts the door with effort and turns back to you, her expression is set hard. Your own mouth is pursed in a thin line, your arms cradling yourself. There is to be no discussing what has transpired.

The plucking of the string round your heart comes faster. As soon as the storm ebbs, you will take the daughter of your family’s golden mare and ride into town to find Yuki. You will aid in his efforts to find Izuku. You crawl back into your bed, a sickening feeling reeling in your gut.

Dawn comes on a groan of wind. The storm has not lessened. You have not slept.

❄︎ ❄︎ ❄︎

“Mother, I’m going to take Siv into town. I wish to check if Izuku has been found.” Your mother sets down the wooden spoon she is using to mix the bread dough before her. She is deathly still. You have prepared yourself for her objections and you know you will not be swayed.

“I don’t think that is a good idea, Min Kærr. This storm is unnatural. And you’ve only met once. Whatever makes you want to go looking for him?” She goes back to her bread making, mixing and adding more water as she needs. You watch her while her back is turned. The way her shoulders and arms move in a cadence so familiar to you. But she is waiting for something. For what, you know not.

“I’m going, Mother, whether you want me to or not. I will not be kept here.” There is something in your words that has her turning to look at you. Her eyes search yours, darting back and forth. It’s far into the morning now, you guess, nearing closer to the afternoon than the rising of the sun but you cannot be certain on account of the storm. Still, your father has finished tending to the animals in the barn so you’ll judge your time on that. Your mother heaves a great sigh and walks to the hearth where she takes a folded letter from the mantle.

“I didn’t want to say anything but I thought a half-witted idea like this might come to you. This came early this morning as the raven flies.” She hands the piece of parchment to you; when you open it, there are only a few words scrawled across it. You touch them with shaky fingers. It’s Ada’s handwriting.

Izuku has decided to move to the next village over. He felt he must be on his way and he feels it is best if you do not follow.

The words sting, so sharp and cold that you feel the air leave your lungs. This can’t be right. You sit in stunned silence, too overcome to move from your place. You had readied supplies; your coat and socks and boots sit by the front door. It seems to you that they suddenly look sad, all but abandoned. A familiar sensation comes over you then, as if you’re looking down a well and see yourself held anchored by a rock that is much too heavy for you to lift. And while you know the sorrow you felt when Konrad died was right and born out of love, you cannot allow yourself to sink any further than you have.

So you were wrong about Izuku. You’ve been wrong about a man before and you guess you might be wrong about a man again, come the future. But right now, there’s a storm outside and work to be done so you come to stand by your mother. You say nothing but take the bowl from her instead, telling her to sit and rest. She’s been working especially hard the last couple weeks. She watches you go about common tasks until your father departs to check on the animals one last time, watches you until he comes back in and settles himself in front of the hearth and the sky has gone darker than black wool.

The storm continues to rage but the night has gone quiet, in a way. You’re darning a pair of socks when the thought comes to you that it feels as if there has been a lull, a quiet before the snow comes in to bury the land. It’s then that the front door swings wide, banging onto the wall behind it, the hinges groaning so loud you think they might break. Your father stands so abruptly his chair screeches and falls with a crash behind him, your mother standing just as quickly. There in the doorway, stands an isbjørn. He sways for a moment, a soft growl low in his throat. Everyone is still as a rabbit who can’t decide if it should hide or flee.

He’s massive, bigger than any isbjørn you’ve seen (which is many in the north) and whiter still. The ruff about his great neck is full and thick and you resist the urge to go to him, grab a fistful of it, run your fingers through it. His mouth is slightly agape (you think he is trying to speak) to reveal teeth which should terrify but instead pull you in. In the contrasting light of outside and in, his eyes seem cast in a green deeper than the trees in the forest.

But he does not advance immediately and you can feel a little of your initial shock and fear subsiding from you despite the lethal predator blocking your exit. He growls again, more coherently this time, in a huff that sounds something like your name. You stare at him, thinking it must be your imagination. He steps further in, not even able to fit anything besides his head through the doorway. When he opens his mouth this time, there is no mistaking that he is calling out for you.

“What do you want, isbjørn?” Your mother steps further out of the shadows created by the flames in the hearth. He groans, swings his head back and forth in small movements. He sways as if at any moment he might topple over. You watch her out of the corner of your eye, wondering at her confidence. She speaks so easily, there is no quiver in her voice. But the bear does nothing else to acknowledge her presence and instead turns back to look at you as he utters your name once more on a growl. Despite your natural human preservation telling you to stay where you are, you’re moving forward, closer, into his space.

“What is it, bear?” You move slowly as if you’re the one who might do the scaring, the mauling, instead of the other way round. He squeezes in a little further to meet your outstretched hand and when your palm brushes over the top of his muzzle, he heaves a great sigh as if your touch has brought him some great comfort. The moment you caress your fingers above his brows and scratch at his ears, his eyes close and he leans into your touch. Never mind that if he moved his head with any deliberation, he could kill you. One swipe of a paw. One hook of a claw. But the more you tangle your fingers in his fur, you know with a certainty greater than any you’d felt before that he will not hurt you.

“Come with me.” It’s drawn out but less pained than his other attempts at speech. “May I… may I speak with you outside?” You look past him, trying to glimpse what little weather you can see around his hulking form. It’s dubious to say the least. Even though you can’t really make out the blizzard raging outside, you can hear it. Gusts of snow-laden wind pound at the cottage, making the wood groan and the shutters rattle even with extra reinforcement.

It’s a split-second decision and one you’re not completely sure was made with any sort of brains, you turn and slip on your boots, the bear skin ones with the insides lined with fur that James had given you as a wedding gift. Even after three years, they still hold fast. Your coat comes next, also lined with bear fur. Not once had you ever wondered about the bear that kept you warm. Now you find it is all you can think about at this exact moment.

When you step outside you’re nearly shocked off your feet by the biting wind and the bitter cold. But it doesn’t take you long to realize that the closer you stand to the bear, the less of the weather you can feel. You can barely make him out in the dark, so harsh is the storm; you are forced to move closer, reach out for him blindly. You are surprised at the relief that courses through your veins when the palm of your hand, your nimble fingers, meets the thick map of his fur. It’s softer than you thought it would be. The bear leans into your touch once more as you hold on, nearly worried you might be blown away.

“Come… come live with me… for one year… Save… save… help me…” The longer he goes on, the more his pained speech comes back. His words become garbled, less the words of humans and more the language of a bear. Punctuated by guttural noises and low growls. Come with him? You should be frightened. You should be making a run for your cabin and locking the door even though you are certain this bear would be able to break the structure down if he wanted to. You should be questioning your sanity. Instead, you begin questioning logistics. Live where? What about your family? Help him how? It’s not until you hear him make the most unusual sound and realize it’s laughter that you realize how badly you’d been mumbling to yourself, stuck in your head.

“I have not seen… many people wear their thought process… as outwardly as myself until you.” You look at him, make out what you think is a smile on his great bear’s mouth. Even in the dark and swirling wind you can make out the glint of his eyes, the glint of his teeth. But then he turns away, as if listening. He bows his head. “This is a decision of which… the implications are certainly… frightening. Or they should be… at least. I cannot tell you much except that the place where we would go… is far from here. But you will want for nothing. If you choose to go with me… we must go now. There is… no time to waste. I will wait here. I am certain… you will want to speak with your family.”

You stare at him, your eyes gone wide as the reality of what is occurring this very second starts to sink in. And yet… you find yourself walking back to your family’s front door with the decision already made. Your mother’s face is neutral, no hint of how she actually might be feeling showing anywhere in the light of her eyes or the set of her lips. It’s your father’s reaction that surprises you more. Almost as soon as you’ve sat them down in front of the fire and told them you’re going, he leaps back up. The rage and fear is clear in his features.

“This is utter madness! What are you thinking? This is… I can’t even wrap my mind around this. Tell her! Tell her she can’t go!” Your father’s face is flushed, his eyes wild, as he points emphatically at your mother. Her mouth is a straight line, her gaze lingering on his reaction before it slides to you. She is calm as the clouds on a fine summer day. Her words even more than your father’s reaction leave you in a state of shock.

“It seems we have raised our daughter to be a fine young woman who wants to help those in need. There are obviously forces at work here that we do not understand. And as she is a young woman who is also of age, I do not see how we can stop her. It doesn't matter that we think it is a foolish endeavor.” She speaks measured and certain and you feel a quickening in your bones. Your father’s pallor has gone pale as a snowdrift but he opens his mouth no more.

“It’s settled then.” You say it out loud; you are not sure if it is for your parents’ benefit or your own. There are things to be done and if you have any inclination to stick to the bear’s schedule, they need to be done quickly. No time remains to ride to town to tell your sisters. No time to tell Konrad’s parents. You must gather your things and go. But there is not much you would take on a journey like this, save three woolen dresses, an old night shift, and more socks. The bear said you would be well-cared for and you have no reason to doubt him. When you come out of your room, your father’s face has gone red and you think he might have been crying. You catalog his expression to think on it later, closing the space between you and embracing him instead. In all your years, he has never hugged you like this and you think you should be much more worried than you are. Your mother grasps your gloved hands before pulling you close, and placing a kiss on your cheek. She smells of her herbs. You cannot bring yourself to think about her calmness either. Surely, she is remaining strong for you and yet a small part says betrayal. You bury it.

Outside, the bear waits. When you reach out to touch him again, lean in close as he speaks to you, you feel your heart settle into a steady beat. “Get on my back,” he roars over the wind as he kneels in the snow. Seeing such a powerful creature bow before you sparks something in you that didn’t exist before. You reach farther into the fur at his shoulders and clamber atop his back, gasping when he stands. He’s larger than Siv, broader and taller. He turns to look at you then. “Lay over my shoulders. We have far to go and little time to get there. My pelt will protect your face from the cold.”

And so you do, leaning forward until your face is buried in the fur there. He does not smell of fish as you had once thought a white bear might, but smells of musk and sea salt air and a floral smell that you cannot identify. It jolts you in your place as does the pace with which he begins to lope through the storm. He heads north, you think, although you could not tell for certain even if you tried. Adventure takes your hand and you realize with a smile as bright as the midnight sun that your idea of the bear’s version of far and your version of far are probably two very different things.

The storm picks up faster around you but you are warm. “What shall I call you,” you murmur into his neck. It is a wonder you can hear his response between the whiteout and the wind created from the sheer speed of him.

“You can call me Bear for now. But someday, maybe you can call me Deku, like all those closest to me do.”

#izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mybigbangacademia #guys holy shit this one's a doozy #i really hope yall like it #i cant believe ive written so much and still have more to go #wild what writing about something youre passionate about #does for your word count lol #deku and reader finally meeeeeeet #fic: east of my heart #kait writes

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optimistic-violinist · 7 months

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Summary:

Things can always get worse.

Describe your own personal hell.

Is it a place? A memory? A person who wronged you?

How did you escape? If you did anyway.

Sometimes hell is a place and sometimes you carry it with you.

For Bruno, it was both.

And for the second time in his life, José had trapped him there.

Trigger warnings: torture, non-explicit threats of torture/rape

@impossiblefangirl0632

#encanto #encanto fanfic #tbtk #take back the kingdom #encanto fantasy au #encanto modern au #brittany writes #this ones a doozy yall!#fanfic

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writingonleaves · 2 months

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i just looked at the word count of one of my wips *insert that gif of trevor's eyes visibly widening* i really am incapable of writing short things

#and keep in mind i haven't even written the climax yet #as well as some smaller lead up scenes #oh this one is gonna be a DOOZY! hope yall like long works lol #like i planned this one to be long but i didn't think i would already be at 23k and have a good amount to go #k rambles about things #k talks about writing

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fbfh · 10 months

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Jacob Black x mate/imprint!reader first rut hcs

wc: 1.9k

genre: smut, tooth rotting fluff, werewolf heat/monsterfucking ig

pairing: Jacob x imprint!reader (afab, no pronouns)

warnings: general werewolfy stuff, awkward heat/rut talks, BIGASS breeding king, Jake can smell when you're ovulating, Jake is posessive and clingy and adorable and hot, knots, oral (reader recieving), face down ass up position, biting and hickeys, scenting, a ton of creampies, cum plugging, growling/primal kink??, aftercare

summary: Jacob is the best boyfriend you've ever had, so when he tells you there's a little problem he's going to need help with soon, you're more than happy to help him out with it

a/n: starting to write my first actual original book today and I am so stoaked!!!!!! wish me luck uwu I think yall are really really gonna like it and I'm super excited ksflkjslkjs

also I'm adding people who asked to be tagged for a/b/o and omegaverse content bc it's in the same ballpark imo

tags @yesv01 @magcon7280 @yelenabel0vaswife @lizziebitch33 @sunshineangel-reads @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 @demirunner @almostjollypizza @fictionalcomfortss @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @urmum-xoxo @raajali3 @Ronnasey @lubsana @demirunner @legramilis @girlfriendwhoseawitch

As with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+

That being said, let’s get into it

Bc oh BOY is this one a doozy

You and Jake fell in love at first sight

You met by chance

He helped you when you had car trouble and the chemistry was instant and the rest was history

What actually happened is that Jake could smell you from like a full mile away

He was so drawn to you

Then he could smell you starting to panic, and he knew he had to make sure you were okay

So he appeared out of nowhere in his human form right when you needed him most

You were so relieved that someone was there to help you, especially someone so good with cars

And especially especially someone so hot and friendly and charismatic and attentive

From jump street, Jake obviously liked you a lot

So you couldn’t turn down his offers to get coffee and lunch and show you around town

He was relieved you didn’t turn him down either, because what you saw as Jake flirting with you was actually him imprinting on you

You’re not a wolf

You’re not aware of the supernatural world at all, as far as he knows

So he’s basically just been spending as much time as he possibly can with you

Imprint bonds are strong as fuck

So for both physiological and psychological AND emotional reasons

He needs to spend as much time with you as possible

And you want to spend time with him too

Not to the wolf extent

But still

There’s only one problem

You’ve been together for three amazing whirlwind weeks

And you already feel like you’ve known each other for your whole lives

He can tell that even though you’re not a wolf, you can feel the bond between you too

You might not know what it is, but you know that it’s there

Everything is happening so fast, but it doesn’t give you a bad gut feeling

Or any red flags

Like anywhere

You’re starting to wonder if maybe this is the true love fairytale romance you had always hoped for

That maybe soulmates are real

And you found yours

And Jacob feels the exact same way

He’s given it a lot of thought, and he really believes that even if he hadn’t imprinted he would still like you more than he’s liked anyone before

He could go on for days about how amazing you are, and he’s determined not to let anything come between you

Not to let anything sabotage this beautiful love, this bond between you

But the only problem is that the full moon is getting closer and closer

And it’s the first full moon since he imprinted on you

Not all imprints are romantic in nature, but this one definitely is

Which means now since he has a mate, he’s going to start getting his rut

And he has to spend it with you, which means he has to explain it to you

Which means it’s finally time for the most awkward conversation of his life

He’s not scared to tell you he’s a werewolf

But he is scared to tell you that you’re starting to smell so good he gets hard when you’re not even in the room

That his feral wolf brain is taking over, and all he’s been able to think about for the last 48 hours is filling you up

Stuffing you full of his seed and knotting you nice and tight to keep it all in place while he gets you irrefutably pregnant, all nice and full and round with a big litter of pups

And it’s getting worse

His thoughts are straying more and he knows he’s running out of time to explain that he’s either going to need to be chained to a tree or inside of you for anywhere from 24 to 96 hours

And since it’s his first rut since finding you, it’s almost definitely going to be longer, closer to four days than not

He’s over at your place like he has been for the last week or so, and he decides to talk to you about it when

He thinks he can handle this

He totally thinks he can handle this

Then you step out of the shower, and you smell all sweet and fresh and extra you

He sighs wistfully, realizing how much harder this is going to be

“C’mere for a sec, I want to talk to you…”

He trails off, pulling you onto his lap

He can sense that you’re worried, that you want to make sure he’s okay

And it makes him blush

He giggles, burying his face in your neck for a moment

You’re worried about him

Eventually he bites the bullet and confesses everything

You actually take it surprisingly well

He can tell you don’t fully believe him yet, but you don’t seem freaked out

“There is… one other thing…”

He manages to get through the mates and heats and ruts talk without dying of embarrassment

But he does start to get distracted part of the way through

Like really distracted

He snaps out of it for a few moments when he trails off after part of an explanation, and you chuckle, resting your hand on his cheek

“Even if you weren’t a werewolf, I would still be down to spend all weekend together.”

His stomach flips as he realizes what you’re saying

“So-”

“I’d be happy to help you through your heat or rut or whatever it’s called.”

His stomach flips when you say that

He genuinely didn't think he could get more attracted to you, then you say that

And then, something else happens

“I’m so glad!” he smiles, beginning to ramble again, “and if you want to stop, or if I’m too rough, or if it’s too much, just tell me to, uh…”

You’re already agreeing, and promise you will as he tries to regain his train of thought

His eyes get kind of distracted, and he leans closer to you, sniffing

He buries his face in your neck and takes a few big, deep breaths

It makes you giggle until he pulls away and looks at you more intensely than he ever has

His pupils are dilated and he’s laser focused on you

“Are you ovulating?”

You check your cycle tracking app and yeah

Yeah you’re supposed to be ovulating today

He sniffs you again, shoving his face into your neck

His grip on your waist gets tighter and you can feel him getting hard below you

Your eyes widen when it just keeps growing and growing

He pants against your neck, breathing in your scent and starting to grind against you, moving your hips against his

You lose yourself for a moment before remembering what he asked you a moment ago

“Wait- how did you know that?”

“Could smell it,” he mutters into your skin, rocking your hips harder against his and growling into your ear

“I… I think it’s starting, I need- I need to… I need to get you out of these clothes.”

He picks you up and tears your pajamas off in a blur

He carries you into your bedroom, laying you face down on your soft duvet

His breath is heavy he manhandles you into a more comfortable position, and you can hear him tearing his clothes off behind you just as quick

His big hands grab your hips, finally pulling down your panties

They stick to your soaked cunt, and send a fresh wave of your pheromones swirling intoxicatingly through the air around him

You hear him let out a shuddering sigh, then suddenly feel warm breath against your soft folds

You let out a noise as he licks you, nuzzling into your cunt, before pulling back and spitting on it

He pokes and prods you with his tongue, working it further inside you as his fingers come up to play with your clit

Werewolf saliva has healing properties and can increase elasticity during heats and ruts, so it’s a pretty common practice

His hands and mouth feel so good, you’re not complaining

He makes you cum twice on his tongue before deciding you’re stretched out enough to take him

You feel him move behind you and grab your hips, pulling them back to meet his

This energy (it’s the horny wojak thinking about getting railed meme)

His breathing is heavy as he pushes in slowly

“Tell me if it’s too much. Promise you’ll tell me angel, okay?”

You nod and manage to choke out that you will

Once you do that, it’s game over

The last amounts of self restraint Jacob possessed fade away as he completely loses himself in you

He starts thrusting into you at a brutal pace

He manhandles you, moving your body and positioning you closer to him

The next two or three days are going to be a hazy blur of cum and love bites and feeling the bulge of his knot and cock in your stomach

That’s all you’ll really be able to remember in your fucked out state

When he goes into heat, he’s already gonna be really fucking feral and primal

But when he goes into heat with you for the first time????

Oh my fucking god

It really is a good think werewolf spit can stretch you out, bc there’s no way you’d be able to take his cock, much less his knot otherwise

He grabs onto you so tight and possessive, completely pinning you down with his body weight

You could not wiggle out of his grip if you tried

He makes you cum two or three times in the first few minutes, so you know this is going to be a long, overstimulating night

But GOD everything he does feels so overwhelmingly good

He bites your neck, licking and rubbing against you to scent you even more aggressively

So expect to be covered in hickeys and love bites too

Oh my god the noises this man makes??????

Jesus fucking christ

Moaning, panting, growling right in your ear

You can’t get enough

Because you’re extra stretchy from his prep, the stretch of his knot filling you up more than you could imagine feels so incredible

He’s probably going to knot you at least twice before you’re both ready to pass out

Once you’re a quivering fucked out mess that’s literally dripping cum out of you, he’ll pull out very reluctantly

Then you hear a drawer open, and he grabs something

He pushes a toy inside you to keep as much of his cum in there as possible while he goes to get you guys water and snacks

Once he’s back he’ll absolutely feed you

He’s overwhelmed with instincts to take care of you, so of course he’s going to feed you

One thing about Jacob is he will keep you fed and bred

And you really can’t complain

He’s so loving and attentive and speaks to you so sweetly, peppering kisses across your face and telling you how good you’re doing

After that he’ll take the toy out and slide himself back in

Then pull you into his warm chest for the coziest heaviest most sticky restful nap you’ve ever taken in your entire life

Once you’re both up later, expect to do the whole thing over again

And again, and again

Cause that’s pretty much all you’ll be doing for the next three days

And you can promise this is not the last rut you’ll help him out with

#jacob black #jacob black x reader #jacob black smut #jacob black headcanons #twilight #twilight x reader #twilight smut #twilight headcanons

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highvern · 6 months

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Teach Me II

or private tutoring

Pairing: Lee Dokyeom (Seokmin) x fem!reader

Genre: smut, humor, college au, frat!svt

Warnings: inexperience!dk, experienced!reader, mentions of previous drug use (weed) , oral (m. & f. receiving), cum swallowing, spitting, fingering, making out, strength kink bc he's hot, minor overstim at the end but he's just enthusiastic, fwb, this chapter is pure smut, spreading my DK is a munch agenda

Length: ~3.5k

Note: literally a doozy to write but its done, I have part 3-5 outlined so hopefully they go quicker, lemme know what yall think!

read more here

Tuesday Night Approx. 10:02 PM, DK’s bedroom

Dokyeom has come to the conclusion he’s hallucinating. The hot wet suckle of your mouth against the head of his cock, one hand jerking him in time with the motions of your head while the other gently cups his balls is just too good to be true. The view he’s witnessing is even more proof he’s gone certifiably insane.

You’re knelt between his spread legs at the edge of the bed, shoulders framed by his knees. At some point Dokyeom fell back on his elbows, granting you as much room as possible to do whatever you want as he stares down his body at you. The rhythmic bobbing of your head hypnotizes him, forcing him to fight demons against the urge to wrap a hand in your hair so he has a better view of your mouth working his cock. He thanks himself for having the foresight to at least ask you to take your top off this time, allowing him the pleasure to view the long muscles along your spine flexing, only obstructed by the band of your bra.

You’re the goddess of his dick and Dokyeom is an avid worshiper.

The first and only time he received head involved too much weed (both of them), teeth (hers), and tears (his) for him to enjoy any of it. It had been so unpleasurable he had avoided doing anything since in fear of repeating the experience.

You, however, make him regret not finding you on campus sooner. The genuine enthusiasm and enjoyment that radiates off you as you play with him has an orgasm tumbling towards him faster than he wants. When Dokyeom tries to inform you, hoping you’ll find a way to help him hold off, gasping your name and a broken “I’m gonna;” you respond with a delighted hum and work him harder.

“Holy shiii—,” he whines as you give a particularly harsh suck as he slides further in your mouth, tip nudging the back of your throat softly. A moan of your own shooting pleasurable snaps down his wrecked nerves.

He’s done for when your eyes peek open and find his.

Every muscle in his body clenches, his hips bucking up into your mouth despite his effort to remain grounded. Ears filled with the sound of his blood rushing, eyes squeezed tight. He knows he’s blabbering whatever praises have sat on the tip of his tongue since you started between deep desperate groans, but Dokyeom can’t hear a single thing. All he can focus on is how his cum shoots into your waiting mouth as you continue pumping him till his balls are empty.

You swallow his load with ease, popping off his dick to allow your tongue to dart and catch the dribble at the corner of your lips. If that’s how good it's gonna be everytime, Dokyeom is afraid he might fall in love with you from a simple blowjob.

“Good?” You ask with a cheeriness that seems a little out of place given that you’ve sucked his soul out.

Dokyeom’s brain function borders non-existent so he just grunts an affirmation from where he’s crashed on the sheets of his bed, tossing an arm over his eyes as he comes back to earth.

Your giggling has him cracking open his eyes lazily to find you resting your chin on his muscular thigh, smile wide, dangerously close to his softened cock.

“Are you the dick whisperer or?”

More giggles answer him. You think it's cute how clearly spent he is, not bothering to hide how you affect him, no bullshit bravado some other guys try to pull.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.” You coo.

“Well that was the best blowjob I’ve ever had.”

“My only competition is a girl from two years ago, but I’ll take it.”

You hop up next to him on the bed, lying parallel to his body as a comfortable silence settles between you. His eyes follow the steady rise and fall of your chest, gaze locked on how your boobs push against the thin fabric of your bra. Dokyeom just makes out the edges on what must be your stiff nipples poking through the cup. It makes him salivate.

“Can I try?”

“Try what?” You ask, turning your head to look at his face.

Dokyeom rolls over, propping himself up on an elbow to loom over you. His nose traces your jaw, unable to keep his hand from moving across the plane of your belly, thumb burning against bare skin as it dips below the elastic waistband of your leggings.

“Wanna eat you out.”

The gentle kiss he places under your ear is answered with stuttering breath and a subtle nod.

“Should I,” he swallows thickly. “How should I start?”

“Kissing is good.”

His lips leave a trail of gentle pecks across your cheek to your mouth. When your mouths meet, twin sighs leave your noses. You weren’t lying to him when you told him he was a good kisser.

The hand that was tracing the hollow of your hip moves up to your jaw, caressing your cheek and allowing Dokyeom to move your head where he wants it. He tilts your chin up, dragging the tip of his tongue against your plush lower lip. Your mouth opens slightly, allowing wet muscles to meet tentatively.

The vibration of your moan against his lips has his head dipping away.

“Good?”

You mutter a breathless “yes” into his mouth, missing his touch immediately. Your hands plant on the sides of his face, dragging him back in.

You both continue lazily, content in the way your lips meet and hands memorize the other's features. But Dokyeom longs to learn the ins and outs of your body, hoping he can make you feel at least a fraction of the pleasure you've gifted him twice now.

When he tries to disconnect your lips this time, you chase him. Pulling him back in with a maddening drag of teeth, followed by the dull sting of your nails against his shoulder. Your free hand moves his from your jaw down to your chest, giving him an encouraging squeeze to start playing with you.

Hesitating, his large palm gently fondles your breast, thumbing the edge of the lacy fabric hiding you from view. He isn’t doing much other than letting the weight of it settle in his hand. When you break away your gaze to watch his reaction, Dokyeom’s face is set in determination.

“You can do more.”

At your permission he gives a gentle squeeze, it’s sweet but not what you need.

“Like this.”

Gently brushing him away, you flip the cup of your bra down to expose yourself to the chill of the air. Dokyeom eyes follow with rapt attention, hypnotized by the swell of your chest and the contrasting skin. He stares as you grab his hand again, moving it back to cup your breast. From the gaps between his fingers, ribbons of your flesh are still visible. When the calloused side of his thumb rolls across your nipple this time, you shudder.

“If you want,” you gasp, “you can use your mouth.”

That was all he needed to dive for your chest. Immediately opening his mouth to cover your areola, sucking with too much enthusiasm.

“Wait!” You wince, shoulders caving inward at the zap of discomfort.

Dokyeom jumps back like he’s burnt, terrified expression blooming on his features.

“It’s okay! But you need to build up to it, ya know?”

“Like how?”

“Kiss my neck, keep using your hands. But make me want it first and it’ll feel a lot better.”

“Make you…want it? But can’t I just give it to you?”

“Think of it like…” you rack your brain, but when the flex of his biceps catch your eye you continue. “when you workout! You need to warm up first or you’ll get hurt, right?”

“Yeah?” he questions, still unsure.

“So you gotta warm me up first. Just start gently and then… you can get a little rougher.”

“Okay, okay.” He mutters to himself. “Gentle then rough, make you want it. Got it.”

He moves his face back to your chest, rubbing his lips across the smooth skin at the hollow of your throat. Letting his tongue dip out, Dokyeom etches a scorching path along the dips and curves of your chest. He tentatively covers your bare breast with his hand again, squeezing gently while his thumb catches your sensitive nub.

“Much better,” you sigh dreamily, entranced by the featherlight touches he’s teasing along your skin.

“Can I take your bra off?”

His question is barely intelligible since he mutters it into your skin, around his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Without a word, you arch up and move your hands behind your back. One day he’ll insist you teach him to take it off himself but right now he zeros in on the way you’re pushing into his mouth as the fabric falls limp around your chest, exposing more soft skin for him to explore. You shuck the offending garment off your body, and toss it over the side of his bed.

Completely bare from the waist up under him, Dokyeom props himself up to catalog the masterpiece that is you. Hair spread across his sheets beneath you, a few rogue tendrils twist below your chin and tickle your neck. Eyes hooded lowly, pupils blown wide. There's a faint blush spreading across your cheeks and down your front, making your skin glow mesmerizingly; and your lips, bruised and swollen, are parted around your shallow pants.

Yeah, he can definitely get used to seeing you like this.

“What?”

“You’re just… wow.”

“Wow?”

“You’re half naked in my bed after destroying my dick, please be nice to me.”

You respond with a shy smile as you drag him back in. He leaves more kisses across your face and down your chin before getting back to work.

Experimenting, Dokyeom finds your tit. His teeth graze against the puckered bud sucked into his mouth, nipping it gently before laving his tongue across the sore flesh soothingly. He’s rewarded with an agonizing grind of your hips against his thigh, savoring the scalding heat of your pussy through the thin fabric separating you.

“Again.” You tell him.

So he does.

He memorizes every dreamy sigh, satisfied moan, and sobbed hiccup released from your mouth. He also memorizes exactly what he does to deserve them. You like when he darts the tip of his tongue out to guide himself from one area to the next. Huffing when he blows a cool stream of air on the wet trail, giving rise to a litter of goosebumps. If he scratches his teeth on the more sensitive skin of your nipples or underside of your breast, you’ll hiss a sharp breath and twist your fist in the sheets beside you, back arching for more. If he plays with both of your nipples simultaneously, engulfing one between his lips and lapping with his tongue while his hand pinches and pulls the other, you’ll tremble in his hold and cry his name hoarsely.

He really likes that one.

“Good?”

You’d think he was teasing if it wasn’t for the trickle of insecurity that seeps into his voice.

“Great,” you praise, eyes shut against the pleasure you’re receiving. “You should take my pants off.”

“Really?”

“Want you to see how wet you made me.”

He chokes on his own saliva, coughing against you.

“Are you okay?”

His eyes are watering and his face is red as he catches his breath.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes go wide with worry.

When he finally calms himself, he pins you with a stern look.

“You can’t just,” he huffs. “say stuff like that.”

“Like what? That you’re making me horny?”

“Exactly like that! God, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“So you don’t wanna hear how much I want you to fuck me?” You whisper in his ear, lips dragging against the sensitive shell of his ear.

“No,” he swallows, your words decimating his brain and all common sense. “I do, I just, fuck.”

The last word he groans in response to you stuffing his hand between your spread thighs. The crotch of your leggings are soaked, clinging to the lips of your pussy thanks to your previous movement against his leg.

“Can you feel it?” You pant in his ear. “How wet I am for you?”

The dirty words strike a cord. He did this; his kisses and caresses teased so much of your arousal of you that it’s leaking through your panties, past your leggings to soak his fingers.

Eyes drifting shut to focus on the slick coating his palm, Dokyeom lets his hand dip lower to push against where he thinks your clit is. The pads of his finger ghosting a tight circle of the digit at the top of your mound. His chest threatens to burst with pride when your hips stutter into his palm.

“Please,” you whimper.

It breaks his heart to remove his hand but he aims to make up for it by stripping off your pants in a rush. Dokyeom nearly rips the material apart when it catches around your thighs but he uses his strength to lift your hips, pushing them down your legs and off you like he has a personal vendetta against them. Your underwear comes off as well, tossed over his shoulder next to your forgotten bra and shirt.

Dokyeom lies between your splayed legs, chest flat with the bed as his hands hook under your knees and push your legs up to spread you before him. Your inner thighs are glistening, smeared with your own arousal that leaks from your cunt, lips swollen and flushed, clit peeking out from under your mound. A wet spot darkens the fabric of his sheets below you, increasing in size as your entrance squeezes around nothing. His nose is full of your heady scent, mouth watering for a taste.

He dives in while his brain sings his new life motto: gentle then rough, make you want it. Gentle then rough, make you want it.

Using his knowledge of what worked well on your chest, he blows a cool breath against your hot center. Dokyeom watches as you mewl above him, head falling back as your spine arches. Barely there kisses tease the sensitive skin of your thigh next to his head, punctuated by sharp nips of teeth leaving bruises blooming bright red in their path.

Dropping his hands from your knees but leaving your legs on his shoulder, he uses his thumbs to spread you apart, granting him unobstructed access to your most sensitive parts. He feels like a pervert; a voyeur, staring in awe at the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen. He knows he’s only seen one in real life (yours) but no one else’s will ever compare.

Once Dokyeom has taken his fill, and you’re at your wits end above him, he uses the tip of his tongue to score a path from your dripping hole to your clit; moaning at the taste covering his tongue.

“More!” you whine from above, voice thick want.

“You said to make you want it.” He rasps, face still buried between your legs, mapping every ridge and dip.

“I do!”

“Let me play with it.”

Dokyeom signs his requests with a firm lick to your clit against the flat of his tongue.

“Ahh!” You croak, convulsing from the sudden simulation. One hand flying to his hair to keep him in place.

Dokyeom is all too happy to continue, lapping indecently at your pussy. In his opinion, feeling your essence coat his chin and cheeks as he works you is almost as satisfying as having his cock in your mouth. Seeing you get off above him clicks why you were so enthusiastic when the roles were reversed. He could live and die eating your pussy without complaint.

The rush of pleasure has your thighs attempting to crush his skull. When he pulls your legs apart brutishly you arch again, turned on at the thought of him using his muscles to pin you down and leave you at his mercy. He folds you in half easily, hands pushing the back of your thighs up and out his way.

Since his hands are occupied with pinning your legs in place, one of you attempts to assist him. The hand not fisted in his hair shoots to your pussy, spreading your lips for him and directing him to your clit. Dokyeom doesn’t hesitate to tease your nub framed between your fingers. The occasional brush of his drenched lips or pointed tongue against your hand makes your head fuzzy.

Dokyeom feels you snatch one of his hands away from your leg, pulling it to your face. You suck two of his slender fingers into your mouth, moaning when they press down on your tongue causing you to drool around them. Dokyeom opens his eyes to gape at the vulgar display, hips twitching against the bed when your eyes meet his.

Holy shit.

He’s torn between wanting to stretch you open around the digits you're currently lapping at and letting you continue, imagining it's his cock between your lips. Fortunately for you he doesn’t ponder his choice for too long. Pulling his hand away, his eyes stay trained on yours as he reaches under his own chin to circle your hole. The mix of saliva and the juices of your pussy let him slide in easy enough, silky inner muscles eager to pull him deeper.

“Spit on it,” you beg, eyes glassy.

He swallows harshly. If he was capable of any thought other than how sexy you are, he’d kick himself for how he let your first time together play out. Virginity be damned, he could have cum from this alone.

Dokyeom is more than willing to give you whatever you desire so he pulls away just enough to spit harshly on your clit, watching the bead race to where his fingers spread you, allowing it to disappear inside the rim of your entrance as he pumps his arm. He fumbles to reattach his mouth to your clit, lashing against the nerves as he stuffs you full; desperate to have you come on his face.

You're a moaning mess above him, hair matted to your sweaty forehead, hands threatening to rip the sheets apart as you fist them.

“Give me another one,” you instruct, immediately granted your wish.

All you can do is gawk at Dokyeom below you as he brings you to your end with embarrassing speed. Every muscle in your body is pulled taunt, threatening to break any second as tears fill your vision. Your orgasm right there but just out of reach. But when you catch the way Dokyeom is humping against the bed, you snap. You don’t care that his roommate might still be home as you throw your head back with a sob, tears spilling down your face as endorphins blaze through your veins. Your mind is incinerated, vision filled fuzzy with fireworks. You can’t breathe as you gush into his mouth, thighs locked around his head and threatening to suffocate him.

To his credit, Dokyeom doesn’t stop despite the way you thrash below his mouth. If anything, his efforts increase, only encouraged by your shaky moans and shaker thighs. He snags both your ankles in one palm, stretching your legs up and over his head as far as can before pushing them back into your chest to twist you in a V. You get impossible tighter with the shift as he continues to stuff your clenching entrance while he licks your clit, a mess of spit and arousal pooling between your cheeks. You have to pull him away by his hair, interrupted several times by him diving back in to suck up your juices, fingers pushing more and more out of you to drip down his wrist. When you whine and tell him it's too much he finally relents with a gentle kiss and one last thrust before releasing your legs and resting his cheek on your thigh.

You both lay there in silence, panting against one another. Dokyeom kisses back up to your face, dropping sweet pecks to the tops of your thighs, across your hip bones to your belly button where he lets his nose trace up to your sternum and finally to your chin. When you open your eyes you find him staring at you sleepily.

“Hi,” he says, voice thick.

“Hi,” you smile.

He dips to press one last kiss to your lips before pulling you into his arms, pillowing your head on his bicep and brushing his other hand through your tangled hair. He ignores the way his sticky cock throbs against his leg, focusing on caring for you rather than himself.

“Good?” He mumbles against your forehead, lips resting on your hairline.

“I think you’re lying about never having done that before.”

“Scouts honor, you’re the first.”

“Honored. Glad our first tutoring session was so successful.”

First? He thinks.

“There’ll be more?”

“Well, yeah,” you whisper, suddenly bashful in case he’s no longer interested.

“Sweeeeeet!” he whoops.

You roll your eyes at his boyish response but feel yourself smile anyway. If he can learn to fuck you as well as he eats you out then you’re in for a ride.

#svthub #lee seokmin #lee seokmin x reader #svt x reader #seventeen fanfic #svt #dokyeom #seokmin x reader #seokmin smut #dokyeom x reader #dokyeom smut #🫡 highvern

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jaemmphilia · 11 months

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★ 𝘪 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘣𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 ★ || b.c

★ summary: an accidental confession gone wrong, and fate forcing you to meet the one person you never wanted to see again.

★ characters: bang chan, cannon y/n (he/him pronouns and a masculine frame), holland (the sweetest gay idol in the entire world)

★ warnings: lots of hurt, the reader is an idol, and his stage name is Mars (for the sake of the story, reader also has a last name), so much heartache, grab your tissues bc channie is about to break your heart...this story doesn't follow exactly how chan became an idol, so for the sake of the story, he moves to korea after high school, internal homophobia, mentions of depression, reader has an anxiety attack :(

★ word count: 3.7K

★ requested?: yes, thank you to @cheeseflirty47

★ binnie's thoughts: ohhhh this one is a doozy, yall... i love writing angst so much, and i'm no stranger to rejection and heartbreak, so this is gonna be a little personal for me, so i hope i do it justice...I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE BUT I STRUGGLED SO BAD

★ disclaimer: this fic in absolutely NO way represents the stray kids members as people. this is just for fun, so don't take it to heart. just enjoy!

Having a dad who grew up with his best friend from diapers all the way into adulthood, meant that you were required to get along with his best friend’s son. It didn’t matter if you and Chan liked different things, you had to get along with him, according to your old man. Lucky for the both of them, you and Chan got along perfectly. You were both born in the same month, just 3 days apart, with Chan being the older one. You two did everything together growing up, mischievous little boys who rolled in dirt and played with bugs. As you got older, you both realized how much music meant to you.

Music was a staple in your home, your mother was in her school’s choir, and she was in theater. Your father was in a band that he formed with Chan’s father and two other friends, and they would perform for the neighborhood whenever there was a cookout or barbeque. So it was no surprise that you picked up on their musical talent, at such a young age on top of that.

You and Chan were going on a fishing trip while your mom was on a three-day trip with her middle school music class. You and Chan are playing with the wrestling figures that you brought along with you in the back seat, the two of you making punching noises with your mouths as your characters duke it out. The radio plays softly in the car, your dads making conversation as the car rolls smoothly on the road. Suddenly, your favorite song in the entire world, The Girl is Mine, by Michael Jackson featuring Paul McCartney comes on the radio and you gasp, immediately kicking the back of your dad’s seat.

“Dad, turn it up!” Your voice calls out, ignoring the super important heavyweight champion match you were previously having with Chan. Chan just pouts, he was so so close to winning. He had your character pinned in a finishing move, and was about to count to three.

Your dad turns up the radio a little with a shake of his head. You wiggle from side to side in your seat, the music taking over you as you begin to sing the lyrics. As your little voice fills the car, Chan’s dad looks at your dad with an incredulous look. Since when did you have such a good singing voice, and why are they just now hearing it?

“What? You didn’t know my boy had the voice of an angel? Believe me, I was surprised too.” Your dad says, a cocky tilt to his voice. Chan’s dad lets out an awed whistle.

“He sounds real good, mate,” Chan’s dad starts, taking a sip of his soda as he looks at you belting your heart out in the back seat, “Do you think he’d be famous one day?”

Your dad has definitely thought about you growing up and becoming famous one day. He would be so proud, but he would never force you into a life of fame if it wasn’t something you wanted. “Yeah, but I feel like it’s too soon to think about that, you know? He may not even want to be a singer when he gets older.” Chan’s dad hums, and then he hears another voice joining in on your singing, although it’s much quieter. He breaks out into a smile, knowing that the voice belongs to his very own son. He knows Chan is shy about singing in front of people, so he’s glad to know that you bring out that side of him. He's really happy that you and Chan are close.

Things remain the same as you and Chan get older. You both have ventured into high school. You still hang out with Chan every single day, you study together after school, and then you ride your bikes to the park and you play a little bit of soccer (or football, whatever you want it to be) until it’s time for you to part ways for dinner.

Things do change when Chan gets a girlfriend. Vanessa Clovers. A pretty girl with wavy black hair that stops at her shoulder. She has tan skin, probably from playing softball for the school. She had soft blue eyes hidden behind a pair of thick glasses, her teeth covered in silver braces. She was known as one of the prettier girls in your grade, everyone wanted to get with her. Well, everyone but you.

Chan had expressed interest in her to you before, and you felt this weird rumble in your stomach. You just dismissed it as you being hungry, and you clapped Chan on the back, encouraging him to go talk to his crush. As you watched him approach the girl, you turned back to your open locker, your eyebrows furrowed. You couldn’t understand why you were feeling so… angry. You turned your attention back to Chan, who is deep in conversation with the girl. She’s laughing at something, her arm coming up and playfully slapping Chan’s arm. You close your locker quietly and rush off to class without Chan, something you’ve never done in your life.

You were guilty. You were guilty because you hated Vanessa. You hated her because she had something you so desperately wanted, she had Chan. She got him before you did, and she makes him happy. You want to be the one to make Chan happy in that way. You want to be the one to kiss his cheek and hold his hand. You hated her for no good reason, she never did anything wrong to you. She was actually nice to you, and oftentimes tried to have a decent conversation with you. All you could really do was muster a fake smile as the ugly green head of envy consumed your being.

Considering that your birthdays were only three days apart, it only made sense to combine your birthdays together. This year was really no different. You shouldn’t be surprised when Vanessa shows up to the party, a black gift bag in her hand. She makes a beeline to Chan, who’s standing at the grill talking to his dad. She wraps her arms around Chan, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and you can hear a soft happy birthday, baby, fall from her glossy lips. You roll your eyes before you could stop yourself, looking down at the table you’re sitting at. You all of a sudden don’t want to be here, not when you can see Chan and Vanessa sucking faces just a few short feet away from you. Your younger sister must know that something is bothering you, because she walks over with a slice of cake.

“Stop moping around like an idiot, it's your birthday party too, remember?” She says, plopping down in the seat next to you, setting down her own slice of cake. You’re so glad she’s here, she always knows when something is bothering you. She always gives you something you like, rolling her eyes while telling you to, “get over it, loser.” All you can do is chuckle at her bluntness, your arms tugging her close as you hug her. She may hate when you hug her or pretend to give her a kiss, but you know she’s glad to have you as her older brother.

“I’m not moping around. I just don’t feel like celebrating, that's all.” You say, stabbing the red velvet cake with your fork, placing the small bite in your mouth as your sister lets out a scoff mixed with a laugh. You roll your eyes at her dramatics, watching as she points her plastic fork at you.

“You’re just upset that your only friend is busy with his girlfriend. You feel like this birthday isn’t for the both of you, you feel like it’s only for him.” She says, hitting the nail on the head. It makes you cringe internally.

You’ve never been good with change, whether it be drastic change or something as small as dinner plans being switched to something else. It always throws you off, making you groan dramatically (dramatics run in your family unfortunately) and complain about the sudden changes.

“I hate how well you know me, Liz.” You mutter, tugging at your hair as you indulge in the delicious cake in front of you.

“I would consider it a blessing, big bro.”

You should consider today to be a good one. Vanessa is out of town for some family trip, meaning you have Chan all to yourself. Which is why you should be happy, but you aren’t. You and Chan are chilling out in his room, the only sound in the room being Chan strumming on his guitar. You can faintly hear the hums coming from his mouth, his body swaying side to side as he plays. The two of you haven’t said much to each other, just a short greeting and a side hug. You can’t help but feel like a stranger in the room you’ve been in dozens of times growing up.

You look around the room, noticing the changes Chan has made to his space. Something pink catches the corner of your eye and you turn your head to look at it. A shirt, a tank top to be more specific. You already know whose it is, and it makes your stomach turn knowing that she’s been here.

Did she sleep in your spot on the bed?

You shake your head to get rid of the idea of her sleeping in your spot on Chan’s bed, the churning feeling becoming stronger, making you want to spill your lunch. You decide to just focus on your phone, scrolling through social media. This goes on for hours, until Chan’s phone rings loudly in the once quiet room, scaring the both of you.

“Fucking hell,” Chan mutters, grabbing his phone. He lights up when he sees who's calling, his cute dimple appearing on his face. You watch him with a soft smile, wishing that it were you making him smile like that.

“Hey, gorgeous! How’s your trip?” Chan says, holding his phone up to his ear. You try not to listen to their conversation, knowing it isn’t your place to be nosy. But, you are your mother’s son, you can’t help it. You listen as they talk, your heart breaking as Chan talks to Vanessa with such intimacy.

As their conversation comes to an end, you’re stuck with your thoughts. Thoughts of wanting someone so desperately that you would do anything to be with them. You would change every single thing about yourself if it meant Chan loved you the same way you love him. You don’t stand a chance against someone like Vanessa. She’s everything you aren’t. Maybe things would be different if you had been born a girl. If only you weren’t attracted to the same gender, maybe you wouldn’t be in this predicament. You wouldn’t be hanging on to something that will never be, a small fire of hope so close to being blown out by the harsh wind of reality.

“Man, I miss her so much.” Chan says, placing his phone down as he looks at you with this lovesick puppy look on his face. It makes your head hurt knowing it’s not directed at you.

The words spill from your lips before your brain has time to stop it.

“I love you, Chan.”

No. This isn’t supposed to happen. Not like this. Your body burns with anxiety, your eyes feeling wet as tears gather. Your mouth is dry, your jaw slack. You start to sweat as you look at Chan’s face.

You can’t deny the look in his eyes. Humiliation, disgust. Oh, no. You start to sweat, your hands shaking slightly. You can’t seem to bring yourself to do anything.You’re frozen, eyes locked on Chan as his own eyes dart around the room.

“You know I’m in a relationship, and I’m not into guys.” He says, not looking at you. What he says next makes you want to crawl into yourself and rot away into nothing. His voice is harsh, his tone like a rock. He’s never spoken to anyone like that, much less you.

“Even if I were into guys, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend and you’re like a brother to me, that’s just weird.”

You can literally taste the disgust in his voice. So potent and loud, it makes you dizzy. You bite back a sob, tucking your bottom lip in between your teeth. You feel like if you attempt to even say anything, you will throw up.

“Besides, Vanessa was telling me about how you don’t like her. She said she heard you talking bad about her to your sister at our party. What the hell, Y/N?” Chan says, his expression quickly switching to angry.

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You know she’s lying, you have never said anything bad about her. Well, not out loud. You want to defend yourself, but your mouth won’t move. Your brain is screaming at you to say something, anything. All you can do is look down at your shaking hands as Chan scoffs at you.

“You aren’t even going to deny it? So what she said must be true. I can’t believe you, Y/N! She’s never done anything wrong to you!”

You can’t even defend yourself. You sit there as Chan expresses his frustrations to you, his words hitting you hard. He hates you now. All because of some girl that entered his life two years ago, when you’ve been there the whole time.

“Get out, Y/N. I can’t even look at you right now.” Chan says, opening his door and motioning for you to get out. You hesitate, your legs feeling like the stiffest bowl of jello as you stand.

The tears don’t stop as you make your way out of the Bahng household, ignoring Chan’s mom as she greets you from the living room. She hears Chan’s door slam and she frowns. Something must have happened, the two of you have never argued. Of course the two of you had little disagreements as kids, but it was easily solved with talking and hugging. She knows this is not a talking and hugging situation.

You rush home, your vision blurry with salty tears that sting. You enter your home, making a beeline to your room. You close the door softly, not wanting to alert anyone of your arrival. You don’t want to see or speak to anyone. You try to catch your breath, choking on the sobs that come out of your mouth. You grip your chest, feeling your heart racing under your hand. Your heartbeat reverberates in your ears, your body shaking as you drop to your knees. You hear voices in your head, berating you for confessing to Chan. They call you names, they point out your flaws, your weaknesses.

You wish it would stop.

You honestly didn’t expect to meet Chan again. Especially not after your debut as a solo artist in South Korea. You recently made your debut and everyone loves you. You go by Mars, one of your nicknames growing up. You’re known for singing soft songs, the words relatable and full of emotion. Your debut album was a hit, causing you to gain fame fairly fast. Your fans liked that you were authentic, not some tasteless blob molded by an entertainment company for money. You were also one of the first openly-gay idols.

That day you left Chan’s house was the last time you ever saw him and his family. Just a few short months later, they packed up and moved to South Korea. When you found out, it broke your heart, knowing that the last interaction you had with your best friend was a negative one.

Your sister had found you in your room, you were struggling to breathe as your entire body shook. She immediately called for your mom frantically, not used to seeing you in such a panicked state. Your mother managed to get you to calm down, helping you breathe properly before you passed out. After that, she took you to see a doctor, and you were diagnosed with anxiety disorder and a mild case of depression. Your mother was supportive, she got you into therapy and you slowly got better, but there’s still times where you don’t feel 100%.

Which brings us to now. An award show. Everyone is there, all of the people you idolized were right in front of you, and a few of them actually expressed excitement about your debut album. You thanked them, telling them that their music inspired you to start making music yourself.

As you’re sitting in your seat talking to Holland, another idol under your label, and a fellow openly-gay idol, you hear some commotion coming from behind you. You turn your head and see a group approaching you. Normally, that wouldn’t bother you, but when your ex-best friend and previous (he still is) crush is in the front, you tend to freak out a bit. Your eyes go wide and you whip your head to face forward, causing a laugh from Holland.

“What’s got you so freaked out? You didn’t see a ghost, did you?” He asks, turning back to see what you were freaking out about. All he sees is the group Stray Kids, taking their seats behind you. He turns back around to you, taking in your wide eyes and the way you bite your bottom lip. The pieces start to come together.

“Oh,” he starts, “You are totally crushing on one of them.”

“What, no way! That’s ridiculous!” You sputter, your face heating up.

Holland just laughs, his hand clapping you on the shoulder.

You sit on a stool in the middle of the stage, a large piano in front of you. You are belting the words so passionately, the lights shining down on you, heating your body up, making you sweat a little. Everyone in the crowd is moved by your performance, but every time you open your eyes, you keep looking at Chan.

His face is unreadable, almost as if he knows the song is about him and not some old flame like you claimed in every interview. The lyrics just feel too familiar to him, his mind going back to his teenage years with you. He misses those times with you, laughing and messing with your little sisters. He feels bad for how things ended between you, and he wishes he could apologize. He’s heard your entire album, he’s had it on repeat for weeks. He’s not an idiot, your debut album is about him. He has to find a way to talk to you and apologize.

Finding you was easy. He catches you backstage after your performance, watching as you talk to a pretty blonde guy. You’re smiling, toothy and bright, and he feels his heart skip in his chest. Where did that come from? He walks towards you, catching your attention.

He watches your eyes go wide, your entire body freezing as you stare at him as if he grew two heads. He thinks you look silly like that, and he can’t fight the smile on his face.

“Y/N, it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He says, mentally kicking himself for being so damn awkward.

You hesitate, your eyes looking everywhere but at him. You noticed that Holland isn’t at your side, and you remind yourself to flick his forehead when you see him. “It has.”

“Do you have a moment to talk? Maybe we can get some dinner and catch up?” He asks, his voice hopeful as he tilts his head at you. Your heart flips at the way he looks, his brown hair flopping to the side.

You wonder if this is a good idea. You could easily get hurt again, but you would also like some closure. There’s so many questions running through your head, it makes you dizzy.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Dinner sounds nice.”

You and Chan leave after the awards show, and you go to a secluded sushi restaurant. The air is awkward, but it passes quickly when Chan brings up the time you both filled his parents bathtub with frogs you captured in the mud. You can’t help but laugh, reminiscing about your wild child days.

“Y/N, I missed you. So much.” Chan says, his eyes on you, not once looking away. You feel your face get warm, and you try to fight the smile creeping onto your face.

“Chan, I missed you too. But I can’t forget how you spoke to me that day. It really hurt that you believed Vanessa over me.” You say, ignoring the aggressive bounce of your leg as you tell him how you felt that day.

Chan cringes when he hears that name. “Right, Vanessa. We actually broke up not long after I…kicked you out.” Chan says, and you gape at him.

“If you don’t mind, why did you break up?” You ask, picking at the loose strings of your sweater; a nervous habit you picked up from your anxiety.

“It turns out she lied about you being rude to her because she was jealous of how close we…were.” Chan sighs, taking a sip of his drink as he rolls his eyes. You were right all along. She wasn’t to be trusted.

“I always knew she was the jealous type. She thought I couldn’t see when she would glare at me whenever you and I would talk,” You say, pointing your chopsticks at him. “I never said anything bad about her, that was Liz.”

Chan laughs at that, knowing that your little sister had quite the attitude. It makes him miss Hannah and the rest of his family.

“You aren’t still mad at me, are you? Because according to your album, you sound like you hate me.” Chan asks. “If you aren’t mad, then I’d like us to pick up where we left off as friends.”

You thought about it for a second. You would finally have your best friend back in your life, but not in the way you truly desired. Could you live with that? Sure, it can’t be too hard. You’ll always have other people in your life.

“Yeah, we can go back to where we left off. We’re brothers for life, right?” You ask, a gentle smile on your face as you look at Chan. He smiles back and you both make a toast to rekindling a once broken friendship between brothers.

#binnies req #kpop x male reader #stray kids x male reader #kpop x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you

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spoopydooblr · 4 months

Text

My King Will Be Kind Chapter 11 / Kendall Roy x OC

an: oh my god this one is a doozy. i feel like yall deserve the angst here fr, thank you for the love and support! writing this story has been so fucking fun and i can't believe it's almost over. (will i write a part 2 aka season 5 of succession? maybe....) this chapter is a good oneeeeeeee

tw: cursing, mentions of death, angst

Stella woke up on election morning with hundreds of texts bombarding her phone.

"Fuck." She muttered, scrolling through.

Kendall had posted one of the pictures they took the night before. They were sitting on his fancy, all white couch in the penthouse, his arm around her. His gaze was on her as she looked into the camera. Obviously, they looked great, but she was still upset about the night before and how Kendall treated Matsson. Of course he had no idea that Lukas had harassed her all night, but still. He had run off with Ebba earlier in the night and she was definitely not thrilled about that either.

Kendall had texted her too, and though she was mad, the silent treatment wasn't really Stella's thing.

She caved and called him, sitting up in bed. It was definitely past ten, but she didn't have much work as it was Election Day.

"I was getting worried." Ken chuckled on the other side of the phone. "What happened last night? Did you like my insta post?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did. Sorry. It was just a lot—"

"Understandable." He smiled. "Did you have a good time, though? I thought the party was pretty lit."

Stella cracked a smile. He was always trying to be hip with her but was always a few years behind on the lingo. "It was super lit."

He was quiet for a second. "Uh, I don't wanna be that guy, but Shiv told me she saw you with Matsson."

"Oh."

"Like, I get it. But—"

"You have nothing to worry about, Ken. Seriously." Her voice cracked a little, the memories of the night before flooding her brain. If Shiv didn't separate them, what would have happened? Not that she would have cheated—definitely not. But Matsson had gotten awfully drunk and awfully close to her. "He kind of...um, he kind of harassed me."

"What?"

"It's not a big deal. He just, kind of like, I don't know. He was weird."

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

She sighed. "I wish."

"Fuck." Kendall half-yelled. He had never been loud with her before. "I'm gonna fucking kill him."

"It's okay, really. He was drunk and just wanted to fuck with you." She pleaded. "I'm a big girl, I handled it."

He was quiet on the other line, clearly plotting his next moves. "Okay."

"I'm yours, Ken. Please don't worry."

"I know."

She remembered Kendall following Ebba to the balcony. If he got to question her, she was certainly going to question him. "Um, I don't wanna be that girl, but I saw you with Ebba."

Kendall sighed. "Business shit. I was fucking with Lukas."

"Ah."

"Trust me, you were the, uh, hottest girl there last night. Not that it was hard. But still. I'm kinda not surprised Lukas was trying to fuck you."

"Oh God Ken." She rolled her eyes.

"I know you're rolling your eyes, pretty girl."

"Fuck off."

"Speaking of," his voice softened, "Dad's funeral. Uh, I know it's like, a funeral and shit, but my Mom's going...and Rava and the kids..."

"Oh, um, okay." Stella could definitely handle his mother, but it was the ex-wife and kids that really made her nervous. Sure, his daughter was a fan and she'd seen her on FaceTime with Kendall, but that was about it. They hadn't found a good time for Stella and his kids to meet because of Logan's death. He didn't see them that much anyway.

"Soph's excited to meet you."

"Okay, good." Stella felt a little bit better. "How does um, Rava feel?"

"Honestly, I don't know. Things have been pretty fucking tense."

"I'm sorry, Ken."

"Sophie got like, fucking, I don't know...pushed or something."

"Pushed?"

"Some Mencken guy on the street. Rava told me."

"What the fuck is wrong with people?"

"I don't know."

"Ken...if you have any say in this tonight..." she trailed off. "Do the right fucking thing."

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

He picked up on the first ring. "Where the fuck have you been?"

"Tell me it's not true." She breathed, looking at the tv in front of her.

"JERYD MENCKEN WINS ELECTION" blared on the screen, burning into her irises.

"What?" He said, but they both knew what she was talking about.

Stella paused, tears pricking her eyes. This could not be happening. "Kendall." She was almost pleading with him...hell, she was pleading with him. "Please."

"He's gonna block the deal for us, I had to—"

"How could you call it? How could you do this without the ballots in Milwaukee? And the—"

"It wasn't my decision."

"What about your daughter, Kendall?" She spat at him through the phone.

"What about my daughter, Stella?" He fired right back at her.

"You told me she got fucking pushed, Ken! Not everything is about the fucking deal! Don't you care about her?"

"You don't know a fucking thing about my kids. You're a kid. Fucking suck it up."

"Mencken is a fascist and you know it. He's a racist homophobe who's going to destroy the country and you let him walk all over you."

"Stella." He warned.

"My brother and his husband were just starting to feel accepted in their new neighborhood." She whispered. "How could you do this?"

"Jimenez wouldn't help us. We had to make a difficult choice."

Stella audibly gasped. "A choice? The fate of the country is a choice?"

"Stella—"

"No, no, I...I can't." She cried. "This is all a game to you. The election, the tailgate party...it's all a fucking game."

"This, this, is fucking politics, Stella." He scolded her. "And it's not going to fucking effect you."

"Not going to effect me? Are you hearing yourself?" She knew it was in him to be this way, but Kendall had never showed this side of himself to her. He was callous and cold and cared about himself more than others. "I didn't grow up like you, Ken. I have fucking car loans."

He laughed. He actually laughed. "I'll pay your fucking loans, Stella girl."

"You...you can't just 'Stella girl' me and expect everything to be okay." She stuttered. "You failed your kids tonight. You failed the fucking United States of America."

"Fuck you."

"No. Fuck you." Tears ran down Stella's face. Was this it? Was their relationship--their love--going to end over politics? It just seemed so tacky to her. She sunk to the ground, sitting on the cold wooden floor. They sat in silence, neither of them sure how to finish the conversation. Stella heard Kendall sniffle from the other side of the phone.

"I'm sorry. You're right. But I had to do it. Shiv's working with Matsson and I can't let them win. I-I'm sorry."

She stifled a sob. "I know."

"Are you still gonna come to the funeral?"

It pained her to know that Kendall thought she would flake on him.

"Of course, Ken."

"Are we good then? Like, are we uh, still good?"

"Um...I don't, I don't know."

"Okay."

"Yeah."

"Well...I'll uh, see you tomorrow, and uh, I...I fucking love you, okay?"

Stella breathed. Tears were flying. Never did she think this would be her life.

"I love you too."

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

The next morning, Stella's doorbell rung. It was barely light out and the funeral wasn't until the afternoon.

She opened the door to find a man carrying a dress bag.

"Miss Allen?"

"Oh. Great." Stella mumbled sarcastically, taking the bag. Of course Kendall sent her something to wear. Even on the day of his father's funeral, he was still sending her signals, telling her that she was his.

Putting on the dress and looking at herself in the mirror, Stella felt good. Way too good for a funeral. The dress was definitely too short and the black Gucci tights were definitely too sexy, but what was she going to do, not wear it?

As she left the apartment building to get on the subway, a car was already waiting for her outside. She recognized Fikret right away, rolling her eyes and getting into the black SUV.

I told you to stop sending me things.

Sorry

It's getting bad out there tho. Our car got attacked by mob earlier

Can't risk you getting hurt

Stella groaned. Little did he know she was going to the protest after the funeral.

Twenty minutes later, the car stopped at a giant cathedral. Paparazzi were swarming everywhere.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." She muttered, stepping out of the car. Twitter was going to explode about her outfit. It truly was a 'Fuck Logan Roy' dress.

Cameras rushed her, but they couldn't get too close because of the heavy security detail. Stella walked into the Cathedral behind some other, expensive-looking people. The last funeral she had been to was her father's, where she gave the eulogy. It was good, obviously, she was an actress, after all.

Kendall rushed to Stella the second he saw her walk in. She secretly wished he didn't look so good in his navy suit.

"How was it out there?" He leaned in to hug her. It lasted a little too long.

"Oh, the protest?"

He nodded.

"I think they left." She shrugged, knowing he was going to be pissed that she was attending the protest after the funeral.

"Uh, good. I was worried about you."

"You don't need to worry." She put her hands on his arms, rubbing down slowly. It really wasn't appropriate--she was supposed to be mad at him.

He leaned into her touch. "Thank you for coming, Stell."

"Of course."

Kendall checked her out as subtle as he could. "I knew that dress would be perfect on you."

"Little inappropriate for a funeral, though, don't you think?" She smirked. Hopefully Logan was grimacing in his coffin at Kendall being with her.

"Exactly." He said, staring her down.

"O-okay lover boy." She pushed him away, but before she could get far, an old woman with a pixie cut appeared out of nowhere.

"Now Kendall, who is this?" She spoke with a distinguished British accent. Stella's heart sank. The woman standing in front of her was definitley Kendall's mother.

"Oh, uh, mom, this is Stella."

Caroline's face curved into a sideways smile as she looked Stella up and down. "Oh my. Aren't you something?"

Stella smiled nervously. She knew Ken's mom was a fake bitch. "Hi."

"By God, Kenny, you're turning into your father." Caroline laughed. "Dear," she looked to Stella, "How old are you?"

She started to speak before Kendall interrupted. "Thanks, Mom, great job. Awesome."

"Ah, Kendall I'm just joking. She's beautiful." Stella noticed that Caroline didn't even address her.

"Uh, thanks." He answered for her. Stella mentally rolled her eyes. Everyone treated her like a child at these kinds of things, even Kendall.

"Now I just hope you don't end up like your sister...the poor thing."

Caroline must've noticed the confused look on Stella's face. Did Shiv finally tell everyone she was pregnant?

"Oh, dear, you don't have to worry about that." She looked at Stella's stomach. "Not with Kendall, anyway."

Stella's heart dropped. "I'm sorry?"

"Mom." Kendall said sternly. He looked pissed. "Stop."

Stella didn't know what to say. She was prepared for a few weird comments from Caroline, but that...that was not something she was expecting. She looked to Kendall, but for the first time in their relationship, he couldn't meet her gaze. Embarrassment reddened across his cheeks.

Before anyone could say anything else, Shiv grabbed Kendall's shoulder. "Hey, it's time."

He nodded, pushing past Caroline and Stella without saying goodbye.

"Well I guess I should find Kerry." Caroline smiled, walking away like she hadn't just dropped a bomb on Stella's life.

On her way to get her seat, Stella made unfortunate eye contact with Lukas, who winked. Things could not get any worse. As she sat down in a random pew, Stella's mind raced. Kendall had always insisted on using condoms. And he had kids, right? Sure, Sophie was adopted, but Iverson looked just like his parents. Stella realized she hadn't even seen the kids at the funeral. What was going on?

#kendall roy #kendall roy x oc #kendall roy x reader #succession

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sunflowersoldat · 2 years

Text

All is Fair~ In Love & Luck

Chapter 5: All is Fair in Love & Luck

Previous Chapter

Main Master List

Series Master List

Series Summary: Family is important, but so is the Family business. Everyone has secrets, some are deadly. Your the best in the business, but no one knows who you are. Tensions are high, will you raise the stakes or fold under pressure?

Series Warnings: 18+! Mentions of blood and violence, bad language words, smut, manipulation, gaslighting, death, trauma, please follow the warnings for each chapter.

Chapter warnings: 18+ Only! Bad language words, angst, plans of assassination, blood, light smut (on top of the clothes stuff).

Pairing: Mob!Steve x Assassin!Stark!reader

Word count: approx. 5.8K (sorry this one is a doozy)

A/N: This took me way too long to write lol. I really hope yall enjoy it! feedback is always welcome, let me know your favorite part. Things are about to get really dicey really quickly, so enjoy the semi-calm we have.

You formally met the rest of his ragtag family at dinner, it was odd to see how everyone interacted. They were genuinely a big family, unlike how your father and brother ran their business. Only Nat, Pepper and Happy were considered anything more than foot soldiers, or even allowed at the family table.

After dinner you and Steve went out on a small walk around the estate, hand-in-hand as the sun was setting over the forest, its light casting a peachy glow over the sky, giving way to the deep navy of the night sky flecked with glistening stars.

The two of you walked in a comfortable silence, as he led you around the front of the mansion, the circle-drive came into view, sitting in the glow of the sunset was a beautiful black motorcycle. As the two of you approached, Steve released your hand, “Have you ever ridden?”

Glancing up at him, you smiled wickedly, “A motorcycle? Yes.” getting closer, you admired the old bike, tracing your hand over the genuine leather seat and the gleaming body. “A 1942 Harley-Davidson liberator? She’s beautiful.” you looked up at him again, his sapphire eyes sparkling as they watched your every move. “Is she yours?”

He nodded slowly, “She is. She was a gift from my mother when the mantle was handed down to me. She and my father collected vintage cars, most of which I didn’t keep after they passed. I didn’t really have a need for them, but this one…” he took a deep breath, “It’s special.”

Walking closer, he swung one leg over, settling on the leather seat, offering you his hand, “Care for a ride?”

You placed your hand in his, gently straddling the seat behind him, he gazed back at you, as the engine rumbled to life. The low grumble sending vibrations through your body, he pulled your hand around his waist, settling it there he tapped it, “Hold on tight Angel.”

The ride was peaceful, with the brisk Autumn breeze nipping at your skin and through your hair. Burying your face into his neck, arms tightening around his waist as he drifted around a curve a little too fast, before pulling into a quiet lakeside grove. “What do you think?” his soft, timbre voice cut through your thoughts,

“It’s beautiful.” Your eyes are glued to the serene landscape around you. A small dock leading out over the lake, a small secluded cabin on the other side.

He chuckled, swinging off the seat, “I was talking about the chaos at the mansion.”

“Oh, right…” you felt your cheeks heat, “They’re great! They treat me as if I've always been here. I see why you are so protective of them. They truly love you. It’s not just respect, you’re their family.”

He sighed, “They’d follow me to hell and back, shit a couple of them have…” he stepped closer to you, lifting your chin with his knuckle, “If any of them make you feel bad or–”

You shook your head, “Steve. You are their family, they are just as protective over you as you are of them. Anything they do is just to keep you safe…” you sigh, grabbing his hand, “Trust me I more than understand.”

He brushed his nose against yours, “They love you, if they don’t already, they will. I have no doubt about it.”

You weren't too sure about that, Bucky seemed to have a vendetta against you, and you weren't sure how to fix it. Your stomach churned, a slow realization dawning on you. After the mission was over, it wasn’t just killing Steve, or creating chaos. You were destroying a family. They would surely attempt to seek revenge… What a waste of potential.

You looked at him curiously, you couldn’t quite figure him out, this man who was supposed to be terrifying, was anything but. He was soft, kind hearted, you couldn't imagine him hurting even a fly, but there was something there. Lying just beneath the surface, it set your instincts on fire. The alarms in your mind told you not to trust him, not to push him, yet you wanted to. Something about this man made you feel calm, but at the same time made fire erupt under your skin.

He turned to you as he rummaged through the saddle bag, pulling out a bottle of wine with two glasses, and a small container of strawberries. He lifted them, “Courtesy of Wanda.” giving you a small smile, he began to walk towards a nearby tree.

Rolling your eyes you followed, he wasn’t the spontaneous type, every part of his day meticulously planned, “Do you always plan everything?”

Giving you a lopsided smile, he shook his head, “Not everything. Some things are spontaneous.” he lifted the full glass of wine to you, taking it you raised a brow, “Oh, so you didn’t plan on coming out here?” you teased, settling down on the grass next to him.

He chuckled, “Okay tonight was planned. But I have made spontaneous decisions.”

You lifted your wine, taking a sip, “Like what?” You challenged, not believing him.

He looked out over the calm water, thinking, “You.”

You scrunch your brows, “Me?”

He pursed his lips, eyes glued to the glassy lake, “When I saw you at the casino and jumped into the elevator, I didn't have a plan. I just hoped.” he placed his empty glass onto the grass, his calm eyes finding yours, you took a long drink of your wine, “I saw you, and all logical thought left my mind.” a sad smile pulled at his lips, “I’m a very strategic man, Angel, there isn't much I do without a reason, much like your brother…” your eyes snapped to him, “But, you.” he grabbed your wrist, guiding you to straddle his hips, placing a soft kiss to your wrist, before plucking the almost empty glass from your hands.

Cradling your face in his hand, he lightly traced his thumb over your cheek, “You… You were the wildcard, I wasn't expecting anyone to play. You materialized out of thin air…” his forehead met yours, “You’re heaven sent, Angel. Something I’ve been searching for…” his thumb softly traced your wrist, “for a long time.”

Your heart raced in your chest, squeezing your eyes shut before gently pulling away, you took in the scenery around you. The sun was gone now, the soft light from the moon above illuminated the silent grove, the occasional twinkle of fireflies flickered around you.

This. This is what you had wanted, the whole reason you wanted out of the business. You had given your resignation, you were ready to find your place in the world, to settle down. That was before the accident, before the gala, before the new assignment, and before him.

He was the wrench thrown into all your plans. The real wildcard, a card that wasn't meant to be played. Family heads were off limits, placing a bounty on their head was against the rules. For the dealer to accept one was unheard of, the offered amount must have been ludicrous. Something wasn't right, and you knew it, but it wasn’t your business, your assignment was to gain intel, and kill him when the word was given. Nothing more, nothing less. You had to finish your mission.

He pulled you back down to him, lips capturing yours, the kiss building, the passion implying he wanted so much more from this, not just this date. He wanted more than you were able to give him. And it hurt deep inside, beneath it all, beneath your pride and insistence this was only a mission.

You could feel him holding back, the corded muscle under his skin, taught, ready to snap. You smirked to yourself, the beast within, the one you’d heard so much about. you'd like to see it, this calm, composed man, to lose control in front of you, to see what he was hiding, what he was capable of. It would make a good distraction to the swirl of thoughts fogging up your brain.

You needed it.

You ground against him, causing a feral growl to erupt from him as he pulled away, breaking the kiss, the two of you breathless, his pupils lust blown. “Steve…” his name leaving your mouth in a breathy whine as his hands slipped under the fabric of your shirt. Burying his head in your neck, his lips leaving soft kisses against your raging pulse. “Not here, Angel.”

Rising to his feet, he loaded you and the wine with the berries onto the bike, bringing it roaring to life. You looped your arms around his waist, casually slipping your hands under his shirt, dipping lower, past the waistband of his pants and boxers. Brushing against his hardened member, his body tensed, your name leaving his lips in a low voice, a strained warning, that had you smiling wickedly.

—

You arrived back at the mansion in record timing. He stepped off the bike first, you moved to follow, but were hastily scooped into his arms. He wrapped your legs around his waist, lips crashing with yours, so consumed by you he didn’t notice the black vehicle parked farther up the drive.

His hands roamed your body burning you into his mind, your hands in his hair and clutching to his back. Shutting off the alarms blaring in your mind. His hand left your body only momentarily to open the front door, toeing it the rest of the way open.

Only to kick it shut behind him, the sound echoing through the foyer. The two of you were heading for what you assumed was his room, but a throat cleared behind you. Steve broke the kiss, a brow raised, irritation ignited in his eyes as he glanced around you. “Evening Rogers, and Little Stark.” You recognized the gravely disembodied voice, a sneer splitting your lips as you watched Steve’s jaw clench. The man you had come to recognize disappearing before your eyes.

You turned your head to see both Thor and Loki standing there, waiting, watching. You glared back, as Steve released you, another door opening then slamming shut. Bucky emerged, fuming, his weapon holsters strapped to his chest, Peter following close behind attempting to soothe him.

Bucky turned from Peter, his eyes landing on you and Steve, “Where the hell have you been!? Phone turned off, what if something-“

“Barnes.” Steve’s voice cut through Bucky’s worried scolding.

You turned your gaze back to Steve, his eyes cold, body tensed, power rolled off him. A shiver ran up your spine as Bucky cleared his throat, the headstrong man almost submitting, but you could feel the apology in the air.

“Odinson, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company this evening.” Steve’s tone was cold, cordial, but cold.

Your gaze met Loki’s, his green eyes followed the conversation, until they locked with yours they softened, calm, but his body language telling a different story. He was next to his brother, yes, but just out of reach. His arms folded securely across his chest. Face void of any expression aside from boredom.

“Business Rogers, it’s always businesses.” A small smirk lifted one side of Thor’s mouth.

“Regular business hours are over Thor. Make an appointment with Wanda or one of the men and we can talk then.” Steve moved towards the staircase, hand grasping your wrist to follow.

Something flashed across Thor's eyes, his jaw clenching, “This really shouldn’t wait. Rogers.”

Steve stopped, turning to Peter, “Queens, accompany Angel to my room or wherever she would like you to take her.” He then turned to Thor, “My office is upstairs.”

Peter joined you at the bottom of the stairs as Steve caressed your face, his eyes softening, “This won’t take long. I promise.”

You nodded, giving him a small smile as he ascended the stairs, Thor, Loki and Bucky following behind. Thor gave you a knowing smile, “Shouldn’t take long young Stark then he will be yours again.” He winked as he passed by.

The continuous use of your brother’s link to you began to grate on your nerves as you stared daggers into Thor’s back, both Loki and Bucky turned to give you an apologetic look before disappearing along with Steve and Thor upstairs.

Peter cleared his throat next to you, “What would you like to do, Ms. Carbonell?”

You sighed leaning against the baister, “Honestly? A bowl of ice cream and a bath sound amazing.”

You turn your gaze to Peter, a smile breaking onto his face and his eyes light up at the mention of the sweet snack, “Ice cream? Yeah, I can get you some, follow me.” quietly he leads you into the kitchen, he motions for you to take a seat at the bar. Alpine hopping onto the counter in front of you, making her way under your hand, encouraging you to scratch her back as Peter rummages through the freezer and cabinets.

You watch as he places two bowls onto the counter and begins making you and him a bowl. “Steve calls you Queens, why?” you ask casually, Alpine taking up most of your attention.

His head pops up from the ice cream, “Oh, that's just where I’m from, my Aunt lives there… It’s nothing special.”

You nodded slowly as he placed your bowl in front of you, before moving to the seat next to you, softly scratching Alpine’s head as he passed, getting comfortable on the bar stool.

“Don’t you have a nickname? Like from your brother or any friends?” he asks around a spoonful of ice cream.

You take a bite of your own, contemplating a good answer. You couldn't really tell him most people call you death, or some other form of the word in whatever language they speak. Jake gave you the nickname first, as the Ace of Spades, you were usually dealt as the last resort. Or by request of the client, you were never requested by name of course, only by title. “Well, no, but Tony calls me Squirt…”

—

Steve led Thor and Loki to his office, Bucky following close behind, as he opened the door to allow everyone in, Thor stopped him.

“I’d like to speak with you alone Steve.”

Steve glanced at Thor, then nodded to both Bucky and Loki before closing the door and leaving them in the hall. Steve walked to his desk, taking a seat, clasping his hands in front of his face, “You have my undivided attention Thor, what can I do for you?”

Thor smiled faintly, “No, no, no, Steve, it's what I can do for you.” Thor leaned back in his chair, caressing his beard, “You see, the turmoil between the families has been brought to my attention.”

Steve’s eye narrowed at Thor’s words, “If you are speaking of my relationship with Stark’s sister, this conversation will be over before it begins-”

“No, I care little about who you keep between your legs and sheets, Rogers.” Steves jaw clenches, the not so subtle jab about his you being a mere fling doesn't escape him. “No, I am referring to the havoc Stark is wreaking on your businesses.” Thor continues, rising from his seat, “You see, it isn't just affecting you and your businesses, it's affecting all of us and it must end.”

Making his way to the bar cart, Thor pours himself a glass, taking a long swig before speaking again, “Stark is a lost mut, chomping at the bit since his parents died. He is looking for someone to blame, we all know that now you have his pretty little sister, his eyes are on you.”

“I’m failing to see where you are going with this Odinson, and I'm losing my patience,” Steve ground out through grit teeth.

Swirling the glass, Thor sighed, “Your businesses need protection–”

“They have protection. Are you suggesting I can’t protect my own–”

A dark chuckle escaped Thor’s throat, “Not at all Steve, I am merely suggesting we crack the whip with Stark. My father, gods rest his soul, would never have let any of this get so far out of hand…” he poured himself another glass as Steve’s cold stare followed his movements, “We need a Don, Steve, someone who can keep the peace. I could help quell with useless squabble between the two of you. So you can continue to play with his sister, and we can get back to making money. Because we all make more money when we work together, all I ask is for your vote.” he moved towards the bar again, “help me, to help you.”

Throwing back the rest of his drink, he walked towards the door, turning back one last time he met Steves icy gaze, “I wonder how she would feel, knowing she is the reason your empire is crumbling.” he turned the knob, opening the door “Think about it Stevie.” he quipped as he disappeared outside the office door.

Standing from his desk, Steve took a deep breath, his blood boiling. If it would have been anyone else aside from Thor, he would have the men cleaning their brains off his bookshelves. He ran his hand through his hair, the door to his office opening again as he slammed his fist down on the desk, “Fuck!”

He looked up to find Bucky standing quietly, his weapons still buckled to his body, Steve cocked his head, maybe Thor was right, he had let Tony get away with too much, it was time to fight fire with fire. He had tried to stay neutral, let Tony have his tantrums, for your sake, but enough was enough. Now Steve’s leadership was being questioned, and he couldn't have that.

“Bucky, gather the men, meet me in the garage. We are going to hit a few of Stark’s warehouses, make sure we send a message. He fucks with us we fuck with him. I want him to hear it loud and clear.”

Bucky blinked at him, yesterday Steve had yelled at them and told them not to retaliate, and now he wanted them to send a message. “Steve–”

“Just do as you're told Buck and get outta my office.” Steve saw the hurt flash across Bucky’s face when the words reached his ears. He knew he was being an ass, but he just couldn’t deal with it right now. All the men knew better than to talk back, or raise their voices, especially in front of other families. Bucky had done both, on the same day. So when he straightened, nodding his head before leaving the room Steve ignored the pang in his stomach when he remembered you were waiting on him.

—

You were asleep in bed when Steve returned to the mansion and entered the room, your hair still damp from your bath he assumed you had taken. You were on top of the covers, no doubt waiting for him to come and join you. Placing a kiss to your forehead, he tucked you under the covers, whispering promises to make it up to you tomorrow. But for now, he needed a shower, to rinse the blood, and grime off himself.

After showering, he lowered himself into bed, curling himself around you as you turned over, tucking your head between his neck and shoulder.

“Where did you go?” your sleepy voice rising in the darkness.

“I had some unexpected business, baby, it took longer than expected. I'm here now though. Just get some rest. We can talk about it in the morning.” he breathed into your hair, placing a gentle kiss upon your temple.

He took a deep breath, inhaling your scent, a sense of calm washed over him, chasing away all the screams and horrific acts of violence from the past twelve hours. You were his peace. His lighthouse in a storm. And he would spend every day showing you what you meant to him.

—

You woke first, the early light of sunrise bleeding through the curtains. Steve lay asleep next to you, for the first time since the two of you have been together, you got a good long look at the tattoos that painted his skin. Most of the ink remained on his chest, across one pectoral, a medusa head, blindfolded, her snakes tangling around his shoulder and other pec, intertwining with a broken clock. You followed the inked details down one of his arms, lady justice stood on one forearm, her sword in one hand and scales in the other, balanced. On his other arm, a pair of wings. Not a stitch of color, just the stark black against his tanned skin. You wondered about the story they told, and made a mental note to ask him later. For now you need to get dressed and head into the city.

—

“I’m telling you, I can beat you with a rematch. Just you and I kid, I guarantee I can win.” Bucky pressed, sitting next to you in the vehicle, Scott and Sam in the front seats.

You squeezed Steve’s hand as you rolled your eyes, laughing lightly, “Listen Boinky, if you really want me to kick your ass, all you have to do is ask.”

He rolled his eyes as the car came to a stop in front of the small cafe you were set to have lunch in, Bucky exiting the vehicle first, offering you his hand as Steve exited on the other side. You took his hand, looking around on your own, unable to shut off your instincts. As your head cleared the door, you were able to see through the sea of people walking, a familiar blonde head catching your eye. The sun momentarily glinting off the gun in her hand as she raised it, hurrying out of the vehicle, you tried to shove Bucky out of the line of fire only to stumble on the curb, falling into Bucky.

The gunshot rang in the air, the crowd swarming in panic, screaming as they tried to get to safety.

Bucky caught you as you fell, the two of you tumbling to the ground, his body cushioning your fall, only to flip you under him to shield you.

You heard Steve yelling, as well as Scott, the thunderous sounds of footsteps making it hard for you to focus. Your head pounding, Bucky pushed off you, reaching down to help you up, as his hand wrapped around your arm, a scream clawed its way out of your throat. Searing pain radiating on the left side of your chest and shoulder, reaching up, you could feel the blood seeping through your shirt. Steve rounded the back of the car as you lifted your crimson painted hand to your face, vision blurring as you watched Bucky’s face blanched.

Steve’s muffled order to get you back in the car is the last thing you heard before losing consciousness.

—

The sterile smell of medical supplies pulled you from your blackout, a dull pain throbbed right below your left collarbone. You tried to push yourself up, but the dull pain turned volatile. Groaning you dropped back down-

“Woah, easy Ace, easy.”

Your eyes snapped open at the nickname, next to you sat Bucky, shirtless, pushing at the woman in the lab coat so he could reach for you, concern lacing his features.

“Oh, good morning Ms. Carbonell.” the woman turned to you, her ID tag reading Dr. Helen Cho. you met her eyes as she walked over to the side of your bed, moving a pillow behind you, helping you to sit up. You glanced around the room, in the chair to your right sat Steve, head propped on his hand, leaning towards you, asleep, the early morning light dancing through his blond hair painting it gold.

You turned back to Bucky as Dr. Cho finished patching his wound, your brows scrunching had he called you Ace? Did he know? If so, you couldn't imagine you would still be breathing. “New nickname?” you asked quietly. He gave you a soft smile, thanking the doctor, “Yeah, it seems fitting. You happen to be really good at poker as well as almost anything you try, and you’re probably the luckiest person I've ever met.”

You shook your head, “I wouldn't consider being shot lucky…”

“Neither would most people, but you are lucky to be alive.” Dr. Cho pointed to your injury, “The bullet pierced right under your collar bone, yet right above your shoulder blade, a clean entry and exit wound.” she gestured to Bucky, “clean enough to graze it's more likely target.”

You nodded, giving Bucky an apologetic look, “Don’t give me that look, Ace, it’s me that should be sorry, you took a bullet for me, one that could have easily killed you–”

“Yeah but it didn't.”

“In all reality it should have–” Dr. Cho interrupted, giving you a serious look, before checking your IV and beginning to check your vitals, “If it would have been an inch lower, it would have punctured a lung, another inch maybe a little more, you wouldn't have made it off the pavement.”

In all your years, you had been beaten, stabbed, shot, but never this close to any damage being anything but superficial. “It is just a flesh wound now, it's been cleaned and dressed. You are also on heavy medication, I recommend bed rest for a few days. Other than that you should be fine.” she began to leave, “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours, when everyone is awake. Rest.”

Once the door closed, you turned your gaze back to Bucky, you could feel his eyes burning into you, “Binky. I’m fine.”

He chewed his lip, furrowing his brow, “You can call me Bucky you know…” his icy eyes locking with yours.

You raised a brow, a smug smirk pulled at your lips, “Does this mean we are friends Barnes? I distinctly remember you telling me–”

“You took a bullet for me kid, the least I can do is allow you to call me by my name.” he smiled sadly, standing from his seat, rummaging through the closet of the room you were in. Pulling a t-shirt from its hanger, he began putting it on.

The serious topic began making you uncomfortable, you needed to lighten the mood, “Well, looks like I’m not good at everything I try. I wouldn't exactly get high marks as a human shield–” you pointed to his bandaged wound.

He huffed a laugh, rolling his eyes, looking at the sleeping mob boss next to you, “Don’t let him hear you joke about it…”

Your head rolled to the side, giving you an unobstructed view of Steve, “how long was I out?”

“Not long, 24 hours give or take.”

“Has he moved?” you gently brushed the hair from his forehead, hovering there.

“No.”

You turned back to Bucky, eyebrows scrunched, “Why? What about business or–”

“You are all that matters.” Steve's husky voice cut you off, “The rest can wait.”

Your gaze snapping to him, you met his ocean eyes, red tinged, from the lack of sleep, the light bags under his eyes letting you know that the hours of sleep he got were few and far between. His hand coming up to intertwine with yours, he pressed the back of your hand to his cheek, “Hello Angel.”

You gave him a small smile, your tumb caressing his hand, as he placed a kiss to your knuckles—

“You can take your appointment and Shove it where the–” a familiar voice thundered down the hall.

Your head snapped toward the door, Bucky’s and Steve’s gazes following.

Bucky began walking towards the door, “Stay here, I’ll check it out.” As he reached the door, he was shoved backward as the door opened inward, nearly knocking him on his ass. Your brother stormed through the door, chest heaving, face a deep shade of red, you were surprised he didn't have smoke pouring from his ears.

When his eyes met yours, you could swear his knees gave out, his features softening, shoulders slumping, he stumbled toward you, stopping just short of the bed, his gaze landing on Steve next to you. “Is this what you wanted, Rogers?”

Steve’s jaw clenched, but he remained silent, “First my warehouses, now my sister?! You almost got her killed!”

“Tony, that's not fair! You can't blame him for this, he had no control over the situation.” you argued, pulling yourself from Steve’s grip to face your brother fully.

“This. This isn’t staying out of the business. You were fine at the museum, before him. And now you're a target because of his recklessness!”

Steve rose from his seat, his voice raised, “My recklessness?! If you would just let your sister make her own decisions and not throw tantrums when she picks someone you don't agree with, we wouldn't be in this situation. I can’t control hired assassins Tony!”

Your head began to pound again.

“That’s the problem isn't it Rogers, control. You don't have much of it.”

“What is that supposed to–”

“Enough!” you interrupted, “that's enough, both of you.”

Steve’s head fell, but Tony just glared at him, “Look at me, Tony.” he slowly tore his gaze from Steve. You looked to Bucky who had stationed himself close to the door, then looked at Steve’s back, “Can the two of you give me a moment with my brother.”

Both the men nodded, heading for the door, as Steve left, he glanced back at you, he looked defeated, his eyes pleading you to understand. You didn't blame him, you stepped in front of that bullet. You weren't sure why, it was obviously meant for Bucky. You just hoped you had done a well enough job of pretending to fall into him, and not purposefully becoming his human shield.

“This is not the time nor the place for this conversation Tony.” you met his gaze, your eyes hard, you appreciated his concern, but all he was doing was making matters worse and making an ass out of himself.

“Squirt, if you would have just listening to me from the beginning, we wouldn't be here, all I wanted was for you to be–”

“Tony, stop. I made my decision. I knew the risks of being seen with him. I accepted that.”

“Well I don't! You are leaving here with me, I am taking you home, Dr. Banner can help you recover…” he continued to ramble, making his way to the bed, he began unplugging monitors and cords attached to you, making his way to a duffle back, he began throwing your clothes in.

“Tony, Tony stop!”

He froze, swallowing.

“I am not going anywhere.”

Turning he opened his mouth to retaliate.

“No. You don't talk, you listen. I am staying here with Steve. If you wish to have this discussion we can meet at a different time after I've recovered and we can talk.”

His brown eyes glassy as he held your gaze, “I can't lose you too…” his voice breaking.

“You won't. I am fine, it is only a flesh wound. But Tony, you can't control my decisions. If you do, you will lose me by choice.”

He took a deep breath, swallowing hard, “You promise we can talk after?”

You nodded, gesturing for him to come to you, embracing him, “I promise, for now just trust me. Okay?”

You felt him hesitate, squeezing you, before nodding in agreement, “Okay.”

“Now go, stop making an ass out of yourself. I’ll see you soon.”

Releasing you he moved to the door, hesitating he looked back, “Pinky swear you’ll be alright?”

You lifted your little finger, “Pinky swear.”

He nodded, opening the door, allowing Steve to enter as he exited, “Rogers…” Steve turned back looking at Tony, “Keep her safe. Or you will take her place in that bed.”

“With my life Tony.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Tony brushed past Bucky who in turn glared at him as he left. Bucky stepped in the door, but Steve turned to him, “Could you give us a few Buck?” nodding Bucky left the room, the soft click of the door filling the uncomfortable silence.

Steve knelt in front of you, his head resting in your lap momentarily, you gently run your hands through his hair.

Lifting his head, his eyes met yours, your heart skipping a beat in your chest. His eyes were so full of emotion, it knocked the wind from your lungs, “I thought I was going to lose you Angel.”

He rose, picking you up from the bed, placing you into his lap as he sat down. His forehead resting against yours, his breath fanned over you, his lips tantalizingly close, you allowed your eyes to slip shut, tilting your head so your lips met in a soft kiss. One of his hands cupped the back of your head, keeping you as close as he could. His hands never leave your body too afraid to leave you, as if you would disappear if they did. “You are the best thing that has happened to me, in a long long time.” he breathed against your lips, “You are my guardian angel, my everything.” the pit opened in your stomach again, an icy hand gripped your heart.

He pulled away, just enough to look you in the eyes, the blue becoming glassy, “Can you make me a promise?”

The grip on your heart tightened, stomach flipping, “Anything.” you wanted to be sick.

His hand came to caress your face, thumb softly tracing your cheekbone, “Promise me you wont leave… I won't lose–” he broke off taking a deep shaky breath, “I can’t lose you. You mean more to me than anything. More than my entire empire, if you wanted me to leave it all behind all you would have to do is ask.”

“Promise me. Promise me I won’t lose you, please Angel.”

He kissed you again, filled with so much emotion, it felt like your heart was being squeezed into dust, you were breathless when he pulled away again, your name a faint whisper on his lips, “I love you.”

The grip on your heart tightened further, you shouldn’t have accepted this mission, an icy chill ran up your spine.

“I love you too.”

Your chest physically constricted as the words left your mouth. The pain radiating through your body, you gasped, only for his mouth to close around yours. Tears stung at your eyes, but you shoved them down, this was just a mission.

Just a mission.

Except it wasn't.

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