#How To Speed Up Skin Healing On Face

[honey-tongued-devil]

↞[arcane preference] founding out you were injured in crossfire↠

Since I've created a Bluesky profile and wrote my thesis on Arcane, I'll be posting both old and new drawings there as soon as the time comes. I'm taking advantage of this little space to promote my other social account. honey-tongued.bsky.social Also, I've received both comments and requests, but Tumblr decided I couldn’t post for a week (my internet connection is terrible). I want to let you know that I appreciate them, and I'll get to everything as soon as I can. So, feel free to leave comments, feedback, or requests!

Jayce: 

- This is the worst news he could receive: he's a scholar, he has no idea how to handle these situations, and, most of all, he's forced to confront his pride.  

- Not only was he unable to protect you now, but what if it happens again? Even if he's there, he wouldn't know what to do.  

- What if there's a next time? What if it doesn't turn out as well next time?  

- His self-sabotage leads him to distance himself from you for a few days, not because he doesn't want to be near you while you're hurting, but because he's ashamed of not being able to protect the person he loves.  

- On the bright side, for even just a second, he remembers the original purpose of his research: making the city safe, helping people.  

- But on the negative side, with no one to blame, more than ever, the people of Zaun appear to him as beasts, second-class humans who can't be redeemed in any way.  

- When he finally gathers the courage to see you again, he tries to make amends for everything: for not protecting you, for not being able to, for allowing someone to hurt you, and for not being there during your recovery.  

- He'll literally do anything to be forgiven: every morning you'll find breakfast in bed, if it's cold at night he'll prepare a warmer for your feet, and despite his squeamishness, he'll personally tend to your wounds, even if it makes him feel queasy.

Viktor:

- He tries to help you in every way possible, even ignoring his own pain.  

- He feels sadness, regrets that you went out alone and ended up in such a situation. He can't help but imagine the fear you must have felt, the confusion, and the loneliness when the guards intervened, and you woke up alone in the hospital.  

- He may be a scholar, but first and foremost he's a man with a moral code, and secondly, he's from Zaun: if he has any work, appointments, or lectures, he'll skip them all, maybe muttering a few insults in his thick accent at the most insistent people, and make up for it at night.  

- Plans, ideas, codes, anything – but he won't leave you alone unless you ask him to.  

- He takes care of you meticulously, respecting schedules, bringing you meals in bed, changing your bandages until your skin heals, and you're able to stand on your own again.  

- He doesn't mind helping you – as a chronically ill person who refuses others' help, he's learned to do everything on his own, and he's almost happy that his skills can be useful to someone else.

Ekko:

- Is it something totally normal in the lanes? Yes.  

- Does this stop Ekko from panicking? No.  

- He's the one who finds you and brings you to the others, but he doesn't want, nor can he afford, to be seen panicking. So, he swallows his despair and tries to act as normal as possible while ten other people rush to help you.  

- His face remains expressionless as the most skilled remove debris, clean the wound, stitch your torn flesh, and bandage you, but his foot keeps tapping the floor with force and speed, revealing his anxiety.  

- When the others insist that it's best you stay in the makeshift infirmary, he tries not to protest, but suddenly every moment of the day becomes an excuse to pass by: to bring you stolen sweets from Piltover, to tell you about some expedition, maybe even steal a kiss or fall asleep leaning against your mattress.  

- It's an overwhelming fear, but the fear of losing you makes him unable to think rationally, and all he feels is how much he misses you, even while you're right there with him.

Vander:

- A crossfire from the other side of the river was already a big enough provocation to alert him and prepare to defend the city or, if absolutely necessary, to strike back.  

- But you, as an accidental victim, are a huge problem.  

- He doesn’t have the heart to pull away from you, and when he does, he can’t help but feel frustrated, angry at himself, knowing he hasn’t been able to keep his city under control like he promised—to you, to Piltover, to everyone.  

- He’ll ask for your forgiveness by kissing the scarred skin every day, even if you insist it’s not his fault, and if you remember even one of the faces, he’ll go and handle the problem.  

- Not with violence, unless necessary, but it’s not about personal justice; rather, it’s about protecting the other citizens of the alleys too.  

- Even after you’ve healed, he’ll insist it’s absolutely necessary to carry you everywhere you need to go, claiming a very good doctor told him so.  

- And the memory of the scar will be tiny compared to all the marks Vander has left on you.  

Silco:

- Private justice is absolutely the first option, even though you were an accidental victim.  

- He’ll call all his goons and associates for a meeting while you’re still bedridden, to see if they’ve heard, seen, or been involved in any armed conflict, and if he doesn’t get a face or a name from them, he’ll turn to the brothel, the house of all information,  

- Until he finds who hurt you and makes sure they can’t do it again.  

- Silco isn’t fazed by blood or open wounds, but despite having enough experience to handle it himself, at least on the first day, he’ll take you to Singed to make sure you’re in the best condition.  

- In the following days, he’ll take care of you himself, but he has pride, a façade, and little emotional communication skills, so he won’t openly show how worried he is, relying entirely on the fact that you don’t know about the murder of your assailant and remember nothing of the visit to Singed.  

- But the only reason you heal so well and so quickly is that, even if he doesn’t know how to express it, all the love he feels is poured into the care he gives you.  

Jinx:

- Flashbacks. So many. Too many.  

- At some point, she’ll even convince herself that she’s the one who shot you, leading to a complete breakdown.  

- She punches her head, scratches herself without realizing it, her nose bleeds, and her eyes are bloodshot.  

- It takes her a while to convince herself that she wasn’t the one who shot you, even though the hallucinations overlap images of you with memories of her armed, creating waking nightmares that feel increasingly real.  

- As much as she’d like to ask her father for help, even just to give you a cleaner room, she feels responsible and is too scared that if she stays away from you, you’ll forget her. That’s why she sets up a little space for you and takes care of you herself, though not always painlessly.  

- She’s pulled bullets out of her own body more times than not after missions; what might seem like dangerous, delicate work to someone else is almost routine for her by now.  

- Once she has a suspicion of who might have done it, she’ll make sure they learn their lesson. 

 

Vi:

- Anger.  

- Why were you out alone? Why didn’t you leave as soon as you saw the crowd getting too big? Why were you in that area?  

- But her anger is just panic pouring out like a flood, the fear of not being able to protect the one she loves twists her stomach, making her feel like she might throw up, like she’s dying inside.  

- None of those questions mean she blames you, but she doesn’t know how to feel, what to think, or even what to do.  

- She’ll do everything to help you—bandaging you, cleaning your wounds, staying silent and giving her full attention to make up for not being there when you needed her, even though that’s not true.  

- And when the scar forms, she’ll kiss it every single day, every single night, like a little ritual between the two of you.  

Caitlyn:

- Safety first.  

- She’ll be the one to assess how bad the injury is, and if there are any foreign objects in your body, there’s a good chance she’ll try to handle it herself, even though at first it might seem a bit barbaric.  

- She’ll give you the guest room and call the family doctor to make sure you’re okay, that you don’t need anything else, and she’ll take care of what’s necessary, even teasing you a bit to hide her worry.  

- "A bullet in the leg from being caught in crossfire? Very vintage, I must say."  

- What you won’t know is that she’ll quietly increase security, not in an oppressive way, but just enough to make both you and the other citizens feel safer.  

- Her family won’t get involved directly, but they won’t stop her either. Sometimes Cassandra herself will make sure her daughter finds the tray to bring up to you, though she’ll never be too open about it.  

- The perfect rehabilitation? Long walks in the villa’s garden, so you can stop for some cookies or tea when you get tired.  

Mel:

- Flashbacks, but less personal than Jinx’s.  

- Her mother would call her weak if she knew how it kills her to see someone barely scratched by crossfire, and that realization soon turns into frustration, which then becomes anger.  

- She tries to stay calm, but her voice sounds like she’s scolding you, and then like she’s scolding the servants, or anyone else who crosses her path.  

- Two hours of lecture if you’re lucky—why you shouldn’t go out without a guard, why you shouldn’t put yourself in dangerous situations, why the enforcers are utterly useless and can’t find anyone responsible, even though the fight was so intense.  

- She’ll focus entirely on the bureaucratic side because little Mel was never taught how to deal with strong emotions, and she’s definitely feeling them now but can’t afford that vulnerability, even though she knows you’re safe.  

- She won’t take care of you herself, but she’ll always stay in the room. Not because she doesn’t want to, to be clear, but because she wants you to have the best care possible and prefers to leave it to a top professional rather than her inexperienced hands.  

- In return, she’ll triple the amount of affection and caresses—more to calm herself than you, but you won’t be the one to complain.  

Sevika:

- She needs a moment.  

- She knows she has to report to Silco that there was a firefight, that someone is threatening the people, but part of her just wants to grab those responsible and crush their heads with her bare hands, doing both you and her boss a favor. Yet, another part of her doesn’t want to leave you alone or take you with her.  

- She knows how to handle these things; she’s lost an arm, and Silco’s goons often come back in worse shape, which is why she’ll take care of you herself, in complete silence.  

- She’ll wait until you’re asleep to place a water bottle, a glass, some painkillers, and some bread on the nightstand next to your bed. And when she’s sure you’re fully asleep, she’ll leave a soft kiss on your forehead before putting on her cloak and heading out to the Last Drop.  

- There, she’ll release her anger in a brawl or two, talk to her boss, and search for the reason why she feels so awful at the bottom of her third glass of whiskey.  

[banananutmuffin28]

HCs on Squid Game Women Eating You Out

Featuring: No-Eul (Guard 011), Se-Mi (Player 380), Kang Sae-Byeok (Player 067), Ji-Yeong (Player 240), Hyun-Ju (Player 120).

Warnings: Smut [Obviously] A/N: Hey guys! I’m finally back :)

┗━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━┛

No-Eul:

-This may be an unpopular opinion, but I’m at the firm belief that—despite her fierce-some looks—No-Eul is actually very inexperienced at eating pussy.

-In a world like North Korea, the poor woman’s only sexual experience was probably with her late husband.

-And, after she escaped, she had way bigger things to worry about than exploring her sexual orientation.

-However, while No-Eul doesn’t have much experience, that doesn’t mean she is terrible at eating you out.

-She is a fast learner, after all.

-In the beginning, she’ll slowly nibble your neck as her hands trail down your stomach.

-Of course, you whine, jutting your hips upward in a vain attempt to get her to speed up.

-She only slows down.

-No-Eul loves teasing you, loves watching you grow wetter and wetter as her hot mouth comes closer and closer to where you need her most.

-When her face gets to your clothed cunt, she’ll hesitate for just a moment before kissing your pussy. As you buck into her touch, No-Eul will drag down your underwear with her teeth.

-She’ll plant hot, wet kisses around your inner thighs, getting so close to your pussy but always avoiding it at the last minute.

-The teasing drives you insane.

-“P…please, No-Eul,” You’d beg, hands desperately gripped onto her hair.

-She only hums in response, and you can feel her smirk into your skin.

-When No-Eul finally pities you, she’ll latch onto your poor, swollen clit and start sucking and licking it eagerly.

-She’ll listen to your cues, stopping a few times to make sure you’re okay before she continues.

-No-Eul will run her tongue along your wet folds, collecting up your juices and savoring in your sweet little moans.

-She’s fucking good at using her mouth.

-As the two of you get intimate more and more frequently, No-Eul will always be attentive.

-She’ll take note of the little movements you make when you’re just about to cum so she can slow down and edge you.

-Oh, and she’s mean about it too.

-She’ll growl about how utterly needy and desperate you are for her, and revel in how much you just can’t function without her.

-It feeds into that obsessive side of her, that want to have you depend on her entirely.

-When you eventually cum, she’ll switch gears and overstimulate you instead, drawing orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re nothing but a pathetic, sobbing mess.

-“Please, no more!” You wail, drool dripping from your lips as No-Eul tongue fucks you silly.

-“Oh? Weren’t you just begging me to give you a release, baby?”

-No-Eul will demand that you cum on her face.

-She’s addicted to your taste and gets off of the fact that she’s the only one who is allowed to touch you this way.

-No-Eul will completely ruin your thighs, covering them with rough, bruising bites that you both know won’t heal for days.

-Of course, she won’t shrink on the aftercare. -After she becomes content or notices the slight sag in your shoulders, No-Eul will gently halt to a stop and scoop you up into her arms.

-She’s attentive, always asking you how well you enjoyed it and if she was ever too rough. If you’re up for it, No-Eul won’t mind running you a bath to soothe your aching muscles.

-If you’re too tired, then your girlfriend will give your forehead a few pecks and comb through your hair, letting you fall asleep in her arms.

-You will always feel her press light, feathery kisses on the marks she gives you.

-No-Eul loves you so fucking much.

Kang Sae-Byeok:

-As another North Korean defector, Sae-Byeok is also a little inexperienced in the beginning of your relationship.

-At first, she’s even a little hesitant as she doesn’t want to accidentally hurt you.

-Of course, once you get it through her head that she won't, Sae-Byeok is all over you.

- She takes her time, preferring to savor the feeling of you writhing under her touch.

-But, like No-Eul, she is quick to learn your body cues.

-And well…all that pent up sexual urges and frustrations needed to be released somewhere.

-In fact, eating you out is one of the few times where she really feels at peace

-Each hickey she leaves on you is a mark of possession. You’re her girlfriend, and Sae-Byeok isn’t shy in letting that fact be known.

-You're one of her few precious joys she still has.

-In a way, eating you out grounds Sae-Byeok, as it reminds her that you’re still here, alive and safe in her arms.

-Sae-Byeok wants to make you feel loved, wants to let you know how much she fucking cherishes you, and the sex reflects that.

-She’s hyper focused on your pleasure and slurps up your juices eagerly.

-The taste of your cum drives her insane.

-Whenever you orgasm, her strong hands will press your thighs together, pinning your sex right up against her face.

-Sae-Byeok loves it when you cum on her face.

-She absolutely adores how you just turn into puddy in her hands.

-When Sae-Byeok has her fill, she'll pat your head and make sure you're okay.

-There’s a 50/50 chance that she’ll flip the position so that her hips rest over your neck, her cunt just inches away from your face.

-Sae-Byeok won't wipe her smirk off her face as she rides your mouth.

-It’s only fair that you return the favor, after all.

Se-Mi:

-You can’t look at me and say Se-Mi doesn’t know how to eat pussy.

-She’s a fucking expert at it.

-Se-Mi likes to take her time, preferring to slowly take her time dragging her tongue to your swollen clit.

-She’s a little bit of a sadist; of course she loves watching you squirm.

-But, just because she prefers to go slow doesn’t mean the girl can’t bring you to an orgasm in mere minutes.

-If you’re being especially bratty and tease Se-Mi while you’re out in public—Be prepared.

-The second you two get home she’s going to shove you against the nearest wall and slide her fingers into your soaked cunt.

“Such a dirty brat,” She’d sneer, tongue glancing at your pink ears. “Did you really think I’d let you get away with that?”

-Se-Mi would force you onto your knees and bend you over so that she could see how utterly wet you were for her.

-She’ll skip the foreplay—not like you needed any to begin with—and start tongue fucking your pretty little hole.

-Se-Mi will alternate between swirling her tongue around your folds and licking your clit, making you cum over and over again.

-Unless you yell out your safe word, she won’t stop until your cheeks are wet with tears and your throat is hoarse from screaming her name.

“Stop complaining, you little slut. Isn’t this what you wanted?”

-The piercing on her tongue makes her tongue fucking even more mind numbing.

-Sometimes, she’ll purposefully rub the piercing against your hole, just to heat you whimper.

-When she has had her fun, Se-Mi will finally pull away and pick you up, carrying you over to your shared bed.

-Se-Mi will get you water, a warm towel, snacks, and anything else you might need. If you try to get up from the bed, she’ll be quick to stop you.

“Shhh, my Princess deserves to be spoiled. Lay back down, sweetheart.”

-You’ll pretend to pout, but you and Se-Mi both know you love being pampered.

-And as you lay there in the sleep, waiting for sleep to take you, you’ll see a brief glimpse of Se-Mi licking off the last bits of your juices from her face.

-“Fuck, baby, you taste delicious.”

Ji-Yeong

-After Ji-Yeong had been released from jail, she went through a brief relapse period where she would enter random college parties to have sex with the first girl she’s see.

-She was so desperate to feel something, anything that she would jump on the opportunity to feel pleasure.

-And, what better Fuck You would it be to her POS father’s memory than to go around drinking in frat houses with an arm slung around a girl?

-So, when you and her fuck, she's more than capable in bringing you over the edge.

-Ji-Yeong is playful. Her lips will quirk up whenever you moan as she licks at just that spot. Sometimes, she'll chuckle, the vibrations buzzing your wet core.

-It is not uncommon for her to briefly stop her ministrations to quip at you cheekily.

-Of course, she ducks back between your legs before you can whack her head.

-Ji-Yeong will more than make up for it by latching her skilled mouth onto your clit.

Hyun-Ju

-Oh this poor, poor girl.

-Prior to her transition Hyun-Ju never had sex with other women.

-It didn't feel right to her, as if she was somehow lying to them with her mere presence.

-Even after her transition, she would still distance herself from other women.

-But then, she met you.

-The first time she went down on you, she was nervous, terrified that she would disappoint you or that you would see her naked body and change your mind last minute.

-But, she would slowly ease into it and her nerves would eventually settle.

-Hyun-Ju prefers to use her fingers, but when she eats you out, she’s very gentle.

-In a way, she almost worships your pussy.

-Hyun-Ju loves lapping up your juices. She loves the taste of you.

-She’s well aware of the callouses on her hands and enjoys using her fingers to pump her fingers in and out while her tongue explores your labia.

-If you grab her hair, that’s a sure fire way to get her to go faster.

-(She loves her head being crushed by your thighs. It’s her dirty little secret).

[cntloup]

Ex-Husband!Simon takes you to the hospital after he saves you from your abusive partner

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

He grits his teeth together and clenches the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as the words leave your mouth, explaining what happened to you all this time.

You make it to the hospital in under 10 minutes although he still maintained a safe speed and remained focused for your safety. 

They admit you quickly and he stays by your side, holding your hand and cooing praises in your ear while they tend to your wounds and you squeeze his hand as you wince and whine out of pain. 

“It’s ok, love. They're nearly done. You're doing so well.” he whispers against your temple on your uninjured side and softly kisses your skin. 

They finish patching you up and tell you that you should stay for the night due to a mild concussion. 

He sits on a chair by your bed while resting his head on the edge of the bed and holding your hand all throughout the night. 

In the morning, he wakes up with a stiff neck, but the only thing that matters to him is that you’re safe. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, still slightly dizzy and confused as he helps you get inside the car. 

“You’re staying with me, dove.” he responds. 

The car ride to his place is quiet as your mind is still foggy. 

You softly take his hand in yours and place it on your thigh, needing to feel his touch in order to make sure he’s truly there and it’s not all just a dream. 

He feels his breath hitch in his throat, trying so hard to keep his focus on the road.

“You really saved me, Si. Thank you.” you mumble as if in disbelief that he really showed up, your knight in shining armor. 

You've been dreaming about him saving you for so long and now that it’s finally happened, it feels like a dream. 

“ ‘course, love. What? You thought that I would leave you with that monster?” he retorts, eyebrows furrowed. 

“It’s just that... we haven’t even been talking for such a long time. I started to feel like you were so far away. Out of my reach. You know?” you respond in a soft voice. 

It makes his heart crumble in his chest to hear you say that. He knows exactly how you felt all this time. 

“Well I’m here now, luv. And I’m not going anywhere. As in... if you’ll have me of course.” he remarks, slightly shaking his head at himself, nearly spilling out all he wanted to tell you all this time. 

But it’s not the right moment yet. You need time to heal first. 

“Ok, Mr. Riley.” you say, a loving smile dancing on your lips as your beautiful face shines in the morning sunlight. 

He nearly crashes the car as he turns to look at you.

The first smile you gave him since he saw you. 

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry

Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting

A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. 

You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him. 

You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...

He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags. 

You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told. 

“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps. 

“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway. 

He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself. 

He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way. 

“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 

You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms. 

He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.” 

“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur. 

“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag. 

“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.” 

You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.

“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.” 

You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag. 

“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.” 

He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him. 

He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you. 

You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes. 

“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”

He has a point. 

You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.” 

You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh. 

He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless. 

Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath. 

“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”

“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power. 

He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”

He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright. 

“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur. 

“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”

Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him. 

The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him. 

“You look tired.”

“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.” 

“How is that going?”

“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”

“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.

You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”

“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.” 

He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation. 

“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you. 

You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.” 

“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.

You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...” 

Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?” 

“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.” 

Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.” 

“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks. 

You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.” 

“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?” 

You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.” 

“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”

You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.

“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks. 

You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.” 

Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.” 

You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price. 

“When...when should I be worried?” You ask. 

“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.” 

“Exercises?” You ask warily. 

“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” 

Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose. 

You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change. 

How easily he could take everything from you. 

“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.

You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them. 

You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor. 

“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly. 

You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now. 

“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes. 

Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.” 

You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t. 

“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door. 

You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment. 

Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door. 

“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?” 

The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door? 

“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.” 

You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to. 

“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.” 

His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.

“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.” 

Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?” 

You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’” 

Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.” 

You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.” 

“I’ll keep tha’ in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you. 

You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess. 

You wonder if he feels responsible. 

You hope he does. 

Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind. 

Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room. 

“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office. 

Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too. 

You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why. 

“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy. 

Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you. 

 “I don’t know.” 

The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest. 

“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs. 

You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. 

He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. 

“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. 

“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!” 

Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?” 

You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!” 

Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.” 

“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.” 

“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.” 

You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?” 

“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.” 

A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear. 

“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.

“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say. 

“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.” 

You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.” 

He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again. 

“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.” 

You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well. 

“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand. 

“No. We’re going into town.” He says. 

You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?” 

“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room. 

You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better. 

Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to. 

“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door. 

“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing. 

“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door. 

You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening. 

“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being. 

He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.” 

“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“From the institute?” He asks. 

You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.” 

“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.” 

“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.

“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says. 

“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car. 

“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”

“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story. 

“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.” 

You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.” 

“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks. 

“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.” 

Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern. 

“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by. 

“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.” 

You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.” 

“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.” 

He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too. 

Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.” 

He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options. 

“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.” 

You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well. 

“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.” 

You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one. 

“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart. 

“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.” 

An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.” 

Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles. 

You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout. 

You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone. 

It must be exhausting. 

“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt. 

“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.

He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?” 

You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming. 

“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car. 

“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat. 

“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot. 

You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop. 

It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to. 

You don't want to think about the things they've done. 

Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you? 

They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior. 

You know nothing about them. 

You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?

“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.” 

You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it. 

It’s only been two weeks. 

You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs. 

Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha. 

It had been expected of you. 

Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with. 

You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck. 

You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap. 

“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.” 

You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.” 

You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”

His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.” 

The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs. 

Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms. 

You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement. 

He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car. 

You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha. 

You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly. 

“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?” 

You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.” 

He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you. 

“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.” 

He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk. 

“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off. 

“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you. 

You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think. 

“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you. 

“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place. 

The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash. 

“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.” 

“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again. 

You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear. 

You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time. 

Just past one a.m. 

You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts. 

You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room. 

You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest. 

“S-Sorry.” You stutter. 

“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence. 

“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle. 

He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger. 

Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @linaangel @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows, @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10, @cassiecasluciluce @darling006 @sheep-from-rad @ohgodthebogisback @willow-sages @scythemood @daniblogs164 @mirzamsaiph 

[thesecretestblogever]

can I request prompt #2 “slow sex after player injury” with Luke Hughes please?

pairing : luke hughes x reader

w.c. : 1.2k

warnings : unprotected p in v, riding luke, player injury (nothing graphic but takes place after his recent shoulder surgery), come inside :P 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Ugh, this is so annoying. I can’t do anything,” Luke sighs. 

“Funny, you don’t seem to care when you tie me up,” your hands steady yourself on his lower stomach.

“Yea, but you like that,” he mumbles. His free hand rests on your hip as you grind down on his lap. He’s completely naked save for the bulky shoulder sling that supports his arm and holds it to his torso. He’s propped against an almost comical number of pillows to keep him comfortable and supported as you ride him. 

He lasted exactly a week after surgery before his touches began to wander and linger. It was enough time that he started to feel caged up resting all day. Going from being extremely active and working out for hours every day to being stuck taking it easy and laying in bed was taking a toll on him. You still had to help him shower, pull shirts over his head and make him meals, but he was slowly trying to become more independent. Already itching to remove the brace, you had to constantly remind him that he would do more damage by doing that than just appreciating a small break. 

This was your first attempt at trying anything remotely sexual, and it was only because he nearly begged. You were terrified of hurting him or prolonging his recovery that you treated him like glass, much to his annoyance.

“I can’t even give myself a good hand job right now, please, I’m literally going to explode,” he’d whined earlier. You’d been lying next to him in the bed reading when his hands started to wander under the hem of your shorts, ghosting along the soft skin. You’d batted his hand away until his insistent touches garnered your attention. You only relented when he promised to let you take charge and tell you if he felt any pain at all. 

It had been awkward and slow, filled with many embarrassed laughs and jokes to get to this point where you were bare and seated on his lap. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t miss his body against yours. He fills you so perfectly and a soft moan falls from your lips as your hips rock against his.

“Can’t even touch you well. My right hand is completely useless,” he’s trying to enjoy himself, but he feels bad for not being able to pleasure you properly. You still your movements, giving him the look that has him pushing out his lower lip to pout.

“You have one thing and one thing only to worry about right now,” you lean forward, just enough to kiss his lips softly and brush some messy curls from his forehead. “And that’s healing so you can go to PT and play next season. You don’t have to worry about me,” you give him one last kiss before leaning back. You change tactics and lean back, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you start moving up and down on him again. 

He’s used to taking the lead - he loves to hold you down and ravish you with his cock and hands, but he’s not able to do that now. 

“Can - fuck- can you talk to me? I like it when you talk,” he moans out at a specific way you swirl your hips. You smile at him. He’s too sweet and you wonder how you got so lucky to have him.

“You make me feel so good, Lu. Always. I love this cock. So big and perfect. It’s like you were made for me,” your speed increases as you chase the release that’s beginning to build in your core. 

“Touch yourself,” his eyes jump between your scrunched face and watching himself disappear inside of you as you work over him. It’s only been a little over a week since you’ve had sex and his stamina has already tanked. He whines as he can feel himself approaching his high. The warmth and tightness of your soft cunt is so fucking good that he’s mesmerized watching you do all the work and get off on him.

You give him what he wants so he can feel some semblance of control and your hand comes forward to rub at your clit. The result is immediate and the sweet moan that falls from Luke as you tighten around him spurs you on. He wishes it was his hands on you, and he has to fight to keep his hips still so that he doesn’t put pressure on his shoulder and back. 

He didn’t realize how much he likes having you take control like this - he wants to be a good boy, especially if it means he gets to come with you looking so gorgeous above him. He wonders if he died and went to heaven.

“You wanna come inside me, baby? Are you close?” Your thighs ache from all the work you’ve done, but the growing pressure of your approaching orgasm spurs you on. You pry open your eyes to look at your boyfriend and his pink cheeks and panting almost throw you over the edge. 

“Please don’t stop,” he mewls. The hand on your hip is holding on for dear life. “Wanna come inside you. Fucccckkkk-” His orgasm seems to catch him by surprise, his face crumpling. He can’t stop his hips from moving on their own, bucking up into your heat. His moans are so fucking beautiful and he feels so good you feel yourself break and the sweet pleasure washes over you. It’s all consuming - you didn’t realize how much you’d been missing this. You feel shaky and hot and the goodness of it all travels through your limbs. You ride out your high until he’s whining below you - he came first and the rocking of your hips is tweaking his pleasure into spikes of pain. It feels so good it hurts, he’s gasping for air. 

You slow your movements, softly rocking against him as your walls flutter and the edges of your vision return. There’s a mix of your cum and his leaking from you and causing a wet, slippery mess between your legs, but it doesn’t bother you at all. 

He’s usually the one that gets up to grab a cloth and clean you both off, but this time it's your turn and you take care of yourself in the bathroom before joining him again on the bed. You carefully wipe over his softening dick, him wincing at the sensitivity of it. When all is said and done, you tuck yourself into his good side, his arm wrapped around you and drawing random patterns on your hip. 

“It’s time for your next round of meds by the way,” you press a soft kiss to his warm cheek.  

“Thank you,” he sighs. “For taking care of me. For everything, really. I love you and I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his tenderness makes your heart squeeze in your chest. You don’t know what you’d do without him either. 

[lavenderhateswritting]

Sinister!Mark x Reader

You're running. The streets are chaos and deep in your heart you understand that there is very little you can do. Running from one person to the next desperately trying to heal who you can, has taken so much out of you . You've been going for hours at this point with no end in sight. The carnage is so brutal you're having a hard time distinguishing one body from the other. When you can you lean down and heal those who are still alive and breathing and point them to the nearest safe house.

Invincible and you had never been close. He was obviously a very nice guy and you could respect him for trying to fight the good fight, but you were support. When the world went to shit you came in after to pick up the pieces so you to never really got to know him. Now you don't know if you'll be able to look him in the eyese without seeing the carnage being created by the other Invincibles around the world.

You were at home when a Mark began reeking habit on downtown Chicago. You couldn't just sit and wait for the fight to be over so you ran to the streets and tried your hardest to help where you could. Which had gotten you caught out without any backup and low on energy.

"It's okay I've got you" You told the civilian you were leaning down to heal.

"Thank you. Oh god thank you I can't feel my legs"

"I'm gonna heal you and then you're gonna have to make a run for the safe house on halsted okay" You placed your hand on his knee and felt some of your energy being sapped away as you fixed his legs.

"You're waisting your time I'm just gonna kill you both anyways." The voice made a chill run down your back.

How could you be so stupid you should have been paying attention. The sounds of destruction had been steadily geting closer, but between your fight to try and help as many people as you could and stop yourself from collapsing everything had turned to background noise. And now he was right behind you.

"Of course I guess if you wanted I could give you a head start. What do you think 10 seconds or 20? I mean it doesn't matter, but time is time." His mocking tone just added on to your hopelessness. You weren't going to make it out of here alive.

The civilian you were helping began to stumble to his street and run as fast as he could. You watched as he tripped over his feet trying his hardest to make use of his head start.

"Aww that's really cute he's actually trying. That's okay I'll make it quick." The Invincible double said. You felt him speed passed you getting dust and dirt in your eyes.

"WAIT NO!" You screamed as you tried to warn the civilian desperately trying to get away. It was to late the Invincible double already had his fist in their stomach up to the elbow.

"Haha sorry about that you just healed that guy right." He finally turned to you. He looked exactly like Invincible except his suit was black and yellow instead of blue and yellow and his smile there was something so rotten about the smile he sent you.

"Well isn't that interesting." He looked at your face and the sinister smile he had on his face began to grow. You could barely breathe and all of a sudden he was directly in front of you scanning your face so close you could feel his breath on youre skin.

"You look just like them." If it was possible his smile got even wider.

You jumped backwards desperately trying to crawl away as fast as possible. It didn't matter. He grabbed your face with a grip so hard that you could feel your jaw straining under the force.

"Now where do you think you're going love. It's been so long since I've seen this face of yours."

"Let go of me I don't know who the hell you are , but just kill me already you asshole." Your voice was shaking, but you were trying your hardest to at least die with dignity.

"Has the Mark in this universe left you to sit here just running around with that fire in you. What a fucking idiot." He finally let go of your face. You turned to make a run for it, but before you could the ground was already disappearing underneath your feet.

"You know in my universe we used to do this all the time. I'd fly you up here and then I'd fuck you above all of these worms who never stood a chance agaisnt me." He was holding you up by your shoulders and shooting into the sky. He watched your face as he spoke those words searching for some kind of reaction all you could do was scream.

"Put me down. Holy shit put me down you crazy son of a bitch." Your eyes were watering from the wind in your eyes and you were so high you could no longer see the Chicago skyline.

"Really you want me to put you down?" He was smiling still laughing at your panicking. "Ok if you say so." And then he let you go.

The ground was geting closer and closer and as you flailed your arms you were certain this would be it.

"Nah just kidding." He said as he swooped in and grabbed you a few miles above the ground.

"Why are you crying love you know I would never drop you." There were tears free flowing down your face now you.

"What do yo want from me. I don't know anything that could help you. I don't even know Invincible that well." Your voice was shot you. It felt like you ahd been screaming for hours you were drained in a way you had never felt before.

"Oh love I don't want anything from you. I never did." His faced softened into something that could almost be viewed as love. He leaned forward and you flinched back, but you couldn't go far as he placed his head in the crook of your neck.

"They took you from me. Turned you against me. Made me have to do something I would have never done If they hadn't left me with no other choice." As he was speaking his hold on you got tighter and tighter until you couled feel your bones creaking.

"But, I've been given another chance and I won't fail you this time." He turned his head against your neck and you finally felt him leave a feather light kiss on your neck.

You thought as fast as you could and finally you reached your arm up and rubbed your hand on his forearm.

"It's okay Mark. I'm right here, but you've gotta let me down you know. You've gotta let me do my job." You had no clue how the other you acted and if you're being honest you just needed to get out of here anyway you could.

"If I let you goback to work I'm just gonna have to kill you again." The saddened ex lover was gone and now it was just the mass killer again.

"Okay okay I won't go back to work then I'll go back to my apartment." You just needed to get out of his hold any way you could if you're being honest. You would have told him you were going to backflip off Sears Tower if it would have gotten him to let you go.

He pulled his head back so fast of he could have gotten whiplash you could have sworn he would have gotten it. There was maic look to his face again.

"Yeah we're going to go back to your apartment. And then we're going to watch (favorite show) and have some pizza. You're a genuis love." He kissed the top of your head and then all of a sudden you were speeding off and were in front of the door to your apartment.

You were staring at it with shaking hands and wide opened eyes. The psycho killer who had already killed one version of you and had killed a civilian diectly in front of you after destroying a city new exactly where your apartment was. That's just fucking great.

"Open the door love." His voice still had that manic edge to it as he stood behind you. You reached into your pocket and fumbled with your keys before you opened the door.

He zipped in immediately and began taking his suit off while floating off the ground.

"Woof I need a shower order the food and I'll borrow some of your clothes okay." He was peeling the bloody costume off in the middle of your fucking living room.

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head as you watched him get undressed. You were seeing parts of Invincible that you really weren't ever supposed to see and holy shit he wasn't wearing underwear. You turned your head and trying to not think about the line of hair that began below his stomach and worked its way down lower than you were ever supposed to see on him.

"I can't order food you destroyed the city remember." Why would you say that your brain was literally short circuiting right now.

"Haa yeah I did whoops guess we'll just have to make something." And then he spead off down the hall to your bathroom. Something in you wanted to keep your costume on if nothing else than just as emotional support since you were trapped in your one bedroom apartment with a fucking serial killer. But the dust and grime had begun to make your skin itch and before you knew it he was out of the bathroom and you were in it.

Sitting on the couch you turned on (favorite show). He layed his head on your lap and grabbed your hand and placed it on his head. You began to work your hands through his hair as he slowly started to loose the tension in his body. Once you finally heard his breath shllow out and tiny snores make their way past his lips you finally hung your head back. Fuck how were you gonna explain this to Cecil.

Grammar mistakes probably I speed wrote this in the middle of the night I can't tell if I wanna write about Conquest next or Batman I love old men I don't know if this really reads like Sinister he feels a little more sidistic than I've made him here

[swordsandholly]

Cherry Bomb - tattoo parlor anthology

MDNI | poly 141 x fem fat reader | masterlist

Part 3: Bubble Tea

“Hey.” Kyle murmurs, hand lightly grazing over your shoulders to rest on the back of your neck. His palm feels warm on your skin and you unconsciously lean back into it.

“Hm?” You look up from where you were hunched over your phone - definitely not shopping for a new purse on company time.

“Gonna go pick up lunch f’the shop. Want t’ come with? I don’t think I can carry it all myself.” He asks. His eyes are always so soft when he looks at you. Relaxed and bright with that constant slight quirk in the corners of his lips.

“Oh! Yeah, sounds good.” You grin, standing quickly and grabbing your wallet out of your purse to shove into your back pocket. Might as well get something for yourself if you’re going out. “Where are we heading?”

“That poke place a couple blocks up.” Kyle nods in the intended direction.

You follow him out of the shop. The weather has begun to warm more. Still cool enough for long sleeves but the sun feels nice on your face as you trot up the street, speed walking to keep up with Kyle and his accursed long legs.

“Switch with me.” Kyle murmurs, hand flattening on your lower back as he steps to the road side of the sidewalk.

You snort, cheeks warming when his hand remains a few beats longer than necessary. “How chivalrous.”

He chuckles. “My grandad always said t’never let a lady walk by the street. Guess it stuck with me.”

As much as you want to tease him about playing into gender roles, you can’t lie and say you don’t like it. That it doesn’t make your heart patter and your stomach flutter. Growing up fat, you never really got the chance to be treated delicately. Femininely. Always expected to be tougher, louder, more masculine. It feels good. Healing, in a way, as stupid as it is.

God, your inner monologue is embarrassing.

The shop is smaller than you expected. Tucked away like many buildings in this downtown with a short, blue awning shading the teal colored door. It’s surprisingly crowded too, people packed in like sardines and filing in and out quickly. The inside is nicely decorated - a few tables off to the side that no one seems to stay at. They more so seem to act as a waiting spot until people get their food and head out. The menu board is shaped like a bright blue, wall-length fish.

“Ladies first.” Kyle grins, opening the door for you. You roll your eyes at him, earning a pinch to your side in return. It’s almost strange how easy things are with him - with all of them. You don’t think you’ve ever been this comfortable around a group of men before. That would probably make you sad if you thought about it for long enough.

Kyle passes you a little clipboard with a stack of papers to customize your poke bowl and a small pen. He begins filling out three for the others, seemingly from memory. You wonder how often they come down here - if it’s their favorite local spot or just convenient. You look over his shoulder, snooping for the others preferences. Apparent Simon likes a lot of spice. Johnny, not so much.

Your eyes widen as you reach the bottom of your menu. “They have boba!”

“You want some?” Kyle grins.

You nod excitedly. Like a kid discovering a new candy. It’s been so long since you got your hands on some bubble tea - if you’d known they had it sooner you would’ve been in here nearly everyday. Then again, maybe it’s good that you didn’t know.

Kyle holds out his hand. You look between it and his face dumbly for a few moments, clutching your order in your hands before putting the pieces together.

“I can get my own!” You insist. “I don’t-“

“Price’s treat, love.” He snags the paper from your hands. “He always pays when we come here.”

“Oh. Okay.” You chew your lip. “I can at least pay for my drink, since it’s extra-“

He just waves you off and marches up to the register. You don’t miss the fact that he pulls out a very shiny credit card. So it’s not Price’s treat. It’s a company treat, eh?

Not that you’re going to complain. Free poke and boba is a dream come true.

Kyle takes your little plastic number, ducking to snag a now freed up table to wait at. They’re tall, causing you to scramble unceremoniously to get up in the heightened chair. You think you see him laughing out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as you face him he’s just sitting with that usual, casual smile of his.

One of the workers brings over your drinks in a little carrier, saying the food will take a minute longer. You’ve never been patient, greedily grabbing your tea and aggressively stabbing through the cover.

“When do you think John’s gonna let you do your first real tattoo?” You ask, kicking your feet under the tall chair.

Kyle shrugs. “He said soon. I think he’s waitin’ for me to’ be less nervous about it. Plus I need to find someone to do it on-“

“You can do it on me.” You blurt without thinking.

He eyes you. “Really?”

You nod excitedly. “I really like your work - at least what I’ve seen of it. It doesn’t have to be anything big. I’m perfectly happy with one your black-only flashes. That way you can start small.”

“I don’t know…”

“Plus, John says I sit real good. I’m not gonna wriggle and fuck you up.” You chew your straw absentmindedly.

“And what do you get out of this?” Kyle cocks and eyebrow, that slight, constant smirk only growing across his face.

You tap your chin. “Bragging rights when you get famous someday. I got the first official Garrick tattoo ever!”

A surprised laugh forces it’s way out of him, sending him into a coughing fit around the drink he was sipping. “Don’t think I’m gonna be that good, love.”

You reach out, resting your hand over his as a strange wave of seriousness overtakes you. “I don’t think John would take you on as an apprentice if he didn’t think so. Plus, you should hear how much he brags about you. It’s almost insufferable.”

There’s something in his eyes as he gives you another once over. It’s slower this time, dragging up your arm and across your features and back down your other arm, coming to an end where your hand lays over his. Kyle turns his hand upward, brushing his two middle fingers over your pulse point. It steals your breath, strangely enough. He hold your hand so gently, barely cupping it in his.

You wish you could tell what he’s thinking. For all Kyle’s honest and kind nature, he’s hard to read. That perma-smirk hides a lot more than you think you or anyone else realizes.

“Alright. I’ll talk t’John about it.” He murmurs, withdrawing his hand.

“Yah. You better.” You grin, leaning back in your seat just as the food comes out.

[misserabella]

thristy for you

vamp! spencer x fem! reader

summary; after being experimented on, spencer starts to feel really strange, what happens when myth becomes reality for him?

cw; +18 content! minors dni!, hospitals, mentions of needles and experiments, blood tests, blood (duh), a smidge of angst, blood drinking, aphrodisiac effects, reader and spencer basically being in heat, hair pulling, lots of biting, tit and nipple play, dry humping, fingering, oral sex (r! receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex, creamp¡e,…

a/n; i’m a little sad with the result but i thought i should post it

the hospital lights are burning him, his skin feels like it’s on fire, and he’s in so much pain spencer thinks he might die.

his team had finally found him, after three horrid days of the experiments carl peters had put him through. he had been prodded with so many needles, inyected with a handful of different substances… he had lost count of the times the unsub had woken him up for another new round of tests, putting burning lights to his pupils, taking his dna, taking blood samples, opening his mouth in search of something spencer had no idea of…

and now, he was being treated at a hospital that had no idea what was wrong with him. they’d tried everything, had gone through every single test and still… nothing. everything came back clear. so why? why was he feeling this way?

at least you were there for him, holding his hand. his beautiful girlfriend, who was now crying because of him, because of his unexplained suffering.

“don’t cry…” he shivered, squeezing your hand.

“how can’t i? you’re in pain.”

“i’m okay. i’ll be okay.” he promised.

more like… he lied.

things only got worse after that.

spencer was weak, and dizzy all the time. his skin would burn easily under the sun, for which he had to wear lots of sun screen, and if he stood too much time under the heat, he would get this awful migraines that would leave him bed-bound for the rest of the day.

he couldn’t understand. couldn’t understand how he’d gained strength, his body winning muscle he had never had, or speed, catching unsubs in just two strides of his legs, or how his sight had healed, his glasses now making him see blurry.

he could hear things clearer, see things better… he could see better in the night even, when he felt more active, reading and reading in search of answers. nothing. absolutely and utterly nothing.

he thought he was going crazy, even more when he started to smell you everywhere. you could be meters away from him at the bullpen and he could smell your perfume, the natural scent of your soft and warm skin, hear your heartbeat, hear the way your heart pumped blood through your veins.

he couldn’t eat. he couldn’t sleep. he was scared. scared for himself and for you.

what if he had turned in some kind of monster? what if he would hurt you without meaning to?

he took the couch endless nights to keep you at an arm’s length. to keep you safe. but he too was weak, and missed you.

so here you were, late at night sharing your bed.

“i’ve missed you.” you muttered as you pulled him closer, feeling the tension in his body. he seemed to be containing his breath.

you were killing him.

“i’ve missed you too, angel.” and he had, he loved you with his whole heart, but this closeness would be the end of him.

your fingers raked through his hair. “you’re so tense, spence, relax…” you whispered. “it’s just me.”

yeah, that’s the problem.

he was surrounded by you, by your smell, your presence. he couldn’t scape.

did he wanted to?

he subconsciously sought more of you, pulling you closer, pressing you against his chest, and buried his face on the conjuncture of your neck and shoulder, humming when your smell heightened. you sighed when you felt his lips caress your skin. his hands tightened around you and he felt hunger. a hunger that he’d never felt before. the sound of your heartbeat reverberated through his head, through his entire body.

“baby…” he almost whimpered as his tongue licked a stripe up the vein on your neck. he could almost taste you. he felt a pain on his gums, and then there was relief.

and before he knew it, he was biting down, hard, on you. all breath left your lungs at the momentary pain before pleasure filled your veins. spencer moaned when it hit him. warm, sticky. gulp after gulp of your blood filled his mouth before he recognized what was happening, what made him scatter away from you in a hurry.

“oh my god. baby, i’m so sorry.” you looked at him with glassy eyes, mind fuzzy with the after effects of the bite. a pang of hunger hit spencer at the sight of droplets of blood falling down the mark on your neck. “what have i done?” he said, his voice full of panic.

his mind conjures all the proof: speed, sight, hearing, strength, weakness under the sun, unnatural hunger and now…

fangs. spencer had fucking fangs.

“it can’t be.” he muttered to himself. it was supposed to be mythology, not reality. vampires were not real. and yet��

“i’m a monster.” you stared at him, at the blood dripping down his chin and staining his lips. you should’ve felt embarrassed at the pang of desire that went in between your legs.

“spence.” you whined his name. he was too far away. and you were feeling fuzzy, too hot, too needy. too turned on. you should be scared. should be asking questions. but all you wanted in that instant is for him to bite you again, to continue making you feel this good.

he stared at you, at the way your nipples pushed against —his— your tee-shirt, how your pupils were blown, how your smell had changed, pheromones filling the air. he had read about this. had read about myths of the bite of a vampire having aphrodisiac effects on their pray so they wouldn’t escape. he went back to you, one of his cold hands cupping your cheek, the feeling of it cooling your own burning skin making you sigh.

“are you okay?” he inquired.

“i don’t know… feels… weird.” you muttered, trying to make him understand, he looked at you as if he were expecting more. “i want more.”

“you want more?” you nodded.

“i want you to bite me again.” his whole body turned cold before turning hot.

“no.” he shook his head. “i can’t.”

“spence…”

“you don’t understand, i will hurt you. i won’t be able to stop.”

“you already did it once.” “also, hasn’t it made you feel better? less dizzy? does your head still hurt?” you inquired and… indeed, he felt better. “you need this, spence. and i wanna give it to you… please?”

that broke him.

“promise me you’ll tell me to stop if you want to?”

“what if i don’t want to?”

“jesus, sweetheart.” he was quick to top you, his hips slotting in between your open thighs, his lips on yours. it was a messy kiss, wet, all tongue and teeth as you took from the other. “you don’t know how hard it’s been… with you smelling like this all the time… tasting like this.” his lips moved to the bite on your neck, licking the pouring blood from your skin. “so fucking sweet…” and then his fangs were back at breaking your skin again, making the two of you moan, you at the wave of pleasure that hit you, and him at the taste of your blood flooding his mouth once again.

your hips rutted upwards against him subconsciously, and spencer groaned, thrusting down against you in answer, what made you whimper. “god…” your fingers laced on his hair once again to pull him closer. “don’t stop, feels so good…”

“i’m sorry, fuck, i’m so sorry, i can’t stop…” he mumbled.

“don’t. just don’t.” you moaned as he whimpered, rutting against you. his hands went to your tee-shirt, his new awakening strength tearing it apart in one swift movement, exposing you to his hungry eyes. his tongue licked at the bite mark before his lips trailed down to your chest, fangs leaving new marks in your clavicles. you pulled at his shirt. “fuck. what have you done to me?” you inquired him in a whine, your back arching. spencer’s hands found your breasts, toying with your nipples before his mouth latched into one of them.

“i don’t know. i’m sorry.” but he was just as gone as you were, high on your blood. he was so hard. so needy. so turned on it physically hurt.

“need you.” you pleaded and he hummed around your nipple, flicking it with his tongue, sucking with his lips and letting it go with a pop before answering.

“tell me what you need.”

“your mouth. please.” he was quick to move downwards. pressing kisses down your stomach until he was finally face to face with your throbbing cunt.

he kissed at your inner thigh, sinking his teeth on your flesh once again, making your back arch as he drank. your hands found his hair to keep him there, writhing underneath him as he hummed. then, he licked the bite clean and moved towards your core.

“god. you smell so good…” he said as he pressed a kiss to your drenched panties, his tongue licking up the cotton and making you whimper. “just thinking about how good you’ll taste is gonna make me cum.” he groaned.

“spence… please…” you tugged at his hair, making him moan as he licked at you with your panties still on, drenching them even more with his spit. he humped the mattress, looking for relief before his fingers found the cotton and pushed it aside.

“so pretty…” he muttered at the sight of you, clit swollen, drenched folds and twitching entrance. and then he was diving in. a silent moan made your mouth fall open, your back arching as he licked a long stripe up your folds to your clit, groaning at your taste before sucking on the bud. he could cum like this, with his tongue fucking into you and his hips thrusting against the mattress.

“spencer…” you moaned when one of his fingers plunged inside, thrusting into you slowly, deeply as he circled your clit with his tongue. “god, fuck, don’t stop.” you were so sensitive due to the bite’s effect that just a few more flicks of his tongue will have you coming undone.

and so he didn’t stop, not until your moans got higher in volume, your grip on his hair tightened, your walls clamped around his now two fingers and you came with a scream, your hips fucking against his tongue as he fucked you through it.

when he pulled his fingers out of you, he brought them to his mouth to lick him clean, what made you absolutely feral and made you scram over to him, meeting him in a hungry and desperate kiss. you could taste yourself on his tongue, the juices of your blood and your cunt mixing heavenly, pulling from his shirt until he was rushing out of it. your mouth watered at the sight of his now more muscular body. you kissed at his jaw, at his neck, at his chest, as your hand came down to his throbbing cock, palming him though his boxers.

“fuck…” he cursed, his dick twitching at the contact, hips searching for more and thrusting against your hand.

“you’re so hard…” you sighed, and moved with him as you pushed at his chest, making him flop back onto the bed to get on top of him, not before getting rid of your soaked panties.

“only for you, angel. fuck.” he groaned as you sat yourself on him, rocking your hips against his, humping his clothed cock in heat.

“want it inside.” you muttered against his lips, and he groaned again, nodding. you helped him get rid of his remaining clothes, his throbbing dick resting against his stomach, head beaded in precum and rosy.

you didn’t waste any time in taking him in your hand and aligning him with your entrance, pumping him twice —even though he didn’t need it— before sinking down onto him. the two of you moaned at the feeling, him at your tightness and you at the fullness that he brought you.

“oh, fuck.” his grip on your hips subconsciously tightened, bruising your skin, but you didn’t care. you needed to move. and so you did.

the first jump on his cock was heavenly, it getting better as you found your rhythm, your tight cunt gripping him with every up and down.

“shit, baby. you feel so good. so good…” he moaned, kissing you, wet tongue pushing into your mouth. you corresponded, the kiss being so messy, spit dripped down your chin.

“spencer…” you moaned. “bite me.” you went harder down on him as his tip bumped against your g spot, your moans hiking on volume as his lips found your neck.

“you want me to bite you, baby?” you nodded.

“please…” you pleaded.

“whatever you want, angel.” he replied before giving you what you wanted, the wave of pleasure had you screaming.

“fuck. i’m gonna cum.” you cried out, continuing your movements with the help of spencer, since you had started to get sloppy. he groaned against your neck and rose his hips to find yours, fucking into you. with a couple more thrusts he was easily bringing you to your orgasm. you screamed, hot white pleasure hitting your body, vision blurry as wave after wave hit you.

spencer moaned when he felt you clench around him, walks pulsing around his cock. he moved away from your neck and continued to fuck into you, fucking you though it.

“i’m close.” he murmured, and you moaned. “where do you want it?”

“inside please, cum inside.” you begged, and that was it for him, with one, two, three more thrusts spilling into you with a moan.

his load was creamy, heavy and warm, filling you up to the brim.

“fuckfuckfuckfuck” he cursed over and over again as he rode it.

after the high went away, the two of you found yourselves panting to try and get your breaths even once again.

“are you okay?” his instincts kicked in, his hands cupping your cheeks.

you smiled, kissing his lips softly.

“never been better.”

[fangswbenefits]

Fever

Summary: You're running a fever and Astarion offers to cool you down… only to make things a whole lot worse.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Dry humping. Vampire bite and blood sucking. Precum and cum. Skin to skin contact with the purpose of thermoregulation that ends up getting out of hand. Inappropriate use of tadpole. Banter.

Word count: 3k

A mind-numbing chilling shiver tore throughout your entire body, causing your muscles to contract involuntarily in a desperate attempt to keep yourself warm.

The bonfire crackled vigorously, emanating a welcome wave of heat, as you embraced the blanket around you, keeping both knees tightly close to your chest.

"You can't possibly be cold."

Astarion.

Great.

You lowered your quivering chin to rest on your forearm, definitely not in the mood - or mental capacity - to voice out a proper reply.

"It's blazing hot tonight," he continued, entering your narrowed field of vision. "Hello? I'm talking to you."

Nodding, you hugged yourself tighter.

He scoffed. "What is the matter with you? Oh, do not tell me you're turning into a mindflayer… what a nuisance."

Astarion and his eternal aptitude for inconvenient remarks.

You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for what was to come. "I think I'm running a fever."

Astarion lowered himself to eye-level with you, his body close enough for you to make out the swirling flames of the bonfire dancing in his crimson eyes.

"So what? Drink a healing potion."

You inwardly cussed, pressing your forehead firmly against your arm with an exasperated sigh, effectively hiding from his burning gaze.

Clearly, your silence paired with the deflecting physical reaction was enough for him to draw a conclusion.

"You don't have any."

Silence.

"What have you done with our potions?" His voice immediately shifted into an accusatory hiss.

Another shiver. 

This time, you mustered the strength to look him in the eye. "Some passers-by were injured by thieves and asked for help… so… I…" your voice faltered as you struggled to keep your thoughts straight.

He was already pinching the bridge of his nose, his face twisting into a deep scowl. "So you gave them all of our potions?!"

You shrugged with a faint smile and Astarion went ballistic.

"Why must you carry this deathwish around? And why must you drag me along with you?" He growled dramatically. "Why didn’t you just ignore them? Or – I don't know – not give them anything?"

You matched his frown. "They were severely injured. They would have perished from their wounds."

He threw both arms up in exasperation as he raised to his feet at once.

"Well, better them than me – or you, for that matter," he added, both hands on his hips. "You're far too precious to be killed, darling."

How could you forget?

And he was right… to an extent.

You chose silence.

It was a very effective way to handle Astarion whenever he went on a rambling spree.

"When is Shadowheart returning with Gale?"

"Soon. I hope."

He groaned in response. "You're actually fortunate I'm so resourceful."

Your head turned to him and you watched as he strolled away, disappearing into his tent. 

A jab of realisation hit you all of a sudden, as you vaguely recalled rummaging through his belongings earlier on when he left to hunt an animal to feed on.

Fuck.

You winced.

"Where are my healing potions?"

Your eyes dropped close and your teeth clattered.

Angry footsteps drew near at lightning speed. "You stole from me?!"

You shrugged. "You steal from everyone."

He then crouched down again, eyes narrowing dangerously. "I steal for us –  the collective good!"

You did scoff this time. "Then why were you hiding them away?"

"Call it safekeeping. Although I was careless enough to teach you lockpicking, wasn't I?”

A firm hand came to grip your forearm, but you flinched away. “It's fine. I'll be fine.”

He glared at you in silence as if your reply had snapped him out of his tantrum.

There was no point in arguing with him, as he was known to have low tolerance for unexpected predicaments.

But even through your feverish haze, you could see he was no longer pursuing an argument.

After all, his bond to you was built on meeting halfway, even when disagreements occurred.

“On your feet, darling,” he said, extending his hand to you as rose to his full height.

You grabbed it and pushed yourself upwars, nearly losing your footing. Luckily, Astarion was agile enough for both of you, and he quickly steadied you with both hands firmly gripping your shoulders.

“There you go,” he said almost lovingly. “Let's take care of that.”

You nodded tiredly as he wrapped an arm around you, guiding you into his tent.

“Sorry for the potions.”

He chuckled lightly. “I guess it can't be helped with that bleeding heart of yours.”

You didn’t even try refuting his remark. He was absolutely right. But still, you didn't regret having helped those people. 

And now you were stuck in this predicament until Shadowheart returned.

It could be worse… at least you weren't alone.

The shivers were only getting more intense and you watched as Astarion suddenly pulled his shirt off in one swift move.

Instantly, your jaw dropped. “What – Astarion?”

He eyed you with sheet amusement. “Darling, I swear this is not what it looks like.”

Frankly, you weren't even sure if this wasn't just your mind playing tricks on you.

Why would he even remove his shirt in the first place?

“Considering our current situation, this is the best course of action. Skin-to-skin. I'm cold enough to drop your temperature.”

Your eyes widened.

Oh?

He tossed the shirt to the side and moved to stand closer to you. “Let me help you out of your clothes.”

Under different circumstances, this would have been a welcome exchange, but this particular scenario didn't make room for any of those thoughts.

So, you merely stood still as he tugged at your own shirt, undoing each button, hands traveling down your torso.

A wave of coldness took over as your skin met the uncomfortable night breeze. 

“It's too cold… Astarion…” you said in between clattering teeth.

He shoved the fabric off your shoulders and down your arms, eyes always holding yours. 

You felt your nipples harden, but none of that seemed to matter. He had seen you naked many times and you felt comfortable around him.

But you also felt ill. 

And no amount of loving stares could ease the way your body spasmed uncontrollably near his. 

“You're burning up,” he said, as he pressed the back of his cold hand to your forehead.

His touch brought immediate relief and you leaned into it, earning a soft caress as his hand trailed down.

As if disconnected from your mind, your body moved on its own accord, closing the gap that separated you from Astarion, and you gasped as his chest came into contact with yours.

The difference in temperature was so stark, that even Astarion flinched momentarily before his arms closed around you.

A gentle tug inside your head made you wince.

The tadpole.

It was trying to connect with his.

It often happened in moments of intimacy when both of you allowed that door to open.

But now was not the time or moment, and you forced yourself to repress it.

Your chin met his shoulder and you eased into him until you could feel the shivers begin to subside.

You weren't sure how long it took for your body's temperature to drop, but what you did know was that you could tear yourself away from him.

Astarion's cool skin came as the relief you were seeking, and you allowed yourself to let out a shaky breath as you clung onto him.

“I've got you.”

His voice was low and tender and your racing heart skipped a bit.

Even standing, you felt as though you could drift off into a slumber at any moment.

More time passed.

More silence.

More comfort.

And the worm squirmed again.

You promptly ignored it.

Astarion shifted against you and you sighed blissfully, resting your cheek on his shoulder, eyelids dropping.

Another tug and you frowned.

What was happening?

The tadpole rattled almost violently and you allowed yourself to let go.

As soon as you felt it reach Astarion's, you gasped and your eyes flew open.

You could faintly feel pulsating waves of pleasure through the tadpole.

His mind laced with yours and that was when you felt a growing pressure in your lower half.

Not now. Not now. Gods.

His voice echoed inside your head in a never-ending plea.

He sounded desperate.

And he felt… hard.

Positively aroused.

Think of Withers. Think of Volo and his abysmal outfits.

That wasn’t exactly the mental images you would have preferred in this moment, but it was quite clear that he sought a distraction.

You shuddered into him and he let out a low groan in response.

Was he aware that you could hear his thoughts? Did he even care?

Your tadpole vibrated evenly and his yearn for friction became yours.

Astarion… what are you doing?

He jolted under your touch, but didn't utter a single word out loud.

Instead, he focused on caressing your naked back with gentle fingers.

You're inside my head when I crave to be inside you.

His bluntness was enough to cause your body to react.

The fever had been broken, but the heat refused to leave.

Maybe we should pull away.

He let out a chuckle that rumbled in his chest.

You're still quite warm, darling.

Your tadpole held on to his viciously, and it was quite evident that the connection wasn't going to be easily severed.

Not when you could now feel how hard his cock was for you.

Inside your mind.

It was as if you were experiencing everything happening in his body.

The gentle throbbing in his lower half was now your own, too.

You can feel it, can't you?

He was almost purring through his tadpole and you tried to find words, but his hard cock was too distracting.

You had often wondered how an erection would feel like for a man.

Now you had your answer.

And it felt almost… urgent.

I never felt this before…

His cock twitched and you felt all of it.

I suppose we never allowed it ourselves, darling.

Your hands locked behind his back, but you struggled to keep your fingers from slipping as sweat gathered along your skin.

As expected, the stimulus was enough to stir your clit, earning another chuckle from him.

Oh, I can feel it swelling up…

You clenched.

It didn't take long for wetness to pool in your underwear.

The two of you were still very much covered from the waist down.

It was almost painful how restricted his cock was against the fabric of his trousers.

Now you know how it feels when you get me hard.

Instinctively, you began to grind against him, seeking that delicious friction that only he could provide.

Or maybe we should save this for a more suitable moment.

His suggestion caused you to bite your lip to muffle a groan of disapproval.

We can just stay like this… for a while.

He hardened even more and you were beginning to feel conflicted on what to focus on: his cock or your clit.

You can focus on both, sweetheart. 

You clenched again.

His hands dropped to your waist and he pulled your hips harder against his.

Gods… this hurts… 

It truly hurt to feel his cock restrained like that, leaking precum as he kept a steady pace.

You could feel how soaked he was getting.

Does your clit always feel this good grinding against me?

Your arms looped around his neck for support, because you didn't think you had it in you to withstand the unexpected duplication of pleasure. 

How are you getting harder?

This time, he groaned in response, angling his hips so you could also physically feel how hard his cock was.

Another clench was all it took for him to move his lips to your neck, fangs grazing your skin.

Would you clench harder if I bit you?

You shuddered, bucking your hips as if they were Astarion's. Now you knew how it felt whenever he began to grind against you.

Astarion… you get harder when you bite me, don't you?

He growled before his lips latched on to you, suckling gently.

Do you want to feel my cock getting harder from your blood?

Maybe you should postpone this endeavour. Even if the fever was no longer an issue, maybe it was better to wait out whatever had caused it.

But he was also waiting on you, his fangs eager to break skin and sink into you.

Logic was replaced with arousal and you nodded.

Please…

Astarion didn't need to be told twice, and you let out a pained yelp, as he tore through the barrier and found his target.

With the first gulp of his blood, you felt your mouth drop open, and not because of pain or discomfort.

No.

You could feel your blood coursing through his body, rapidly shooting downwards and filling his cock with each passing second.

The pleasure was nigh unbearable and you kept on grinding against him, desperate for the friction.

He lifted one of your legs to grant him better access and as soon as he found a sweet spot, he began thrusting as if there were no clothes in the way.

You kept clenching around nothing, squeezing out more of your wetness whilst being able to feel just how drenched he was for you.

With each roll of his hips, you felt more and more precum leaking.

The upside to having this tadpole connection was that you got to hear his voice even when his mouth was busy.

Your walls began to squeeze, yearning for his cock.

Darling, you feel so tight.

His cock was gradually getting warmer from your blood and his balls were getting tighter.

He was close.

He was inside your head and he was dangerously close.

I can feel your clit. You're close, too.

You expected to feel lightheaded from him feeding on you, but it was as if his vigour was now yours.

Your body refused to wither as you remained linked to his.

Dampness was seeping through your crotch as he humped more eagerly than ever.

The temptation to just undo his trousers and let him sink inside you was 

I need to be inside you.

It wasn’t a request.

He was begging.

But your ears caught the distant sound of voices nearing the tent.

Astarion. Someone is coming….

He growled, pulling away from your neck and capturing your lips with his blood-stained ones.

You tasted metal on your tongue.

I'm close… 

And so were you.

It was probably a mixture of the thrill of getting caught and how delicious his thick cock felt from being pumped up with your blood.

It was overwhelming.

Your mind was not even focusing on your swollen clit.

You just wanted his cock to find release.

And it was a shared sentiment, because Astarion kept on praising how drenched you were for him and how much you were throbbing.

He could feel your clit the same way you could feel his cock.

It was as if the two of you had swapped places and were both desperate to reach the climatic release.

The voices were getting closer and your grip tightened around his neck, his tongue tracing your lower lip before he began suckling in it.

It was an effective way to muffle his moans.

Clench again… 

Your body obeyed his words and you clenched in frustration, wishing you could drive his cock inside you and empty his balls.

By this point, you were able to make out Shadowheart’s voice.

Quick…

He kept on grinding and you felt his balls tighten even more as he neared the edge of the precipice, his cock twitching and throbbing as he toppled over.

“Gods!” you almost yelled.

Astarion grunted in between gasps.

Shock and unfathomable pleasure entwined as you felt the first strings of cum shoot from his cock, pooling around it as it remained enclosed in his soaked underwear.

His pleasure was your own.

Literally.

Your mind blanked and your hips moved on their own as if you were the one thrusting his cock, mouth agape and heart almost leaping from your chest in sheer bewilderment.

You're almost there…

His words rang inside your head but he now knew better than yourself how close you were and you simply let go as his warm cum began seeping through his trousers.

So much cum… 

Another voice was heard nearby and it catapulted you into your own bodily climax.

And this time, Astarion groaned harder than before as he felt your rhythmic contractions flutter throughout your walls. 

“Gods… this–”

Astarion was stunned into silence, having to bite down on your shoulder to keep himself from being too loud as your orgasm tore across his own body.

You felt the contractions.

You felt your clit pulsating in unison with your heartbeat.

But your pleasure was his.

You pressed a hand on the back of his neck, cradling him as he rode out your climax.

Your tadpole squirmed tiredly and you figured you had overstayed your welcome with this sudden and intense connection.

Just as quickly as it had occurred, the link was severed at once and there was a sudden quiet in your head.

Astarion slumped slightly against you, dropping your leg and face buried in the crook of your neck.

“That was…”

Your uneven breathing held you back for a moment. “... amazing?”

He pulled away and your vision cleared with a few blinks only to see your blood smeared across his lips and chin.

“Unexpected, I reckon.”

From outside his tent, you heard someone clear their throat.

“Why am I not surprised that they're in their tent again?”

“Ah, Shadowheart. Young love tends to be lively and intense.” Gale tried to reason.

A pause.

“Well, they could try to be quieter about it, then.” 

You glanced down to find the front of his trousers, realising just how much of his cum had spilled from the waistband.

“Are you still feeling feverish?” he asked, capturing your chin in between his fingers to tilt your head up, so that your eyes could meet his.

You shook your head.

“Are you still upset about the potions?”

He rolled his eyes. “I am upset that it took us this long to take full advantage of these blasted worms.”

Masterlist

[tojipie]

could u do prison toji relationship headcannons 🙏🙏

prison bf series here !

content: mentions of incarceration + violence

────────────────────────

shows up to your legally monitored video calls boasting about each and every new tattoo he gets. “a needle and a ballpoint pen can actually do a ton” he tells you, lifting his faded wife-beater up to show you his state identification number scrawled on one of his ribs.

he has 6 tally marks on the back of his neck, just under his hairline, the most recent one showed up after a brawl with another inmate in the visitor’s area. you don’t want to know what the marks are for, though the fact that you haven’t seen the inmate since may or may not give you an idea.

hates the news station in the common room, tells you it’s all bullshit and prefers to get his info from you. you spend hours every visit catching him up to speed on politics, celebrity gossip, new movies. gives him something to mull over in his cell at night.

develops a habit of picking at his knuckles unknowingly, the busted skin never seems to heal. he never tells you how or why his knuckles split in the first place, but it doesn’t take a scientist to figure out that he’s been fighting.

his standards for food go down the drainnnnnn. prison toji will eat just about anything. he likes to plays chef during visits sometimes, taking sips from a styrofoam cup full of coffee creamer and ice chips. “a mcflurry,” or so he calls it. you don’t have the heart to tell him he’s nasty.

addicted to your scent when he sees you. will bury his face into the curve of your neck and just stand there, motionless, letting your shoulder support his weight while his hands stay firmly placed on the small of your back.

makes everyone in the cell block his bitch to absolutely no one’s surprise. need new ink? toji’s got a guy for that. doesn’t feel like doing his laundry? toji’s got a guy for that. short on commissary money? time to make his bunkmates fork over a little dough.

he’s possessive during visits, violent towards other men when he’s with you. he’ll push, shove, and threaten any inmate to get the message across that they will stay away from you. he’s not asking. he spent 2 months in solitary over beating his cell-mate senseless for touching a picture of you taped to the wall of his bunk. toji is not one to mess around.

has been on a little arts and crafts streak for quite some time now, you think it’s all the free time he has. he’s whittled you little animals out of wood, made bracelets using loose threads from his bed sheets. even took up watercolor painting in the rec room once. deep down you know it’s because the option to buy you gifts just isn’t there anymore. you always tell him how much you love them, you can tell how good it makes him feel when you do.

[luvf4ngz]

In Bloom - jason todd.

Contents: Marking, Biting, Scratching, Possessiveness, Implied Sexual Content

Word Count: 464

Authors Note: Consider this a love letter to Jason Todd and my marking kink - taken from my AO3 <3

For the most part, Jason Todd enjoys the powers that he got from his dunk in the lazarus pits. Increased strength, increased speed, and increased stamina - things like that made it easy for him to do his job. To take down the baddies of Gotham and clean her from the inside out. To protect the ones he cared for, to protect the ones that didn’t have anyone else.

One thing he hated, however, was his healing factor. 

He hates how fucking fast your scratches and hickies disappeared off his body, leaving him a blank and loveless canvas once again. 

He always craves your marks on his skin. He absolutely adores the scattered love bites and dark bruises decorating his frame. He can often be seen in the bathroom of your shared home, body twisted in the mirror as he admires the deep carmine strokes that paint his back, or leaning in close to lovingly rub at the mauve blotches that stain the skin of his neck. 

He makes it a habit to show off your markings, often refusing to sport a shirt wherever he’s out and about - or at the very least a quite revealing muscle tee. His marked skin makes his friends’ eyes roll, makes his brothers give him disgusted expressions, and makes strangers on the streets grimace at him. 

He doesn’t care. He's shameless, especially when it comes to you. 

He always just wants to show you off, to express how fucking grateful he is to be yours. 

That's why he always encourages you to sink your teeth in harder, to rake your nails down his back harsher, anything to make those little symbols of your love for him last longer.

“That’s right, princess, there you go. You’re taking me so well, huh? Hold onto me a little tighter.”

In return, he’ll slam his cock into you faster, grip onto the soft of your hips harder, bite and mark you up himself. He paints your body like Monet, because to him you’re definitely as precious as the most exquisite work of art in the world.

He’ll never get enough of feeling how your skin gives way to his sharp canines, or how your shaking body feels under his calloused fingertips.

It’s the thought of losing you, of ever having to let you go that makes him fuck you rougher - that makes him hide his face in the crook of your neck and dent your skin with his teeth.

He relishes the sight of you the next morning: spread out on the bed with telltale signs of lovemaking covering every inch of your flesh. 

He can feel his heart beating out his chest, feel his blood thrumming furiously under your veins because you’re so wholly and undoubtedly his.

Just as he is yours. 

Thank you so much for reading! A comment or reblog is much appreciated. Have a great day <3

- sumi ☆ミ

ミ☆ masterlist

[byhuenii]

Cake by the Ocean

Pairing Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Synopsis a chaotic beach day turns into a bonfire full of bad karaoke, worse dancing, and you & bucky being dangerously cute. pure unhinged fun.

Word count 8.1k

Tags + Warnings f!reader, alcohol mention / drinking, mild language, reader is a little tipsy, flirty banter galore, so much chaotic energy, mentions of being tied up (in a funny way, not serious!), cringe but make it wholesome, lowkey emotional whiplash via Bucky’s soft side, drunk Tony Stark deserves his own warning tbh, off-screen violence mention, mock-violence / fake threats, light suggestiveness, mention of fresh 2022.

— Cake by the Ocean beach day with the avengers: 0% normal, 100% chaos.

The Avengers at the beach was either a masterstroke of genius… or a catastrophic miscalculation.

The sun was high, the breeze was warm, and the sand was hot enough to burn the soles off Thor’s flip-flops (which were, in fact, just two cut-up Mjölnirs Steve duct-taped together as a “punishment” for skipping beach duty sign-up). Everyone was in vacation mode—half of them should’ve been monitored, the other half were monitoring but gave up after Wanda spiked her floatie drink and levitated herself into a nap.

You were laid out on a pastel towel that had glittery pineapples printed on it, shades perched on your nose, tanning oil glistening on your skin. Beside you were Natasha, Wanda, and Kate sprawled in various degrees of sun-dazed glam, bikinis matching their sass levels. Music thumped from Tony's giant Bluetooth speaker setup, which was definitely not waterproof but “definitely is Iron Man approved,” as he declared while sipping what was definitely not a kid-friendly drink from a pineapple.

"[Name]’ Natasha said lazily, flipping a page in her fashion magazine, “your man’s about to launch Peter into the stratosphere.”

You lifted your sunglasses and peered out over the sand, and hoo boy—

Bucky Barnes was a sight. Saltwater in his hair, sand clinging to his back, sun glinting off that metal arm, and board shorts riding just low enough to make your heart consider doing cartwheels.

Peter was slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, flailing. "Bucky, Bucky—no! I just ate! This is child endangerment—" "You think I care, Spider-Boy?!" Bucky barked in mock rage. “You touched my cold brew, you little menace!”

With a war cry that would’ve made Thor proud, Bucky ran full speed into the ocean and launched Peter into the water with zero hesitation.

You were full-on cackling as Kate snapped a shot with her vintage digital camera. “That one’s for the ‘Blackmail 2025’ folder.”

Wanda smirked. “I thought this was supposed to be beach therapy. This is glorious.

“I feel healed,” you added, reaching for your iced drink.

Meanwhile, under a leopard-print umbrella (Nat’s, obviously), the girl gang was in full gossip mode.

Kate, sporting sunglasses bigger than her head, was flicking through her digital camera, making running commentary.

“Okay, okay—this one of [Name] mid-scream while Bucky sprints toward the ocean? Art. I might make it your lock screen.”

“Send it to me,” Wanda said instantly. “Also, [Name]. Spill. That man feeds you strawberries, kisses you like he’s in a period drama, and looks like he could bench-press the jet. Are you okay? Emotionally? Hydrated?”

You laughed, hiding your face in your hands. “I don’t know what to do with him! He’s like… annoyingly romantic without trying.”

Nat nodded knowingly. “That’s how you know it’s real. Bucky doesn’t do things unless they mean something.”

Kate gasped. “He gave you his last bite of his breakfast this morning. I saw it. That was a symbolic gesture.”

“He literally carried me into the ocean as soon as we got here.”

“Symbolic and dramatic,” Wanda agreed. “Perfect match.”

Then—Steve walked by.

Soaked, abs shining like the sun itself, golden light haloing around him as if he were the lost Hemsworth brother.

He tipped his head toward your circle with a gentlemanly nod, lips quirking.

“Ladies.”

Every one of you blinked.

“...Did he just—” Kate began.

“—walk by like the cover of a firefighter calendar?” Wanda finished.

“Why was that so smooth?” you whispered.

Nat didn’t even look up. “It’s the serum. It gives them swagger.”

—

You were lying on your towel, sprawled like a lizard soaking up the heat, when a shadow fell over you.

“Flip,” Bucky said, a little gruff.

You raised your brows. “Excuse me?”

He held up a bottle of sunscreen with a single shrug, then crouched down beside you. “Gotta keep that pretty skin safe.”

You smirked but rolled over, propping your head on your arms.

And then—

Oh.

Slow hands. Gentle pressure. He started at your shoulders, thumbs working in careful circles, rubbing the sunscreen in like you were fragile or sacred or his. His touch dragged down your spine with a patience that made your breath catch. His metal hand stayed steady, cool, while the other lingered a bit too long at the dip of your lower back.

You shifted slightly, biting your lip.

“Concentrating,” he muttered, voice rough. “Don’t move. Can’t miss a spot.”

“Sure,” you whispered, heart pounding.

And then—smack.

A quick little ass tap, shameless.

“Bucky!” you gasped.

He just smiled, leaned down next to your ear, and said, “I’m making sure everything’s covered, doll.”

—

It started as a joke—you sitting behind Bucky, legs on either side of his hips, twisting a small section of his hair while he helped Peter fix a busted floatie.

“Stop moving,” you said, tongue between your teeth as you focused.

“I don’t even know what you’re doing,” he grumbled.

“You’re getting a braid, soldier. Suck it up.”

Peter giggled. “You’re gonna be so cute.”

Bucky: “I will put you in the sand.”

But he let you finish. You tied it off with a tiny elastic Kate had in her bag.

Later, when Sam noticed, he snorted. “Barnes, you got a lil’ friendship braid.”

Bucky immediately went, “She attacked me. I didn’t know.”

“You let her,” Nat called from behind her sunglasses.

He huffed—but didn’t take it out.

Not for the rest of the day.

Not even during volleyball.

And when you kissed it later, gently, he muttered, “Might need another tomorrow.”

—

The sun was high, the waves lapping lazily, and suddenly—because Tony Stark doesn’t do casual—a giant, inflatable obstacle course had magically appeared on the shore. Bright colors, ridiculous twists and slides, even a little slip-and-slide that looked like it belonged on a water park commercial.

“Why?” you asked Tony, raising an eyebrow as he strode past with a grin.

“Because beach day is a competition,” he declared. “And I win.”

Peter’s eyes lit up instantly. “Challenge accepted!”

You glanced at Bucky, who gave you a slow smile, fingers tightening around your hand.

“You ready?” he asked.

“Always.”

Peter took off like a rocket, determined to destroy the course. But two minutes in, he hit a slippery patch, flailed wildly, and wiped out spectacularly—face first into the water.

“PETER!” Tony shouted from the juice bar. “Keep it together, kid!”

Bucky grinned, helping you start the course. He was steady and sure, careful as he guided you over the wobbly parts, his hands warm and firm on your waist.

Midway through, he suddenly stopped near the edge, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hold on,” he said, and before you could protest, he pulled you toward the water, plunging you both in with a splash that soaked you from head to toe.

You sputtered, laughing as he leaned down and kissed you—wet hair, salty skin, and all.

“Worth it,” he murmured against your lips.

Meanwhile, on the sand, Wanda was conjuring floating glowing orbs—soft, warm spheres of light that bobbed gently above the ground.

“Try to juggle them,” she challenged, tossing one to Nat, then one to Clint, then another to Sam.

What started as a graceful display quickly turned chaotic as the orbs floated unpredictably, bobbing out of reach or colliding midair.

Clint tried to catch two at once and ended up tumbling backward, knocking over Sam who shrieked louder than Peter ever had.

Wanda just smiled mischievously. “Maybe next time, fewer orbs.”

Suddenly, a piercing shriek echoed from the other side of the beach.

“A CRAB!” Sam shouted, scrambling backwards.

Turns out a crab had found its way into someone’s beach bag, its claws clicking menacingly.

Clint, ever the animal whisperer, immediately got down on the sand and tried to coax the crab like it was a tiny puppy.

Bucky’s expression hardened, and he moved quickly to pull you behind him.

“Nope. Not today,” he said, eyes sharp as the crab advanced.

You laughed, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling safe and amused as Clint debated naming the crab “Sir Pinchy.”

—

Later, Tony was parked under the umbrella like a beachside DJ, spinning between '80s rock, summer pop, and aggressively inappropriate Pitbull songs. Kate was passing out juice boxes to Peter and the younger crew like a chaotic lifeguard mom. Clint was inexplicably playing volleyball while blindfolded. ("Training.")

"Alright, nerds!" Sam shouted, bouncing the volleyball in his hands. "Court's open! Battle of the century. Let’s go!"

Teams were chosen with chaotic precision:

—You and Nat: Code Red Dream Team.

—Steve and Clint: Super Soldiers and… Steve’s emotional support Hawkeye?

—Peter and Tony: The Smartasses.

—Sam and Bucky: The Trash-Talk Titans.

Kate and Wanda stood at either end with whistles, caps, and printed referee cards. (Where did they get those? You didn’t know. You didn’t ask.)

Kate had on her biggest bucket hat, clipboard in hand like an Olympic coach. Wanda stood beside her, arms crossed, eyes glowing red for “ref dramatics.”

Kate blew a whistle she definitely stole from a lifeguard stand. “Game one! First serve—[Name] and Nat. Try not to get sand in your egos!”

You stepped up, squinting in the sun. Nat stretched beside you, looking entirely unbothered.

“This is for our honor,” you whispered.

“And our thighs,” Nat replied. “We’re going to look amazing spiking this ball.”

You served. Clean. Perfect. The ball zipped straight into Tony’s chest.

“Ow! Ow, okay, someone deflate her,” he wheezed.

“I like her inflated,” Bucky muttered from across the court.

“EXCUSE ME?” Sam hollered, eyes wide.

Wanda didn’t even blink. “Penalty for being horny during the serve.”

Bucky: “What?! That’s not—”

Kate blew the whistle again. “Shut up and rotate!”

Cue a montage of mayhem:

—Clint accidentally spikes the ball into Steve’s face and yells “friendly fire!”

—Tony tries to use repulsors to hover for a save. Wanda floats him two feet backward out of bounds. “No tech, Stark.”

—Peter dives for every ball like it’s the end of the world and somehow takes out three umbrellas and a cooler.

—Nat is scarily good and no one’s shocked.

—You score a point on Sam with a fake-out set and Bucky whoops so loud you nearly trip over yourself laughing.

“You’re going down, Barnes,” you called, flipping your ponytail as you took your position.

Bucky winked from across the net, already spinning the ball in his hand. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re not ready for this heat.”

The match that followed could only be described as Olympic-level drama.

Steve dove for a save that turned into a sand-eating faceplant. Peter accidentally webbed the ball into the snack table. Tony screamed “I AM IRON SPIKE” and hit the ball into low Earth orbit. Sam and Bucky somehow did a coordinated dive that was both completely unnecessary and utterly majestic.

Wanda kept giving out yellow cards. Kate took it so seriously she was threatening to call Fury mid-match.

You? You spiked that ball so hard on Clint he tripped into a cooler.

“You’ve got arms of mass destruction!” he yelled from the ground.

Then, the moment of cinematic chaos:

You’re off court, catching your breath, and Bucky’s mid-play. He’s shirtless (rude), sweaty (ruder), and concentrating so hard he doesn't notice he's being watched. But then he hears it—your voice.

“Let’s go, Barnes!” you shout from the sidelines, cupping your hands around your mouth. “Use those arms!”

He glances back mid-run, smirking—

And immediately eats it face-first into the sand because Sam passed the ball without warning.

Tony shrieks. Peter yells “man down!” and Clint wheezes from laughter.

From the sand, Bucky groans, turning over slowly. “You did that on purpose.”

You jog over, hovering above him with your hands on your hips, trying not to laugh. “I was literally cheering for you.”

He grabs your ankle.

“Bucky—!”

And just like that, he hauls you down onto the sand, flipping you until you’re under him, his metal arm braced beside your head.

“Now we’re both out,” he says smugly, eyes sparkling.

“You’re gonna get sand in my—”

He kisses you.

“Penalty!” Kate calls, blowing her whistle wildly. “You can’t kiss during a timeout!”

“Wanda, enforce it!” Sam shouts.

But Wanda just shrugs. “They’re cute. Let them live.”

—

The ocean had calmed, volleyball lines now half-faded, and the team gathered under a massive sunshade Tony had somehow rigged with repulsor-powered cooling fans. (Because, “sweating is a war crime.”)

Lunch was a full spread: sandwiches, fruit platters, chips, a suspicious amount of guac, and desserts Wanda had magicked into existence with a flick of her wrist and zero FDA oversight. Everyone sat scattered on beach towels and folding chairs, lazily reaching for snacks, plates balanced on knees, drinks in sand-embedded cupholders.

You were perched between Bucky’s legs, your back resting against his chest as he sat up behind you, legs on either side of yours, his vibranium hand holding a plate while his other casually plucked a strawberry and lifted it to your lips.

“You first,” he murmured, low and soft, that small smile he always gave just for you on his lips.

You gave him a look. “What, you’re not gonna eat unless I do?”

He shrugged. “Can’t let you waste away before dinner. That would be irresponsible.”

“Is this your love language?” you teased, biting the strawberry.

Bucky leaned closer, his scruff brushing your jaw as he kissed your temple. “It’s classified.”

Across from you, Sam let out a loud, exaggerated groan. “Aww, would you look at this domestic mess. Sergeant Barnes out here like he’s in a beachside rom-com.”

Peter snorted through a mouthful of sandwich. “He’s literally feeding her. Feeding. Like—did I miss a Hallmark movie casting call?”

Nat smirked around her drink. “Let them be in love, boys. It’s cute. And if you tease him too hard, he will launch you both back into the ocean.”

Bucky didn’t even blink. “Try me.”

“Not you, Nat,” he added quickly. “You’re safe. They, however?” He pointed at Sam and Peter, expression flat. “Flight risk.”

Lunch had settled into a lazy lull. People were stretched out in the sand, limbs heavy and sun-drunk. Tony had dozed off with his sunglasses tilted sideways. Sam and Clint were arguing about who had the better volleyball serve (still). Nat and Wanda were deeply focused on making an elaborate sand sculpture of the Quinjet. Kate was editing photos and muttering about “perfect Instagram lighting.”

And you? You were still tucked between Bucky’s legs under the umbrella, full and smiling, when he leaned forward, arm brushing yours.

“You got room for dessert?” he murmured, already holding out a mini chocolate cupcake like it was a sacred offering.

“I thought you were the one who said I was gonna waste away earlier,” you said, grinning as you took it.

“Still true. You burn calories faster when you laugh. And you’ve been laughing all day.”

“Because you keep threatening to throw Peter into the ocean.”

“And I will.”

You laughed again—and Bucky looked like he might melt into the towel from how hard he was staring at you.

You bit into the cupcake, humming at how rich and gooey it was. He watched you with a tilted head, that classic Bucky Barnes soft-smile that meant danger, you’re about to be ruined by how tender he can be.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said too innocently. Then, he leaned in and kissed you, slow and warm and tasting like chocolate and heat. His hand curled gently around your jaw, thumb grazing your cheek. When he pulled away, just barely, he smirked.

“Had to taste the sweetness.”

You blinked, breath catching.

“Was that a line?”

He kissed you again. “Worked, didn’t it?”

Then he handed you an ice pop, which you opened while muttering something about him being lucky he’s cute. He wiped a smear of melted red juice from your bottom lip with his thumb—then, yep, kissed you again.

“You’re just using dessert as an excuse,” you teased, melting more than the popsicle.

“I don’t need an excuse,” he whispered, voice low and full of that sleepy-summer love.

And then Peter yelled across the beach, “DO YOU TWO EVER STOP?” before promptly being tackled into the water by Sam and Clint mid-shriek.

You and Bucky just grinned and kept sharing the ice pop.

You were about halfway through the ice pop—cherry, sticky-sweet, cold enough to make your lips tingle—when Bucky leaned in again, eyes on your mouth like you were the most fascinating thing on the beach.

“You’re not even pretending to wait between kisses anymore,” you murmured, glancing up at him.

“Why would I?” he replied, unapologetic. “You taste like summer.”

That would’ve been swoonworthy enough, but then he kissed you with the popsicle still in your hand, one hand on your thigh, the other braced behind you on the towel, drawing you in until you could barely remember how to breathe.

You were too distracted to notice the rest of the girls watching from under Nat’s umbrella like they were at a reality show finale.

Kate raised her sunglasses, eyes wide. “That man is out here giving Nicholas Sparks with a six-pack.”

Wanda took a long sip of her juice box. “I swear, if Bucky picks her up bridal-style again I’m going to cry. I want what they have.”

Nat snorted. “No you don’t. You want to watch what they have and live vicariously while judging them silently.”

“That too,” Wanda said. “I’m multifaceted.”

Then, like he heard the commentary, Bucky glanced up over your head and gave the girls a small smirk—one of those classic Bucky looks that said I know what I’m doing and I’m going to keep doing it.

You looked back and caught them staring.

“Do you mind?” you called, laughing. “This is a private moment!”

Wanda waved you off. “If you want privacy, don’t look that in love in public!”

Kate snapped another photo. “Sorry, this is too cinematic. That lighting? The cherry popsicle kiss?? I'm tagging this beachside thirst trap, soldier edition.”

You dropped your head into Bucky’s shoulder with a groan while he just chuckled, clearly loving the attention.

—

As you tried to recover from the emotional damage of public display affection shaming, Steve strolled by again, glistening wet from the water, towel slung over his shoulder like a Greek god returning from battle.

“Ladies,” he said, nodding as he passed.

“AGAIN?” Kate screeched. “He does this on purpose.”

“He walks like Poseidon and talks like a Victorian suitor,” Wanda muttered, stunned.

Nat, totally unfazed, raised her drink. “We let him.”

Later, you were flat on your towel again, skin sun-warmed and belly full, when Bucky leaned down and kissed you—quick, barely there, except it wasn’t quick. His lips lingered, like he had more to say but didn’t need words for it.

“Mm,” you murmured, fingers brushing the side of his face. “What was that for?”

He shrugged. “You had sunscreen on your lips. Had to help.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“You love it.”

You absolutely did.

Eventually, everyone was sprawled back out on the beach, exhaustion finally taming the chaos. Music still played. Tony napped face-first in a towel. Kate was clicking away, camera in hand, sneakily capturing every goofy grin and sun-kissed candid.

You were gossiping with Nat and Wanda, reliving the game and rating everyone's beach fits (Peter’s tank top got a 4, but only because he’d had ketchup on it since arrival), when the atmosphere shifted.

"Hydration check," a deep voice said.

You turned—and there was Bucky, walking straight toward you, shirt off, water glistening on his torso, looking like a freaking Baywatch promo. You swore slow-mo kicked in. Nat actually dropped her drink. Wanda fanned herself.

“You look dehydrated,” he said, too casual. “Gotta fix that.”

“Bucky—don’t—”

You didn’t even get to finish your sentence.

He scooped you up, bridal style, and took off sprinting toward the ocean.

“BUCKY BARNES YOU PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!” you shrieked, kicking and laughing and slapping his shoulder.

“No can do, sweetheart! You’ll thank me later!”

The water was cold. Your scream echoed. He didn’t even hesitate.

The splash could’ve been seen from space.

You emerged sputtering, makeup half gone, swimsuit slightly off-kilter, laughing so hard you couldn’t breathe. Bucky was grinning like the smug menace he was, brushing wet hair off your face as you glared at him, chest still heaving.

“I hate you,” you said, still smiling.

He leaned in. “No you don’t.”

“…Fine,” you huffed. “But you owe me a back massage later.”

“You got it, doll.”

—

Back at your towel, Bucky shifted to lie back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily hooked around your waist. His fingers traced small circles over the curve of your hip, casual and affectionate.

“You good, doll?” he asked, eyes squinting against the sun.

You laid your head on his chest. “Too good. It’s suspicious. Something chaotic’s about to happen.”

Right on cue—

Peter: "SAM NO—WAIT—"

Splash.

Tony (somewhere from the juice bar, sipping a mojito): “I said don’t try to piggyback the Falcon while he’s flying, Underoos! That’s physics!”

And like clockwork, Clint: “Volleyball rematch in ten! I’m not letting Cap and the archer win again with their golden boy synergy!”

Kate stood, already holding a clipboard. “Wanda and I are reffing. There will be no mercy and no backsies.”

Wanda flicked her fingers, her sunglasses glowing red. “If anyone argues a call, I will float you.”

Bucky groaned. “Great. We’re doing this again.”

You stood, brushing sand off your legs and giving him a teasing smirk. “Come on, Baywatch. Time to lose gracefully.”

He grabbed your hand and tugged you toward him for one last kiss.

“I don’t plan on losing anything,” he whispered. “Especially not you.”

You rolled your eyes, heart pounding. “Cheesy.”

“Sweet,” he corrected. “Like that kiss.”

You were so not ready for how much you loved this man.

The girls had claimed a perfect stretch of sand for sand angels, arms and legs flailing in unison, laughter ringing as they crafted perfect impressions.

The boys tried to join in, but it quickly devolved. Bucky flopped down beside you and made a half-hearted angel, sand sticking to his skin.

Then Clint, always the instigator, launched a sandball that kicked off a full sand fight.

Bucky was a sniper, sneaking up behind you and hitting you with a perfect, cool ball of sand. You shrieked and retaliated, sending a small flurry right back at him.

Nearby, Tony had set up “sand traps” with sensors, and Steve was the first victim—walking straight into one and getting showered in sand. Someone caught it on their phone, and the video quickly went viral.

Everyone was laughing, messy and sunburned, caught in perfect chaos—just like family.

—

You were asleep. Peacefully. On Bucky’s chest. His arms were wrapped around you like sea-worn stone—protective, unmoving, devoted. He’d tilted his head back on the umbrella pole, closed his eyes, and let himself drift with your breath syncing against him.

“Yo, Barnes,” Sam whispered nearby, tossing a towel. It hit Bucky’s arm. He didn’t budge.

“You gonna move?” Steve asked.

“Nope,” Bucky mumbled. “She’s sleeping.”

“She’s drooling on your chest.”

“Still cute.”

15 minutes later:

Peter, armed with a plastic bucket of ocean water, cackled across the beach like a feral gremlin. His target? Sam. His crime? Aim.

He hurled the water.

It missed Sam.

Hit. You. Dead center.

Your gasp was shriek-level loud.

Bucky sat up like a SEAL on alert. You were soaked. Spluttering. Betrayed. Peter’s smile dropped.

“I’m—OH NO—” he started running.

Too late.

Bucky launched from the towel like a vengeful beach deity, grabbed Peter mid-sprint, and slung him over his shoulder like a sandbag.

“NOOO—MR. STARK!!” Peter screamed. “MR. STARK HELP ME—”

But Tony was singing ‘Telephone’ at full volume, doing dramatic Lady Gaga choreography with a juice box microphone. “Sorry I cannot hear you, I’m kinda busy!”

Bucky ran full speed to the shore.

Peter: “I’M TOO YOUNG TO DIE IN THE OCEAN—”

Splash.

You were off snapping pics with Kate and Wanda when Nat wandered past Bucky, who was crouched alone in the sand.

She paused, narrowed her eyes.

There it was—your name, scratched in messy letters, right next to a crooked heart. Bucky used the edge of his dog tag to etch it in carefully, like he was carving something permanent into the world.

He wiped his hand over it the second he noticed her.

“Mmhm,” Nat said, arms crossed.

“Wasn’t me,” Bucky replied.

“Right. Just some other lovestruck ex-assassin with bad handwriting?”

He didn’t answer.

But when you returned and saw the slightly smudged heart, you smiled.

Didn’t say anything.

Just kissed his cheek.

He blushed like a sunburn.

As the day drew on, you and Bucky stole more moments: laying side by side with his hand resting on your hip, walking along the surf where he picked up a seashell and slipped it into your bag like a secret gift, slow kisses under the umbrella that made Sam dramatically retch from ten feet away.

“Y’all got three feet of PDA before I call HR!” he shouted.

Bucky pulled you closer.

“File the paperwork,” he muttered against your neck.

—

Kate and Sam had appointed themselves the unofficial lifeguards of the beach, perched high on a couple of wooden chairs with whistles around their necks and oversized sunglasses hiding their grins.

“Alright, Beach Patrol, eyes sharp,” Kate called, blowing her whistle once.

Sam smirked, scanning the water like a pro… until he caught sight of Kate tossing sand at him. The whistle was forgotten. Suddenly, they were chasing each other in a sand sprint, laughter echoing across the shore.

Meanwhile, Peter was cautiously wading near the rocks, focusing hard on his footing. Just as he shifted weight, the slick algae caught his foot and he started to fall backward.

Bucky, standing nearby with you in his arms (literally, you’d been climbing onto his back earlier), immediately stepped forward and caught Peter’s arm before he toppled.

“Whoa there, kid,” Bucky said, steadying him.

Peter blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “Thanks, Bucky!”

Bucky struck a mock-heroic pose—one foot propped on a rock, chest puffed, looking like he was ready for a movie poster.

Tony, lounging nearby with a drink, raised an eyebrow and called out, “Save the day and work the runway, huh?”

Clint burst out laughing, and even Peter joined in, teasing, “Look at you, Mr. Hero Pose!”

Bucky just rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips as you leaned into him, whispering, “You’re my hero.”

—

The tide pools were a treasure trove of color and life, shimmering beneath the soft light. You and Bucky wandered among the rocks, carefully stepping to avoid slippery seaweed.

You crouched down, holding out a tiny iridescent shell, “Look at this one.”

Bucky smiled softly, pulling a small shell from a crevice and handing it to you. “Here. For you.”

You tucked it behind your ear, giggling.

He watched you with a shy smile that crept up slowly. Every time you found a “perfect” shell, he seemed to glow a little brighter, like he was proud to be your partner in this simple, beautiful moment.

At one point, you turned around, and Bucky was tracing circles in the sand with his finger, writing your initials surrounded by shells.

You caught his eye, heart fluttering, and whispered, “You’re full of surprises.”

He just shrugged, cheeks pink. “Only for you."

—

By sundown, the team was gathered around a beach bonfire, roasting marshmallows and reminiscing about past missions and today's “survival stories.” Peter tried to make a S’mores tower that collapsed instantly. Tony declared he was building an Iron-Man-themed snack bar for next year. Steve offered to grill next time if someone (Sam) stopped bringing vegan sausages.

As the stars blinked to life overhead, you leaned into Bucky’s side, head on his shoulder.

“I think today might’ve been perfect,” you said quietly.

Bucky looked down at you, expression soft. “You make it perfect.”

And later that night, your phone buzzed:

📸 Kate Bishop Subject: “You’re the Main Character 😌” 67 new photos

There were candids of you laughing, Bucky stealing a kiss on your cheek, you mid-scream as he carried you to the water, a selfie of you both sun-drenched and smile-worn.

And one last photo—just you, standing in the sunset, wind in your hair, golden hour catching your smile like magic.

 —You laughing with the girls —Bucky kissing the top of your head —Your intertwined hands silhouetted against the sunset —A perfectly framed snap of you mid-laugh, wind in your hair, eyes sparkling —You and Bucky mid-kiss with a melting popsicle between you —Bucky looking at you like he hung the sun himself —You, wet hair, sunglasses on, absolutely glowing —The moment Steve said “ladies” and every girl blushed in unison —A group shot of everyone mid-volleyball chaos, sand flying, Peter in the air somehow, Sam yelling

—And a single candid of Bucky wiping cherry juice from your lips with his thumb —That moment he fed you the perfect s’more   —You and Bucky sharing a hoodie by the bonfire, his arms wrapped around you, your head tucked under his chin. The fire glow behind you looks straight out of a Nicholas Sparks adaptation. —That moment he fed you the perfect s’more

— you mid-laugh, chocolate on your lip, and Bucky smirking as he wiped it with his thumb. Too much. Too soft—You two dancing under the stars, your back against his chest, his cheek resting on your head. Kate labeled it “soft-core emotional damage” in her album. —Bucky looking at you like you're the only person alive during lunch. You didn’t even know he looked at you like that.

At the bottom, a message: “You two are disgustingly cute. Can’t wait for the wedding. 💍❤️”

You stared at the photos, heart full, face warm, and whispered to yourself with a smile—

“Yeah. Definitely perfect.”

—

The sun had tucked itself below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of lavender and peach, and now the only glow came from the crackling bonfire and a string of fairy lights Tony had aggressively zip-tied to some driftwood “for ambience.”

People were sprawled in loose circles around the flames, wrapped in towels, hoodies, or each other. You were tucked between Bucky's legs, your back resting against his chest, his arms loose around your waist. It was warm, but his presence made everything feel warmer.

"Alright, who's got the marshmallows—?" Clint called, already holding one dangerously close to the flames.

"You haven't even put it on the stick, man," Sam deadpanned.

You reached for a stick and started roasting your own, methodically spinning it for that golden crust.

Peter sat way too close to the chocolate stash, stacking two bars and an entire marshmallow mountain between his graham crackers. "This is gonna be a masterpiece."

"That's a war crime," Kate muttered, watching as half the chocolate slid out and melted on his lap.

Tony whipped out a crème brûlée torch like he was unveiling the sword of Excalibur. “Gourmet time, people.”

Sam stared. “You’re not on Top Chef, bro.”

Meanwhile, Clint was already holding up a charred marshmallow that looked like it had survived a house fire. "Perfect."

"You're banned from fire," Nat said, snatching the stick from him and handing it to Wanda.

You, focused and patient, pulled your marshmallow out of the flame—perfectly golden, gooey inside. You turned, triumphant, and Bucky was already holding up a graham cracker in one hand, chocolate waiting.

“C’mon,” he murmured, blue eyes catching the firelight, a smug little smile tugging at his lips. “Let me help.”

You sandwiched the marshmallow carefully, fingers brushing, and just as you were about to bite, Bucky tilted the s’more up and fed it to you himself, slow, deliberate. Chocolate smeared slightly at the corner of your mouth.

Before you could even reach for a napkin, he leaned in and licked it clean—quick and smug, soft and smugger.

The world blurred around you—Kate shrieking about her sandal getting caught in the log pile, Peter yelling “FIRE SAFETY” at Tony, Sam swearing Clint set his towel on fire—and still, it was just you and Bucky, wrapped in this flickering, perfect moment.

—

Wanda clapped her hands once. “Alright. Confessions circle. You know the rules. Be messy or be boring.”

Peter immediately launched into the story about webbing himself to a lamppost during patrol and getting stuck there for two hours until MJ found him with a churro and pity.

Everyone howled.

Clint’s involved a failed disguise involving a raccoon and a trench coat, which somehow ended with him being tackled by mall security. "The raccoon was wearing sunglasses," he defended. “I committed.”

Then, it was Bucky’s turn.

He looked into the fire for a second, then, quietly: “Used to sneak out of barracks during training. Brooklyn summer nights. I’d take my girl—whoever I was with at the time—down to the docks and teach her how to dance. Didn’t always have music. Just… steps and stars.”

You didn’t say a word. You were too busy falling in love with him again, with every syllable, every ghost of a memory. He glanced at you halfway through, and even though he was speaking to everyone, the rest of the story felt like it was for you.

Then it was your turn.

You shifted, suddenly bashful. “Okay—so… this was before Bucky and I were together. I was on this mission, right? Supposed to intercept a target in this corporate tower. But while I was waiting, one of the employees stumbled on me. Poor guy was terrified, but I didn’t want to kill him—he wasn’t the target.”

Everyone leaned in.

“So I tied him up—nicely, okay?—and just kinda… started ranting about Bucky. Like full-on ‘what if I ruin the friendship’ and ‘what if he doesn’t mean it when he brushes my hand and then holds it for too long?’ levels of meltdown. I asked the poor guy for advice. While tied up.”

There was dead silence.

You added, sheepish: “We talked for like an hour. Turns out he hated his boss, who was the target, so I let him go. We’re still mutuals on Letterboxd.”

Peter nearly choked on a marshmallow. “GIRL WHAT—”

Kate and Wanda howled.

Nat leaned forward, cackling. “Wait. That’s real?”

Bucky was quiet for a beat, then laughed—low and soft and a little smug. “Should’ve known you were already obsessed.”

You elbowed him, but leaned into him seconds later, and he wrapped his arms tighter around you like you were made of something precious. Sacred.

The night deepened, wind picking up off the waves. You shivered once, and before the second could hit, Bucky was already peeling off his hoodie.

“Here,” he murmured, slipping it over your shoulders. “Can’t have you freezing.”

You smiled as you tucked yourself into the hoodie—it smelled like him, and the sleeves nearly swallowed your hands.

Then, without hesitation, he wrapped himself around you again from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.

“Just in case the hoodie’s not enough.”

You finished your wild story, face flushed, eyes wide as the group stared at you like you had just announced you were actually a raccoon in disguise. A very emotional raccoon.

There was a solid five seconds of stunned silence, broken only by the sound of Wanda sucking in a breath through her teeth and whispering, “Oh that’s insane.”

“I—okay. I was vulnerable!” you protested. “And he gave good advice! He said I should be brave!”

Bucky was silently shaking with laughter behind you, chin resting on your shoulder. “So while on a classified mission, you trauma-dumped on a civilian you restrained about me?”

“I tied him up nicely!”

“Oh, well that makes it better,” Sam deadpanned.

Kate leaned forward, clutching her drink. “Wait, what did he say exactly?”

“Yeah,” Tony chimed in, smirking with the gleam of a man who would make this his personality for the rest of the week. “Let’s get a quote or two from your accidental therapist hostage. For posterity.”

You groaned. “He said… I was obviously in love and trying to act chill. He said I was projecting anxiety as aggression, and I told him to shut up but, like, politely.”

“I’M GONNA CRY,” Peter wheezed, nearly choking on his soda.

Nat pointed at you, tears in her eyes from laughing. “You threatened a man and then emotionally collapsed about your crush.”

“He said Bucky probably knew, and I said no he didn’t, and then I spiraled about the way Bucky always opened doors for me and kept touching the small of my back, and—”

“Wait wait wait,” Tony cut in, holding up a hand like he was moderating a courtroom. “THE SMALL OF THE BACK?! How dare you gloss over that detail! That’s prime romance real estate!”

“I was GOING THROUGH IT, OKAY?!”

Bucky, calm and smug and cozy around you, was grinning now. He kissed your temple lightly. “Wish I knew about this sooner. Would’ve made a move that day.”

You turned and stared at him. “WHAT?”

He shrugged, totally unbothered. “Told Steve about my crush on you a week before that mission. Said I was gonna wait till after to tell you, since you were stressed.”

“YOU WHAT.”

Steve raised his hands. “In my defense, I did say he should just tell you.”

Wanda flopped sideways into Kate, kicking her feet. “Oh my god this is better than any romcom. Someone write this down.”

“You let me sob over you to a tied-up man when you were already in love with me?!”

Tony’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god. You’re both emotionally unhinged. I love it. I’m giving a toast.”

He raised his drink. “To our very own tragic espionage romance and the hostage who became a couples therapist.”

Peter raised his can. “To Jared from HR or whoever that guy was.”

“His name was Lucas! And he did not ask for this!”

“I want him at your wedding,” Nat said, utterly serious.

Bucky was laughing into your shoulder now, holding you tighter. “Please tell me you still have his number.”

You nodded, face in your hands.

Tony immediately pulled out his phone. “We’re tracking him down. I want the full transcripts.”

It’s late into the bonfire now. You’re still wrapped in Bucky’s hoodie, half in his lap, surrounded by friends who are NOT letting your story go. The marshmallows have stopped burning. Peter is on his fourth s’more. Everyone is in that late-night just unhinged enough to do something dumb mood.

And then Tony, still holding a drink and scrolling through your phone, finds it.

Tony: “Yo. [Name]. Is this the guy? Lucas: Hotdog Stand Guy from Mission??” You blink. “Wait you actually still had him saved?”

You (defensive): “I mean… he was cool!”

Kate: “You’re telling me you saved the number of your emotional hostage pen pal and just—never told us?”

Peter: “Please call him. Please. I need this.”

You hesitate. The group is chanting now. Bucky's arm is snug around your waist, his mouth at your ear.

Bucky (low, teasing): “C’mon, doll. Let’s meet your relationship coach.”

You sigh. Grab the phone. Put it on speaker.

It rings once. Twice. Then—

Lucas (answering, immediately): “Please tell me you didnt butt dial me while youre making out”

You let out a gasp yelling saying it was once, your face flustered bucky let out a low chuckle.

Lucas (with a tone of sass):

"Girl no. Twice."

Lucas (unbothered): “ANYWAYS I BEEN SAYING—Y’ALL HAD CHEMISTRY! WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?! Not me. I KNEW IT.”

You (mortified): “Hi Lucas.”

Lucas: “Ayo is he there? Is Winter Soldier there? Put him on. I GOT WORDS.”

You hold the phone up toward Bucky, who takes it with a bemused expression.

Bucky: “Hey.”

Lucas (serious now): “I’m proud of you, my man. You were giving soft, confused golden retriever energy and you turned that into commitment. Respect.”

Bucky (grinning): “I—thank you?”

Lucas: “You feeding her s’mores? You braiding her hair like she used to dream about in front of me while I was zip-tied?”

Bucky: “…yes?”

Lucas (clapping): “YES SIRRR. That’s growth. That’s romance. I better be best man.”

Tony (yelling): “Lucas, you’re invited to the compound anytime.”

Lucas: “Bet. I’m free Tuesday.”

Wanda: “Lucas. What was it like listening to [Name] spiral?”

Lucas: “Spiritual. I felt like I was watching a Netflix docuseries in real time. She made ME believe in love again.”

You are screaming into your hands now as everyone laughs around you, tears in their eyes.

Lucas (softly now): “I’m proud of you, [Name]. Look at you. Got the super-soldier, got the hoodie, got a whole group of chaotic-ass friends. Dream life.”

You (giggling): “Thanks, Lucas.”

Lucas (loud again): “ALRIGHT Y’ALL. I’M OUT. BE SAFE. WRAP IT BEFORE YOU ZAP IT.”

Call ends.

Dead silence.

Then:

Tony: “I’m putting that man on payroll.”

—

The party seemed to only be getting started, from endless karaoke and dance battles everyone was having the time of their lives. The music shifts to Cool for the Summer — that catchy, electric beat filling the space. Everyone’s hyped up after the dance battles, and suddenly, Peter pipes up, “Hey, you two gotta do it. The iconic Fresh scene. You know, the one with Steve and Noa?”

You and Bucky exchange a quick glance and a grin — that’s your secret move, a little throwback to a dance only the two of you know inside and out.

Bucky smirks, “Guess it’s showtime.”

Peter’s watching from the side, totally shocked. “Wait — you guys watched Fresh? Like, seriously?”

You grin and nod as the first smooth step hits.

Bucky, in full Steve mode, says softly, “Let’s dance.”

You reply, matching the exact tone, “Let’s dance.”

Peter almost falls over laughing but claps loudly, totally impressed.

The two of you spin, sliding into the classic step-touch with finger snaps — every move crisp and synced like a perfect mirror.

At the part where Noa shimmies and does that hip roll, you toss your hair and Bucky follows suit with his own smooth roll, both of you cracking into laughter but not breaking the rhythm.

Peter’s eyes widen, “Okay, I’m officially obsessed. You two have practice for this?”

You shake your head with a laugh, “Nah, just a little binge one night. We’ve been saving it.”

Tony shouts, “Now THAT’S how you do it! Kate, come on, we gotta step it up!”

Kate screams, “Bring it, Barnes!” as she drags Tony into the next round, both of them laughing and trying to keep up.

Peter’s grinning ear to ear, “You guys just turned the whole beach into a dance floor — I’m never gonna top that.”

You lean into Bucky, heart racing from the adrenaline and the way everyone’s loving your secret little moment.

Bucky smiles low, whispering, “Told you — some things never go out of style.”

Peter’s clapping, “Yo, this is the best beach party ever!”

You lean into Bucky, feeling that electric buzz of the crowd, the warmth of his hand steady on your waist, the music pulsing like a heartbeat.

And just like that, the whole beach is a dance floor, alive with laughter, music, and the kind of moments that turn into memories.

Tony puffs out his chest, hands on hips, glancing at Kate with mock confidence. “Alright, kiddo, time to school these two on some real moves.”

Kate smirks, bouncing on her heels. “Oh yeah? You sure you’re ready for this? Last time you danced, you pulled a muscle… or was that your dignity?”

Tony waves her off dramatically. “Please. I’ve been rehearsing in front of the mirror. I’ve got moves so smooth, they make silk jealous.”

They start their attempt — Tony tries the slick sideways slide but immediately trips over his own feet, sprawling onto the sand.

Kate bursts out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Smooth like silk? More like a silk sheet caught in a windstorm!”

Tony grins from the ground, not missing a beat. “Hey, it’s a modern interpretation. Very avant-garde.”

Kate shakes her head, trying not to laugh as she attempts the finger snap but accidentally flicks sand into Tony’s face.

Tony sputters, wiping his eyes. “Okay, okay — you try, Miss Perfect.”

Kate hits the beat, snapping and sliding, but halfway through her hip roll she stumbles and ends up nearly face-planting.

Tony chuckles, offering her a hand. “Told you — we’re not quite Steve and Noa, but hey, at least we’re having fun, right?”

Kate takes his hand, laughing. “Yeah, fun with a side of embarrassment. Maybe we should just stick to cheering from the sidelines.”

Tony winks. “Speak for yourself — next karaoke round, I’m claiming the mic!”

Kate groans, “Oh no… please, no.”

suddenly the whole group is hyped, eager to recreate the iconic dance you and Bucky just performed flawlessly.

Tony cracks his knuckles, ready to lead the charge. “Alright team, time to show off those moves!”

Peter grins, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Bet none of you can match what [Name] and Bucky just pulled.”

Sam and Clint exchange glances, smirking as they step forward, trying the finger snaps and hip rolls but ending up laughing as their moves turn into an awkward shuffle.

Kate twirls, nearly losing her balance but catching herself with a dramatic flourish. “Okay, okay, who taught you two that smooth stuff?”

Everyone turns to you and Bucky — who’ve retreated from the center, just swaying quietly together. His back presses gently against yours, his head resting softly atop yours, arms wrapped loosely but protectively around your waist.

Peter nudges Tony, whispering, “Man, they don’t even need to dance, just look at them.”

Tony watches you both, a slow smile spreading on his face. “Yeah, that’s the real show right there.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Silent power move.”

You lean into Bucky, feeling the steady beat of his heartbeat matching the music. No flashy steps, no wild moves — just the warmth of being exactly where you’re supposed to be.

And somehow, that’s the most magnetic dance of all.

As the beat of Cool for the Summer fades into an equally hyper energetic song —something along the lines of Cake By The Ocean if someone got cheeky with the playlist — the party shifts into that perfect golden-hour haze, even though the fire's still crackling and the stars are high overhead.

Sam is dramatically dancing with a stick like it’s his true soulmate, muttering, “She never talks back. Perfect woman.”

Tony’s in the middle of teaching Clint and Wanda some kind of absurd made-up waltz-slash-robot hybrid, and they’re all laughing so hard they nearly fall over. “Tell me this isn’t art!” Tony declares, twirling Kate once and accidentally tripping over a log.

“Peter,” Kate slurs playfully shes drunk off the caprisuns, pointing a chip at him, “you gotta admit we nailed that duet. Like, Grammy-winning, no—EGOT-worthy.” Peter, who’s only tipsy on adrenaline and soda, holds up an empty marshmallow stick like a mic. “I’d like to thank the Academy… and Katy Perry… and my vocal cords.”

Meanwhile, you and Bucky have drifted just a little farther from the circle, swaying softly under the blanket of stars. You're tipsy — that light, bubbly kind that makes everything feel warmer, softer, floatier. His arms wrap around you, steady and grounding. Your head rests back against his chest as his chin hooks gently over your shoulder, breathing calm and quiet against your temple.

The music is barely there now. Just ambient hums, flickering flame, distant laughter. Your fingers curl lazily into his. “Did you ever dance like this in the streets of Brooklyn?” you ask, voice soft and dreamy, like you’re afraid the question might float away with the smoke.

You feel the subtle rumble of his laugh against your back. “I did,” he says, after a beat. “Plenty of times.”

You glance up toward him. “Was it like this?”

He’s quiet for a moment, and then leans closer, pressing his cheek against yours. “No,” he murmurs. “This… is so much better.”

You smile, heart fluttering, grounding yourself against the quiet rhythm of him. He brushes a kiss against your temple. “Brooklyn didn’t have you.”

And maybe no one hears it but you — and maybe that makes it all the more perfect.

Behind you, Sam’s yelling, “Ayo! Someone stop Steve from trying to two-step with the cooler!” Peter’s giving Tony a piggyback ride in a full karaoke encore. Kate is holding Wanda’s face and dramatically declaring her love for fries.

And you? You’re still dancing. Still swaying with Bucky, just you and him and the stars.Beach Day: 10/10. Would absolutely be chaos again.

(You've got mail!) THIS was so insanely stupid but it seemed like the perfect kind of beach day/episode..i had a feeling they would not be normal because what is normal anyways! BUT YESS summa is here and its fast approaching! better see all yall out having fun at pools beaches lakesides ETC ETC. HOT GIRL SUMMA WHERE WE LISTEN TO 2016 MUSIC WATCH MCU AND WE OUTSIDEEE!!!

Tag List @bbsbrina @herejustforbuckybarnes

[casdeans-pie]

--- "Angel Erogenous Zones" ---

The middle of an Angel's neck, where their Grace can be extracted from - wouldn't that be a vulnerable, sensitive spot?

--------

It hadn’t been Dean's intention to be kissing Cas against his bedroom door, but as soon as it had slammed shut behind them that’s where they’d ended up.

There had been a desperate mix of gripping and pulling to draw each other in – and then suddenly they were on each other. Dean had both his fists full of trench coat, while Cas's hands had started on his shirt collar and slid up to the back of his head.

Dean had a fuzzy, vague realisation (his blood had far more interesting places to go than his brain) that Cas could be completely immovable if he wanted to be, so the satisfying slam of his back against the door was something that he’d let happen.

God, wasn’t that something.

Dean groaned aloud at that thought and Cas made a high breathy sound in response, like being able to make the other feel good left them in a never ending feedback loop of pleasure.

Their angle changed slightly, their bodies one long tight line of heat, as Dean reluctantly pulled his lips away to desperately breathe some air before he passed out.

Cas tilted his head back, baring the column of his throat, as Dean tasted it with his lips and tongue, while he got his breathing back under control. But Cas flinched violently when his mouth touched the skin below his chin.

“Sorry,” Dean said, freezing immediately. Even he could hear how wrecked and rough he sounded. He pulled back and searched Cas’s face – was he making sure he was okay, or looking for signs of regret?

Dean couldn’t help it when he placed a gentle hand on Cas’s cheek and wiped a thumb gently under his eye. They were both shining brightly with an inner light that seemed to swirl through what Dean could see of his irises (though they were mostly dilated pupil). He wanted to feel smug at the effect he’d had, but concern at the flinch he’d definitely felt overrode everything else.

Cas shook his head slightly and let out a long, shaky breath. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think I would react like that.”

“I- uh- I mean, I get it man, this is uh- kinda new territory for us and-” Dean tensed and went to move away, but Cas held him close.

“No, please... Please don’t think it was a reaction to this. To us. There’s a scar,” Cas explained, voice even lower than usual, “from when my Grace was removed and I became human. It never healed.”

Dean felt his whole body relax again in relief and he pressed in closer, just barely resisting the urge to kiss Cas again, to catch sight of the thin white scar straight across his throat. The lowlight of the bedroom caught the edge of the raised line, making it stand out slightly, and Dean felt a deep pang of sympathy. The hand he’d left still resting on Cas’s cheek slid down to his neck and touched the very edge of it carefully.

“Does it hurt?”

“N-No,” Cas said, his breathing speeding up as his eyes slid closed. Blue light escaped from between his eyelashes.

Dean blinked in surprise. Wait...

“Sensitive,” Cas added, “sensitive place for ah-angels.”

Oh.

Dean had slid a finger over the scar gently while Cas had been talking and now he understood his reaction before.

“Sensitive, huh,” Dean repeated.

The moment that his mouth touched the scar he heard Cas gasp.

He paused, giving Cas the opportunity to tell him to stop, but instead a hand returned to the back of his head and fingers dug deep into his short hair. Dean smiled, knowing Cas would be able to feel it, and added a gentle mouthing of teeth. Cas made a noise in the back of his throat that shot a bolt of want down Dean’s spine.

He bit down harder.

A hand slammed over Dean’s eyes that shielded him from a blindingly bright blue light bursting out into the room.

Dean laughed, his chest full of warmth, as he crushed their bodies even closer together to hide his face in Cas’s shoulder.

“Oh, Angel,” Dean whispered, as a tingling electricity accompanied the light and seemed to slide over and under his skin. He had the strangest thought that it felt like silky feathers.

The light finally faded and Cas thumped his head back against the door.

“So, turns out, angel erogenous zones are a thing,” Dean said, his voice rumbling deeply with affection and warmth.

“I’ll teach you mine if you teach me yours,” Cas said breathlessly.

“I can work with that.”

[pseudowho]

Post-ShibuyaAU! Grey Nanami Kento Headcanons

(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

As an accompaniment to my story, Grey (link here); an AU where Nanami survives Shibuya exploration because I'm never going to be over his loss.

Warnings: Severe injury (burns, eye loss), PTSD, alcohol use, depression, light smut, angst, AU headcanons

Part 2 of Greynami Headcanons link here

Christmas Greynami Headcanons, link here

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Before he meets you:

AU!Nanami Kento who meanders, severely burned, skin still on fire with agony, with blurred vision to another atrium, thronging with transfigured humans.

AU!Nanami Kento who fights until the end, embracing his death, until Yuuji arrives at the eleventh hour.

AU!Nanami Kento who, despite being healed by Shoko, faces a grisly recovery, forever physically and psychologically scarred by the events of Shibuya.

AU!Nanami Kento who drinks more heavily than ever, trying to scare away the nightmares; waking up in cold sweats, burning alive and screaming.

AU!Nanami Kento who turns viciously on the hierarchy of Jujutsu High, blaming them for sending their staff and students to Shibuya like lambs to the slaughter.

AU!Nanami Kento who hands his notice in shortly after Shibuya; bitterly recognising the monsters of the world in the various forms, wishing to hunt freely without being at the beck and call of Jujutsu High.

AU!Nanami Kento, who embraces the vigilante life, still saving privately earned money for his early retirement.

AU!Nanami Kento with bruises on his thighs, cuts on his hands, because his depth perception fails him in day-to-day activities now .

AU!Nanami Kento who took up the cold-baths-in-your-clothes idea from Higuruma Hiromi, because his burns still prickle so tenderly even after being healed.

AU!Nanami Kento who looks in the mirror once a day and once only, disgusted by what he sees.

AU!Nanami Kento who is still on speed-dial for every student and every assistant at Jujutsu High, who begrudge him nothing, and still love him dearly.

AU!Nanami Kento who doesn't even need to use his Cursed energy to hunt down rapists, murderers and abusers.

AU!Nanami Kento who is informed by Ijichi of the goings-on in the school; where students are sent and when, if anyone is being sent to re-recruit him...which is how he learns you are being sent for him.

AU!Nanami Kento who throws himself into work, isolating himself from the world, bitter and jaded and so desperately lonely.

After he meets you:

AU!Nanami Kento who seduces you when you hunt him down, sensing a kindred spirit, and someone to keep him company even if just for one night.

AU!Nanami Kento who is surprised to wake to see you still there, soft, naked, and pressed against him.

AU!Nanami Kento who almost cries when you press soft kisses over his eye patch, not disgusted, not afraid.

AU!Nanami Kento who treats you like a queen, throwing his whole heart and soul into romancing you, never hesitating in his choice.

AU!Nanami Kento who eventually stops covering himself up at home, exiting the bathroom in just a towel, no eye patch, his good eye smiling softly at you, curled in his shirt on his sofa.

AU!Nanami Kento who re-embraces the music from his teenage years, insisting you listen to MCR, Tool, and Fall out Boy while you cook together, singing along badly, flour everywhere.

AU!Nanami Kento who, the first time he had a vicious nightmare with you in his bed, was ashamed and took himself alone out of the house for a walk in the dead of night.

AU!Nanami Kento who doesn't make it to the door alone the second time; your hand winds in his and you wrap a scarf gently around him, walking arm in arm through the orange glow of the streetlights until he feels calm enough to attempt sleep again.

AU!Nanami Kento who knew he loved you before; but now loves you obsessively, sweetly, deeply.

AU!Nanami Kento who gasps to life in the morning, feeling your warm mouth travel down his scarred abdomen below the covers, groaning in ecstasy as you take him into your mouth, his fingers tangling in your hair, relearning how to feel joy and pleasure.

AU!Nanami Kento who no longer hides his face in your neck while he rolls his hips gently against yours, drinking in your facial expressions and soft sighs as he takes you to the edge again and again.

AU!Nanami Kento who doesn't let you go to any of your kills alone; he comes with you, protecting you at every turn, but refuses to split your payment with him.

AU!Nanami Kento who doesn't know you've perfected a minor reverse-cursed healing technique, and you use it to heal the eye patch sores on his face while he sleeps.

AU!Nanami Kento who introduces you to Yuuji; Yuuji smiles so widely with pure honest joy, and Kento feels his heart might burst with pride.

AU!Nanami Kento who only semi-ironically considers Nobara a member of the One-Eyed Club, like him. Nobara loves it. She has badges made. Kento has one under his lapel at all points.

AU!Nanami Kento who learns that you always carry aloe-vera gel and a spare eye patch when you go out together, and his heart clenches with appreciation for you.

AU!Nanami Kento who, in return, starts carrying around pads and hair ties for you, but won't carry an umbrella; he knows you always bring one, and you'll be forced to share the same umbrella.

AU!Nanami Kento who loves when you buy clothes for him, choosing good materials and long sleeves which won't irritate his scars.

AU!Nanami Kento who is so proud to walk out of the coffee shop with two coffees and pastries now, instead of the lonely one.

AU!Nanami Kento who falls asleep against you when you wash his hair and tight scars in the bath, and definitely falls asleep with his head in your lap while you massage aloe into his burns.

AU!Nanami Kento who sees kids staring at his eye patch; he kneels down and quietly tells them that he's a pirate, but the good kind.

AU!Nanami Kento who suffers dreadful depression and flashbacks as Halloween approaches the first year you're together; by the second year, he agrees to dress up as the Phantom of the Opera and Christine together.

AU!Nanami Kento who has dinner with Ijichi, Ino, Higuruma and Kusakabe often.

AU!Nanami Kento, who knows Ijichi will always make a Jujutsu High car available for him, even though he's no longer employed by them. Ijichi, who always has Nanami Kento's back, and would fight anyone to the death for him.

AU!Nanami Kento who no longer sees himself as defined by his trauma, but instead as defined by the love you give him, and he gives you in return.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Sigh. I adore Greynami.

Part 2 of Greynami Headcanons link here

@silkspunweb My smutty muse, and partner in crime, thank you ❤️

[idk-karla]

Sergei meets his mate pt 1

Summary: Kraven finds you in the woods after a group of poachers ran you out of your camping reserve. He brings you back to his Dome where you heal him.

(Started as one shot of a first meeting but I got an idea for a few more chapters so this is the set up. Female MC is also paranormal.) 

Pairing: Sergei Kravinoff x fem! Reader 

The leaves of the trees cut my skin harshly as I ran through the forest barefoot at full speed. I could hear them behind me, laughing, mocking. I could smell the flame from their lamp and hear the rustle of metal weapons. The men chasing me were getting closer. I had been running for a while now, I had lost track of how long at this rate. 

This camping trip was supposed to be my escape from the world and in less than 30 minutes has escalated into my worst nightmare. I knew it was going to be rough when my two best friends cancelled at the last minute, both from separate unforeseen emergencies. It only got worse when the other campers that were supposed to be staying on the reserve with me decided to pack up and head back into the city and I found myself completely alone in the reserve. Besides the fact that the universe had been blatantly shouting at me that not cancelling this trip had been a bad idea, I had been fine.

Until I woke up in the middle of the night. I still wasn’t sure what woke me up, but as soon as I was awake, I knew I wasnt alone. I could feel it. It wasn’t one of the many wild animals that roamed this safari, the reserve had protections in place for human guests. A group of poachers had stumbled into the camping area, drunk, hauling the harvest of their hunt. It didn’t take them long to find my tent and decide I would make a good bounty. 

I knew running past the gates of the reserve was a risk, but I was better off fighting lions and jaguars than disgusting, horny men. Some things were worse than death. Chances are they were going to kill me when they were done anyway. I had better odds with a wild animal. 

So I started running. And running and running and running. I prayed they would get bored. Hoped they were drunk and too tired to follow me out here. Luck was not on my side this trip. They found it amusing. Apparently, they loved a chase. I kept running until I reached a clearing… which ended on a very steep cliff. I was screwed. 

That's when I saw him standing at the edge of the cliff. He wasn’t one of the men chasing me. He was tall, so much taller than those other men. The silhouette of his body outlined chiseled muscles, though the early morning sun cast a shadow on him, making it hard to define his features. The only thing I could clearly see were gold eyes. Glowing, animalistic gold eyes locked on mine sending an intense shiver down my spine. It wasn’t fear, exactly. I didn’t understand the feeling, it was foreign. 

We were only staring at each other for a few seconds before those gold eyes shifted their attention behind me. 

“Athena, no.” The words came out in an assertive growl as the figure took a dominating step forward. “She is not a threat. Stand down.” The man gestured a down motion with his hands as he made his way towards me. He didn’t look at me as he walked, focused on the forest behind me. I turned around to find steely blue eyes blinking back at me from between the trees. 

A gorgeous white tigress slowly strutted out from her hiding spot, eyeing me as she approached. Her gaze was not predatory, more curious than anything. I froze to my spot as both the man and the large animal surrounded me, terrified the large cat would pounce on me if I moved an inch. 

When the man spoke again, his voice sounded different. Rich, deep, human. “She won’t hurt you.” The stranger assured. I could still barely see his face, but his voice was oddly comforting.

I couldn’t bring myself to respond, instead forcing myself to breathe through the panic as the oversized cat nuzzled her head against my stomach. Shocked, I tentatively brought a hand to the top of her head, scratching between her ears. The tigress gave an appreciative hum, dragging her warm tongue across my arm in response. 

She was comforting me. She knew I was scared. With my hand still laying on her head, I turned my attention back to the figure. He was staring at me intently, eyes hard. He opened his mouth to speak but the commotion in the forest caught our attention. All our attention. Including the predatory animal nuzzled against me. The tigress pulled her head out of my grasp and stepped in front of me, growling at the sound carrying out of the dark forest. The back of her body pressed firmly against my side and her tail came around my waist almost protectively. The man standing next to us also turned his attention to the trees, eyes squinting. 

“Not yet, Athena.” He commanded the tigress. His voice came out in a rumble, sounding almost animalistic again. He turned to me. “Who are you with?” 

“No-No one” I finally spoke, my voice hoarse. “They-They’re chasing me.”

His eyebrows cinched together and his nose flared. That made him angry. “Why?”

“I-I don’t know, I was sleeping! They’re poachers I think.” Tears pricked my eyes again and the momentary relief I had came back in full swing. 

“Go.” He nodded at the cat, who leaped into the forest without a second thought. He walked in behind her without another word.

“Wait!” I called after him in a panic. Don’t leave me alone out here. 

The stranger didn’t turn back or call back out to me. I looked around in dazed panic, trying to figure out what way to run. I could hear the men approaching, but I had lost track of what direction they were coming from. 

It was too late. By the time I picked a path to continue down, one of them started to come out from behind a nearby tree. 

“Looks like we caught up to our prey, boys. Little bunny here put on quite the chase.” The man slurred, his European accent thick. His eyes locked on mine and he smirked as he sauntered toward me. I scrambled back away from him, but ran directly into another chest behind me. A steely hold locked around my waist and I was suddenly lifted up off the ground and dragged backwards. I struggled against the men, screaming for them to let me go. 

My struggle didn’t last very long before the grip on me was gone. The sweaty chest that was pressed against mine was now gone and I dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. I landed on my side, white hot pain radiating from the shoulder I landed on. A raw, uncontrollable scream gurgled from my throat when I shifted on my back and the radiating pain became unbearable. I felt the large presence beside me before I opened my eyes.

Athena maneuvered around my head to sink her teeth into the back of my shirt and drag me away from the battle. I couldn’t contain the tears of pain that ran down my face as the cat hauled me away from the battling men. I couldn’t make out much past the darkness and the trees but I could see that there were about 4 men to the one stranger. Though the stranger did seem to have a pet Tiger so that could definitely be considered an upper hand. 

Once we were far enough away, Athena rushed back to her companion. I could hear the sound of tearing flesh and could almost smell the blood from where I lay. I closed my eyes and lay as still as possible, waiting. For the sounds to pass, for the pain to pass. For anything. Just waiting. I don’t know how long I waited there for before I felt a heavy head nudge my injured side, making me scream at the top of my lungs.

“Easy,” The strangers familiar voice sounded above me. If I wasn't painfully aware I was alive right now, I would’ve thought I died and came face to face with a god. Because Christ, that’s what he looked like. He was huge, towering easily a foot above me. His face was a sculpture of defined jawline, high cheekbones and full lips. His eyes were no longer glowing gold but now a stark, warm blue. 

“You killed them.” I responded, my tone accusatory. 

“Would you have preferred I let them kill you instead?” The stranger shot back without missing a beat, running his eyes up and down my body in a full inspection. 

“No,” I grumbled. 

His oversized companion circled me where I lay, stopping beside my injured shoulder and purring up at the man as if to draw his attention to it. The stranger crouched down beside me, grabbing my injured arm. Pain shot through my arm, my nerve endings feeling like they were on fire.

A cry bubbled from my throat as he maneuvered around me. “Please stop, it hurts.” 

He gave a heavy sigh as he inspected my arm. 

“Your shoulder is dislocated.” He informed me. Wonderful. 

I swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond or what to do. Superficial cuts like the ones I could feel dotting my face would heal within the next few minutes, but my shoulder was going to take hours. Painful, dreadful hours. 

The stranger met my eyes for a second, searching. If he found what he was looking for, he gave no indication. Instead, he broke eye contact and looking up at the sky. 

“Shit, look at that.” He remarked up into the air. I followed his line of sight, looking for the object of his curiosity. A heavy hand pressed down on my shoulder without warning, popping my shoulder back in its socket. I heard the snap of where my shoulder locked back into place before I realized what was happening. The relief was almost immediate, though a residual ache lingered. 

I groaned, falling back onto my back. “Good one.”

He dropped to sit beside me on the ground with a heavy thump. “Not the best idea to come out to the middle of nowhere alone”

“No, probably not.” I answered through a tight throat, trying to swallow the tears burning my eyes. 

I wanted to go home. I pressed my hand into my eyes harshly. “Thank you.” 

Okay, so this was a horrible idea. I could see that now. I was going to have to sleep out in these woods to even find enough strength to make it back to the city tomorrow. The stranger didn’t respond, but I felt him stand up beside me.  

“Come on,” he urged, holding out his hand to me. I stared at the outstretched hand skeptically. He only extended the invitation for a few seconds before bending down and throwing me over his shoulder in one swoop. 

“Hey!” I protested, swatting at his back. “Put me down you murderous ogre!” I struggled in his grip to no avail. 

He didn’t respond as he continued to trudge through the woods, Athena following behind us gingerly. 

“This is kidnapping!” I wailed, continuing to struggle against him. 

“I’m not leaving you in these woods alone.” He finally grumbled. 

“This is wrong on so many levels!” I slapped at his back with as much force as I could but that man was built like a goddamn wall. And I was strong. Supernaturally strong. “Where are we even going?”

“My home.” 

“Your home? No one lives out here.” 

“I do.”

I hated to admit, I was grateful I didn’t have to trudge through the forest alone. The land was beautiful during the day but deathly dark at night. Scary even with enhanced vision and hearing. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to have a beautiful stranger to carry me through them. 

His shoulder was jamming into my ribs in the most uncomfortable way. “Will you please put me down? I’ll go willingly. Not like I want to be out here alone anyway.” 

I know he was a stranger. I know I had just heard him murder a group of men. But I also knew I was safe with him. I didn’t have an explanation for it, simply my instinct but that was enough.

He finally slowed to a stop and set me on my feet. His eyes were glowing gold again, and this time I flashed him my own electric blue eyes, similar to Athena’s. 

“I knew it. “ The words came out in a growl, almost animalistic, like when he spoke to Athena. “I could smell it.” His arm, still around me, tightened. He ran his nose along my neck for a second before taking a step back. It was too dark to see the look on his face but his eyes were now glowing brighter, like embers raging in a fire. 

“Smell what?” It took me a minute to kick start my brain and find the words. 

The word mine danced so quietly into the night, I wasn’t fully sure I heard it. I even convinced myself I imagined them.

“Not human.” He finally said after a solid minute. He pressed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the trees. My skin burned at the intimacy of the touch, savoring the weight of his hand. 

“You aren’t fully human either.” I countered. A grunt was the only confirmation I received in response. 

“You got a name?” 

“Are you going to kill me if I give it to you?” My question was only partially a joke. 

“If I wanted you dead, you would be.” He snorted. 

“…Comforting,” I muttered. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, as if testing the feel of it. “Sergei.”

 “That’s… very Russian.” 

Another chuckle, but no response. I picked up a whiff of something metallic in the pristine air. Blood. Faint, but it was there. 

“You’re hurt.” I said accusingly. Now that the superficial cuts and my shoulder were nearly healed, my senses were coming back to me. 

He grunted, annoyed. “It’s nothing.”

“Smells like something.”

Before he could argue, the trees broke open and we stepped into a clearing. Nestled in the center was an impressive glass dome. 

Athena strutted past us and disappeared into the trees behind the dome. 

I wasn’t sure what I expected but I was pleasantly surprised. It was warm inside. Quiet. The light coming from the lamp ceiling lamp gave off a warm glow, not too bright for my sensitive eyes after hours in darkness. The walls were decorated with hunting trophies, bones and pelts.

I followed him through the open space, to a large fire pit in the center of the house. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

He turned to me with a raised brow as he worked to light the pit, the small flame immediately warming the space. “You’re very forward.”

“You’re bleeding through it.” I grimaced, pointing at the blotch of blood on his dark blue shirt. 

He peeled the shredded fabric from his torso, giving me a fully unencumbered view of everything. His chest was broad, lined with muscles that looked like they were personally chiseled by a god. His abs were dotted with scars and a gaping cut on his side that was oozing blood at an alarming rate. 

“Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked, inspecting the wound.

He reached past me into a drawer, his chest brushing against mine. My nipples reacted to his touch instantly. Those traitorous bitches. 

He handed me a small white box with all the components of first aid. 

“Their daggers were dipped in poison. One of them got me deep, it’s gonna take a few hours.” He offered as I worked.

I hummed softly to myself as I worked to clean away the blood, wiping enough of it clear to let my fingers press directly to the torn skin.

I splayed my hand over the wound, jaw tightening at the familiar burn that ignited at my fingertips. Black veins branched up my arm, accompanied with a sharp, aching pain as energy left me and sank into him.

He didn’t move, just watched me like he was still figuring me out. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, voice low.

“Healing you,” I replied, my voice despite the sting lashing through my bones.

His eyes were fixed on me, sharper now. Focused.

“You can heal,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t sure he believed what he’d just seen. “I’ve never met anyone who could do that.”

I gave a small shrug, pulling my hand back once the skin beneath it had sealed over. The black veins faded from my arm as quickly as they’d appeared, leaving only a dull ache behind.

“I can’t use it on myself,” I admitted. “Kinda sucks.”

He was quiet for a beat, long enough for me to look up at hi,

“Stay.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“The night,” he clarified. “Stay the night. It’s dangerous out there. Lions. Men. Worse.”

“And you’re safe?”

He leaned in slightly, the heat of him drawing me in. “Safer than anything else out there.”

My throat was tight and my skin was tingling. A very small, rational part of my brain told me I should get out while I could, but a more instinctual  part knew that I already belonged here.

“Okay,” I aquised, just for tonight.” 

He smiled but not a cruel one like before. This one was something else. Something more intimate. 

“Just tonight.” His words were more than a statement, they were a taunt. A challenge. 

His hips shifted against mine, every muscle pressed against me like a loaded weapon he was still deciding whether or not to fire.

His gaze studied every inch of my face like he was memorizing it. My eyes. My cheekbones. The curve of my jaw. And when he landed on my lips, his brow lifted so subtly I almost didn’t notice.

There was something… predatory about the look. It made heat coil between my legs. He inhaled deeply, his pupils dilating. His scent curled around me, warm and wild, stirring something in me deeply instinctual

He leaned in, just enough that I felt his breath on my cheek. Close. Too close. But he didn’t kiss me. 

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

I wanted to laugh at the irony of the statement. Wanted to retort that if anyone here was in danger, it was me. The words didn’t find their way past my lips, instead getting caught in my throat behind the weight of my breath.

He definitely noticed because a knowing smirk pulled at the corners of his lips and he shifted again. This time, I took a step back to give myself room to breathe. 

“You can take the bedroom upstairs.” He continued without a beat. “It has a bathroom. I can give you clothes if you want to shower.”

“I um,” My brain was foggy. I was having a hard time thinking past the weight of his attention on me. “I’ll take you up on the shower but I’m fine on the couch, thanks.”

“The bed is all yours, I sleep better outside with Athena anyway.” He shrugged like it didn’t matter to him.

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

[forlix]

‧ ❆ ˚ 𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝・h.j.

— stars flare brightest in the absence of light, and you see his clearer than day.

words・6.4k

pairing・han jisung x female reader

genres・college!au, friends with benefits to lovers, snowed in trope, smut, MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS THAT INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED, angst, ANGST, you have been warned, hurt/comfort, i can't write normal fluff to save my life, happy ending!!!, semi-slow burn

warnings・depictions of insomnia, recurring nightmares, graphic violence, character death (in the nightmare), fears of abandonment and falling in love, alcohol consumption, humans helping each other heal. smut warnings under the cut

playlist・stay - acoustic by jonah baker・all of me by big gigantic・babydoll (speed) by ari abdul・oasis by exo・volcano by han

a/n・hi, here's my second installment of winter falls. writing this was immensely challenging and twice as meaningful, so feedback would be greatly appreciated. thank you to my may for being so fucking instrumental in piecing together this rollercoaster—this one is for you, i love you. thanks to my sahar for everything, always and forever. and thanks to all of you for being here. happy new year ♡

smut warnings・spitplay, unprotected piv, please practice safe sex!!!, car sex, dirty talk, jisung's dick game is kinda crazy, squirting, lots of aftercare

Every time Jisung closes his eyes, he sees somebody’s back.

It’s leaving. Traipsing somewhere he can’t follow. He tries to chase it—he always does, he never learns—but the premise doesn’t so much as surface before the ghosts circling around his ankles go for his throat instead. They snare him by the shoulders, force him to his knees, slam his forehead into the permafrost hard enough to break bone. They make sure the next time he tries to move will be the last.

So he remains, keeled over in the cold, until tearwater clings to his lower lashes in small icicles. Until bloodstained snow coats his lips like the manifestation of a curse. Until the back has disappeared.

Who does it belong to? He’s left to wonder. Where is it going?

Why can’t I follow?

Then he wakes up.

No longer does he lay awake for hours afterwards, scouring the dream’s every frame for his answers.

Now, he tosses and turns in clammy sheets until his exhaustion wins.

Now, he welcomes sleep like a miracle granted by some pitying god.

You see him.

Through a living room packed with red-faced partygoers and dissected by oscillating strobe lights, albeit, but you see him anyways. 

Jisung can barely make out the rest of your face—he blames the lighting, or the soju, or both—but your eyes alone turn him to glass. Not a fancy vase through which the world distorts, but a simple pane that puts him and his ghosts on full display.

He hopes you like horror movies.

Felix knows you, because of course he does, and Jisung has never been happier to call the extroverted Australian his friend than when you come over to say hi. You stumble out of the crowd all smudged makeup and sweaty skin, your figure hugged by a short black dress with two diamond-shaped openings just above your hips, your glossy lips curved in a drunken smile. Jisung immediately wants it against his mouth.

Instead, it disappears behind his friend as you pull him into a quick hug. A few wisps of your hair dust over Jisung’s arm, momentarily replacing the smells of grease and vodka with cherry blossoms and vanilla.

“Lix, hey!”

“Darling, it’s good to see you! Feels like it’s been ages.”

“I know, right? How are you? How is everything?”

“Good, thank you. Just happy the semester’s over.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Then you go to lift your drink and discover thin air in its place. “Or I won’t. Whoops.”

This prompts Jisung’s first contribution to the conversation—and his first effortless laugh in a long while.

“Eventful night, huh?”

He meets your gaze from all of two feet away this time, and his knees buckle under him. That gaze, fuck. So clear and true, like a prism of glass refracting light into a rainbow. He would let you refract him a thousand times over if he had any light to give.

“Maybe,” you giggle. “Seems I’m a little too happy the semester’s over.”

“Wanna not get a drink to celebrate?”

Your expression flickers. Not in a bad way, more like you hadn’t expected him to ask so soon—or for yourself to have your answer so quickly.

A strobe light catches right under your eye and refracts the color in your blushing face. A rainbow.

“I’d like that.”

He tilts his head towards the kitchen. You give Felix’s elbow a light squeeze before moving past him; he gives Felix a glimpse of his growing smile before falling into step behind you. The blonde shakes his head, throws back the rest of his beer, then swivels at the sound of someone calling his name from across the foyer.

Felix will get drunk enough to forget the sight of you leading Jisung up the stairs, two bottles of pink lemonade tucked under your arm. Nothing stronger, as promised.

Jisung asks his question an entire minute after he intends to. “Where are we going, by the way?”

“Somewhere I can see your pretty face without having to squint,” you reply, and his stomach tumbles like a schoolboy with a valentine.

You don’t stop at the second floor. Instead, you nudge open a door Jisung swears just materialized to his left and emerge into the night air.

It’s warm for December, but he’s still met with chilly winds licking down the sides of his neck. That’s not the only reason he shudders, though. Below his feet, he finds a metal platform akin to that of a fire escape. Above his head, a staircase that looks one forceful step away from dropping off the side of the building.

You turn towards it. 

In a hurry, he sputters, “I’m, uh—I’m not sure about this.”

A beat passes. Your hold on his wrist loosens, not to let go, just to trace wordless reassurance down the back of his hand. Your fingers feel perfect sliding into the spaces between his, like drops of honey in the craters of soufflé pancakes.

“It’s safer than it looks, I promise.”

Jisung heaves a sigh. It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

You’re right, though. The iron rungs are surprisingly rigid beneath his feet, and the two of you make it to the roof with no trouble. He does stumble when you pull him up onto the gravel, but it’s intentional, a purposeful blunder to have you closer. To snag another glimpse of that blush, another trace of that floral vanilla.

“Sorry,” he whispers almost directly upon your lips. And that earns him all three.

The next hour evades him for the most part, and Jisung is pissed about it. He’s with the woman of his dreams under a sky so clear it’s almost lustrous and he’s too shitfaced to recollect when he gave you his hoodie to wear; what you said that made his lungs capsize with how hard he laughed; how you ended up so close to each other, your legs strewn over his lap, his hands tracing over your thighs.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things. He remembers how frighteningly easy you are to talk to; he remembers your habit of smacking his stomach when you get flustered; he remembers you getting flustered a lot. He remembers the timbres of your different laughs and how your stunning features crinkle with each. He remembers feeling like a pane of glass in front of you, just like he had downstairs, and he remembers liking it, somehow. Liking the way you see through him, the way you allow him to just exist as he is. Liking the way you acknowledge his ghosts with such nonchalance, inviting them over for tea and biscuits.

He wants to remember everything about you.

It’s not often he wants to remember anything.

Eventually, your conversation comes to a natural close. In its absence, Jisung notices that the alcoholic sludge in his brain has largely diffused; with it, the rumbling bass of the party below. The full moon hangs at its highest point, blanketing the two of you with anticipatory silence, nudging you towards the only topic you’ve yet to breach.

He meets your gaze again, from all of two inches away this time, and his insides twist.

“You’re still drunk, aren’t you?”

You blink at him, not following. Then he leans his forehead against yours, lets his eyes flicker to your mouth with such unbridled want that you’re instantly dizzy—and no longer confused.

Regret pools in your eyes moments before they close. “Yes, I think so.”

Your lips are so, so close that he can feel the air shift between you when they move, can feel the soft warmth emanating from them. Jisung pulls away before he does anything stupid.

You do the stupid thing for him.

You push his shoulders to the plaster behind him, push yourself onto his lap with a swing of your body and a slotting of your legs on either side of him. 

The plush of your thighs hugging his hips, the curves of your breasts pressed against his chest, Jisung tries to stare up at you, perplexed, aroused. But you’re so close that he can’t, so he settles with whispering upon the underside of your chin, “what are you—”

“Gimme your lemonade.”

The authoritative words come out in a slurred haze, and he all but hastens to oblige. 

You pluck the plastic bottle from his wavering grasp. His empty hand hovers as if uncertain where to go. But matters as trivial as hand placement drop off his mind’s precipice as he watches you unscrew the cap, the slope of your neck illuminated by spindly moonlight, and without thinking he pushes his hands beneath the hem of your—his—hoodie.

The skin of your waist is warm and smooth where his fingertips are cold and calloused, the juxtaposition unimportant in your reciprocal desires to touch and be touched.

“Open,” you murmur.

His jaw goes slack, firstly from pure disbelief. Then, obedience. The dark locks that obstruct his vision of you fall away as his head meets the brick half-wall behind him, as if the midnight breeze itself mandated their removal.

You pour some of the pink liquid past Jisung’s parted lips. Stray rivulets slip down his cheek and vanish beneath his neckline. You break eye contact to follow their path with dilated pupils and fluttering lashes. With unadulterated desire.

He swallows, gently, and feels the sweet substance surround his tonsils.

He swallows, forcefully, when you wrap your lips around the bottle, the plastic still slathered in his spit.

The swig you take is long, deep. Your throat bobs and your eyes close as if you’re savoring a finely-aged nectar. Then your lips are popping off the opening with a soft thwock, leaving a thick strand of saliva to suspend, suspend, suspend until the very second it’s about to drop, which is when you collect the residue with a deft swipe of your tongue.

“A placeholder,” you breathe, and Jisung’s head careens. A shared bottle. An indirect kiss.

“You’re a monster,” he croaks.

You giggle and lean down, curling a hand around his cheek, pressing a wet kiss to his Adam’s apple.

“Tomorrow, if we’re both sober…”

One, two, three pecks up the length of his jaw.

“...and you still remember my address…”

A suckle to the lobe of his ear.

“...you can kiss me, for real.”

A trembling breath.

“And then some.”

Jisung moans, loudly.

Thankfully, he remembers a few things.

He shows up at your place shortly after sunset the next day. You swing open the door, your face already alight with your world-ending smile.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

Then he’s kissing you like a man famished.

Jisung learns to love your back, that night. He loves its dips and curves, loves its rise and fall. Loves how it arches into him, how it looks drenched in his cum. It’s the back of his dreams.

The back in his dreams keeps walking.

Jisung has never liked winter.

He has never liked its winds, whispering woefully as if mourning something unnamed and unseen. He has never liked its palette, whitewashing the world as if refracting a rainbow in reverse.

He has never liked cracking open his eyes and seeing the scenery of his nightmare outside his window. Nor does he like trudging over the sleet as if weighed down by the same ghosts that break him time and time again in his dreamscape. They love winter. 

And this winter, he swears, is the bitterest yet. On the nights when he’s allowed to sleep, the nightmare comes in such sharp relief that he thinks he’d rather anything else, the ghosts meaner, the blood redder, the silhouette slower. It’s an act of mercy when he’s still awake by the time bleached sunlight perforates the curtains, resting upon his salted cheeks and balled fists.

This winter, it is not just dislike that he feels towards the gray winds—it’s hatred. A maelstrom of loathing so large and dark that Jisung no longer knows where it’s headed or what it’s directed to. Or who.

When winter break comes to an end, he’s probably the only person who’s happy about it.

His friends certainly aren’t, looking like a line of angry nutcrackers with their folded arms and thunderous faces standing outside Greem Cafe.

Jisung calls out a greeting as he jogs towards them, and cue the grumbling.

“What is there to smile about? Enlighten us.” That’s Hyunjin. “I have to deal with four finals and three essays in the next five days and this guy is smiling.”

“He’s accepted his fate, I reckon.” That’s Felix. “We should do the same, boys. Let ourselves down easy, y’know?”

“No, no, he’s smiling because he remembered to bring me his chem notes.” That’s Jeongin. “You did, right? Please say you did.”

Jisung is stunned into silence. “Can I not be happy to see my friends?”

“No,” Hyunjin and Felix reply in unison.

“My bad,” he sighs.

“My notes,” Jeongin repeats.

“I have them, dude. Let’s sit down first.”

The younger boy shouts an impassioned “THANK YOU” at the sky like the clouds just saved his GPA. Jisung reaches for the door to the café, then stops at the sound of Felix’s voice.

“We’re waiting on one more person.”

He turns towards the blonde with puzzled eyes. He’d been under the impression the study session would comprise just them four.

“Who?”

Felix’s response falters on his tongue when he catches sight of something in the distance, and his face changes in a way Jisung’s seen before.

“Look behind you.” Felix shuffles past him, raising his voice to shout, “yo!”

Jisung glances away from the newcomer as quickly as he sees her. It’s not until his eyes pivot to the fire hydrant across the street that he processes her identity.

In one second flat, his mind clutters full. He thinks back to that party, when all it took was the sight of your smile for him to theorize you were the most exquisite thing ever made. He thinks back to the next evening, when he kissed you and verified his hypothesis. He thinks back to what followed and would continue to follow in the few days that remained before break: entwined tongues and emblazoned hickeys, whitened knuckles and whiny praise, snapping hips and shaking bedframes.

This winter, Jisung swears, is the bitterest yet.

But seeing you, the scarf wound multiple times around your neck doing nothing to hide your gorgeous smile, feels like catching a fragment of summer in his frozen hands.

“Thank god,” Felix groans before embracing you. Collapsing on you, more like. “I’m saved.”

You reach around to pat the boy on the back, your eyes brimming with laughter. “Lower your expectations, please. I did well on one exam.”

“You aced the midterm. That automatically makes you a rocket scientist,” Felix corrects, his voice muffled into the shoulder of your coat. A few beats of silence pass. Then, “this is comfy.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go get some caffeine in you,” you giggle. “We have a lot of ground to cover today.”

Felix straightens up sleepily. And sadly. “Superb.”

Jisung hangs back as you introduce yourself to Hyunjin and Jeongin. He doesn’t even notice his growing smile until you’re standing directly in front of him and for the first time in three weeks there’s the smell of cherry blossoms in the air and a rainbow shining on his face again.

“Hi,” he offers.

“Hey,” you reply.

Hyunjin is the one to shatter the prolonged silence that follows. “Are you guys betrothed?”

Felix and Jeongin stalk into the café snickering. You and Jisung trail behind with flaming cheeks.

It takes Jisung two and a half hours to talk to you again. At that point in the afternoon, Felix is napping on the second practice test you’ve given him; Hyunjin has downed three shots of pure espresso and is currently viewing his screen with concerning intensity; Jeongin is at another table on a quiet Zoom call with his chemistry T.A., Jisung’s notes clutched to his chest like a life vest. And you’re leaning back against your seat opposite to him, scrolling through your phone in what he presumes to be a well-deserved study break. As good a time as any.

He opens up his texts with you. His fingers fly across the keyboard.

Jisung: do you have plans after this?

Your eyes stutter to the top of your screen, linger there for a moment, and lock onto Jisung’s from across the table.

He presses his lips into a thin line to suppress his smile. You let yours spill over in full form, and with it comes a soft giggle that would be worth getting his number fucking blocked just to hear one more time.

Three gray dots appear before elongating into a prompt response.

Y/N: I was gonna ask you the same thing…

He’s the one who laughs this time. Fuck, you’re cute. You’re so cute.

Jisung: can i take you to dinner? Y/N: Yes, I’d love that :) Y/N: When should we leave? Jisung: 9? Y/N: Sounds good~ Jisung: cool Jisung: it’s a date Y/N: It’s a date! Y/N: Excited 💛

With that, you put your phone face down and return to work, though your lips remain privately upturned. Jisung wants to kiss them again.

He also wants to turn you into a mess on his cock again.

Or both.

He doesn’t get much studying done after that thought surfaces.

Jisung: me too <3

When nine o’clock rolls around, you and Jisung begin cleaning up your work stations in near-perfect simultaneity. There’s confusion written all over Hyunjin’s and Jeongin’s faces as they watch you swing your backpacks over your shoulders—but Felix’s expression is a blank slate as he sips from his macchiato. Your ingenuity isn’t the only reason he invited you today.

As you make your way out of the café, your shoulders brush once, twice, and then Jisung drops his hand into the space between the two of you without uttering a word. You scoop it up in your own without missing a beat.

He steps into the freezing night feeling warm all over.

“You know what I realized?” You say as you walk towards his SUV.

“What did you realize?”

“We’ve never had a sober conversation before. Can we change that tonight?”

Jisung has broken hearts before.

There’s no euphemistic way to describe his tendency to abuse the sensitive organs, to wring them out and throw them away like irrelevant trash. To juggle and drop them with a sheepish laugh like they’re nothing more than props in a circus act.

He doesn’t do it to save himself or his partners from getting hurt or any self-ingratiating bullshit like that. It’s for himself, all for himself. All to unload his balls and his mind for fifteen blissful seconds. 

There’s blood on his hands. He never cared to wash it off.

Except you are the one asking for his heart this time around, a dash of hope in your smile as you do so, and he thinks it would be his life’s greatest honor to be discarded by you.

“Sure,” he answers.

He doesn’t even last until he’s inside the car.

Your back meets the door to the passenger’s seat, guided there by his hands on your hips. From millimeters away he watches your surprise morph into understanding, then darken into lust.

“I like when we don’t talk, though.”

It’s the most annoying thing in the world to remove so many layers in such a cramped space.

Combined, your clothing forms a tower high enough to block out the driver’s window completely. An unnecessary blockade.

The glass fogs up anyways.

“Fuck, Ji, yes, right there, oh my god.”

You have your legs spread open and the back of your neck digging into the cupholder on the door. It’s not comfortable. You’re too busy getting fucked open to care.

Jisung detaches his lips from your neck to ask, “here, baby?”

The head of his cock hits that gummy spot again, harder, sweeter. You convulse, your hand scrambling for purchase in his raven locks.

“Yes, yes, yes, don’t stop, please.”

Please. The word plays over in his fuzzy mind.

It seems saying no to you is an impossible task.

His cock slips out of you and you lament the loss of contact with a high wail.

“W-why’d—where’d you go?”

He can’t help but chuckle at how incoherent you’ve become. He cradles the back of your head with a tender hand and lowers your upper body onto the leather seat, adjusting himself to your new elevation.

“Right here, beautiful. Didn’t go anywhere—promise—” 

He expels the final word through gritted teeth as he slams into you again, and the new angle is glorious. Your bodies keen in flawless harmony. Profanities tumble from his lips in a steady stream before they turn back into syllables.

“Would never go anywhere. Would never leave without making this pretty pussy cream like it deserves—holy fucking shit, baby.”

You clench around him at his words and then he’s setting a new, relentless rhythm, rocking the whole vehicle with every hearty smack of his hips against yours, your wet walls squeezing him so dreamily he thinks he sees nirvana with every thrust.

You’re enjoying it just as much, if the bubbles of spit in the corner of your mouth are any indication, and Jisung is viciously proud to be the cause. Unbelievably lucky to feel your breasts jiggling under his chest and your nails digging into the back of his neck.

“Good?” He whispers, and you nod blissfully.

“So—good, Ji, so fucking good. Your cock is perfect, fuck, I can’t even—can’t even think.”

“You’re the perfect one. Can’t believe how well your cunt takes me, shit. It’s like it was fucking made for this.”

“It was,” you breathe, and he nearly shoots his load into you at this alone. “It was, it was—oh, god, I think—think I’m gonna come—”

“Do it,” he rasps. “Come for me. Come on this cock and it’s yours.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

“Then, I will. I’ll come on your cock—make it mine. Need it so fucking bad, I’m so fucking close, oh—please—”

He anchors himself in place with a hand against the windowsill and the other travels down your body to rub fast, tight circles into your clit. You let out a wanton, prolonged moan, tilt your head back to expose him to your fluttering throat. And then you’re pulling his lips onto yours again, and the following kiss is sloppy beyond belief, the kind that can only antedate the happiest of endings.

“My cock,” you sigh into his mouth. “Mine.”

“Forever,” is the breathy response he doesn’t know if he means, the response he gives you anyways.

And then you curl your fingers in his hair. Clamp your teeth around his lower lip. Clench your thighs around his waist. There’s liquid everywhere. Tearwater spilling down the sides of your face. Release gushing all over his dick and pelvis and backseat.

He catches up the moment he realizes what’s just happened. Pulls out of you. Presses his head against the roof of his car. Spits on his hand. Pumps his pulsating cock. Sends himself over the edge you’ve just finished tripping over.

Eventually, he regains feeling in his limbs.

He opens his eyes, surveys the damage, and grins.

Your stomach is covered in ropes of white, your expression hidden behind your hands. You start shaking your head in profuse embarrassment the moment you feel his eyes on you.

“You squirted,” he says.

“I know,” you almost yell, and his grin erupts into a laugh.

He lowers himself back over you, takes your wrists, and removes them from your blushing face. He doesn’t think he’s seen you so flustered before and it has him palpitating in ways he never thought feasible.

Maybe he did mean the damn thing after all.

He pushes off the strands of hair clinging to your damp forehead and replaces them with a gentle kiss. “It was sexy as fuck and you’re everything.” 

There’s a certain softness in your eyes when he pulls away. He hopes, for your sake, it’s all in his head.

His car is in need of aftercare most of all. You shrug on your clothes with considerable effort and get to work, all while sharing comfortable chatter and easy laughter.

Those things persist during your dinner date at a nearby Chinese restaurant and the drive back to your place, which Jisung knows well enough to no longer need his GPS. Those things persist until he kisses you goodbye on your doorstep, because he would have to be fucking crazy not to after you gave him the best night he’s had in so long.

After you reminded him that he’s still capable of comfort and ease, in spite of it all.

Snow comes a few weeks into the new year. 

This winter, it falls late, and it falls hard, like a gust of breath expelled from drawn lungs at the very last minute. Held there as if lying in wait for something unnamed and unseen. 

The gust of breath is too quiet to be heard over the one Jisung lets out against the shell of your ear. “Wait here.”

He goes to roll off you. You don’t let him just yet, darting your hand around his wrist and bringing his face back within centimeters of yours.

Han Jisung is beautiful. You knew it for the first time at that houseparty and you’ve known it every hour of every day since. But it’s always clearest to you in the afterglow, when his bare skin is golden and sticky and his delicate lips bitten to bright fuchsia. 

When his irises have gone black and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light.

You close the distance that remains between you. Your lips part with a content sigh. Your hands drift over the slant of his neck; his find home in the dips above your waist.

He breaks away once you’re both out of breath, and the pad of his thumb wipes lightly at your lower lip.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes,” you reply shyly. “I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile this brings to his face reminds you of a candle’s flame. Soft on the eyes and scalding to the touch when he presses it back against your lips. Once, twice.

“Can you wipe your cum off me now?” You whisper, and he laughs straight into your mouth.

The mattress lifts. His footsteps grow quieter. You shiver in his absence.

Only then do you notice the blizzard.

You stumble off the bed to throw your curtains aside. Snow descends from the sky like spools of unraveling yarn. The streetlights have been reduced to foggy specks, the parked cars to blurry heaps. Every sidewalk and rooftop in sight has already been slathered in ivory.

Jisung announces his return with a disbelieving whistle.

“Am I dreaming?” You murmur.

“When did that happen?”

“I have no idea.”

You don’t even notice the wild smile on your face until you turn to him and catch his reaction to it. He looks like he’s asking himself the same question.

“C’mere,” he hums, and you oblige.

He laves the warm towel over your breasts and stomach, as well as the places his release has trickled since you flung yourself to your feet. All while supporting the small of your back with a touch fatally careful, an expression wholly adoring. All evidence of just how blurry the line between sexual escapade and lover has become in two short months.

Your ribcage fucking throbs.

“You don’t seem excited,” you say.

He finishes cleaning you off. You give him a distracted thank you, noticing the sudden shadow draped over his face like a netted veil.

“I’m not,” he answers, not unkindly.

“You don’t like snow?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

He circles around the bed to get dressed. You bend to pick up the clothes tossed aside earlier and drop them into your hamper, then slip into a clean pair of underwear and sweatpants.

“It’s a long story.”

Just as you reach for a top, a bundle of cloth travels in an arc across your bedroom and hooks itself around the crook of your arm. His T-shirt. 

You glance at Jisung. He’s already looking elsewhere, but his private smile makes its way onto your face as you slip it on.

“Well, I have time.” You sink into your mattress, now surrounded by his muted musk, his papyrus and petrichor. “We’ll be stuck here a while, after all.”

“Stuck?” Jisung repeats, the lanyard of his car keys dangling from the pocket of his hoodie, his feet turned towards the door.

A pregnant pause commences. His intentions dawn, and you gape.

“You’re not driving right now.”

He breaks eye contact.

“Right?”

That was the plan, you read in his expression.

You know better than trying to reverse a river’s current by kicking up rocks. You know better than trying to curtail the flight of an albatross by clipping its wings.

You know better than asking someone who thinks he was made to leave to stay.

And you won’t.

“I have somewhere to be early tomorrow morning,” he stammers, the lines terribly rehearsed. “The snow’s not heavy, I’ll be—”

“Stay.”

You’re not asking.

Jisung looks at you, startled, as you glide across the bed. You place your feet on the hardwood and circle your arms around his waist. Lace your fingers upon the hollow of his back. His pulse goes uneven at your abrupt proximity.

Akin to the drag of a feather, you mouth at his cheek, then the side of his neck.

“You can stay, Jisung.”

He shudders at your words, and you’ve got him.

It’s oddly normal, the sight of him clambering into your bed in your clothing—a pair of old sweatpants and your favorite crewneck—like this isn’t the first time you’re sleeping together in your two months of sleeping together.

In fact, the only indication of anything unordinary is the floaty feeling in your stomach when your head hits the pillow and discover Jisung’s face only inches away. He drapes an arm over your waist, gathering you close. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

The inevitable question follows.

“Can I save the story for another time?”

“Sure,” you return, keeping your voice small. He doesn’t hear your disappointment this way. “Should we go to sleep, then?”

“We should.”

Your foreheads touch. Your noses bump together. Your eyes cross, watching the adoration pull at his. You dimly register your hand threading in his fluffy locks, his thumb running over your cheekbone. Your lashes narrowly miss the surface of his eyes, and then he tips your face up by millimeters.

You don’t remember when you fall asleep. You only recall the hour beforehand that you spend with Jisung’s lips traversing yours, like you are the ocean and he’s uncovering new waters with every bruise he prints against your throat, every suckle he leaves around your tongue.

In your dream, the roles reverse and you are the one exploring him, mapping out his constellations with wide-eyed wonder.

You wake to a black hole.

For the first five seconds, you see nothing. You hear nothing. You feel nothing. You only blink in the darkness, your mind kicking into groggy gear to ask the very good question of why you’re conscious again.

Instinct moves your hand across the mattress. Empty space greets you where Jisung should be. Unfounded dread shoves your back off the bed. You gasp, the sound seeming to echo in the cavernous silence.

Your eyes adjust enough to discern light in the crack beneath your door, and you’re wide awake.

The following events go by in a blur. You stumble out of bed and into your closet, fastening your fingers around the thickest piece of fabric you find. You fly into the living room, where the lamp by the couch is left on and the pair of worn black Converse on your doormat have gone missing.

The front door is cracked open, and through the narrow inches you spot someone hunched on the stairs outside, his dark hair dyed platinum by the awning light’s fluorescence.

Your heart stills in relief, then quickens with anxiety.

You’ve tried wearing this crewneck in January enough times to know you can’t. In fact, you suspect that it somehow soaks up the temperature, lets it seep in between its every seam until it becomes one with the bitter winds. 

But he isn’t shivering, you notice as you take a seat next to him, draping the puffer over both of your shoulders on your way down. He’s simply staring off into the bleak storm, snowflakes sitting atop his head like a coating of ash, their color matching that of his frozen skin. He’s becoming one with the bitter winds. 

At first, you don’t recognize the man in front of you.

You’re well familiar with those ring-laden hands and the whetted jawline thrown into shadow, those remnants of cologne clinging to his frame. But you have never seen that gaze before, bloodshot and bleak and belonging to somebody new. Somebody who isn’t completely here, straddling the partition between the realms of people and phantoms.

Then he lifts his eyes and you see stars, flaring in the absence of light. Your stars.

And you recognize him for the first time ever.

You drop your hand to your hip, and his fingers feel stiff and cold and perfect, sliding into the spaces between yours.

“Why don’t you like snow?” You ask.

Jisung’s eyes return to the swirling sleet, but he moves your interlocked hands to rest on his thigh, and you know that he’s with you.

He’s been having this nightmare.

It takes place in a small clearing. It’s winter, and everything is covered in snow. Not the gentle kind that you can catch on your tongue, but the unyielding kind that’s hard and dense and covered in cracks, like a lake newly frozen over.

Somebody is in front of him, walking away. He can only see their back. He wants to chase after them. He doesn’t want to be left behind. But there are ghosts nearby, and they’ll split his skull open on the permafrost and tie his windpipe into a pretty bow if he so much as dreams of pursuit. He always does. He doesn’t know how not to.

Normally, the back leaves, and he can do nothing but remain. He can direct his loathing only to the snow into which he bleeds. 

Normally, he waits for the dream to end with something bordering on boredom. He’s seen this movie too many times. He fucking hates how it ends.

This time, though, the snow tastes like something.

After the flavors deliquesce upon his tongue, his head shoots up, his eyes blowing wide as they latch onto the retreating figure. He knows who it is.

His feet scrabbles against the ice with his attempts to rise to them. He lunges forward with frenzied resolve, and that is when the ghosts snap his neck.

He wakes up.

“Cherry blossoms and vanilla.”

You blink, tearwater streaking from your eyes in silent, steaming trails.

“That’s—”

My shampoo.

A broken sob escapes you in lieu of the rest of your sentence, and Jisung laughs, a flimsy facade that crumbles when he lifts his hand to dab at your moistened cheeks and it’s trembling.

“Silly,” he murmurs. “I’m used to it now.”

“I don’t want you to be.”

“I don’t want you to cry for me.”

“You died.”

“And I would do it again.”

This response comes without an shred of hesitation.

You first realized you had something to confess, that night in the the back of Jisung’s SUV. You’ve kept it locked away for your sake and his, even moreso. You see how fear clings to him like an unshakeable wraith, and you refuse to feed the parasite.

Now, your confession explodes from its fortress in the center of your soul and rises up your larynx. You panic like an inept security guard letting their only prisoner bolt free. Is it really the right time? Do you know what to say? Have you really thought this through? 

Too late. It’s rushing to the point of your tongue already. You suppose you’ll find out.

He saves you the trouble.

“Honestly?”

Your confession stills. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, and I won’t try to convince you otherwise. You’d call my bluff. You’re good at that.

“But everything feels okay when I’m with you. You see me. You allow me just to exist as I am. You make me feel human again—you make me want to feel human again. You empty my mind.”

You feel as if you’ve been ejected into space naked, griping for air where there is none.

“I never believed in having somebody to lose,” he utters, gently leaning his forehead against yours. “But I would rather disappear than watch you go.”

You cradle his jaw with shaking fingers, trying and failing to quell the violence of your emotion.

“Don’t go,” he exhales.

You kiss him.

It should feel the same as before. You reach for the slant of his neck, him the dips above your waist. You sigh into him, parting your lips, and he moves into you deeper, harder, dipping into your mouth with his tongue’s pliant swipe. But there’s something new in the way you hold each other, in the seal of your mouth against his.

The line between sexual escapade and lover vanishes as if swept off the sand and into the sea. His stars come out of hiding at last and they bathe you in their residue, light your heart aglow.

Your confession resurfaces. It wants to stargaze also.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

The night comes and goes.

The two of you spend it entangling, sweating, your lips glued the expanse of his neck and the arcs of his shoulders, writing over the ghosts’ injuries with bruises of your making.

Only when the winds have faltered outside do you attempt to rest again. You are curled up in balmy bliss, utterly depleted. Jisung’s arms around your middle and legs threaded among yours bring you that much closer to slumber’s cusp.

You attribute it to your exhaustion when he mumbles something against you, and you have no idea what it means: “Thank you for refracting me.” 

Your confusion is palpable in your silence. His laugh hits the nape of your neck with a gentle puff, and he kisses the spot just beneath your ear. “Never mind.”

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