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sailoryooons · 2 years

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Carved | One | jjk (m)

→ Summary: Hundreds of years after the Underworld wins the war, Vaesen - demon kind - rule the Realms. The Vanir - creatures of light and the Heavens - are hunted and enslaved by Vaesen. When the demon prince Jungkook is given one of the Carved - angels who have been stripped of their wings - he has no idea what to do with you. You, however, have plans you are determined to see through. Even if it means death in the end.

→ Pairing: demon!Jungkook x angel!female reader

→ Rating: NSFW & 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging with this content. Any minors discovered interacting with adult content will be blocked immediately.

→ Type: Series

→ Word Count: 11,921

→ Genre: dystopian, urban fantasy, enemies to lovers, angst

→ Series Warnings: This series will feature multiple religious themes under the guise that there are multiple heavens, hells, and all religions are real. Each chapter will contain it's own warnings, however please note that general tags that will fall under this series are: death, gore, dead dove do not eat, enslavement and abuse. This is a dark story. Though there are some good parts, reader and Jungkook are two individuals under very intense circumstances and have goals that do not align. If you want to read it for the smut, please do. But do not leave comments about how morally reprehensible some of the characters will be in this.

→ Chapter Warnings: Murder, graphic depictions of blood drinking, mistreatment of enslaved characters, imbalanced power dynamics, explicit language, alcohol consumption, drug use, graphic depictions of dismemberment, intense world building, hints of suicidal thoughts, hints at non-con / dub-con (not by Jungkook's character), characters fighting to the death, racism in regard to species, a lot of world building (sorry), explicit sexual content, oral (m. receiving), implied sexual content including sadist/ masochist mentions, everyone is a terrible person, including Jungkook

→ Main Masterlist: here

→ faq

A/N: The first chapter is here! This is not as long as I originally intended, but as this is an eight chapter story, I just wanted to get the first chapter to lay the scene. Please note that Jungkook's POV is in third person - this only happens on this occasion - this story will maybe feature Jungkook's point of view one more time, but it will predominantly be reader's. I apologize for all of the terms and unfamiliar words - I will put a mini glossary at the end of things mentioned in here. I hope this lives up to the anticipation, I had a lot of people excited for this which always makes me SUPER nervous.

what music hali was imagining for reader's grand entrance: hells bells by AC/DC

Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgement or representation of real life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. BTS is not BTS culturally, intellectually, physically or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

/ PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER /

Jungkook’s eyelids flutter as he tilts his head back, thighs twitching. His fingers wrap tightly in the girl's hair – he's already forgotten her name – tugging at the strands near the scalp. He feels her moan around his cock, vibrations making him pant.

Gritting his teeth, he looks down at the carnal vision in front of him. She blinks up at him, black tears streaking down her face, makeup ruined. Jungkook growls, tightening his hold further, thrusting up into her mouth. Spit dribbles down the sides of her face and chin. He doesn’t care. She gags, more spit leaking out the sides of her mouth as he fucks up into her. She chokes. He doesn’t care.

Her nails are hot in his thighs. Jungkook closes his eyes, thrusting with abandon. Her throat hugs him tight, hot and perfect as he chases a white light beyond his eyelids.

It hits him, making him cuss as he shoves her down all the way, her throat clamping down on his thick cock as he cums.

Spent, Jungkook pulls her off his dick. She gasps for air, falling backwards and heaving. Her mouth is a mess of cum and drool. Her lips are swollen, a fucked-out mess on the marble floor, whining.

Jungkook pushes himself off the rose quartz sink. The lights in the bathroom are dim, a cool pink. He flicks the faucet on, washing his hands from the grease and glitter on her skin. The soap smells like lavender, softening the callused palms of his hands.

Glancing up, Jungkook hesitates at his reflection. Round eyes stare back at him, bloodshot. His pupils are saucers, blown out and hungry. He re-arranges his dark hair, pushing it backward. A single, stray lock falls over his brow, insistent on staying out of place. He leaves it, giving his outfit a one over: black leather pants with a smear of the girl’s glitter, black shirt with buttons, open almost to the navel. The sleeves are long, hiding the winding tattoos on his right arm to his back.

The girl now on her knees on the floor says something to him. He can barely hear over the roar of his orgasm and the music rattling outside in the main club. Jungkook turns around, frowning when he finds her pliant and squirming on her knees for him.

“What?” he asked her.

“Touch me,” she begs. Her pink hair is mused, eyes shadowed with watery makeup. Lipstick smeared. It should turn him on, but it doesn’t. Jungkook knows Taehyung will have more girls and boys back at the penthouse for him. Jungkook is the birthday boy after all. “Touch me, dominus.”

Jungkook scowls. “Get up,” he barks at her. “You’re not a collared whore. Don’t act like one.”

The girl flinches visibly but he steps around her, already tired. He flicks the lock on the private bathroom and melts into the shadow of the hallway beyond.

Deep bass pulses from the dancefloor. Lights and bodies tangle below as Jungkook comes out of the private bathrooms on the second landing. Below him resembles a Vaesen pit – swirling bodies pressed up against one another, the smell of hundreds of creatures and pheromones heady.

A circular walkway with no balcony looks over the main dance floor. The music vibrates the metal floor beneath Jungkook’s boots as he walks over to a section of velvet booths, diamond tables and expensive booze. The red curtains are tied back, revealing a handful of lounging Vaesen royalty and high society. Collared Vanir purr in the laps of Jungkook’s friends, their sickly-sweet voices lost over the thump of bass.

Jungkook plops down next to Jimin. The son of the richest man in all of Lythos grins at Jungkook, peeling the petite collared pixie from his lap and pushing her aside. The pixie tries not to look put out, her pink lips frowning. Her all-black eyes show no emotion, but she’s moving onto the next victim. Sora lets the pixie climb all over her, giving Jungkook an amused look.

“Got your rocks off?” Jimin asks, shouting over the music. He leans forward and grabs a sweating glass. Jungkook can smell the mint and synth in the alcoholic beverage, a lethal drink. “Didn’t take long.”

“Just needed to get blown.”

Jimin laughs at Jungkook’s comment as though Jungkook invented comedy. The young demon is burning with vitality and he’s very drunk, the synth oozing through his veins. And why shouldn’t he be drunk? It’s Jungkook’s birthday and he wants his friends to enjoy themselves, even if Park Jimin has never had a day where he didn’t indulge in his desires.

As a powerful succubus, it’s Jimin’s talent to indulge.

Jungkook doesn’t fault him for that. Jimin’s father owns the largest collection of private banks in the Realm, not just Lythos. Their silver tower they call a home glitters above the entire city – higher even, than Jungkook’s - home to the entire Park lineage. Jungkook cannot keep track of the number of ancestors Jimin belongs to. Jimin is the only Park that matters to him.

Across from them, Taehyung is drawing a knife across the shoulder of a nephilim girl. Taehyung’s legs are spread open, the girl melted in his lap as her eyes stare up at Taehyung like he is the only thing in her world. And he probably his. Taehyung’s leer hypnotizes even the strongest of Vaesen. A collared nephilim is nothing against his magic, especially when he looks the way that he does.

Taehyung’s amber eyes flick up, sensing Jungkook’s gaze. He grins before slipping out a pink tongue to lap at the girl's blood, dripping down her shoulder. The demon closes his eyes, tongue laving at her skin. She shivers in his grip, canting against him.

Jimin gets up from his spot beside Jungkook, slinking across the private space to join Taehyung and his ravishing hands. Jungkook watches the pair sink their teeth into the girl, never biting in the same place twice. Blood blooms over her milky skin. Her eyes roll back in her head, putty in their hands. Blood smears. Wounds drip.

Movement next to Jungkook draws his attention. Sora has disposed of the pixie on her lap, sidling up to Jungkook and nodding toward the pair feeding on the nephilim. “Going to have to pay extra for that.”

Jungkook shrugs. He tries not to look at the girl. He can hear her heartbeat slowing as her blood pools at Taehyung’s shoes. The security at the front of the booth has the intelligence to pull the strings holding open the booth’s curtains. The velvet brushes shut.

Biting nephilim to death isn’t illegal but Jimin and Taehyung are prominent members of society. Unflattering pictures with blood running down their chins and neck just won’t do. Especially because Jimin is engaged to the sweetheart of Lythos, a movie star known for her sweet and innocent disposition on camera.

Andromeda was a nightmare off camera. She doesn’t care what Jimin does, but they have a single rule: do not embarrass me.

“It’s on Taehyung,” Jungkook grunts. “Spared no expense.”

“He even purchased the box of honor in tomorrow’s Titan League match, didn’t he?” Jungkook nods, internally groaning. He forgot that Taehyung had purchased the very obnoxious and very publicized seat of honor for the sporting event. “Bet your father will appreciate your presence there.”

“He will,” Jungkook grunts.

Belial has been pushing Jungkook to participate in more public events for years. Anything to get his youngest son in the public for all of the right reasons. Jungkook knows that he hads to try harder than his brother and sister to be featured in a light that the Belial prefers.

Too nice and they call him an angel. Too violent and they accuse him of overcompensation.

Across melted ice and broken bottles of synth-infused alcohol, the nephilim’s heartbeat lulls to a stop. Jungkook glances at Jimin and Taehyung. They’re not looking at her, instead arguing over the odds for the Titan League match tomorrow. Jungkook doesn’t follow the gladiatorial fights, but his friends are incredibly invested in betting on the Vanir slaves that fight in them.

Blood runs down Taehyung’s neck. The darkness of it looks stark against his satin skin as Taehyung rolls his eyes and leans back against the seat of the booth while Jimin leans forward gesticulating wildly with his hands.

Neither of them looks down at the dead girl in Taehyung’s lap.

Jungkook glances at his other friends in the booth. Yoongi is yawning while a man who is distinctly fae makes out with a woman who looks vaguely lupine over him. He looks bored, as he often does when they go out.

The kitsune is rarely entertained by Taehyung and Jimin’s taste. He’s also been alive for almost two thousand years. Jungkook has a strong sense that nothing in life surprises, or is new to Yoongi anymore. His dark, feline eyes stare out into the distance, lost in his own world as the Vanir turn their attention to him, sucking marks into his smooth, pale neck.

Sora’s girlfriend Maeve giggles at something Sora whispers to her. Her hair is raven black with eyes the color of poison. Maeve looks every part the villain, a sleek figure and cunning eyes with a wicked mouth. Jungkook had a crush on the eldritch vampire as a child until he realized that she was as insidious as her gaze. Jungkook didn't like being the prey and got over his crush quickly.

She still likes to poke fun at him for it, much to his distaste.

The nephilim flops to the floor, knocking glasses off of the table displaying liquor. The Vanir flinch, looking at the dead girl as Taehyung and Jimin frown before continuing their conversation. No one seems to be paying attention except for the wisp of a pixie that had been crawling all over Jungkook’s lap earlier.

Black eyes fixate on the dead nephilim. Jungkook frowns. The pixie trembles and sniffs, covering her mouth. Jungkook smells it then- the fear.

Bodies shift in the private booth as the other Vaesen catch onto the scent of her fear. She doesn’t realize her mistake – the first thing they train the collared to do: never show fear. The Vaesen thrive on fear, consume it, crave it.

Hunger stirs in Jungkook. A deep longing for violence and blood. He doesn’t drink blood to live like Maeve, but it fuels his gifts. Makes him stronger. Spurs his arousal.

Jungkook’s tongue traces his teeth – sharp canines among pearly whites. He leans forward, Sora and Maeve watching with muted smirks. Yoongi has pushed the collared fae off of him, watching with muted interest as Jungkook fixates on the shaking pixie.

Jungkook’s world becomes a needle-sharp focus on the pixie. Her heart is beating triple the pace of a humans. He smells her blood – like the sickly scent of honey – and overtop of that the sour scent of adrenaline and cortisol flooding her system as her fear spikes.

The pixie screams when Jungkook lunges. Thrashes against him when he sinks his teeth in. His grip is iron. She wails and Jungkook bites harder, his heartrate spiking as she fights him. His eyes roll back in his head as lush blood flood his mouth.

As the pixie’s heart begins to peter out, Jungkook’s pupils dilate. He is suddenly aware of the other Vanir in the booth, all attention on him. But there is no fear, just dull interest in the scene as he removes his teeth from the pixie’s shoulder with a meaty sound.

Blood runs down his chin and neck. Stains his chains. Pools in the hollows of his collar bones.

Going back to his seat, he sits down – collapses into the seat. His vision is sharp. Colors glitter their true, full shades. He can pick out conversations in booths next to them, hear the carnal noises coming from beyond the privacy of the curtain.

“Like I said,” Sora announces, leaning back with a smirk and kicking her heels up on the table. Jimin moves the pixie to the ground next to the nephilim, making room for himself. “An expensive night.”

Expensive indeed, but Taehyung doesn’t look at the bill when he flourishes the tip of the pen across the paper. Their group moves down to the second floor, bodyguards falling into step next to them. Jungkook has his own personal armada, but he managed to convince Namjoon to come as a lone guard for the night.

Jimin and Taehyung are the only others with guards – Jimin an obscenely wealthy and very prominent member of social society, Taehyung the heir apparent and COO of his father’s mining company that is responsible for the allocation of Lythos most valuable product: synth.

The material found deep underneath the roots of the city now known as synth is a unique mineral that acted as a biological matter, with the malleability to mimic the makeup of other materials. Its use was wild among the elite – pumped into body alterations to heavily modify the body and appearance, combined with food to change flavor and appearance, used in alcohol to enhance the effect - it even has uses in creating creatures that had gone extinct.

Jungkook doesn’t exactly understand how synth works, but he knows that it is a trillion-dollar empire with unprecedented value and achievement. And the Kims' own every single mine that currently has access to synth.

Jungkook notices a lesser demon walk by, a pair of angel wings on its back. The wings catch Jungkook’s attention, making him swivel around to look at the demon as he passes. They’re in the fashion of the seraphim – large and brushing the ground, each feather perfect and white. Jungkook can sense the blood pulsing in every feather and quill, realizing that the wings are functioning limbs.

A synth alteration, he knows. Synth is the only material that can make prosthetics bind to the host and live. The demon now has functioning angel wings, though that doesn’t make him an angel. Jungkook can feel there is no grace in the demon, no hint at the heavenly power that flows in their wings with a small amount humming in the soul.

Rain is heavy on the air. Namjoon brings the car around, Taehyung and Sora elbowing each other and shouting about something that Jungkook doesn’t understand. Blood is still roaring in his ears, pumping from the high of feeding on fear.

Cold air hits him in the face as he slides into the luxurious interior. He slides to the far corner, away from the clamor of his friends. He feels a strong presence next to him as the car pulls onto the road just as it begins to rain in earnest, water slicking across the window.

Jungkook turns. Yoongi is next to him, quiet and dark eyes watching.

Yoongi has no bodyguard of his own. He doesn’t need one. No one can pinpoint exactly what it was that Yoongi does, but he has money and connections. And Yoongi is terrifying. It's well known not to mess with the kitsune, for their old grudges longer than most creatures exist and their minds are their most lethal weapon.

Jungkook met Yoongi through his father – the Min family had been incredibly loyal and a friend to Belial during the War of the Realms. Yoongi has been a loyal ally to Belial - more Jungkook - since. When Jungkook’s father asks for information on someone in the Realms, Yoongi finds it. When they need someone removed from their opposition, they mysteriously disappear.

Jungkook starts to decline but Yoongi does not waver. “You need to settle.”

“My father would disagree.”

“Your father isn’t the pinnacle of great advice.” Yoongi pushes the water toward him again. “Settle or you’re going to frenzy.”

Jungkook scoffs but takes the water from Yoongi. “I haven’t frenzied in years.”

“Exactly. The longer you go, the easier it is to set you off.”

Jungkook knows the fox-demon is on to something. The less he gives into that white-hot hunger that burns deep within him, the more likely Jungkook is to give in. Like he did when he smelled that Vanir’s fear. Jungkook’s demon-blood is too strong to ignore for eternity.

As the son of a Prince of Hell Delta who's also one of the three ruling lords of the Triumvirate, Jungkook’s demonic lineage is powerful. Belial has had eons to perfect ruling in his Underworld, a prince among demons. Now, he is a lord among Realms – one of three, at least.

Perhaps Yoongi is right. Jungkook is due a demonic frenzy and giving away to bloodlust and carnage if he’s not careful. It's just one of the many side effects of being a greater demon.

Water cools Jungkook off. He sighs and melts into the cool seating of the car, his senses dulling as he relaxes. It isn’t until they’re piling out of the car and riding the mirrored elevator to the penthouse that Jungkook realizes how close he was to losing control. He had felt the beginning of the feral fire within him when he was fucking that girl’s throat in the bathroom, but now his head throbs as he comes down from the rush, nerves jittery.

As expected, there is collared Vanir waiting in the apartment for their arrival among other Vaesen in the wider social circle Jungkook runs with. Jungkook’s fellow members of the Underworld shout at his arrival – a surprise party, though Jungkook had predicted Taehyung’s moves.

Jungkook puts on his Lord’s Smile – that's what Yoongi has jokingly called it. He shakes hands with other demons, often flanked by collared Vanir who keep their eyes on the floor. He accepts drinks with a bow of his head and a polite smile. He calls people by their names. He asks about their families and their businesses. He laughs as they rip their Vanir after them by the collar or their hair.

He performs. And he ignores. That is what he is best at. Doing nothing.

After two rounds around his raucous apartment, Jungkook slides his hands in his pockets and makes his way upstairs. He steps over a witch laying on the floor at the foot of his stairs. Her heart flutters like dove wings and her eyes are shut as she pants. Her collar is pink with a little heart on the front. By the time he has reached the second floor of his home, he’s forgotten about her.

Rain mists the sky on his balcony. He shuts the door behind him with a click, the glass frosted from the humidity outside.

Lythos is shrouded this high up, the rain hanging in the air like a grey cloak. The lights of the city burn gently through it, hundreds of stars in a murky sea. He leans on the slick, metal railing and breathes in deep. It's damp, a touch of coolness to the air. In the sky he can’t smell the stink of the city. It's just rain and cloud.

Jungkook closes his eyes. His skin dampens, hair hanging in his face as he lets the water cool him off. His shirt sticks to his skin, sticky and clammy.

Opening his eyes, Jungkook looks down. He can’t see the ground from up here, though his eyes search. He wonders what would happen if he put one leg over then the other to cross the railing. Would the fall kill him? He doubted it, but as he stared, his curiosity piqued.

Pulling away from the haunting call of misted air, Jungkook murmurs, “Ari.”

The lares appears, the phantom silhouette barely visible in the night. They bow deeply – they have no features, nothing to indicate a gender. Whenever Ari speaks, their voice is both within and without, a thousand whispers in a thousand voices.

“Dominus,” they great. “It is my pleasure to serve.”

“Tell Taehyung to send up one of those drakkon males of his.” Jungkook enters his dark bedroom. He snaps his fingers and a fire sparks to life in a modern hearth. “The more ill-tempered, the better.” Firelight gleams in Jungkook’s eyes as that hunger gnaws at him again. “I need something durable.”

Cameras flash like explosions across Jungkook’s vision. He tries not to flinch, but even after hundreds of years of living, his photosensitivity hasn’t improved. He smirks to the camera, though he really just wants to go back to sleep. He can still smell the yarrow salve sticking on his back – the drakkon had left terrible marks all over Jungkook’s tan skin – and his head is pounding from the line of angel dust that went up his nose five minutes before he got out the car.

It's the only way to grin and bear it. It’s officially Jungkook’s birthday. His apartment was silent when he woke up. The bacchanalia from the night before had been cleaned while he was asleep and the drakkon had been kicked out and returned to Taehyung long before Jungkook fell asleep bleeding and bruised.

The sting was still there when he woke up, claws raking marks up and down his body. The drakkon had begged Jungkook to stay the night after Jungkook broke him down. Jungkook is especially good at edging the toughest of Vanir, numbing them to the bone with pleasure.

He never forces himself on them – Jungkook finds little satisfaction in rape. But to have powerful creatures made for killing and fighting begging for his cock? Pretending that their will is strong and that they can withstand him, only to break and beg? That is something. To fuck them until they break apart feels like real power of the mind and of the body.

Jungkook is feeling drunk on it still as Taehyung offers angel dust, a stimulant. He can tell it's laced with synth, the burn harsher than normal angel dust. But it takes the edge off, makes everything appear sharper, and gives him clarity while making him less irritable.

Hells below Jungkook is thankful for Taehyung.

Jimin and his betrothed pose together, his arm wrapped around her thick waist. Andromeda is beautiful – all soft curves and thick legs. Hair that shines even in the darkest of rooms and eyes that glow an insatiable ruby. They would be a great match if they didn’t hate each other.

Titan League games are usually a glitzy affair, but this one is far more blown out than Jungkook wants. There are socialites everywhere, a mix of those invited personally by Taehyung to be in their box of honor for the fights, and those whose company bought them tickets to appear on the rolled-out carpet.

They wish Jungkook a happy birthday as they pass. He respectfully accepts them, though he is careful about his reactions, measures each one appropriately. He does not smile at those too far beneath him, and he makes sure to shake the hands of those who are either going to be someone or who already are.

Years of media training have prepared him for these interactions.

The stadium sits in downtown Lythos, a crown jewel of a building. Its domed roof keeps the eternal rains from disturbing the fans. Holographic screens display the matchups for the night, painting the world blue and purple.

Titan League matches are only held twice a month – there are plenty of smaller gladiatorial leagues where the glaedia fight, but the Titan League is the biggest of the big.

This is where gods come to die.

Holograms appear as they enter the private lobby for those invited to the box of honor for the match. It’s reserved for those being honored during matches, notable patrons or government officials, celebrities and the owners of the Title Match – the big, final showdown that everyone wants to see.

Jungkook studies the holograms in silence. There are ten matches on the night – five small ones with lesser known glaedia, three glaedia that are notable but not worth a final fight, a Gallows Match to punish criminals, and the Title Match.

A frown twists Jungkook’s mouth. Tapping Jimin, he gestures to the empty disk on the floor where the glaedia should be for the Gallows Match.

Watching criminals of the Realms fight trained glaedia for a chance at freedom is one of the crowd's favorite elements of the highly produced games. It’s the second biggest part of the show where collared Vanir warriors show of their skill against vicious prisoners of war who fight like they have something to lose.

“There is no one for the Gallows Match?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin follows his gaze and grins. “Oh, you’re in for a treat. They’ve got Reaper here tonight! She doesn’t have any marketing pieces, but fuck she is a crowd favorite.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar. Jungkook barely recalls Jimin and Taehyung fighting the night before over whether the glaedia – Reaper – should be allowed their own Title Match.

“She doesn’t have marketing? That seems… odd.”

“She’s apparently really difficult to work with.”

“She’s a collared Vanir, they’re supposed to be controllable.”

Jimin’s grin grows. “She’s Carved.”

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. Carved angels are not common. As the most massacred of the species during the War of the Realms, there were few of them left. Having a Carved as a fighting glaedia seemed gaudy and strange.

“What is a Carved doing as a Gallows Match glaedia? And a Carved what?” Their group enters the elevator. The Vaesen attendant – a green-skinned lesser demon – hits the button and they shoot toward the private box. “And Carved are supposed to be the most obedient of the collared.”

“No one knows the type of angel. From its strength, I'm guessing erelim maybe. It's strong willed,” Taehyung speaks up. His grin is like sunlight. “You’re going to love Reaper.”

Music pulses in the arena. Cameras fly around on their own, guided by dedicated staff in the control room somewhere the fans cannot seat. The box of honor is low enough to the field to catch all of the action up close, but high enough to get the entire scope.

People scream and cheer when Jungkook enters the box with his friend. He smiles and waves as one of the cameras buzz over to him, flashing his face on the massive screen hanging from the domed ceiling and other LED screens on tablets and in suites.

The moment passes and he lets out a breath.

Along one side of the suite is an ornate buffet table gleaming with food. Jungkook stomach rumbles as he scans the dishes: roasted honey duck, saffron risotto, artichoke soup with black truffles, parmesan crusted lobster, trays of sashimi and truffled caviar. The food is endless and nearly untouched as the Vaesen move about the room.

Taehyung leads Jungkook over to the president of the Titan League. She’s present for each game, watching with a critical eye and she is responsible for the operations and game presentation. She flashes Jungkook a smile, all sharp teeth ending in fine points. Her eyes are reptilian yellow with pupil slits, a grey pallor to her skin. She is stunningly beautiful, an allure about her.

Jungkook acknowledges the lamia, for he is sure that is what she is. She thanks him for being there and bows deeply. “You are in for a wonderful night, my lord.” The lamia straightens and smiles again, a blush on her grey cheeks. “Quietus is the top of the Titan League’s glaedia. He’s an Ulfheðnar and descendent of Odin. His wolf form is unlike anything we’ve seen.”

“I look forward to it. His opponent?”

She grins.

“A vila called Storm. She has the power of a hundred storms at her command.” Jungkook raises his brows. The lamia quickly adds, “They will both be wearing chokes, of course.”

Jungkook nods. He knows chokes are necessary. Vanir can be powerful, and the electronic rings with needles inserted into the arms of the combatants, control their flow of power with electronic pulses. To even the match, fighters are often given disproportionate amounts of chokes based on their power level.

Music and entertainment thunders from the floor of the arena. Clean sand covers the ground as a dancing group puts on a number for pregame entertainment. Thousands of people fill in their seats, the sound a dull roar beyond the protect electromagnetic shield that Jungkook can just detect on the front of the box.

Dull conversations pull him around the room. He is introduced to the slave owners who own the glaedia for the night’s festivities. Faustus is an ancient vampire with a gut – that Jungkook did not know was possible for vampires – and rings on every hand. His perfumed breath his Jungkook in the face when he assures Jungkook that Quietus is the finest glaedia to have existed in Lythos – perhaps all the Realms.

Faustus’ opponent for the evening is a quiet woman with keen eyes. She’s something vulpine – like Yoongi, but perhaps not exactly. She is polite but reserved, her lips thinning when Faustus insists that his glaedia will destroy hers.

A handful of idols greet Jungkook. Taehyung invited them, of course. Pretty little Vaesen and their glittering makeup and delicate clothes, as though they aren’t full of hatred down to the core. Jungkook lets the cute siren hover near his elbow, throwing her a smirk as she giggles.

When it’s time for the match, the lamia finds him and runs over the opening ceremony briefly – he just has to smile and wave when queued. It's easy. It's simple. He's smile and waved thousands of times.

Lights flicker and dim. The arena volume turns up, the walls vibrating as the host steps out onto the field for opening ceremonies. Jungkook settles in the seat of honor – directly next to the president with Faustus to his right. Taehyung and Jimin sit behind him. He can hear them placing bets as the intro music for the first match begins.

Jungkook watches in relative silence as the president – Rima, he remembers now is her name – stands and waves for the cameras. Jungkook flashes a smile and stands as she instructed him before hand, waving lightly to the crowd.

Music pulses and lights explode on the screen. Jungkook hasn’t been to a Titan League match in a long time, but they’re like any other sporting event in Lythos. Sponsor names and logos flash around the LED rings built into the multiple levels of stands. The massive screen shows brief highlights of the first opponents before announcing them. They take the field to an energetic song, throwing their hands up to the crowd.

Jungkook can see the glinting collars from where he sits. The metal chokes running up their arms.

It's a shame Taehyung has dumped so much money into bringing Jungkook to the event. He loses interest almost immediately, zoning out as the first fight bleeds into the second. He isn’t keeping score, though Faustus launches to his feet multiple times next to him – he seems to be cheering often, so Jungkook guesses vaguely that his glaedia are doing well.

His mind wanders back to the night before, standing on his balcony in the rain and looking out into the mist. It was the closest he had come to at feeling total peace. Just the storm and Jungkook alone in the sky. No one would have seen him if he went over that railing.

Death is not what Jungkook is looking for specifically. He doesn’t want to die – though he often wonders how it’s going to happen. He supposes that he could go to an oracle or a banshee and asked them how it ends. There are so many creatures in the world that know the way the lives of those around them will unfold – it would be simple.

And yet pointless.

Jungkook doesn’t want to die, but he’s not thrilled about being among the living either. Every day is a forced performance, and he fucking excels. He slips through the dance every morning with his family and paints the smiles better than anyone he knows. He keeps his head down, works through the paperwork his father leaves him on his desk, settling petty disputes around the city. He does what he is asked.

But fuck he is tired.

Once upon a time, he used to think that his apathy was similar to Yoongi’s. Yoongi moves about the world at a slower pace than most, never seeming moved, always unaffected. But Jungkook realizes that the kind of apathy that Yoongi has is not from constantly wishing he were anywhere else – was anyone else – it was from years of seeing the same repetitions over and over.

Yoongi remains unbothered because he is confident in the way the world was going to play out. He knows his path. Has walked the same one for almost two-thousand years. The kitsune has the true power to be himself without restraint. It’s awarded him the confidence to not care about anything.

Jungkook envies that. To not care. To be whatever he wants without punishment. It is a freedom that no one truly has except for maybe Min Yoongi.

In the corner of the suite, the kitsune is tucked into a comfortable seat in the corner. His feet are kicked out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and his eyes are closed. Jungkook’s lip twitch in a smile – only Min Yoongi can get away with pulling something like that.

A deep sound vibrates through the floor and up Jungkook’s legs through his boots. He looks up to see that they have moved through almost the entire match. Fuck he is way more distracted than he thought. He hopes that he was at least staring the general direction of the field.

The scene is different now. The crowd gets on their feet, screaming and chanting as a loud bell tolls. People in the suite get to their feet, including his friends. The president remains sitting, but there’s a glint in her eye and smirk on her lips as the music builds.

Unsure, Jungkook stands. He turns to look over his shoulder at Taehyung and Jimin, who are screaming. Jungkook casts Jimin a question with his eyes. Jimin grins and mouths Reaper.

Ah. Jungkook realizes it’s the Gallows Match that they had been excited for.

On the screen, highlights flash. Jungkook feels his breath catch in his throat as he gets his first glimpse at the glaedia in question. The production value is staggeringly better for her introduction, statistics and clips blurring across the screen.

Jungkook is fixated. Lightning snaps across the screen and the entire arena lights up purple. Reaper is shown summoning a blade of pure wind before slamming it down into an opponent, blood spraying. Its glitches to a highlight of her running and jumping high into the air, as though carried on the wings she no longer has before she comes down, severing a giant in two. She fights with a sword and a dagger – never a shield. Her movements are precise and fast, always with purpose.

“Citizens of Lythos,” the host yells in a deep voice over the arena speakers. “She is sword, she is the storm, she is death, she is Reaper.”

The screen flashes to show the glaedia walking down a mirrored hall. It tracks her movements perfectly as she walks, staring straight ahead. Jungkook is surprised – Reaper is absolutely stunning. Hair braided out of her face, eyes piercing and filled with fire. Her arms are corded with muscles, and he sees scars on her flesh, but the way she moves with her eyes forward and chin lifted up is captivating.

Reaper does not look like a whipped and controlled Vanir. She looks angry, proud and violent.

Music ramps up and a spotlight turns on as the gate leading to the glaedia hall opens. She appears in the archway. Fans foam at the mouth. They scream for her. Jungkook watches as the idols in the suite with him scream in delight.

“That’s my Reaper,” Faustus smirks. “Never has a glaedia been so popular for Gallows Matches.”

“Then why does she have no marketing support?” Jungkook asks the question before he can stop himself. Jimin already told him the answer, but he likes seeing Faustus squirm.

“We feel that it feeds the illusion and her mystery.”

“I see.”

Jungkook turns back to look at her. She’s dressed in black, fitted pants and black boots. Her t-shirt is black as well, covered by a leather vest that acts as armor. Jungkook can’t tell from the box, but he assumes it’s magically reinforced. The sword and dagger as her chosen weapons are on her back. Several chokes line her arms as she stands with her hands loose at her waist, staring up at their box.

And then he feels it. Jungkook goes rigid in his seat, fingers digging into the leather armrests. It’s a soft brush of fire, igniting near his soul. He can feel her ember of live burning there, soft and hot. He grits his teeth as a chill settles on him as a flash of emotion – not his own – spikes through him: defiance.

Jungkook pants. He feels her - but no. Taehyung implied that the Carved angel was erelim. Nothing more.

From his vantage point, Jungkook can see the expression on her face. Unfettered rage is there as she glares at the box – not at him, but at the man next to him. Jungkook glances at Faustus and asks, “Feeds the illusion and mystery, you say? Or is she not compliant.”

Faustus sputters. “Carved are quite difficult creatures.”

“Carved are the simplest form of slavery we have. She should die on instinct if you ask her to.” The vampire goes red in the face, something Jungkook didn’t know possible. “Ah, but it makes for a good show,” Jungkook amends. “How many chokes does she wear?”

“Seven.”

“How many is the most in these matches?”

Faustus glances at him, unsure if Jungkook has tired of getting under his skin. “Seven. She wears the most. Quietus wears six.”

Jungkook feels surprise again. “Impressive.”

“No one has worn seven chokes,” Faustus announces proudly. “Ah, here are the opponents for the night.”

A roar of boos rumble through the crowd. Jungkook watches as three uncarved angels are pulled onto the fighting pitch by collars and leashes. He hears someone in the suite gasp – and he is equally surprised.

The three angels on the field aren’t just angels – they're powerful malakim with the full might of their wings and they are unchoked. Though they are the smaller of the angel breeds in the Realms, the messengers of Shamayim are known for being relentless warriors and with power over fire and water.

How a single choked and Carved is supposed to beat them, Jungkook is unsure.

It appears Faustus agrees as he turns to Rima and demands, “What is this? We did not discuss three unchoked malakim for my Reaper. This is an outrage!”

“We discussed game operations before the Lord was announced as our guest of honor. You refuse to put your Reaper in Title Matches despite her skill and our requests.” Rima clicks her teeth at Faustus. “Careful, you’re on camera. Wouldn't want the fans to see you panic.”

Faustus turns and tries to look unaffected. Jungkook can see how settled the vampire is as the malakim are unleashed on the field. They don’t immediately attack the handlers. They know that if they defeat the Carved angel standing across the pitch from them, they’ll be granted freedom.

Jungkook glances at Rima, who has her eyes fixed on the Carved. Either Rima is incredibly confident in Reaper’s ability to rid the world of the three malakim that shuffle their wings on the field, or there is something deeper. Something more sinister.

Punishment comes in many forms, Jungkook knows. He wonders who is being punished: the glaedia or her master.

If Reaper is bothered, she doesn’t show it. She bends down, running her fingers through the sand. It leaves marks, fingerprints in the earth. Jungkook recognizes it as an older tradition, warriors grounding themselves before they fight. He is transfixed as she stands back up and looks at her opponents.

Jungkook’s small connection to the Carved angel peters out. He can still feel her there – but it’s muted. Like a hand on his thigh, soft but not a disturbance.

The malakim shuffle, nervous energy in every movement. They're on the thin side and covered in grime. The Reaper is at least clean, staring at her three foes as the siren blares for the match start.

Noise surge as the crowd's scream, jumping to their feet. Jungkook leans forward, elbows on knees as the malakim attacked.

They're uncoordinated and immediately Jungkook can tell they aren’t working together. He scoffs at the wasted opportunity as the middle most malakim – a female with ebony hair and skin pale as the moon – launches upwards with a few beats of her wings, intending to take the Reaper from higher ground.

The Reaper moves fast. Jungkook almost misses her pull the dagger from her back, throwing it with more force than he’s seen in years. It hits the male malakim with blond hair in the face. Ichor sprays as it cleaves his skull, the dagger hurtling to the ground behind him. Cheers erupt at the sudden display of violence, but Jungkook pays no attention to how quickly she’s disposed of one enemy when she has two left.

Lightning dances up Reaper’s arm as she skips backwards, light on her feet as the two malakim charge her from the ground and the air. Jungkook thinks that if she can get the woman out of the air – he gasps as purple lightning cracks like a whip.

Flashes of purple and white light up the sand as the Reaper throws a rope of lightning at the flying malakim. The opponent on the ground hesitates, looking up as the whip made of pure electricity wraps around the malakim’s neck. Reaper yanks hard, the flying malakim screaming as she is ripped to the earth. She beats her wings, but the force of the bolt seems to overwhelm her.

Dust flies up as the malakim hits the ground. Jungkook can hear the crack of a broken wing. Reaper lets go of her lightning whip to remove her sword, lifting it in front of her face as the male malakim breaks from his shock, trying to land a two-handed blow onto the Carved angel.

Sparks dance where the swords meet. Jungkook feels the vibration in his teeth from the blow. It rattles the malakim but the Carved doesn’t move. The malakim growls something to Reaper that Jungkook cannot hear. She bares her teeth at him, and a gust of wind punches the malakim, sending him backwards. He hits the far wall and crumbles.

Faustus shoots to his feet, screaming and punching his fist into the air. Rima watches with muted interest, her eyes flicking back and forth between the Carved and the female malakim getting to her feet. There's a char line around her neck burned flesh and her right wing hangs wrong, twitching. Jungkook is surprised she’s alive.

The woman pulls the sword from her back. It glints, deadly as she circles Reaper, carefully not to cross her feet. Jungkook can’t help but shake his head.

“What?” Rima asks him, catching the movement. “You are not entertained?”

“These malakim are warriors. Look at the way they move. Why not attack together?”

Rima grins. “Only one is allowed to live – whoever kills the Carved.”

“So it’s not as tilted as it appears.”

“It’s tilted enough. Fighting three malakim determined to skin you alive is difficult enough.”

“Still, had they attacked together, the result may be different.” Rima hums. “You disagree?”

“I think that the Carved has better things to be going than Gallows Matches.”

“Like fighting in your Titan Matches?”

Rima grins.

Metal against metal rings out, drawing Jungkook’s attention back to the fighting. The malakim is quick and precise, going on the offense immediately as she presses the carved back. The male gets up to his feet, though he is unsteady.

The crowd screams directions at the Carved. Despite being on the defensive, she doesn’t seem stressed. She evades the malakim’s attacks with ease, ducking under them and spinning away. She is just beyond the reach of her enemy’s sword each time.

Even when the second malakim joins the fray, the Carved angel is calm and collected. Jungkook is pleasantly surprised when the malakim begin working together, timing their blows. Where one sword misses the next follows through. They get close, but Reaper’s foot work keeps her ducking and dancing.

Reaper barely uses her sword. The crowd is laughing and jeering at the malakim. Jungkook realizes she’s playing with them, making them sweat and work in tandem as they play chase. As they near the corner of the arena, she ducks under their swords again and strikes upward with a fist.

The male malakim goes flying upward. He catches air on his wings, beating them until he goes higher and higher. Fire sparks along his hands. Jungkook raises his brows and realizes what the malakim intends as his female partner battles Reaper.

Heat singes the and as the flying malakim shoots fire at the two of them like guizers. The female malakim screams as her teammate sacrifices her. Orange flame swallows both of the angels on the ground, causing everyone in the box to stand. Jungkook finds himself standing along with them, walking forward for a better view.

Taehyung appears next to him. “Holy shit it fried its friend. Fucking glorious.”

Jungkook can hear the female malakim screaming. “Caged animals will do anything to free themselves.”

Taehyung claps Jungkook on the back. “True, brother.”

A blast of wind erupts from the fire. It knocks the angel backward, spinning as he tries to gain control of his flight. The fire cuts off, smoke curling as the dust clears. Where the female malakim stood is nothing but bone and ash. Reaper steps over the corpse looking up at the male malakim who hovers. She shouts something at him – the malakim answers in kind, sneering.

“Cut!” the crowd screams. The voices join one another, a deep chant as they begin to stomp their feet, repeating the word over and over again. It sounds like a war drum. “Cut cut cut cut.”

“Do it,” Taehyung muttered. “Come on!”

“Do what?”

Reaper looks around. The male malakim seems just as confused as Jungkook. Taehyung doesn’t look at him as he answers, “Reaper can summon the wind and form a blade.”

Jungkook thinks back to her highlights. “That’s an incredible concentration of wind. She can do that with seven chokes?”

Taehyung doesn’t have to answer. The Carved angel widens her stance as the chanting of the crowd booms. She spreads her arms wide, and they begin to scream. Electricity and adrenaline fills Jungkook, that hunger like a frenzy sizzling in his veins at the uncontrolled desire of the crowd. Spit flies as they scream, fans red in the face with the force of their excitement.

The malakim is no longer distracted. He brandishes his sword and drops from the sky, a bullet shot from a gun toward the Reaper. She brings her arms together in a sharp movement, as though she is about to clap. But she doesn’t her arms crossing just slightly. Jungkook sees the blade of wind slice toward the angle, a horizontal disturbance in the air.

Blood and guts spray. Jungkook blinks in surprise. The malakim blinks a moment before the top half of his body separates from the bottom. It’s like time slows. Jungkook watches, fascinated as the light dies from the malakim’s eyes. He drifts to the ground as the crowd screams. They throw roses and flowers. Handkerchiefs and favors hit the ground before the malakim’s blood paints the sand crimson.

His body hits the ground in two parts. Entrails leak from both halves, inky and ruptured. Reaper stares at the pieces of the angel, panting. It's the first time she seems tired, though the match couldn’t be longer than fifteen minutes.

Reaper is announced the winner. She walks over to the center of the pitch, facing the box of honor. Jungkook can make out her features more closely – keen eyes and sensuous lips. There's blood on her face and neck.

The glaedia’s eyes drift to Jungkook. For a moment, they stare at one another. Taehyung elbows Jungkook, teasing him as she stares directly at him. She doesn’t lower her eyes like she should, making him arch a brow. There is an intensity and fire there that makes something deep inside of him stir.

Jungkook almost shivers when he feels her mind brush against his. It’s fleeting and fucking terrifying but it goes away almost as quickly as it came. He’s beginning to think the angel dust has affected him more than he anticipated.

His breath quickens. Erelim cannot touch him - he cannot feel them. There is only one type of angel who can do that, and they're almost eradicated. Jungkook shakes his head, leveling his breathing.

She bows deeply to Jungkook. She straightens and casts her eyes down, as though she remembers she isn’t supposed to look Vaesen in the eye – much less a lord of the city.

Taehyung turns to look at Rima behind them. “Why isn’t the Carved fighting Quietus? The next match won’t be nearly as entertaining.”

The Vaesen who owns Storm clears her throat. “With respect, Mr. Kim, my glaedia are-”

“Fine, I’m sure. But Storm is not Reaper.” Taehyung directs his words to Rima. “You’re the president of the league. Surely, it’s your call to alter the Title Match.”

Rima looks uncomfortable. “It’s not protocol to have a glaedia fight twice or to have a patron’s glaedia fight one another. Storm is wonderful -”

“They are fucking Vanir,” Taehyung interrupts. “What does it matter how many fights they have? They were born to die.” The discussion is drawing the attention of the cameras and the suites next to them. Rima tries not to look put out, smiling. “You cannot tell me that the Carved angel down there fighting an Ulfheðnar is not worth of the Title Match.”

“I don’t disagree with you,” the president answers carefully. She looks at Faustus, who is uncharacteristically silent. “They are your glaedia. Are you willing to lose one?”

The vampire is careful as he says, “It is not ideal. They are my most prized possessions, Mr. Kim. I own glaedia and those are my two biggest money earners.”

Yoongi materializes at Taehyung’s elbow. The taller demon bends his head as Yoongi murmurs something so quietly that even Jungkook cannot make it out. The kitsune drifts a few paces back as Taehyung nods.

“You’re right.” Faustus starts to sag with relief. “So how is this: I’ll purchase Reaper from you as a gift to Jungkook.” That catches Jungkook’s attention, brow arched. “That way if Quietus wins, you still have a glaedia. If he loses, you’re still up money from Reaper’s purchase.”

Jungkook has seen this before. Taehyung’s usually calm and collected exterior gives way to the spoiled son of one of the most powerful demons in Lythos. Taehyung tilts his head, amber eyes glowing. Though Taehyung’s father is Yeom-ra, a demon king, his mother’s heritage remains unknown. It is the son of a king Jungkook is looking at now as Taehyung’s gaze intensifies. All eyes are on them, trained to the tension crackling in the air.

“Lord Jungkook is my best friend,” Taehyung murmurs softly. “And today is his birthday. Have you not seen how bored he is? He is too polite to say so – he is the son of a Triumvirate, after all, trained in the art of manners.” Taehyung steps forward. “I, however, have no such limitations on my patience when it comes to what I’ve paid for. Sell me the Carved.”

No one moves. Faustus looks to Rima for help, but she no longer has the power. Jungkook has kept silent, as he often does. He prefers to watch the exchange. It matters not to him who fights who. He steals a glance sideways at the Reaper. Her gaze is like thunder, dark and stormy. He smirks. Violence is there. Her fist opens and closes.

“As you wish, Mr. Kim. We live to entertain. Reaper and Quietus will put on a splendid match for the Lord’s birthday.” Faustus glances nervously at Jungkook. “They are friends, the pair of them. Their reluctance to fight will be enjoyable.”

Taehyung places a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, amicable again. “There is no such thing as reluctance among the collared. What do you want for the Carved?”

“What am I going to do with a glaedia?” Jungkook asks, shrugging off Taehyung’s hand. “Just let them fight, I don’t need a Carved.”

“Let me buy you the fucking slave, Kook.” Taehyung whistles and a collared dryad appears, bowing her head and handing him a wallet. He removes a checkbook, glancing up through serious brows at Faustus. “The number?”

“She is worth at least three million daenae.”

Taehyung scribbles. Rips the check and tosses it at Faustus. “I’ll buy it for four. Carry on, Rima.”

With a critical eye, Rime speaks into an ear piece, instructing the control room the change of plans. The host down on the pitch gets word, launching into the announcement immediately. Jungkook is only half listening as the host announces that Lord Jungkook has purchased Reaper and put her up for the Title Match against Quietus.

The crowd works themselves into a frenzy.

Rima is busy calming down the patron whose glaedia was originally supposed to fight quietus. The woman is visibly upset, though she talks in hushed tones and doesn’t dare to look at Taehyung or Jungkook.

Jungkook grabs Taehyung by the elbow, interrupting his laughter with a group of socialites. Taehyung let’s Jungkook steer him away as the game operations crew readies the pitch for a new fight. Jungkook does not have to turn to see that Reaper is still on the field. He can feel her there.

“Why would you buy me a glaedia?”

"I have one, I don’t need another.”

Jungkook glares. “I don’t need one at all.”

“Well it can’t hurt you. Your dad might be impressed you had the balls to buy one.” Jungkook is caught off guard by the truth of it. Taehyung must see the anger and hurt flash into his eyes, because the older sighs. “It doesn’t have to be a glaedia. It can be used for anything, it’s Carved.”

Reaper brushes up against the very being of him again. Jungkook closes his eyes, struggling to keep a firm hold on himself. She’s not poking at him, but it’s like she’s discovered someone like her and she’s curious. He doesn’t think a Carved should be able to do that. “Then you take her.”

“My family has two Carved. We don’t need another.”

“I don’t want her.”

And he doesn’t. Jungkook swallows past a lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how to explain it to Taehyung. That Jungkook can feel the angel behind him pacing on the field. He couldn’t feel the malakim. But Reaper invades his senses.

Taehyung turns to leave but Jungkook grips his elbow, hands like iron. Taehyung’s brows furrow as Jungkook very gently says, “She’s seraphim.”

“What?”

“She’s seraphim,” he repeats. “Please don’t make me take her.”

Taehyung is startled. He turns to look at the Reaper on the field. Jungkook doesn’t look as they settle into another pregame ceremony. He feels her drift farther from him, perhaps near the entrance she took to the field. Taehyung looks back at Jungkook, doubt on his face.

“You are sure?”

Taehyung nods. “Just... think about it. And if you don't want it, I'll take it.”

Nerves eat at Jungkook. He doesn’t sit back down in his seat of honor. He stands near the electromagnetic shield protecting them from the glaedia, watching Reaper stare at her opponent. He’s missed the pregame ceremony and entrance of the famed glaedia. The Ulfheðnar is tall and broad, black hair shorn short. His ears are pointed and there are claws tipping his fingers – he’s shifted into his wolf frenzy, and yet he doesn’t attack Reaper.

The two glaedia stare at one another. When the siren announces the fight, neither of them charge. Instead, they walk slowly toward one another, both alert and careful. The crowd begins to hush, falling to a murmur when the two fighters meet in the middle.

It is a rare thing to see a Viking Ulfheðnar not feral in his battle rage. The shifters are ancient bloodlines with Nordic roots, a type of werewolf that is gifted with power from Odin. They shift, like berserkers, during a battle frenzy and are known to be lethal in battle, blinded by rage.

That is not what occurs. Quietus sticks his arm out to Reaper. She grips his forearm tight, an agreement between warriors, some mutual respect as they murmur to one another. There are fans booing in the crowd, but most people, like Jungkook, watch with rapt attention.

Faustus’ words come back to Jungkook: they are friends.

“Faustus, command your glaedia, please,” Rima sighs.

With fervor in his voice, Faustus barks commands in crackling demon tongue. The collar on the Ulfheðnar’s neck sparks with red and he lets go of Reaper’s arm, backing up several paces as he shakes his head wildly, as though he’s trying to shake out fleas. Reaper looks unbothered, glancing once at their box before bowing her head in acknowledgement before stepping back a few paces.

Again, Jungkook feels that defiance surged through her.

Like before, she goes a distance as she rolls her shoulders and removes her sword from her sheath. Jungkook watches as Quietus removes his as well.

Quietus charges first but Reaper reacts immediately, charging him. Their blades spark as they cross, Quietus ducking backwards as Reaper’s sword stabs at his head, his throat and his chest in a quick succession, her movements sharp and fast as a snake.

He clips the end of her sword, sending her arm wide. She spins into his blow, closing the distance he opened up for a strike and using the momentum of her swing to stab into him. Their swords clash with enough force to send her to a knee, blades locked at their cross guards.

Their movements become a blur. The Carved angel moves with fluid, fast movements. One blow bleeds into the next, never stopping, her feet never stumbling. She spins around the Ulfheðnar, keeping him looking for her. Jungkook has never seen a glaedia move like that, never stopping.

The Ulfheðnar seems to barely be controlling his rage. His blows are strong, vibrating up the arms of the Carved angel. Jungkook sees the grit in her teeth as the Ulfheðnar lands a two-handed slice from above, jumping into it. Metal sparks and she goes down to a knee again, the crowd gasping. Jungkook feels a spike of fear – realizing he wants the angel to live. Even if it means being bound to Taehyung.

Reaper’s head snaps to the box. She’s distracted, a look of surprise on her face as her eyes search the box and land on Jungkook. It costs her a sword to the shoulder. She rolls away as her blood wets the sand, the crowd going wild as Quietus draws first blood. The angel skips a few steps back, face twisted in pain as her hand comes up to her shoulder to assess the damage.

Stay out of my head, a voice growls at him.

There is no doubt in Jungkook’s mind now that the Carved on the field is a seraph. Only the seraphim who formed legions of soldiers in the War of the Realms could speak to one another in their thoughts. The legion was programmed to be legendary warriors of Heaven Delta, one of the hundreds of heavenly realms in the world. They were bred soldiers, linked to one another by their souls.

Jungkook knew from experience as he felt his seraph mother die as if it had been his own death.

Sweat beads on his brow. He grimaces as he closes himself off to the pain radiating from the seraphim warrior below. If anyone seems him struggling, they don’t say anything. He fixes his jaw and watches with intense focus as Reaper grimaces and pulls the dagger from her back.

The Carve angels sword work is nothing compared to how she moves with two weapons in her hand. Each move completes the other, her sword slicing followed by the stab of her dagger. She is twisting and cutting, her body in a rhythm of its own.

This is how Vaesen almost lost the war, Jungkook thinks as he watches her. The seraphim and the Valkyrie of Valhalla had been such a force during the War of the Realms that the Underworld had almost lost until the creation of the Lilin.

“Hells,” Taehyung breathes, leaning forward. Reaper opens a cut on Quietus thigh as she ducks under a blow. She lands another gash across his back. The Ulfheðnar roars. “It moves like a fucking soldier. The damn thing had to be in the legion.”

Jungkook snorts. “They’re all dead.”

“Are you watching the same creature I am? That’s not taught as a glaedia. That thing is a Carved seraph of the legion. It has to be.”

The thought that the angel below is old enough to have been a member of the legion during the War of the Realms is unsettling. It would mean that Faustus had no idea what creature he had in his possession – something far more expensive than four million daenae.

Perhaps Taehyung would keep her after all.

The fighters break apart. Quietus is heaving, having to expel all his energy to keep up with Reaper. She points her sword at him, balanced on the top of her dagger. The silver is stained with blood as she takes her stance again. She’s on the attack again, moving toward him.

Fury reins down as she attacks. Wind kicks up the sand as she moves, gathering at her feet. She’s faster now, Quietus barely able to keep up. He makes mistakes, stumbles. Her sword does all of the work distracting him, keeping him ducking as her dagger follows a new dance – it strikes on its own, cutting him open a little at a time. She is no longer fighting with her dagger following her sword movement - she changes the rhythm and uses the weapons separately.

It pays off. She spins away from Quietus and switches her weapons hand. The Ulfheðnar doesn’t realize she's swapped, predicting the attack of her sword hand as the bigger threat, striking her right hand only to find her parrying with a dagger. Her left-hand, gripping her sword, plunges through his chest, the crowd gasping.

Reaper pants. Her hands don’t leave the handle of her sword. Quietus has dropped his, his hands going to her shoulders and holding her in place, head bowed. The crowd is screaming for Reaper, throwing flowers as the shields are lowered, letting fans shower her in favors.

She ignores them. The Carved angel on the field only has eyes for her opponent. She rests her head against his, panting as she says something to him. He nods and slowly, she pulls the sword from his chest. He sags and she catches him, bearing his weight as she puts her sword in his hand. Taehyung makes a sound of surprise, but Quietus does not attack.

Together, the pair sinks to the sand. He grips her sword, panting as the hole in his chest bleed freely. She kneels next to him in the sand, murmuring something to him. Curious, Jungkook finds himself reaching out, only to slam into a metal barrier. He is cut off from her.

The Ulfheðnar’s breathing gets unsteady. He pants once. Twice. His chest no longer rises and he dies with the Carved angel leaning over him, murmuring something in front of thousands of spectators.

Taehyung cheers with the rest of the crowd.

Jungkook does what he does best: nothing.

“You old fuck,” you pant, resting your head against Ulf. Blood and sweat slicks on your skin. He smells terrible – you know you’re not kept much better. But the distinct scent of wolf is there. “You let me win.”

“Fuck you,” Ulf rasps, voice filled with fluid. You can hear the gurgling at the back of his throat. You want to cry, but you don’t. You block out the thousands of eyes on you, and try to ignore the presence of the endarkened demon in the box of honor. The one with the dark, round eyes. “I was trying my hardest, you Carved bitch.”

You grin through the pain. “Hold on, I’m going to lay down and give you my sword, yeah?”

“Please.”

With careful hands, you give him your sword. He wraps his hand around it, knuckles white. Hands shaking. He sags against you as you slowly go to the knee with him, laying him in the sand. It’s already stained with blood. Ulf is trembling as he holds the sword, death rattling his lungs.

“I’m sorry they did this to us,” you tell him, surprised by how much that you mean it. You have never expected to make friends in this place. You had never expected to come to this place at all after you were Carved. “Find peace in Valhalla.”

“Say the words, please.”

You nod. “Lo, they do call to Ulf. They bid him to take his place among them, in the halls of Valhalla. Lo, there waits his wife Sigrun. Lo, there waits his son Beorn. Lo, there waits his brother Ragnar. Lo, there does he see the lineage of his people, back to the beginning.” You sniff as the light begins to fade from the Ulfheðnar’s eyes, yellow fading to blue. “Lo, they do call to Ulf. He is among them, in the halls of Valhalla.”

The Ulfheðnar is dead. The words for him is empty. Valhalla is no longer ruled by Odin and his children. It is under the thumb of the Triumvirate, of the three lords from an Underworld who rule across the Realms with fiery whips and cursed collars.

Sitting on your heels, you look at Ulf. The field workers are jogging across the pitch to take his body and feed him to some other twisted creature. There will be no lit pyre for Ulf today. And though you spoke the words of his people over him, you know he does not feast in Valhalla tonight.

Getting up, you pick up your sword and dagger. You feel the eyes of the endarkened demon on you, the half-angel, half-demon, that so many died for to honor this night. You taste metal in your mouth – you have bitten into your lip, blood blooming.

Marching across the pitch, you don’t look at the fans. They throw roses at you. Articles of clothing. Money. Jewels. Favors. Women and men alike call to you for sexual favors. They offer to buy you. They scream for you: Reaper. Reaper. Reaper.

That is not your name. It has never been your name.

Perhaps it is more fitting. Death is your craft. Death haunts your steps.

Gears grind as they lower the metal gate behind you. You stop on instinct, holding your wrists out. Workers clad in all white move quickly about you. Your weapons are taken, and your chokes are removed. Two heavy, electric cuffs are slapped to your wrist. You shiver as you feel the spark go through you, but the feeling of power through you dulls a bit as the needles dig in, sending signals to your nerves to cut off your grace.

They wouldn't need it if Faustus could control you.

The collar around your neck chafes you, the blood and sweat giving too much room for it to create friction. The mirrors are powered down and you’re guided in the darkness.

The ‘hall of champions’ isn’t so glorious when the production cameras aren’t on.

You’re led through and underground network of tunnels. When you turn to go back to the room where you shower and remove your gear, a guard tuts at you. “This way. Your new owner wants to meet you.”

You freeze. “New owner?”

“Is there a fucking echo in here?” He hits you painfully on the spine with the end of his gun. You snarl and he grunts. “Hope he makes you a collard whore. Fucking hate when I’m on shift and it’s your fight.”

You begin to walk again. It’s not the first time guards and other employees have complained about you. You aren’t as mindless as they would like. Their vision of the Carved is empty angel shells with no mind, no ability to speak, and little awareness. While that is somewhat true – particularly for the malakim and malaikah – that is not true for you.

Voices stir on the other side of a heavily guarded door. The security team is dressed in all black, semi-automatic weapons at their hips and eyes on you. Rolling your eyes and heaving a sigh, you ready for the performance. Though you snap and bite at the lessor creatures of the Underworld who poke and prod you, you’re not stupid enough to misbehave in front of Vaesen that matter.

Usually.

Cool air greets you as you step into the room. You fight the urge to tilt your head up and look at the faces in the room. You can already sense him there – that seraphim touched demon who had nearly cost you your life. It grates you to know there is someone out there like you. You haven’t felt other seraphim in so long you thought you had been hallucinating.

The room is filled with powerful Vaesen. You sense them, an instinct bred in you. Not all of them are demons – there are other creatures there that belonged to the otherworld, but perhaps were not demons themselves.

Faustus – the only overweight vampire you’ve ever met, introduces you to a demon named Kim Taehyung. You steal a glance at him – stunning tan skin, high cheekbones, red lips and a burning gaze with amber eyes, dark hair and a nose that would look too large on anyone else. It fits him perfectly – his face is perfect.

“Mr. Kim is the son of Yeom-ra, and he has purchased the rights to you. He purchased you for… Lord Jungkook?” Faustus seems unsure.

Taehyung made an annoyed sound. “The Lord has refused my birthday present for him. Which is a shame.” A warm finger slides under your chin, bringing your face to tilt upward. You hold your breath and will yourself not to look into Taehyung’s eyes. “Exquisite. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker upward. He is so beautiful it feels like you could never look away. “That pretty face would do better as a collared whore,” Taehyung croons. “Such pretty eyes – I bet they’d look so beautiful full of tears while I fuck that mouth.”

“Taehyung.” The voice is soft, but final. Taehyung gives an annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Don’t.”

“You didn’t want it, Jungkook.” Taehyung grips your chin, flashing his teeth in a wide grin that is anything but kind. “I’m going to fuck that mouth until-"

“I’ll take her, then.”

Your heart skips. You don’t need to look to know that Lord Jungkook is the man talking.

Lord Jungkook. Son to one of three of the Triumvirate, the ruler of the Realms.

Lord Jungkook. A lord of demons, the only one with seraphim blood.

“Have it” Taehyung sighs. “It is your birthday after all.”

Lord Jungkook. Who you have been gifted to as a slave.

You look at him then. Dark eyes hidden by strands of his dark hair. Lush mouth that looks far too soft to belong to a man that belongs to one of the deadliest demon families in history. Soft eyes that echo violence and destruction. A freckle that makes him look far too human.

You stare and stare and stare. Neither one of you says a word. No one says anything.

A brush of his mind touches yours. You almost break.

Pain is inevitable.

Pain is constant.

Pain is power.

But for the first time in over seven hundred years, you are not alone.

D E F I N I T I O N S

Carved – angels who have had their wings surgically removed and sold for ownership. The possession of an angel’s wings gives the owner power over the angel’s grace, thereby giving them power over the angel.

Chokes – electronic cuffs with micro-needles that send signals to the nerves and nervous system to block channeling magic – most often used on glaedia

Collared – a Vanir who is owned as a slaved. They are often identifiable by the custom collars their masters put on their necks.

Domina – term used by a slave to their female identifying master

Dominin – term used by a slave to their gender neutral identifying master

Dominus – term used by a slave to their male identifying master

Enlightened – the term for half-angels, half-demons who have angel dominant blood

Endarkened - the term for half-angels, half-demon who have demon dominant blood

Gallows Match – the match before a Title Match used to execute prisoners of war or criminals who have been found guilty of capital crimes

Glaedia – Vanir slaves that fight in the arena for their masters. Some glaedia are incredibly popular in the media and are members of the elite via their status in the arena. Popular glaedia can live a lavish lifestyle but are highly managed and marketed.

Malakim – refers to the angels associated with Shamayim (Judaism)

Malaikah – refers to angels associated with Jannah (Islam)

Nephilim – those who are half-angel, half-human

Triumvirate – the three Lords who rule the Realms – figures of the Underworld

Title Match – the headline glaedia match in Titan League gladiator-style sports

Underworld – refers to the collective hells of multiple realms

Vaesen – creatures associated with Underworld Realms such as demons, daevas, sorcerers, vampires, wraiths, and monster-like creatures

Vanir – creatures associated with Heaven Realms such as angels, faeries, witches, dragons, demigods and any heavenly-like being

War of the Realms – the multi-universal war between Heavens and Underworlds, in which the Underworld won. Demon-kind have been ruling the Realms for over two thousand years.

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#fic: carved #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts smut #bts fanfic #bangtan boys #haliiimede writes #demon jungkook #demon!jungkook #jjk #jjk smut #jungkook x you #jungkook series

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lotus-flowerz · 3 years

Note

hello hello I love your writings so far sobs I couldn't help but do an ask myself aa (it's my first ask ever help hwkajd) could I request perhaps gn reader that flinched away from the boys by reflex? (preferably with Diluc, Kaeya and Kazuha but you can add or remove someone if you want to!) like they were hanging out and reader was lost in thoughts and suddenly when they see in the corner of their eyes how the boys raise their arm for smth reader quickly raises their arms above their own head to protect it- how would they react and how would they comfort the reader? I hope it's not too much or if you're uncomfortable with it you can ignore it if you want to whaaaa

AHHH TY IM SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WRITING! i actually do this too, some of my old friends would make fun of me for it, so i hope that my writing here is accurate >.<

i also added beidou in here, hope you don't mind, i just had to since she's my favorite character <3

TW!! FLINCHING, ANXIETY, PAST TRAUMA, MENTION OF DEATH AND INJURIES

SLIGHT INAZUMA ARCHON QUEST SPOILERS

KAEYA BACKSTORY SPOILERS

The cherry blossoms fell silently from the trees under which you and Kazuha were sitting. Those had remained unchanged since you and Kazuha were children. The beauty of the pink blossoms falling towards the green earth without a care.

It had remained the same through the vision hunt decree, through the war, through watching Tomo get killed by the shogun, through both of you getting injured during said fight. Kazuha's hand was burnt from Tomo's vision, and your body had a large scar running from your knee to the side of your neck from a stray bolt of lighting from Tomo's divine punishment. If not for Kazuha's determination to not lose another friend and Beidou and her crew caring for you, you would be dead.

These days, although you and Kazuha both carried the same trauma, he seemed to be doing leaps and bounds better than you were. Your eyes flitted to Kazuha, who was writing poetry. The only sound that could be heard was his pen gliding across the paper, filling it with his eloquent words that always seemed to flow so smoothly.

You were deep in thought, when out of the corner of your eye you spotted something coming towards your face. Instinctively, your hands flew out to shield yourself, leaving a very confused Kazuha, who was only scratching his head, looking at you with concern in his eyes.

"Dove.. did you think I was going to hurt you?"

You slowly lowered your arms, guilt washing over you.

"No! It's just- sometimes, when movements are too sudden.. I.. you know, I try to protect myself because uh.."

His eyes drifted to your scar, then looked up at your face, only to find it tilted to the ground. He put a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his, then kissing your forehead.

One hand snaked around your waist while the other traced lightly over your scar, sending shivers down your spine. You wrapped your arms around him as well, putting a little of your weight onto him.

He kissed your lips, squeezing you tight against him.

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. I promise."

"Kazuha, it's not-"

"I know it's not my fault. And I know I couldn't have prevented it. But I promise you, you're safe now."

He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head as you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you." you said, squeezing him a little tighter.

"No need to thank me. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kazuha."

You had been a part of Beidou's crew for just over a year now, after meeting her in the wharf of Liyue harbor after finally finding the courage to leave your abusive and toxic partner. You didn't have a place to stay and you were clearly distraught, so when she asked if you were okay and you immediately began to cry, she offered you to come on her ship. You trusted her, since she was the well-known captain of the Crux. After you had explained your situation, she offered you to join her crew. You agreed, and began dating her about six months after joining the Crux.

Because you had been aboard the Alcor for a year, you knew the crew was loud and prone to get drunk. You had never liked to drink, preferring to quietly sip a small glass of dandelion wine while sitting next to Beidou while she drank a few beers and talked with her crew.

It was now the one year anniversary of when you had left Liyue Harbor, and conveniently, the Alcor was anchored there for a bit for a supplies run, imports drop off, and exports pickup. While out and about with Beidou, you had seen your ex in the wharf. They were about to come and talk to you, when you had pointed them out to Beidou. Beidou had slipped her arm around your waist, glaring at your ex, who glared back and turned heel to walk away.

Now, you sipped your wine beside Beidou, deep in thought. The loud atmosphere wasn't helping your anxieties, and you couldn't get your ex's glare out of your head. You didn't even realize you were completely zoned out until Beidou raised her arm to sling it around your shoulders, after she noticed you were zoned out.

Your arms flew up to shield yourself, and you spilt wine all over the both of you. The cup clattered to the floor, but luckily no one else noticed what just happened.

Beidou's face dropped and she quickly picked up the cup, setting it back down on the table.

"Men!" she called out. "Y/n and I are turning in early tonight! Make sure you scallywags have this cleaned up by the morning!"

The crew cheered their goodnights, raising their beers to their captain and her first mate. Beidou smiled, slipped an arm around your waist, and led you back to your guys' shared quarters.

"Alright doll, what happened just now?"

She closed the door behind her and sat on the bed next to you, looking at you with a certain softness that made you melt.

"I'm.. I'm sorry, I was just thinking of my ex, and how we saw them earlier, and I couldn't get their glare out of my head.. and I left them exactly a year ago.. I don't know why I flinched away from yo-"

Beidou cut you off by taking both of your hands into hers.

"Y/n, don't say sorry! You know, your ex wouldn't stand a chance against even my weakest crew member. They will never hurt you again."

"I don't doubt that for a second," you said, a small smile growing on your face, "Thank you for taking me in, Beidou."

"No, the pleasure is all mine. I couldn't ask for a better first mate. You're safe now, okay?" she smiled, squeezing your hands.

You looked into her eyes for a moment before throwing your arms around her. She squeezed you back, kissing your head.

"C'mon, let's shower and get this wine off of us." she giggled.

You laughed. "Yeah, let's."

Kaeya had told you his backstory, but you never mentioned yours. You just weren't ready to talk about it. Your parents had never been great, you always walked on eggshells around everyone, and everyone was all too rough with you, emotionally and physically.

You had met Kaeya in the tavern one night, while trying to drink away what you were feeling. Kaeya had noticed how obliterated you were and let Diluc know he was taking you to stay at the Knights Headquarters, and would keep an eye on you. The rest was history, and now you and Kaeya had been dating for a little over a year.

Kaeya had told you his backstory on Monday. That same day later on, you had a run in with your parents at Blanche's, where they had yelled at you for deciding to become a Knight, and proceeded to pick you apart from your very core.

In turn, you had been drinking a little more than usual for the entire week. You seemed more withdrawn and just not fully there. And it all came to a head when you were laying in bed next to Kaeya.

He went to put his arm over you, a loving gesture, but your arms came up on instinct to shield yourself. He sighed loudly.

"You're scared of me."

"Oh Archons- I didn't mean to- no, I swear it isn't-"

"You've been acting all angry and cold ever since I told you about my roots. I thought you would be the one who didn't leave me after I told them."

"No, Kaeya- please, just let me explain!"

"I'm listening."

You began to hesitantly tell him about your parents. His face grew angrier and angrier every time you told him another thing your parents had done to you.

"I'll kill them. I had no idea that that happened though. I'm sorry for assuming."

"It's alright, Kaeya. I didn't even consider that you might think I was acting weird because of where your confession."

"I swear they'll never get near you again, alright? You're safe now. It's alright."

He pulled you into him, wrapping you up in his strong arms and putting his legs over yours, making you feel protected and safe.

"No one will hurt you, not on my watch. I love you, Y/n."

"I love you too, Kaeya. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."

"No need for apologies, you were gonna tell me when you were ready. Now let's get some sleep, that dandelion wine I downed earlier is starting to get to me."

You giggled, burying your head further into his chest.

"Alright. Goodnight, Kaeya."

"Night, prince/ess."

You and Diluc had been dating for a few months now, you had met when he had needed to hire a new bartender, and you volunteered your mixing skills to the Angel's Share. You had caught his eye immediately, and he had asked you out on a date soon after you began your work there.

Your ex wasn't a kind person, to say the least, so you had been hesitant to say yes. You assured Diluc that this was just because your ex was unkind to you, but you had never mentioned physical harm. You hadn't wanted to worry him.

You were sitting on the couch with Diluc, his arm slung over your shoulders while you stared into the crackling flames of the fire burning before you. Diluc wasn't paying attention, as he was reading a book in his free hand.

He raised his arm up, attempting to adjust to a more comfortable position, but you misread this. Your arms were shielding your face in an instant, and Diluc was looking at you with a shocked and concerned face that quickly morphed to anger.

"I'm going to kill him." he growled/

You lowered your arms and looked down, avoiding looking him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"Did he hit you??"

"I, um, didn't want to worry you."

"Barbatos.. and this domestic abuser is just, what, roaming around Mondstat? No punishment for the pain he put you through?"

"I didn't tell anyone because I didn't want him to come and hurt me. I also didn't want to cause any trouble."

Diluc rubbed a hand over his face, before wrapping you in a hug.

"You're safe here, alright? I will never lay a hand on you to hurt you. I won't let anyone else hurt you either, okay?"

"Thank you.." your eyes welled up with tears, "I thought you would be upset that I didn't tell you."

"No, never. It's a hard thing to talk about. If you'd like, I have connections. We can have him arrested."

"I don't want to cause trouble.."

"You won't. He won't be able to hurt anyone else this way. But we can discuss this later. Would you care for a cup of tea?"

"That'd be nice. Thanks, Diluc."

"You're welcome, angel. Tell me if anyone hurts you again, alright? I'll protect you."

"Will do. I love you."

"I love you too."

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 2 years

Text

The Cafe Part One: Imagine having a strained relationship with Camilo due to the fact everyone assumes to two of you will one day end up together. You both hate this and decide to be enemies forever but that doesn’t stop you being attracted to one another.

Part Two Here

Part Three Here

Part Four Here

_______

As one of the strongest and oldest families yet to marry into the Madrigal bloodline you knew all eyes were on your family or more accurately you and you hated it. You were the only child in your family and of course you were born just 6 months before the eldest Madrigal boy, Camilo. Everyone pretty much decided then and there that two of you would be a couple and your future was laid out for you. You didn’t agree and that wouldn’t be your future if you had anything to do with it but that’s getting ahead of the story.

You and Camilo actually used to be friends when you were younger. There weren't many kids in town so as he was the same age as you, you played together often. You used to go to his house and eat the wonderful food his aunt could make. You loved his home and how big his family was, being an only child you dreamt of a family as huge as this and you truly felt welcome at Camilo's home...then his Abuela made a comment that ruined it all. You and Camilo were barely seven, he was still mastering his gift but one of his favourite things to do was to transform into you. This always annoyed you because Camilo would mimic you and that meant war for a seven-year-old. So you’d end up fighting and one day Camilo’s Abuela walked in to find you punching Camilo (who looked like you) while he tried to get away. She quickly separated the two of you before telling you good children didn’t fight like that. You and Camilo glared at one another before the offer of a cookie made you both thaw. You followed Abuela to the kitchen and were happily eating courtesy of Julieta when Grandma Abuela smiled watching you two. “It’s so nice to see the two of them and know I don’t have to worry about Camilo’s future partner”. “Future partner, mama they're just children!" Camilo’s mother Pepa commented but Camilo’s Abuela shrugged "so? Some things are very easy to see and these two are pre-destined to be together. Mark my words Camilo will be proposing before he’s 20". You’d finished your cookie and were staring at the adults confused. Had Bruno had another vision? What did they mean about you and Camilo being partners? "Come on y/n!" Camilo cried pulling your arm and he tugged you out of the kitchen. He snapped you back into reality and you followed him in a daze. When you reached his room you frowned "Camilo what did your grandmother mean back then?". Camilo looked down "ow it’s nothing...just something she likes to talk about". "Tell me, I want to know" you insisted and he sighed "my grandmother likes you and your family so she hopes in the future we'll...you know". You paused "what?". "Get married like grown-ups do!" Camilo cried blushing but your response was quite different. You weren’t embarrassed you were a mixture of furious and confused. "What!" you cried "why?". "Because she likes you and our families get on" Camilo explained "she says it’ll be a good match and she’ll arrange it when we're older". "But that's so gross!" you cried and Camilo didn’t say anything. You noticed his silence and paused "Camilo? Why aren’t you angry?". "Because I...if I have to marry a girl why couldn’t it be you? We play together and you have good toys and can think of really fun games". "So you’d like it?' you asked scandalised and Camilo shrugged blushing lightly. "I don’t think I'd hate it" he admitted and you were not happy. You loved Camilo, he was your best friend but that didn’t mean you wanted to marry him, you’d heard rumours that involved kissing and that was definitely too disgusting for a seven-year-old. Not to mention you didn’t like how nobody had asked you. Your mother had told you that women didn’t use to have rights and how they were just given to men without their own preference even being considered. This reminded you of that and you hated it. Even if Camilo liked it you didn’t and you hated how everyone seemed to be in on this except you. So you had some pretty good reasons to be against this however you were just seven and lacked the maturity to express yourself effectively. In response to all this you pushed Camilo away from you and took your anger out on him. "I don’t have a crush on you! That’s gross" you cried. Camilo immediately got defensive and shoved you back “I never said I had a crush on you! I think you’re the grossest person ever”. You were pretty insulted so you leapt at Camilo fighting for real this time and he shapeshifted into a bigger kid pushing you over easily. You fell down hard and were upset physically and emotionally, not wanting him to see you cry you cried “I hate you and never want to see you again” before you ran home.

Even since then you’d stopped being friends and decided you hated one another. Camilo did miss you but he’d never forget the disgusted way you looked at him and that stopped him ever trying to approach you. You were definitely not eager to approach him either, still slightly traumatised over what you’d heard and so the distance between you grew and grew and turned uglier and uglier over the years until it reached the stage it was at currently.

You and Camilo couldn’t be in the same room without a fight breaking out. You went to school together so this happened often and you both made it your mission to ruin the other’s life. With your friends and even each other’s families you were kind, sweet people. Around one another however you became these toxic mean spirited people who just wanted to bring the other down and this continued well into your teen years. Every summer the Madrigals would have a party celebrating the harvest and the end of school for the summer. Pretty much everyone would go but you always sat it out, not a fan of anything that brought you near Camilo. However this year your parents said that wasn’t an option. Now you’d turned 16 they said you had to start attending adult events and could skive off as a child would. So you dragged your feet grumbling about how unfair this was all the way to the Madrigal house. Or course Camilo was on the door greeting guests. You rolled your eyes, he was so extroverted, his need for attention and to be liked sickened you. As you got closer he spotted you quickly and his smile momentarily faltered before your parents stepped forwards. "Mrs and Mr L/n how wonderful to see you" he smiled at them both and your parent smiled back. No matter how many stories about him you’d told they still liked him and thought he was a good boy. No matter the problems between Camilo and yourself, neither of you could bring yourself to be mean to the other’s family. It was an unspoken rule. "Thanks for having us Camilo, look how big you've gotten! I remember when you used to look tiny on our sofa and now you're taller than me! You're almost a man" your mother cried. You snorted and everyone looked at you. "Sure if were using the term very loosely" you muttered walking past him into the house. You heard your parents mutter something to Camilo before rushing after you "you do not disrespect someone who's opened their home to you" your father scolded you. "I didn’t even want to come to his home!" you cried "you made me come here, I never promised to be polite to Camilo". Your parents didn’t bother arguing with you, they knew Camilo was a topic you couldn’t be persuaded on.

You were passing the kitchen when you saw Pepa carrying numerous trays of food, or well she was trying too. They kept tilting and one was bound to fall, a cloud appeared over Pepa’s head telling you she was losing her patience. You saw one tray tip and rushed forwards. You caught it just in time and took a few of the others off Pepa making the cloud disappear immediately. "Aww thank you y/n you're so sweet" Camilo’s mom beamed, recognising you instantly. "You're all grown up now, you're such a beautiful young woman" Pepa complimented you. You blushed "ow I'm not too sure about that". "You are, I’m sure your parents are so proud of you" she smiled "it's such a shame you and Camilo don’t get on anymore...we miss you around here". You suddenly felt guilty and looked down "yeah it's a shame, I guess we just grew apart". Pepa shot you a look like she knew it was more than a small growing apart. As if summoned the devil himself appeared. "Mami Antonio...ow" Camilo said walking around the corner to find you and his mother together. "Camilo I was just chatting with y/n, she's all grown up just like you. I can’t believe you’re both finishing school this year, are you excited?". You nodded "yep I’m looking forward to University". "Ow where are you going?" Pepa asked and Camilo looked down "hopefully somewhere outside of Colombia altogether" and you glared at him. You told Pepa the school you were hoping to go to and Camilo’s stomach drooped. "Ow that’s where Camilo is thinking of going!" Pepa cried. "Yeah not so much anymore" he smiled sweetly and you smiled back "don’t worry based on your grades I’m sure they’ll make that decision for you". Pepa sighed looking at Camilo “y/n can you give me a moment with my son, I’ve got to have a talk with him” she said her expression grave. You nodded “of course I’ll go put these trays on the table, it was nice seeing you Mrs.Madrigal” and you disappeared pleased you’d gotten Camilo into trouble.

Once you’d put the trays down you started scoping out a good place to enjoy the party. The one thing you did love about Madrigal events was the music. The whole town would come together and everyone would play instruments and it was so much fun. You had been trying to pout and be angry but found yourself bobbing along to the music and enjoying the performances. One by one people sang and you were really enjoying the night...but your smile vanished when Camilo appeared. You tensed, knowing what was coming and sure enough Camilo opened his mouth and you were hooked. His singing was the most beautiful thing you’d ever heard. It made you so mad to admit but nobody could compete with Camilo in terms of signing. His voice was deep and could be rough but also so smooth and warm. You hated it but Camilo’s singing was really attractive and you felt the pull every time he performed. His voice washed over you and you felt that familiar attraction again. It wasn’t enough he was good looking, charming, a good dancer and had literal powers he had to have a godly voice too? You sighed annoyed at how much you were enjoying Camilo’s performance when your cousin waved to you. She begged you to dance with her and so you agreed. Camilo’s song had finished now so you’d surely be able to just enjoy yourself now.

Camilo’s POV

Camilo was getting some water after singing when he spotted you. There were tons of people on the floor dancing but of course his eyes went straight to you as they always did. You spun around in your green dress and were the most beautiful dancer on the floor. The graceful but skilled way you glided around the floor made several people stop and stare but it was the look on your face that Camilo stated at. You didn’t smile often and especially not around him so seeing the pure joy in your face...the way it lit up your features made him pause. You just looked so happy it was beautiful. You didn’t have a care in the world and you looked perfect.

"Who are you looking at like that?' a voice asked and Camilo jumped as Isabela appeared. He tried to move away but she was already beside him and followed his gaze to you. "Ahhh your old bestie, any reason why you're checking her out?". "I was not!" Camilo cried and Isabela smirked "sure because you totally weren’t gaping at her. I can’t blame you, she's the hottest girl in your year by far...no wonder she didn’t want to marry you". "Shut up Isabela!" he cried and a bit too loudly as everyone nearby looked over. "Camilo why don’t you go check on the gardens!" his father called which was code for go outside and stop making a scene. Camilo rolled his eyes but did as he was told.

Mirabel has seen the whole thing and followed him. “You okay?" she asked catching up to him and Camilo nodded "I'm fine". "I heard what Isabela said and just ignore her. We all know that wasn’t the reason the two of you fell out, I mean come on you were like 7". "But we kinda did" Camilo groaned "she stopped being friends with me because the idea of what might happen in some distant future disgusted her so much. She doesn’t just dislike me she loathes me and I pretend it doesn’t bother me but I don’t know...it doesn’t feel great". Mirabel frowned "have you ever considered that this all happened a while ago?". Camilo paused "so?". "Well how do you know all that's true anymore? Seven-year-olds don’t communicate well and they tend to be emotional. Have you ever spoken to y/n to work out what was the reason?". "I know the reason Mirabel and it's me. The fact is she hates me” but he froze as you appeared outside ranting to your mother. “I can’t even dance in peace” you cried and your mother shushed you pulling you away from the doors. You were downstairs and had no idea Mirabel and Camilo could see and hear you, they were hidden by the many many plants courtesy of Isabela. Camilo was about to step away when he heard his name. "Years! Years Camilo and I haven’t been friends and still people ask me if we’re getting married! Nobody asks Camilo that, just me. It’s so sexist it drives me crazy! How can people just not understand I don’t want to be a man's prize, my greatest ambition in life isn’t to be a wife. I've done so much to try and alter that perspective. I study hard so I can get into a good school, I work out to make myself strong, I even pick fights with Camilo every chance I get to make him hate me and still they suggest him as a husband for me! I hate it" you said bursting into tears and your mother hugged you. Mirabel turned back to Camilo "still think there’s nothing more to it?" she whispered. Camilo stared watching you crumble. You were always so tough and harsh it was odd to see you so human...he’d almost forgotten you were just a normal person like him not a mortal enemy. His perspective suddenly shifted and he felt bad. He had no idea things had been so bad for you or that what his Abuela had insinuated was still affecting you

The next day

Camilo woke up late the next day after staying up so late the night before and he loved it. School was well and truly out and he sauntered downstairs feeling ready for his lazy summer. He hid from his family to avoid having to do any chores and only entered the kitchen when he was sure it was empty. He strode in before the door closed behind it, it was an ambush and his tia Julieta was waiting for him. "Camilo I know why you're here, you can horde food later but for now hold this". She placed several trays in his arms and he frowned "what is all this?". "I was hired to make some food for the cafe". "Y/n's?" he asked. Your family owned the most popular cafe in town and Camilo’s tia had worked there when she was younger. Tia Julieta nodded "yes for y/n’s cafe and you're going to help me take them there". "What! No i’m not" he cried and Julieta shot him a look. "I know you think the world will end If you and y/n are forced to see one another but it won’t. You'll be just fine so let's go". "Tia Julieta" Camilo complained and she shot him a look "do you want me to tell your mother you won't walk 10 minutes to help me because I know just how scary she can be". "No, no don't tell my mother!" he cried remembering the telling off he got less than 24 hours ago from his mother. He did not want that experience so soon again so Camilo agreed "I'll go but not as me". Julieta went to ask what he meant when Camilo transformed into Luisa. "Okay let's go" he said as if this was a normal thing to do. Julieta shook her head "is that really necessary?". "Trust me this will make everything a lot smoother" he replied and the two set off into town. Even as Luisa Camilo felt nervous and with every step he got closer and closer to you until finally...they arrived.

______

For cafe shenanigans get ready for part 2! I’m thinking this will be a 3 part series but i’ll see how it goes. I never intended to make this a series but I have a habit of writing a lot and it’s way too much for one person to be expected to read in one installment.

So hopefully you’ll come along for the 3 part Camilo series! I really liked writing this side of Camilo because we’ve seen he can be really sweet but also a bit sarcastic and blunt so the man has range!!

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mcu-fan-fics-blog · 2 years

Text

Remember a Time iv

Mini Series: (Pt.1), (P.t 2), (P.t 3), (P.t 5)

Wanda Maximoff x Fem! Reader

(High School Au)

Word count: 2400

A/N: This story literally keeps me up at night it’s so fun writing this one. Anyways into all the high school angst, I had some time to come up with the plot of this chapter, and Id I do say so myself I think its pretty darn good. I hope you guys like it. P.s Trust the process ;) (Week 1/5)

It didn’t take long for news to spread. People found out who Natasha was and how you knew her thanks to Tony not being able to keep his mouth shut. But that wasn’t even the news that you were worried about. What had truly startled you was news regarding Wanda, or more so who she was now dating. Your thoughts were interrupted with Pietro walking in and rather tactlessly setting his hand on the table in front of you. “Alright, you better tell me what’s going on between you and Wanda.” He huffs out annoyed. “Well hi Pietro how are you? Good morning to you too, no no really it’s no bother sit please it would be my pleasure.” You say sarcastically with a patronizing smile on your face. He sighs rolling his eyes. “You know I don’t even want to know, can you just apologize so that we can all go back to enjoying our senior year!?” He exclaimed. It wasn’t till that very moment that you realized how truly pissed you were.

You’d done nothing wrong, except perhaps falling for the girl. She on the other hand could not say that, she’d wronged you not the other way around. The cherry on top, was that she decided to date the one guy that it would actually hurt to see her with. The one person that you actually harbored ill will towards. After that fatal day in Kindergarten the relationship with Vision hadn’t blossomed. To this day it’s what you’re both known for the rivalry, that everyone thought was friendly even though you both very much knew that It never was. Not that either of you would ever admit it. Both of you could barely stand to be in the same room as the other and that said a lot. And now, she your ‘best friend’ Wanda was dating him. It was your turn to slam your hand down. “I did nothing wrong…” You spoke through gritted teeth. You stood gathering your stuff from the table not sparing him another glance. “And, tell her to stay the-fuck away from me.” You said rather loudly as you were leaving the library.

What you wished you noticed was that half the senior class was present in the room. Later on you also wished you noticed how much this situation disgustingly mirrors every single coming of age teen movie. It wasn't till you sat down with Nat and watched an oddly accurate play by play of what was currently going on. Wanda on the other hand could not stop thinking about you, it was crazy how much time she spent thinking of you. She started wondering when you'd consumed her thoughts, all her current free time was giving her time to think. She'd been short with Pietro after he told her about Natasha more so who she was to you. Suddenly, a fear settled on her shoulders, now the name resonated within her, it was ‘her’ your one. She remembered when you came out to her. How you’d explained that you liked girls, how you felt differently with Natasha, how friendship came so easily, how if she weren’t gone you’d still be enthralled by her. How you’d be head over heels for her. Now the idea of that being true scared her, she didn’t know why, but it did.

She’d gone out with Vision and unfortunately it was a small world and everybody seemed to be at the pizza place where Vision had suggested they meet. He was nice, and somehow also managed to make her laugh and forget about what was currently going on. He was nice and smart and goofy, well that last one was attributed to how oblivious he could be. It was cute, and she had a nice time so she decided to say yes, to another outing the next weekend. It was finally the next week and she hadn’t stopped texting you, or calling, she even resorted to sending mail to your island on animal crossing. At this point she was really depending on your addiction to the game. It was Monday and she was in the library checking out her weekly books. She sighed immediately when she heard her brother walk in. It was only when she saw him approach you that she questioned whether or not to go save you. Only when she noticed that the conversation was heated did she decide not to add wood to the fire and keep her distance. She was confused as to why you were so angry at what Pietro told you.

Then she saw you clench your jaw and slam your hands on the table. All she and everybody else in the library managed to hear was. “And, tell her to stay the-fuck away from me!” Her heart sank at your words, more so the way you said it. She'd never seen that side of you well she has but it was never directed at her.

When you walked out of the library Natasha was already there waiting for you. "So are we finally going to talk about it?" She asked, raising her eyebrow. You sighed knowing you weren't going to escape this anymore. You'd been skillfully evading her questioning, which only really resulted in you hanging out more and more with Yelena. "Why do we need to dredge up the past? There's no need. I'm okay and over it already." She huffs out annoyed. She calls your bluff easily and just walks away without saying a word. She didn't even take three steps before you were already calling after her. She couldn't hide the small smile on her face as she turned around. Her smile was contagious and it made you crack a smile too.

"I forget you know me… too well." You sighed "Nice try. Spill now!" You laughed, raising your hands in defense. “Well I know we haven’t really caught up, but I’m sure you realized that… I swing both ways.” You say trying to not be weird about it. “No, no Y/n I haven’t, what does swing both ways mean?” She asks coyly. It’s only after she starts laughing that you realize she was messing with you. “Asshole.” You murmur. “Yup, now keep going.” You proceed to tell her about the incident, of course leaving out a key detail. She only follows up with “Well that's shitty.” You nod realizing that you’d made it all the way back to her car. She opens the passenger door for you and you step in thanking her without a second thought. It’s only when she sits and buckles up that she turns to you, a serious look on her face. “Why does it bother you so much?” She asks. Quickly she elaborates. “You don’t seem like the type to get hung up on what people think of you.”

She was way too perceptive. You didn’t answer, she seemed like she had more to say. “Don’t get me wrong it is a shitty thing to say to your friend, but still you don’t seem like the type to give a fuck about things like that.” You sigh, muttering “I know.” It was true you’ve never given a second thought as to how people saw you. She smiles at your admission proving her right once again. “Okay then, So why her?” She asks digging in deeper, rubbing your head you mumble a small ‘I don't know’ She tries again, so you give her the same answer again. You don’t really know how it escalated, or how you ended up yelling your secret at her face. Her face just made you want to cry. She was hurt. You yelled at her and she was hurt. “I’m so sorry Natasha I shouldn’t have yelled that at you.” She shakes her head finally unclenching her jaw and fists. “I shouldn’t have insisted, you didn’t want to tell me and I pushed.” She seemed to regret even asking you to explain in the first place. You try to rebut, but she stops you. “I would be mad too If the person I loved… Did that.”

The rest of the drive home was silent, only this time the silence was suffocating you. It was making you feel awkward like you had somehow betrayed her. “Thank you for driving me, I’ll be over in a couple of hours to bug you and Yelena, well I guess mostly Yelena.” You corrected making her laugh. You took the moment to admire her and you smiled, taking the time to apologize. “I’m very sorry for blowing up on you, I will never do it again. I don’t want to make you feel like that again.” You promised. This time when she smiled you didn’t miss the light blush on her cheeks. “I’ll see you later.” You say giving her hand a soft squeeze. You’d never told Natasha about how you felt for her. She’d always call you on your birthday, she’d go out of her way to stay awake and call you when you got up in the morning. It was those times that you realized how she made you feel. How after many months of not talking you could fall back easily into conversation.

The time passed by quickly, and before you knew it you were knocking on Natasha's front door. “Why are you here again? Don’t you like your home?” Yelena asks, annoyed. “No, I like your house better now let me in!” You say as you push past her. “Home sweet home.” You say as you take off your shoes and sprawl on the couch after saying hi to Melina. It didn’t take long for Nat to come down. She smiled and sat on the carpet in front of you. You three actually had a very nice night watching movies and laughing at your antics. Your week didn’t get much better after that moment, all you could really focus on was Wanda, walking down the halls with Vision next to her. Her laughter and his hand holding hers, both of their cheeks flushed. So it’s to say that you had a rough week. Most everybody around you noticed. Natasha and Yelena being the ones to live it first hand. As Natasha was getting ready to go to bed she heard soft knocks on her door. “Come in.” She says as she brushes her hair. “Natasha, I am worried.” She states.

Nat nods for her sister to continue. “Y/n is not acting like herself. As annoying as she is, this new y/n is not it.” She states. “And you’re telling me this because…” She ushers her sister to continue. “So you can do something about it.” She states confidently. “There's not much I can do about that, she’s sad. For good reason too.” She finishes off. Yelena grumbles back. “And you? Why are you ‘sad’? You've been walking around like a kicked puppy since the movie day.” Natasha shakes her head. “That’s not true.” She says looking away from her sister. “Whatever, I’m over it. Do something about Y/n. I physically can’t take her sulking anymore.” With that being said Yelena had left her room leaving Natasha to her thoughts. The next day like usual you knocked on her door, you made no jokes, didn’t even call shotgun, nothing. Nat noticed Yelena's look on you, you hadn’t bothered to comment on how she looked that day. All you said was a pleasantry good morning to the sisters. You heard Yelena sigh a small ‘I’m not doing this’ followed up by her clearing her throat calling both of your attentions. “I’m riding my bike to school today.” She announced without waiting for a response.

For the first time this week she saw a small smile on your face. Making your way to the dining room you seemed antsy. “Alright, what's got you all smiling?” You turned to her like it was obvious. “It rained last night…” She laughed and nodded. “I’m driving today!” You exclaimed. She thought back to what Yelena had said. This would surely make you happy if only for a moment. “Alright you go get her a change of clothes.” You order. “I’ll wait for you in the car.” you said. When Nat walked out she almost stopped dead in her tracks, you were gorgeous, the shades and your loose hair, did her in. You caught her staring, it took you honking at her to get her to move again. “Hurry up, now we have to catch up with her!” You yelled. She all but ran to get into the car. It didn’t take long to find Yelena. You waited trailing slowly behind her until she reached a big enough puddle. You pressed on the gas and laughed as you watched Yelena's form be consumed by the spray of water you produced.

You slowed and eventually returned to where Yelena was. “Man, some bad luck back there huh? Bet you wished you rode with us now.” You said teasingly You laughed in her face and threw the bag of clothes Nat had packed at her. “You told me to fix it.” Nat said cryptically. “I’d say it’s fixed. Have fun getting to school loser.” The smile on your face remained as you drove to school laughing at the comments Natasha was making. It was the lightest you'd both felt all week. She couldn’t stop looking at you, so she saw the exact moment that the smile fell from your face. You got quiet and so did she. She looked at what you were looking at, and her heart ached for you. It was Vision and Wanda in what she had assumed was your spot kissing. She didn’t want to push again so she didn’t mention it. Instead she said. “Let’s wait for Lena, she shouldn’t be that far behind.” You nodded absentmindedly. You couldn’t look away, you were a deer caught in headlights. So despite Nat’s best interest she pushed. “Why don't you fight to get her back?” She asked, trying to sound as encouraging as she could. You turned to her and saw the worry and sadness in her eyes. You smiled softly trying to sound reassuring. “There’s plenty of fish in the sea.” You said “Besides it’s time for me to acknowledge that she was never ‘mine’ to love, there's nothing to fight for when she was never mine to begin with.”

Tag List: @when-wolves-howl, @alyciaddict, @username23345

A/N: There were two more of you that asked to be put on the tag list however I was not able to. Not gonna lie I have no Idea if the issue is on my side or not, but It might be your visibility settings that are messing with that. I'm not sure at all, if you still want to be in the tag list comment your @ make sure it’s underlined. @mcu-fan-fics-blog. (like that.) Sorry for the inconvenience. Have a good day, or night.

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sydnikov · 3 years

Text

cover image by me, images are not.

Pairing: Sebastian Aho/Reader

Word Count: 10.5k

Summary: Four times Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck and one time he didn’t. Two of those times you scorned his existence, one time you let him buy you something as an apology, the other you kissed him on the cheek, and, finally, you kissed.

Warnings: Heavy cursing, injuries, brief mentions of blood, kissing, suggestive content

A/N: SURPRISE MFS!!! But holy crap, I had so much fun writing this!! I’m lowkey sad to say goodbye to it bc it was my comfort fic during this series against tbl. I kind of hate the ending but :/ idk how else to close it out, sO— I hope you guys like this as much as I do!! As always, feedback is very much welcome, and ily all <33

Who knows, I might even write a part 2 if it's received well 👀

Puck Me:

The first time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck, it was purely coincidental. You were only a few rows back from the glass (courtesy of your friend), and unfortunately happened to be moving your head to the side just in time for the puck to smack you straight across the face and send you to the medical ward mid-game.

Did you expect the attention from everyone around you— hell, even the whole arena? Yes. Did you expect the pain? Of course. A frozen puck being flung from the ice at who knows how fast was going to hurt no matter what direction it was coming from.

Did you expect the player who managed to strike you to visit you in the ward? Never in a million years.

“What?” You grumbled, irritated at your friend’s sudden poking at your arm while you were trying to catch a look at the massive wound along your nose and cheekbone under the ice pack the medical staff instructed you to hold.

“Look!” your friend hissed, and turning your head lazily to see what they were pointing at, you didn’t see at first why they were being so persistent at getting your attention.

At the medical ward’s doors was a rapidly growing crowd of the arena’s staff, and as you squinted through the brief haziness in your vision - and damn it, you really didn’t want to be having concussion symptoms right now, you had work in the morning - to see what was going on, it only took a few seconds to see who was causing such a commotion.

Because coming right through those very doors and being dragged by what looked like a few other people dressed in suits and probably even one of his teammates was Sebastian Aho, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here.

“What’s he doing here?” You mumbled tiredly, and your friend looked at you like you had grown a second head. To be fair, the massive cut that was swelling a deep purple and blue probably did look like you were growing some kind of tumor, but details, details...

“He’s the one that shot the puck over the glass and hit you in the face, didn’t you see him before it hit you?” No, no you didn’t, because you weren’t exactly paying attention before a puck was suddenly flying into your face with a spray of ice and then ow, ow, ow…

You sighed, watching as an employee tugged him by the elbow and led him to where you were sitting on the small hospital bed, your friend sitting in a chair next to you.

Sebastian shuffled in place, looking just as awkward as you felt and was resolutely avoiding eye contact. Unbeknownst to you though, he was actually feeling really guilty because even though he showed absolutely zero attention to the fans when on the ice, he still loved his Caniacs fiercely and would have never wanted to hit one of them with a puck. But he was also really shy, not just because of his less-than accurate English and introvertedness but because you were really pretty too, even with an ice pack pressed to an ugly bruise blooming around a nasty cut.

You didn’t know any of this, of course, just saw the persona of a man who seemed to give zero shits about being here and was only being forced to come apologize by his team to uphold an image that he truly felt guilty and wanted to apologize to you in person on his own accord.

Yeah, no. You were tired, in pain, could really use a drink right about now, and just wanted to go home, not deal with socially awkward hockey players.

Just as Sebastian was gathering the courage to open up his mouth and speak, you beat him to it, brushing back an annoying strand of hair that kept falling into your line of sight.

“Look,” You started, watching as his head shot up in surprise that yes, you did speak first. “You don’t have to pretend you want to be here, to do all this,” you waved your free hand around, briefly closing your eyes as a flash of dizziness almost overwhelmed you. “Mumbo-jumbo, apologizing crap; I know you’d rather be anywhere else other than here so let’s just call it a night and go home, okay?”

Your friend’s incredulous stare was burning into the side of your head and Sebastian stared, utterly dumbfounded and confused because wow, he didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to him like that before.

“What?” He asked dumbly, eyes briefly flickering from your friend’s apologetic expression to your indifferent one. And then he started to get annoyed because he didn’t know what to do right at this moment when you looked so utterly unbothered by his presence and that made him feel uncomfortable because you were supposed to be the blubbering one, not him. Right?

You scowled at the man, and maybe in the morning once you analyzed the conversation you’d regret being so short and snappy with the star player of the Carolina Hurricanes, but look, you were tired and irritated and just wanted to sleep, alright? You didn’t really want to deal with cute finnish hockey players, especially ones with such soft, puppy brown eyes—

Woah. You blinked once, twice. That was definitely not a road you wanted to go down, not right now, not ever, really.

“Just,” You muttered quietly, sending a pleading expression your friend’s way to please tell the medical staff to hurry up so you could just go home already. “Go back to the locker room or something or wherever you came from,”

Thankfully, your friend got the hint and quietly slipped away to tell one of the people in the room that you were really tired and just wanted to get your stitches so they could drive you home. It worked, and soon two or three of their employees were hovering around you, the gaping expression of Sebastian Aho being blocked as an older woman gently removed the ice pack from your face and began to work on your cheek.

“You done?” A staff member Sebastian couldn’t remember the name of asked him distractedly, and when he nodded mutely he was soon being led away from the room, staring back at you with something akin to longing, curiosity, and even regret before the doors closed and you were blocked from his view.

Little did the two of you know, this would most definitely not be the last you’d be seeing of each other.

• ~;~ •

The second time Sebastian Aho managed to hit you in the face with a puck was a month later, and once again, completely coincidental, with you being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Again.

You’d be less mad about it if your seats weren’t farther up from where they were last time, but of course they were and you still managed to be right in the way of the damn puck as it came soaring over the glass. And again, to be fair, they were only a few seats back, but still.

And the fact that your friend kept bugging you about the look of both horror and anticipation that appeared on Aho’s face once the jumbotron showed where the puck had gone (and conveniently hit) was just irritating you more. You didn’t want to sit through fifteen minutes of awkward mumbling and half-assed apologies from Sebastian Aho again.

Even if he was pretty cute.

“I’m telling you,” Your friend whisper-yelled beside you, ignoring the fact that several people were in the medical ward and could easily be listening in. “He’s going to come in here again to see you and—”

“I doubt it.” You interrupted quickly, attempting to smile as one of the doctors dabbed at your bloody chin with a cotton swab, but it probably looked more like a wince.

Your friend glared at you, yet again ignoring everyone else except for the two of you. “Well, if he does, try not to scare him off this time, okay? I want to ask him for an autograph since someone didn’t give me a chance last time.”

You just rolled your eyes, gesturing towards your battered chin. “Who got hit in the face with a puck again? If anyone deserves to get an autograph, it’s me.” You teased, enjoying the way in which your friend immediately opened their mouth to retort, and then—

“I’ll be happy to give you an autograph if you want one.”

A quiet voice that somehow managed to be the loudest in the entire room had you startled, and you immediately whipped your head around to face Sebastian Aho who was standing a few feet away from you, still looking awkward and even embarrassed at how the two of you had gotten so quiet at his sudden appearance.

Your friend shot you a very smug look.

...Damn it.

You quickly recovered though, crossing your arms with a scowl that made you flinch at the movement from your chin it caused. “I’m good.” You responded defensively, ignoring your friend’s quiet groan from beside you at your closed-off attitude.

And really, you didn’t know why you were denying an autograph from Sebastian Aho of all people, because in different circumstances you would have been jumping for joy at the chance to get a jersey signed, especially from the star player himself.

Maybe it was because he had hit you in the face with a puck twice, albeit accidentally, or maybe it was because of the butterflies in your stomach at his soft, shy and yet determined gaze that had you melting on the spot.

Dating, your love life, had been fucked up for you a long time ago. A long time ago only being just a few years, but bad date after bad date eventually had you thinking that maybe you just weren’t the type of person who could do relationships, despite your desire at having someone to be your partner in crime in life, to have someone who just got you.

So yeah, you didn’t like the idea of this hockey player strutting (or more like awkwardly shuffling) into your life and giving you nervous little butterflies when all of the other previous love interests in your life had done the exact same, and only for everything to fall apart.

Sebastian looked stumped at your reply, but he recovered a lot quicker than you thought he would which sent a brief pang of annoyance through you because damn it you liked being in control.

The centerman quickly straightened up his shoulders, and even sitting on a bed with added height still made you realize how much shorter you were. “Can I buy you something then?” He asked, and oh that made you bristle— if you were a cat you were sure you’d be hissing and raising your fur right now.

Because he couldn’t just buy you something as some sort of apology to get out of giving you injuries twice in the span of a month. You had to take time off from work to heal, and that meant less money on your paycheck, something you couldn’t really afford.

Somewhere deep down inside you knew those weren’t his intentions at all, not when he looked so earnest when offering, but you were so determined to shut down any sort of feelings that were bubbling up for this man that you’d come up with any excuse at this point, even if it was wrong to be judging so harshly.

“No.” You firmly denied, and it wasn’t as satisfying as you thought it would be to see his face fall at your rejection. Luckily you were saved from his defeated-looking puppy dog expression when the medical staff pushed past Sebastian and finished up fixing up your chin, and you were even more glad that this wouldn’t keep you off work for as long or take as long to heal.

It still hurt like an absolute bitch, though. That you weren’t happy about.

And as your heart sank just a little bit more with each step Sebastian took when exiting the room, well, you just hoped this wouldn’t be happening again any time soon.

• ~;~ •

The third time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with a puck, you had seen it coming a mile away but unfortunately couldn’t get out of the way in time before it was knocking you right back down into your seat. You were convinced at this point that either A. The little shit was aiming it towards you on purpose, or B. You just had really bad luck.

The latter seemed more believable, but the former made it easier to try to hate him.

Three months since the last incident and the star centerman was still finding ways to fuck up your life.

This definitely had to be the most mild wound of all out of the other two, only grazing your jaw when you stood up just before the end of third period to try and sneak off to The Eye to try and buy a shirt you had been eyeing a few games back.

But the ushers still made you go up the medical ward, and with that already being worse enough, since this time it was only a miniscule rash and bruise the arena had no problem showing a more up close shot of the puck flying right off of Sebastian’s stick, over the glass, and right to your face, and any hope you had of possibly escaping without any of the players, without Sebastian Aho, noticing went right down the drain.

Especially when they showed his damn reaction in a split-screen view of the shot, which was a pinch of his brow and a clenching of his jaw in concern, and then when he recognized you that same expression stayed but this time with the added addition of lips turning into just the most subtle of smiles— or maybe smirk, you couldn’t really tell with all of the staff rushing you to the medical ward.

Waving your friend off from following you, because really, you were fine, they were all just overreacting— you huffed as one of the doctors made you sit down on the same bed from last time as they all rushed around, and it was because of all the commotion that you didn’t spot a certain hockey player sneaking in unnoticed.

The same doctor who tended to you the previous times approached you, and when she recognized you she just rolled her eyes with a laugh. “This is what, the third time in just the span of a few months? You have an affinity for bad luck or something?”

Her tone was dry but her face showed nothing but amusement, and even with your irritation at practically being manhandled into the medical ward you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Because what were the chances you’d get struck in the face by a puck mid-game two, now three times?

You didn’t realize you had been lost in your thoughts until the doctor backed away from cleaning up the scratch on your jaw, peeling off her gloves and throwing them in a trash bin by the bed. Again, you thanked whatever gods that were watching you (or probably weren’t, because hello? A puck to the face three times now?) that they wouldn’t be keeping you for long to make sure you were okay again.

You waited patiently for the doctor to gather your release forms and a few waivers saying you wouldn’t sue, etc. and while she did that, you let your eyes casually sweep around the room, taking in the staff cleaning up, the posters and signs related to the Hurricanes, Sebastian Aho leaning against the wall on the other side of the room talking quietly to—

Wait just a fucking minute.

Your mouth fell open, and you gaped at the man standing here in the room despite really not being that surprised he was here. He had seen you get hit by the puck, after all, but you supposed you were so surprised because you weren’t as injured, clearly, and didn’t think he would feel the need to have to check up on you again.

Even if all you did previously was snap at him, but.

Sebastian finished whatever conversation he was having and suddenly he was making eye contact with you and practically strutting to your bed, only stopping once he was right in front of you.

Gulping, you watched, speechless, as the hockey player looked to be having some inner war inside his head as he observed you, and then that expression turned to determination and confidence as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m getting you something at The Eye.” Was all the son-of-a-bitch said, and you struggled to find the words to respond, suddenly irritated at how he was stating so rather than asking because damn it, you didn’t need his charity!

Yes, that was definitely why you were mad. Not because of his caring gaze or the brief flashes of adoration swimming through those warm brown eyes.

“But—”

“Nope. No buts. Sign your papers, we’re going as soon as you finish.”

And damn it, you could do nothing but stare at the man, almost watching yourself through a screen as you nodded weakly and signed the release forms on autopilot, completely stumped at where in the hell Sebastian had found this sudden confidence that was able to render you speechless.

Your stomach churned, but not uncomfortably.

When you finished, Sebastian was suddenly taking a hold of your wrist and dragging you out of the ward, the same doctor flashing you a brief, knowing smile before the doors slammed shut and the centerman led you through the empty arena hallways.

And then, for the first time since seeing him tonight, Sebastian paused, steps stuttering before he came to a stop and then he was turning to look at you, eyes so open and warm, darting back and forth from your own wide eyes and then back to his soft hold on your wrist.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out and now he seemed to be at a loss for words. His grip on your wrist began to slip and oh, that’s why he was so quiet, he was worried about crossing your boundaries, and this fact really had no business making your heart flutter.

Almost feeling like you were being possessed, some unknown force guiding you as you held eye contact, you intertwined your pinkies gently because even though some part of you wanted to, you weren’t ready for, well… Whatever the hell was going on between the two of you now.

That seemed to be all the confirmation Sebastian needed, for he soon flashed you a wide smile that took your breath away before squeezing your hand back, continuing through the hallways and eventually reaching The Eye with what looked like a lone, snoozing employee at the cashier.

It almost felt like a ghost town with how empty everything was.

When Sebastian pushed open the doors abruptly, the cashier suddenly shot up from his seat, looking around wildly for the source of noise before settling on the two of you entering the shop, and then you watched as recognition for the star player of the team settled across his face in the form of wide eyes and a gaping mouth, and you had to hold back a laugh because yeah, me too.

The hockey player who currently held your hand captive tugged you forward, and you looked up to find him already looking at you, and you realized he was probably waiting for you to go looking around for what you wanted.

Then you remembered that you really didn’t want him to spend his money on you, even if his nonchalance about it proved how he really didn’t care if it was for you, the confidence in his gaze unwavering and making your stomach flip, but no, you weren’t going there.

Crossing your arms, you ignored the only employee in the store and glared at Sebastian, refusing to give in to the pout on his face even if it did make you melt inside.

“I’m not letting you buy me something when I’m perfectly capable of doing so on my own.” You stated, watching as he copied your expression and crossed his arms.

“Yes, but I feel bad,” He squinted at you, a brief quirk of his lips letting you know he was amused at the immediate surprise on your face at his words. “And I really want to repay you for, well...” He shrugged sheepishly, a hand suddenly brushing against your cheek and you internally screamed at the way your walls were slowly but surely crumbling down at his gentle ministrations.

Throwing your arms up with a groan, you practically growled at the infuriating smirk on his face once Sebastian saw you had finally given in. “Fine,” You eventually agreed - though certainly not willingly - and poked a finger at his chest. “But this is a one time thing only. Got it?”

And the centerman just shrugged, smirk still plastered across his beautiful face and you narrowed your eyes at the infuriating hockey player, knowing he wasn’t really agreeing to anything and probably just wanted to rile you up.

You wouldn’t admit that it was working, but Sebastian could certainly tell and was enjoying the fact that he was finally breaking past your barriers he for some reason really wanted to get past, even if it was just resulting in your anger and irritation. For now, anyways, Sebastian thought with a satisfied hum as he watched you almost stomp around the store, hunting for what he assumed was a jersey.

Hopefully a jersey with his name on it, and woah, that thought surprised him— though shockingly enough, it wasn’t unwelcome.

Sebastian was soon broken out of his thoughts by you waving him over, and as he saw the devious grin on your face he couldn’t help but narrow his eyes right back, wondering what had you grinning like a Cheshire cat.

When he saw the ugliest shirt he had ever seen in The Eye— no, in his existence, Sebastian did nothing but scoff in disbelief, eyebrows raising incredulously as he saw the price. And of course, he really didn’t know why he was surprised when he saw it was probably the cheapest thing in the store.

Based on the mischievous glint in your eyes, you most definitely picked it out for that purpose only.

He rolled his eyes, putting the offending piece of clothing back on the rack and walking back to the front of the store where he knew his jerseys were being sold at top price. If you weren’t going to be fair, then he wasn't going to be fair either.

Though secretly you both knew you enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed riling each other up. You because it made it easier to ignore whatever feelings were blossoming for the soft yet cocky hockey player, and Sebastian because he liked seeing the red flush bloom across your cheeks in irritation. You were also really pretty. And cute. And beautiful, and—

Sebastian ignored the warmth in his cheeks, finding a jersey with his name printed across the back in what looked to be your size.

He watched your eyes widen as he held it up for you to see, and smiled at your being speechless.

“I think this will do, you agree?” You, of course, didn’t respond, merely narrowed your eyes in response and tightened your arms across your chest, the both of you knowing Sebastian had won this round.

Scowling, you merely turned away and let him lead you to the register where the still-gaping cashier remained, mumbling out a thanks as the younger boy handed you the bag and finally walked out into the cool autumn air with the centerman strolling casually beside you.

Once you reached the parking lot, you came to a slow stop, watching as Sebastian did the same and turned to face you. You didn’t know why, but the thought of having Sebastian walk you to your car had you stomach swimming with butterflies and that was something you did not want to investigate right now, so what better way to put a stop to it then make sure it doesn’t happen at all?

“Well,” You started, avoiding eye contact by looking just over his shoulder. “Thank you for this,” You mumbled, holding up the bag with his jersey for reference, “Let’s hope we don’t have to go through this again, right?” Your attempt at joking was thwarted by the sudden look of disappointment that crossed Sebastian’s face, but just as soon as it came it was gone and you were stuck wondering if you had merely imagined the longing in his eyes.

“Yeah,” He muttered, fiddling with his hands as his eyes swept up and down your body, seemingly searching for something unknown. And when he looked back up at your face, meeting your eyes, he seemed to find whatever he was looking for in the confusion and nervousness ever present in your expression, and as a stupidly cute, knowing smile spread across his face you began slowly backing away, having not realized how close the two of you had gotten.

“See you,” You awkwardly waved, avoiding his eyes as you quickly turned around and marched off towards your car. You didn’t catch Sebastian’s response, didn’t really want to either, but as he watched your silhouette disappear with the setting sun’s light, he could only think one thing:

Sebastian was going to find you again, preferably without hitting you in the face with a puck again. Even if he knew that was too good to be true.

• ~;~ •

The fourth time Sebastian Aho hit you in the face with another damn puck, well, you weren’t even surprised at this point since your body seemed to just attract small frozen and flying objects.

This time only a week since the last time he fucked up your face (surprising, you knew) though to be fair, you were a few rows back from the glass which made it much more easier for a puck to find its way to your face.

No, you weren’t surprised, weren’t even mad either to be honest, but you were completely and utterly shell shocked by the person who shot it up at your face in the first place, because this time Sebastian freaking Aho did it on purpose.

Well, he didn't mean to smack you in the face with it on purpose, but you get the point.

Just moments before, you were leaning your elbows on your knees and resting your chin on your hands, ignoring your friends’ conversation beside you and instead watching the players as they skated around the ice during warmups. Playing against the Tampa Bay Lightning this game, the two teams were evenly matched, almost too even, and you could already tell both were going to have a hard time getting any shots on the goal, if any at all.

It also didn’t help that both goalies were practically Gods, you hummed to yourself, eyeing Vasilevskiy and Nedeljkovic respectively.

And then when you looked back over at the Canes’ side of the ice, sweeping over the numerous jerseys and almost subconsciously seeking out a certain number 20, you found the one with ‘Aho’ printed across the back bouncing a puck up and down on his stick and you had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as you watched him deliberately toss it towards the glass, but of course never actually look at the squealing fans right in front of him.

Show-off, you scoffed to yourself. It's as if he wanted to seem conceited.

And then, like you were living in some cheesey rom-com, as if the hockey player himself KNEW you were shit-talking him, Sebastian Aho’s eyes met yours and you were stuck, trapped, in his eyes - those warm brown eyes - unable to look away as you both took the other in.

It was only as you watched a slow smile creep across Sebastian’s face did you realize you really weren’t that far away from the glass to begin with, only four or five rows back, and it was with that thought did a sense of dread begin to fill you because lord all-fucking-mighty, Sebastian was aiming the puck on his stick up towards you, holding mischievous eye contact as he did so and you were about to shake your head, mouth the words ‘no’ or something because you did not have good hand-eye coordination—

And of course, he fucking threw it anyway. And, like you expected, you remained frozen in your spot as the puck soared over the glass and hit you with a loud smack! right on target: your nose.

Fucking son of a bitch— hands swinging upwards to cup your throbbing face, you held back a loud curse for the sake of any kids around, attempting to blink away the tears but not succeeding very well. You hadn’t felt this level of pain since the first time you were hit, and all you could really think about is why your reflexes had to be so bad— and if you were going to have another nasty bruise that you had to try to hide with makeup.

As you were leaning heavily against the side of your friend as several of the medical staff helped lead you away to the medical ward - practically your second home at this point - you failed to notice the way Sebastian’s face was pinched up into the most guilty of looks, his teammates (mostly Teuvo and Andrei) awkwardly trying to console him while holding back their own awkward laughs at the situation.

Well, how was he supposed to know you wouldn’t be able to catch a puck you knew he was throwing…?

By the time the game was over you were still on your familiar hospital bed, ice pack pressed to your nose, eyes shiny from leftover tears, and cheeks blotchy. Really, the pain could have been worse, it was just such a shock because this time Sebastian had actually acknowledged you— before he, you know, launched a puck at your face.

You groaned, turning towards your friend who was rapidly texting someone you didn’t really care to know. “Why did he think it was a good idea to throw a puck at me? Weren’t these last few times any indication that I can’t catch anything?”

“First of all, he was trying to throw it to you, not at you.” When you only scowled in response, your friend merely huffed before turning to give you their full attention.

“You’re so hopeless when it comes to love, honestly,” Your friend sighed with a playful roll of their eyes, putting their phone down and regarding you with squinted eyes. “He likes you, and he wanted to throw you a puck to flirt with you. Obviously.”

Your mouth opened and closed, gaping comically like a fish as you struggled to find the words to combat their blatant honesty.

“That’s ridiculous-”

“He bought you a jersey. His jersey.” Your friend deadpanned, refusing to let you disregard the signs.

“And I think you like him a little bit, too.” Now that had you protesting immediately, removing the ice pack from your nose to send a withering glare your friend’s way.

You did not like Sebastian Aho. Sure, he just happened to be attractive, with his warm brown eyes and soft hair, pouty lips—

Fuck.

“Like who?” Came a voice off to your left, and both you and your friend’s eyes widened as you recognized who the voice belonged to; yours with fear at your conversation being heard by the man himself, and your friend’s in eagerness and amusement.

“Nothing.” You immediately cut your friend off, shooting another glare their way to just please be quiet, for the sake of your sanity.

Sebastian mumbled something under his breath you didn’t quite catch, and as his eyes swept over the large bruise forming on your nose with concern and guilt you couldn’t help but swallow at the emotion on his face, because if your friend was right, then well— you were screwed, too.

The three of you stood in awkward silence for several minutes, you watching Sebastian watch you and your friend’s eyes darting between the two of you until they finally stood up with a loud cough, gaining both you and Sebastian’s attention.

“I’m going home,” Your friend announced, and before you could argue because you didn’t think you could drive right now, “Hurt my best friend and you’re dead, Aho.” Sending you a cheeky wink that broke the severity of your glare, you scowled as Sebastian merely nodded, a small smile on his face as he shared a few quiet words with your friend.

Well then, you played with your thumbs as now it was just the two of you, for not even a doctor was present in the normally-bustling room.

And suddenly Sebastian was stepping closer, and you probably would have felt uncomfortable if his presence wasn’t so welcome, if you didn’t release an almost happy sigh as his fingers gently brushed against your cheek, warm brown eyes sweeping over every inch of your face as he examined you so carefully.

“Does it hurt?” He asked quietly, fingers still rubbing small, comforting circles on your cheek, and you were so enraptured in this little bubble you found yourself in that it took a few moments to take in what he said.

(You blamed the huskiness of his voice for distracting you, and really it wasn’t fair how naturally pretty he was)

“Not really,” You answered back just as softly, ever-so-slightly leaning into his hand that remained on your cheek. At your response, he moved it to the side to examine your nose better - you wouldn’t admit how you almost whined in protest - eyebrows pinching together as he saw the swelling.

“It could be worse,” And really, you weren’t sure why you were trying to console him because he did hit you in the face with a puck yet again, but your friend’s words were echoing in your head and for the first time since being confronted about it, you figured that maybe Sebastian actually was being sincere and that maybe he did like you like everyone claimed he did...

“I didn’t, I would never mean to-” Sebastian was struggling to find the words, you could tell by the way his eyes shifted downwards and his brows pinched together, but the English language was tough even for yourself, a native speaker, and you couldn’t imagine how hard it was for the Finnish player trying to share how he felt in a language he would probably never be used to.

You placed your hand over his larger one that was currently resting on your shoulder, a burning warmth that left your body humming with pleasure at his touch, even through your clothes.

“I know,” You attempted to reassure him, offering him a small smile and taking joy in the way he reacted to your touch, because at least it wasn’t just you being affected by the other so strongly.

Without taking his eyes away from yours, Sebastian took his free hand and began rummaging in the pocket of his hoodie (that did absolutely nothing at hiding the man’s very fit body), and he couldn’t help but let a lazy smirk cross his lips as he saw your eyes widen and your mouth drop open ever so slightly in reaction to the item in his hand.

It was a puck, signed by him, of course, and it was the one he smacked you in the face with tonight.

(Accidentally, he’d tell the press over and over again in post-game interviews. Because no, what player just goes around launching pucks at his fans’ faces for fun?)

Sebastian offered it for you to take, and you of course accepted, tiny sparks erupting across your skin where your fingers brushed together. As you examined the puck in your hand that was still slightly frozen from its time on the ice, you couldn’t hold back the smile on your face if you tried, heart practically thumping outside of your chest because damn it, Sebastian wasn’t allowed to make you feel like this!

Gently swiping a thumb across his signature scrawled over the top of the puck, you looked up to find Sebastian already looking, staring at you with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.

Suddenly the room was thick with tension and you were unable to look away, trapped in his eyes that looked to be so much darker compared to the soft lighting of the room. Your heart was pounding, your lips dry, and when you went to subconsciously lick them Sebastian’s eyes zeroed in on the movement and woah, the breath whooshed away from your lungs in a feeling not unfamiliar to when you got smacked in the face by hockey pucks.

Sebastian was leaning closer, his free hand hovering over your hip and when you automatically moved closer to accommodate him that was when you became fully trapped in his hold— but the thing was that you welcomed it, you welcomed his touch because you wanted to be swallowed in it and for some reason that fact wasn’t scaring you anymore.

You released a shaky exhale as his forehead was now resting against yours, eyes closing to try and gather your thoughts and any ounce of sanity you had left, because when in his presence all logic and reasoning left your mind to give way to desire and passion.

Your noses were now brushing together, a hand was tugging you closer to his body, and you could feel a whisper of his breath on your lips, that’s how close you were—

And then suddenly the doors to the medical ward were swinging open with a loud bang, Sebastian leaping back from you with a startled jump and you stuck frozen in your spot like a deer caught in headlights was what greeted the head doctor when she looked up from her clipboard.

Raising her eyebrows, she looked like she wanted to comment, observing your wide eyes and Sebastian’s flushed cheeks. Either from saving you the embarrassment or from her genuinely not wanting to be involved in your… endeavors, you were thankful as she merely waved you off with another few papers to sign, deliberately ignoring the way Sebastian was still hovering behind you and waiting to leave with you.

Once you finished, you sent a quick smile the doctor’s way before hurrying after Sebastian who now looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here.

Did I do something wrong? No, damn it, he was reciprocating—

Your thoughts were quickly cut off by the hockey player himself taking a hold of your hand in the midst of his brisk walk, only looking down at you with a soft furrow of his brows before he determined you were fine with it, and then he intertwined your fingers together.

You struggled to breathe, your breath catching in your throat as electrifying warmth shot up your arm, traveling through your body and you were almost burning, but it was such a good burn that you did nothing but welcome it. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in probably years, though you didn’t find yourself scared of it like you thought you’d be.

Because no, out of all your strange, bizarre meetings with Sebastian Aho, you never found yourself scared of what you felt for him. Not nearly as much as you claimed to your friends when ranting over the phone.

Maybe it was because your attraction for so long had been buried beneath extreme distaste for causing you so much pain (literally) that falling for the hockey player had probably been the easiest thing you had ever done in your life because you didn’t even realize you were doing it.

You had a hard time fighting back the smile that wanted to spread across your cheeks, such a hard time in fact that you bit your lip hard enough to the point it bled. Though the brief twinges of pain didn't really bother you when you felt Sebastian squeeze your hand every few minutes, leading you through the empty hallways of the arena to where you assume was the parking lot.

When you walked out into the hot summer air that was typical for June in North Carolina, you almost wanted to frown because your time with Sebastian was almost over, even as limited as it was to begin with.

You turned to him then, not letting go of his hand but twisting around to face him instead, watching as his footsteps faltered, eventually stopping to face you where you stood in the middle of the almost-empty parking lot.

What a sight we must be, you almost wanted to laugh, wondering how odd the two of you looked: an NHL superstar holding hands with some random stranger in the middle of a parking lot. You could almost see the headlines now.

Sebastian didn't know quite what to say, regarding you with such intense yet vulnerable eyes full of the millions of words he wanted to say but just couldn't figure out how. If only you spoke Finnish…

"Are you sure you're okay? It doesn't hurt at all?" Is what he instead settled with, subconsciously bringing up his free hand to brush against the bruising on your nose with such gentle care it made you melt on the spot.

You hummed at the comfort his warm hands provided you, eyes fluttering as you leaned into his touch and— oh, wait, he was probably waiting for you to answer.

Based on the lazy, half-smirk on his face and the way he kept stroking the skin of your cheek though, you didn't think he minded how his touch could turn you into putty.

"No. I mean, it's sore and will probably hurt for awhile, but I'll survive," You tried to placate him, but if anything the words just made him more frustrated, the man releasing a huff while staring down your nose, almost wishing he could will the bruise away.

Sebastian sighed, looking at you with so much adoration and affection and dare you say it… love…? "I'm sorry," he said again, but you were tired of hearing his apologies and merely shook your head, shooting him your best unimpressed look.

You were about to open up your mouth to speak, to attempt to reassure him again but Sebastian was already looking down, hair still damp from the shower he took previously dangling in front of his forehead, and you struggled to figure out what you could do to make him feel better.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you fiddled with a loose string on your shirt before getting an idea— albeit a risky one that would definitely be putting yourself out there, but you had already practically admitted you were 'in love' with him, right?

Taking in a nervous breath, you shuffled closer to the taller man in front of you, hiding a smile as Sebastian immediately looked up in surprise and placed his hands on your hips to steady you. You wrapped an arm around his neck to settle your hand against his cheek, attempting to bring him down to your height but still having to stand up on your toes (curse his 6'0 height).

And then your lips brushed against the skin of his cheek, soft and warm with just the barest hint of stubble. You left a kiss at the corner of his lips next, shuddering deeply at the way his arms went to circle you - likely to bring you in closer so he could finally have you the way he'd been dreaming of - before pulling yourself away quickly, a satisfied smile taking replacing your mischievous grin at the starstruck look on his face.

"I'm okay, I promise," You reassured quietly, squeezing both his hands and the centerman only nodded, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded from the way you were pressed against him just moments ago.

"And thank you for the puck," Were your last words to him before you were quickly hurrying your way to your car, hands clammy and face on fire as the reality of what you just did settled in.

Holy shit, you thought as you unlocked your car. I don't regret it though. No, how could you when Sebastian looked at you afterwards like that?

And Sebastian was wishing he had done more than just stand there like the complete and utter idiot he was, letting you walk away without doing at least something in return…

Is this what love feels like?, was the only thought in his head as he eventually made his way back through the parking lot, thinking of the look you might have on your face when you'd find his number written on the other side of the puck he gave you.

• ~;~ •

Instead of hitting you in the face with pucks, Sebastian Aho finally settled with throwing them gently to you from the ice, and if he smiled the widest he ever had when the arena showed you finally catching a puck on the jumbotron with the crowd cheering, clapping, and throwing praises and laughs left and right, well— only he had to know that.

Sebastian was pretty positive you were his person though, he just knew, and he was going to make sure you knew that too as soon as possible. Preferably after this game. He was even going to try to bypass any interviews afterwards (he could dream, honestly, but everyone knew Brind'Amour would just make him sit through them anyway).

You were very surprised that you managed to catch the puck Sebastian threw to you, if you were being honest. Maybe you managed to do so because you were actually expecting it this time— or because he didn’t chuck it over the glass as hard as he possibly could, like the previous four times…

Either way, you didn’t bother trying to hide the smile on your face as the cameras zoomed in on you giddily holding the puck still frozen and covered in bits of ice.

The smile didn’t leave your face after the Storm Surge and fans began to leave the arena, nor did it leave when you checked in with the security guards along with your friend and were led down to the locker rooms with your stomach swimming with butterflies.

When you finally got past the crowd and managed to avoid any onlookers who might have spotted the passes along your neck, you stayed behind your friend as they automatically began to chat up the other WAG’s and friends waiting outside to check your phone.

Sure enough, just as you had suspected, a notification from the very boy himself was lighting up your screen, his contact name flashing obnoxiously and almost making you laugh.

Puck Boy: You’re coming down to the locker rooms after, right? Everyone wants to see you again.

How did it get to the point where the two of you were texting regularly and meeting his teammates, you ask? Well, you didn’t exactly have a very good answer for that either.

You had found his number written on the bottom of the puck during the late hours of night, and having a moment of weakness you immediately texted him despite the time. Though surprisingly, Sebastian had been up too (he wouldn’t admit that he had been staring at his phone, waiting for a message from an unknown number to come in) and had responded almost immediately.

The two of you talked for hours after that, staying up until the sun rose despite you having work in the morning and Sebastian having practice, talking about everything under the sun. And despite the fact that you were barely awake as you arrived to take your morning shift, practically falling asleep the moment you arrived at your post, you didn’t regret your not-so-adultish decision to stay up whatsoever.

The first time the two of you called was only two weeks ago, but once you started neither of you could stop. It was after a victory against the Predators, and all Sebastian could think to do once he arrived at his apartment was to dial your number and celebrate, to pretend that he was with you instead of hugging you tight to his chest like he really wanted.

And then he had invited you to a get-together hosted by Jordan Martinook himself, just a few days after your first call; one, because Sebastian needed a date to avoid another month of being teased for arriving dateless, two, because everyone - and when he said everyone, he meant everyone - wanted to meet you, and three, because he also really wanted to see you again.

After that first fateful get-together outside of the PNCArena, it was practically routine to continue to call and text each other at the end of the day, avoiding the one elephant in the room that neither of you wanted to address— What are we? What are we doing, really?

Yes, You eventually texted back, looking up once your friend started to poke you for your attention, then blushed in embarrassment when you realized several other people were staring at you with varying levels of amusement from your lack of attention.

“Sorry,” You grinned sheepishly, stuffing your phone in your pocket as your friend merely rolled their eyes before linking their arm with yours.

You soon fell into easy conversation with Courtney Martinook, Kylie Slavin, and Kylie’s daughter, Emersyn - all who you were fairly comfortable with from the last time you met them - only just managing to avoid the subtle smiles and winks - and in your friend’s case, harsh kicks to the shin - when your friendship with Sebastian would be brought up.

“He bought you two tickets?” Courtney asked with a hum, exchanging knowing smiles with Kylie when your friend nodded eagerly and you avoided eye contact with flushed cheeks.

“Only because he said I could repay him by buying him a lifetime-supply of coffee,” You attempted to defend yourself and the way your cheeks glowed red, though you didn’t think you did a very good job if the raised eyebrows of the two older women were any indication.

“Are you and Fishy gonna get married?” Emersyn soon interrupted mid-conversation, a goofy grin on her face that seemed much too mischievous for her age. While your mouth opened and closed like that of a fish and Kylie attempted to apologize for her daughter’s very out-of-the-blue question, you were soon saved from answering when the locker room doors burst open and Emersyn squirmed out of her mother’s arms with an excited squeal, bounding towards her father who came out first with several others.

Your friend tugged at your arm, wiggling their eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, are you going to get married?” You merely scowled, a furious blush decorating your face as you quickly looked around to make sure nobody else had heard. God forbid one of the players heard the chirp and decided to let Sebastian in on it…

“I don’t even think we’ll date, nonetheless get married,” You muttered dryly, crossing your arms defensively when your friend merely rolled their eyes.

“Yeah, that’s definitely why he got you his jersey and gave you a puck with his number on it. Because he doesn’t want to date you.”

Coming from another person your excuse did sound a lot more dumb out loud than in your head, but you wouldn’t admit that. Instead you only turned away, looking through the crowd of happy couples and single players walking along the hallway, searching for Sebastian.

“And here I thought you were wearing the number 88, not 20…” A voice sighed teasingly to your left, an arm coming to rest on your shoulder after as you turned around to find Martin Necas giving you the best heartbroken, puppy-eyed look he could.

“Sorry Martin,” You grinned, not really sorry at all as you batted away his arm from your shoulder. “I just happen to like Sepe better.” You shrugged nonchalantly, though Martin knew you were joking mostly by the way your grin wouldn’t leave your face.

Martin, unphased, shrugged. “I know, believe me. Everyone knows.” And then the right winger was flashing you the biggest shit-eating grin you had ever seen before he was suddenly sauntering away towards your friend who had been watching from the other side of the room.

Staring after the hockey player with comically wide eyes, you were about to march off after him to demand what the hell Martin was talking about—

“Looking for me?” A cheeky voice and a sudden poke on your shoulder soon had you pausing in your steps, and as you turned around to face the culprit you ended up coming face-to-face (or rather face-to-chest) with the all-star player himself.

Sebastian was back in his game-day suit, hair still damp from a shower probably taken before with his cheeks flushed red from either the heat or from seeing you. And despite how infuriatingly good the man managed to look, it wasn't his body that had you absolutely starstruck, but rather the wide, infectious smile on his face that you could do nothing but return before he was swallowing you in his arms, burying his face into the top your hair as he hugged you so close to him, the way he had been dreaming of since you first kissed his cheek.

“Missed me that much?” You laughed, throwing your arms around his neck and too hugging him close. Your next retort was quickly cut off when he pressed a quick kiss to the top of your head in response, being so fleeting that you wondered if you had just imagined it.

¹ “Sinulla ei ole aavistustakaan, kuinka paljon kaipasin sinua... En yhtään.”

Sebastian purposefully spoke in Finnish, mostly because he knew how much it irritated you because you could never figure out what he was saying but also because he could speak his mind without the worry of it backfiring. And when you scowled and tried to wriggle your way out of his arms, Sebastian did nothing but laugh as you muttered curses under your breath about him being too strong.

It was true, though. Sebastian had the weight, height, and muscle mass to top yours ten times over— yet you didn't mind it as much as you were acting to be, rather instead secretly enjoying being trapped in his warm embrace.

Like the first time you were alone with him, you let yourself get sucked into your own little world with the hockey player in front of you, obnoxiously amused stares and giggles from the others around you ignored as you remained curled into Sebastian's chest like a koala, not quite willing to let go just yet.

"Did you enjoy the game?" Sebastian asked, staring down at you so sweetly that it had your heart melting on the spot. It only took a minute of him scanning down your body before he spotted the number 20 printed across your sleeves, and if possible his smile got even wider (and smug, too, you thought with an internal scoff) as he gently traced the numbers with his fingers while waiting for your response.

"Mhm," You hummed your agreement, rolling your eyes as he kept his eyes trained on the 'Aho' jersey he had bought you so many weeks ago. "It was pretty fun, got to see some guy score a few times too, not really sure who he was though." And that got his attention, Sebastian staring with those warm brown eyes of his that even when displeased were still one of the most attractive features about him.

Sebastian watched you with narrowed eyes, brows furrowing with a teasing glare as he wondered if getting into a quip-battle with you was worth it. While equally clever with his words - it was always the quiet ones… - the both of you were stubborn, you especially so, and he'd rather save your typical jabs at each other when it was just the two of you and not surrounded by his teammates and their partners, eagerly waiting for him to do something.

You figured Sebastian gave up on arguing with you again when his arms merely tightened their hold around you, bottom lip suddenly captured in-between his teeth as he thought of what to say.

He had a plan coming out here after receiving your text… He knew he did! What was it again?

Watching you pull at a loose string on your sleeve, it suddenly occurred to him that the main reason he had gotten you and your friend tickets in the first place was so that he could ask you out. Officially. Like on an actual date.

Fuck.

Taking in a deep breath that you definitely noticed but decided not to comment on, Sebastian mumbled something in Finnish under his breath yet again that had you briefly scowling at before he popped the dreaded yet anticipated question:

"Do you want to go out after this?"

You stared, having enough dignity to at least not look like a gaping fish for what had to have been the millionth time that night.

"It doesn't have to be right now-right now, we can wait until later if that works better, I know you have work—"

Suddenly Sebastian was rambling, and you did nothing but watch at first, both in awe at the man in front of you and in amusement because he looked just as nervous as you felt.

Just do it. You know you want to. And then you were staring at Sebastian's face, his mouth specifically, thinking of all the ways you could shut him up but instead settling on one:

"...and we could always set something up in a few days, too—"

"Sepe?" You interrupted, resting your chin on his chest as you tilted your head up to look at him fully.

When he merely blinked in response, regarding you quietly with those warm brown eyes of his, you couldn't help but smile because little did he know that your heart was pounding so hard you felt like it was going to explode.

You pulled Sebastian down towards you by the lapels of his suit as best as you could, biting the inside of your lip when you met his warm brown eyes that were now dark and swimming with desire. He ended up being the one to close the distance, cupping your cheek with the entirety of his hand before his lips were brushing against yours, and that small touch was all he needed before Sebastian was pressing forward, leading you into the kiss and it almost felt like he was devouring you. He was so warm yet burning and his hand on your cheek and waist was sending tingles all throughout your body and it all was overwhelming but in the best way possible. You tugged Sebastian closer, burying your hand into his hair and kissing him with everything you had all while cursing him internally for making you feel for him so strongly. When his tongue ever so slightly ran across your lip, testing for an entrance, that was when your brain decided to rear forward with there are people near!

You were suddenly pulling back with a gasp, lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide with lust, biting your abused lip to hide your smile when Sebastian whined at your pulling back and attempted to lean forward to kiss you again.

Ignoring the wolf-whistles that you hadn't registered until just now, you briefly glanced around to see your friend standing next to Martin and Turbo, both nodding eagerly with equally-wide smiles and that's when you took a deep breath and jumped head-first into whatever it was you were doing.

"I would love to go out after this." You answered after a few moments of internal-panic on what to follow up with, though if the satisfied grin on Sebastian's face was any indication, you figured you said the right thing.

"Good," Sebastian recovered from his starstruck haze quickly, ignoring the eager and expectant look his friends were sending him as he leaned down to mumble into your hair, "I wasn't really going to take no for an answer, anyway…"

You opened your mouth to retort, brows furrowing in offense at his statement because, um, nobody told you what to do, least of all him—

And as if sensing the argument from you, Sebastian quickly bent his head forward to lock eyes with you, just to make sure you knew what he was doing, and then he was capturing your lips with his own once more, shutting you up with a grin at your brief sounds of protest being quickly cut off.

Sliding a hand through your hair just because he could, this time it was Sebastian pulling back and you chasing after him with a whine while he merely grinned, smile lazy yet smug.

Geez, you thought, mind still fuzzy from Sebastian's kisses as he began to lead you through the crowd with a warm hand pressed against your lower-back. What is he doing to me?

"You're awful, you know," You spoke with a light huff that held little mirth, rolling your eyes when Sebastian only laughed and just resorted to dragging you away by the sleeve of your - his - jersey instead.

"You still like me though."

Unfortunately.

"Screw you."

"Maybe wait until after the first date?" Said Sebastian without missing a beat, keeping his eyes forward and waving goodbye to his teammates and your friend before exiting the locker room hallway.

This man is going to be the death of me, you thought, though strangely enough, you didn't mind the thought of it.

When you arrived to Sebastian's own car after picking up your stuff and to let him drive you to wherever the hell he wanted to go, you had a sudden revelation.

"Puck you." Is what you said, grinning victoriously when Sebastian looked at you from the corner of his eye with a baffled frown.

"What?" He laughed incredulously, looking so confused yet cute at the same time that you couldn't help but take pity on him.

"It's like 'fuck you' but instead of saying fuck, I said puck, because that's how you decided to screw up both my life and my face."

Okay, not much pity, but still.

When Sebastian only gave you a sheepish grin and a shrug, you knew he didn't take the jab seriously.

And based on the way he wouldn't meet your eyes when you asked if he even regretted how everything happened between the two of you, you knew your teasing him was well-deserved.

"Puck you, Sebastian. Puck you."

²"Minäkin rakastan sinua."

~~~

¹ "You have no idea how much I missed you… None at all."

² "Love you too."

────────────────────────────────

Add yourself to my 18- (SFW) Taglist here!

Add yourself to my 18+ (NSFW) Taglist here!

#sebastian aho #sebastian aho imagine #carolina hurricanes #canes imagine #nhl hockey #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl x reader #carolina hurricanes imagine

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polexiasworld · 2 years

Text

high-value woman inspiration and how to become it: the muse, penny lane

“a person — especially a woman — who is a source of artistic inspiration.”

where do i even begin a post dedicated to the magnetic and charismatic gifts of the “almost famous” star, penny lane?

“something tells me twenty years from now, we’ll remember her… and not much else.”

the quote above could not be more accurate. twenty years from the release of the movie in question, and we remember penny lane… and not much else.

penny lane mesmerizes both the audience and the other characters in “almost famous” as she lives her life as a muse to all.

“miss penny lane, let me tell you what rock ‘n’ roll will miss... the day that you truly retire. the way that you turn a hotel room into a home. the way that you pick up strays wherever you go. the way that you know the words to every song. every song, especially the band ones. it’s mostly the bad ones. that green coat in the middle of the summer. the real name that you won’t reveal. I could keep going…”

becoming the muse have the power to be:

step 1 - a muse possesses energy that inspires everyone around her. this includes yourself! find inspiration from those around you as well. look for traits you wish to have that others have. do not get jealous, get inspired. seek to understand how they gained that quality, and apply that knowledge to gain that quality.

journal as if you already have these desired traits

create a vision board of your muse inspirations

write down, read, and speak affirmations dedicated to these traits

step 2 - she does not pretend to be somebody she is not. when you act as a different person in hopes to be loved by all, you will come to realize that you will still be disliked by some. gain confidence in the person you are, and the person you are becoming. be true to yourself, always.

watch uplifting youtube videos dedicated to gaining confidence and being your authentic self

learn to stop seeking validation from everyone besides for yourself

remove mind blockages by listening to sound healing videos

step 3 - a muse does not surround herself with people who lower her vibrations. positive energy is what makes a muse, a muse! once she shines and showcases this, she allows others to see their shine.

have a positive media diet

remove as many toxic people in your life as possible

manifest a healthy support system

author’s note: this is part one for my series on how to become a dream girl! as always, i wish you all nothing but the best on your journey’s.

xoxo,

polexia

#law of abundance #law of attraction #loa #manifestation #positivity #affirmations #affirmyourlife #positive affirmations #manifesting #positive thoughts #muse #aesthetic #penny lane #manifest #dream girl #self improvement #glow up #glo up #advice

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multifandoms27-blog · 2 years

Note

Same Fma anon as yesterday!! Thank you so much for the hcs! They were lovely, I like them so much :D I was so surprised by how quick you write, too. It's amazing!!

Since I'm a sucker for Ling and there's not nearly enough content about him, allow me to request another fluff hcs (I have so many ideas haha) but perhaps about a theater kid reader (gender neutral) who's stressed before the play? Thank you again for your work ✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧

HIII NO PROBLEM!! YES YES OF COURSE!!! I LOVE LING, YOUR ASKS GIVE ME LIFE <333 and akhdjj THANK YOUUU!! Do I really write fast-?

~*~*~*

Content: Gender neutral theatre kid reader! :DD

Warnings: Mentions of past violence (not towards reader)

Notes: I finished high school on Friday, but the weekend before that my old high school did a play and all my theatre friends were losing their minds over it. I was never a theatre kid, but a part of me always kinda wanted to do it in high school. Instead, I was the writing, drawing, weeb kid lol

~*~*~*

LINGGGGGG MY BELOVED <333

Ling is a pretty eccentric person, I wouldn't be surprised if modern day Ling would be a theatre kid tbh (the whole cast of fma would be, don't deny it)

AYO MODERN DAY LING HCS NEXT???? sorry, I'm getting off track

You'd be backstage, trying to get your makeup and everything together, the friends you had that stayed backstage also trying to help

The buildup to opening night was so stressful.

Tech week had been awful, a few sets even broke mid-week, because two guys started a fight over a fucking color

Those sets had to be pushed to the side so everyone could finish the rest, get props ready, costumes, etc. and were finally hurriedly fixed at the end of the week

Multiple cast members harshly critiqued others on their acting skills or commented on some costumes and props, no matter how accurate they were to (the original media/the scriptwriters' initial vision)

You knew the shows break time would be the worst, you just hoped cast members wouldn't get into any fights

Your phone pinged, and immediately you grabbed it. It was Ling, your boyfriend

"Hey, I'm here! Where r u?" - the message reads

"Backstage" - your message reads

Almost immediately, the door gets kicked down, and there stands your boyfriend with a goofy grin

"Hi hon! Oh, you look stressed." Ling falters a bit, then gently grabs your arms and stands close to you. "Are you alright? Should I have brought more (favorite treat)?"

Ling had noticed before opening night how stressed you had been

So, being the amazing boyfriend he is, he was by your side whenever he could

He was cuddling you, giving you your favorite sweets, watching whatever shows you wanted to watch, giving you so much affection leading up to opening night; Ling was your saving grace

"No, no, it's fine. I'm really just nervous about the break."

"Oh," He draws out. "Okay. Well, if you want me back here then, I can do that."

"I don't think you're allowed." You giggle.

"I have my ways, hon." Ling embraces you, giving you a kiss.

Your friend going on stage with you knocked on the door and walked in. "Oh! (Y/n), sorry. Just came in here to say we're going on in five."

"Okay, thank you (friend name)."

They gave you a thumbs up and left. You turned back to Ling.

"You should head to your seat."

"I got front row, so you better blow a kiss or two at me." Ling teased, kissing you again and squeezing you in his embrace.

You laughed. "I expect nothing less, my lovely prince."

You both share one last kiss before Ling reluctantly pulls away. "I'll be back here at half time."

You laughed and nodded, waving him off. "I'll see you in the crowd."

"I wont blink for a second."

"...Ling, you keep your eyes closed."

At that, Ling opened his eyes. "I'll just have to keep 'em open, yeah?"

He then stuck his tongue out at you, making you giggle again. He then moved to the door.

"I love you, and your lovely laugh. I will see you at half time."

Ling then blows you a kiss before leaving, making you giggle again.

"Yeah...with you, I just might." You'd whisper, before adding on any finishing touches before joining everybody behind the curtain.

#ling yao x reader #ling yao fma #ling yao #fma #fmab #fmab ling yao

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Text

limerence [childe x gn!reader]

prompt: limerence - noun - the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings pairings: childe x gn!reader word count: 2.6k warnings: check tags for tws, but overall sfw. neither angst nor fluff. a/n: best read going in blind! :) but TWs are in tags if you’re worried. absolutely nobody requested this and this was a completely self-indulgent fic simply due to my desire to write a full scenario for childe.

the russet-haired harbinger spots you that morning, like every tuesday morning, in liyue harbor. your back is turned to him, but he can recognize your figure anywhere. he watches your shoulders and hair move with every articulated word and as the distance closes between the two of you, he can hear your frustrated words. every tuesday, you come to the market for your groceries and, every tuesday, you haggle with the shopkeeper over the price of potatoes in a rather aggressive manner.

to those unfamiliar with your antics, you and the shopkeeper are wordsmiths, crafting your weapons and going to war against each other. petty insults are thrown, ones that have no weight, a complete display of unprofessionalism on both you and the shopkeeper’s behalf. nonetheless, everyone near the two of you continues on their merry way, ignoring the spectacle unfolding before them. because, childe knows, the two of you do this every week. there’s no need for childe to intervene. not only does he know this is just friendly banter with a shopkeeper you’ve known your whole life, but, when it comes to verbal conviction, your words can sway nearly anyone. it’s just… not quite as effective on those who have known you for a majority of your life.

childe rounds the corner, two of his northland bank underlings trailing behind him. his presence unsettles the shopkeepers nearby, but you pay him no mind. now able to view you from the side, childe takes advantage of the several-meter distance between the two of you to get a good look at you. a wooden lattice basket rests in the crook of your elbows, shaking ever so slightly as you gesticulate widely, determined to win your squabble. the shopkeeper, having noticed childe’s presence from afar, blanches for a brief second, but the derisive, wide grin that crosses childe’s face at the sight notifies him that the harbinger has not yet arrived to collect his debts.

you, on the other hand, take no notice of the ginger, your eyebrows furrowing even further upon realizing something had distracted the shopkeeper. childe stifles a laugh upon seeing you snap your fingers at the man, redirecting his attention. even if you weren’t as captivating to everyone else in the way you were to childe, you still knew how to demand attention from those around you. tartaglia wishes nothing more than to wrap his arms around your waist and surprise you while you’re hard at work, mastering the art of haggling, but unfortunately for the both of you, duty called for childe as well.

harbingers had very little time to rest, but he desired to spend every free moment he has with you.

---

the harbinger pads softly into your room, his socks muffling the noise of any footsteps. it had once been a challenge for him to do such an action as your bedroom door had been quite squeaky but after fixing it once you had gone to work one day, childe was now able to join you in bed without disrupting your sleep. for the harbinger, this had been important as he knew how little sleep you got and his odd work hours would often lead to him disturbing what precious little shuteye you managed to obtain.

childe had no desire to focus on issues of the past, rather desiring to focus on you, who laid asleep and vulnerable in front of him. he lays down on the other side of your bed, making sure to shift his weight in a soft manner, not wanting this action to wake you up either. he inhales sharply upon seeing you shift in your sleep, electing to hold his breath until you settle back down. fortunately for him, it didn’t take very long and the shift in your breathing pattern let him know that you were once again deep within the forests of dreamland.

he smiles softly at you, propping his head on his hand to look at you while laying on his side. moonlight filters in, weaving through the gaps of your curtains, to softly illuminate your face -- just enough light to give tartaglia a good view of of your face and he admires the way the shadows fall upon your cheeks, the oh-so-faint shadow your eyelashes cast upon your undereyes, and the disappearance of the usual worries that plagued your face.

childe always wonders why such lines form on your face, why your brows furrow with a faint sadness and anger whenever you get lost in thought, unaware anyone is watching. he’s not sure what you have to worry about when he’s always there for you. what better protection than a fatui harbinger, especially one as skilled in battle as he?

but for now, he’s content with the peaceful expression that graces your face and elects to softly brush a loose strand of your hair away from your face. while it was amusing to watch it shift with each breath you took, childe figured you’d be more comfortable if there were no hindrances to your sleep. Nonetheless, he traces a finger from the back of your ear and down your jawline, admiring the feel of your skin under his featherlight touch. i’ve been considerate enough with your sleep, he thinks. please forgive me for letting me indulge myself with you this once.

he leans over, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. tartaglia’s heart swells as he sees your lips subtly twitch in response to his gesture of love. if he can bring you happiness even within your dreams, then his duty is fulfilled. while his body is sworn to the will of the tsaritsa and his brain sworn to the protection of his family, his heart is bound to yours in an unbreakable oath, for you have locked it within your grasp and thrown away the key.

despite you whisking away all hope for the harbinger to fall in love with someone else, tartaglia wouldn’t change it for a thing, for you were the one he truly desired. he had always been bad at telling you such things during the day, but when the night coated the two of you in her blanket of darkness, tartaglia would feel the words spill from his mouth in murmured poems, trying to accurately describe how he felt about you. he was happy with such events, as the two of you communicated best within the comforting familiarity of the night’s shadows.

---

tartaglia watches, hidden in the shadows of your hallway, as you dance around the kitchen, cooking yourself some saturday morning pancakes for breakfast. you’re singing to yourself, sliding around the slick floor in your socks as you pretend you’re a world-famous idol. in your fantasies the world is your oyster, but, more importantly, the spatula in your hands is your microphone. you’re belting out the words to a song childe recognizes to be your favorite.

he doesn’t enter the kitchen, afraid of causing you to be mortified that he caught you doing such a thing, and instead leans against the wall, appreciating your singing. these vulnerable states is when childe realizes he truly loves you. the way your eyes sparkle with delight at the thought of entertaining massive audiences, yet your goofy grin still remaining as you pause your chaotic set of songs to flip the pancakes, is a sight the harbinger wouldn’t trade for the world.

however, this vulnerability worries childe. he’s not always around to protect you and he knows how irresistible you are in his eyes, so the harbinger can’t help but worry what misfortune would fall upon you if someone nefarious set their sights upon you. the tsaritsa won’t always have him stationed in liyue, so if you are in danger, it will take longer for him to come rescue you. such thoughts cloud his mind easily, but in moments like these, tartaglia also embraces his love for you, for he knows that if you were not remarkable, these thoughts would not plague his mind. you are like a small animal, precious to those who see the value in you, but fresh meat for those wanting to slaughter.

as you dance within the confines of your abode, childe secludes himself from your vision, wishing to allow you to explore your reveries in peace. he wishes not to taint the innocent moments he wishes he could still have and instead chooses to stand watch over you, protecting from the shadows of the hallway as you glide around in the radiant, warm sunlight, for he is your knight and you are the royalty in the tower he must defend until his last breath.

---

tuesday rolls around again and the harbor is bustling more than it was last week. childe watches as you weave through the crowd, empty basket in tow, ready to begin your weekly tuesday morning routine of bartering with your favorite quarrelsome shopkeeper. the shopkeeper quickly notices you and the two of you exchange friendly greetings, before immediately launching into this week’s point of contention: tomato prices.

however, it’s different for childe this week. today, he is not bound by the will of the tsaritsa, a rare lull in his usually ceaseless obligations to the throne. for today, the harbinger has a day off and he wishes to spend it with the person he loves most. a nervousness swells in his chest. tartaglia had not told you that he had been granted with spare time and he feared your reaction upon learning this news. would delivering the news end in rejection and you being angered that he’s intruding upon your free time, not having notified you of such an event earlier on? no, he chastises himself. i know you, you would never do such a thing.

he navigates through the crowd with ease, noting how those who are aware of his reputation within the town easily make way for him to get through. but today, he arrives not as a harbinger, but as the man who loves you most. he sneaks up behind you as you barter, relishing in the fact that you remain blissfully unaware to his presence.

“i think you should lower the price of each tomato by 10 mora!” you insist. the shopkeeper opens his mouth to reply, but closes his mouth and gives a nervous smile, noticing the man that stood behind you. tartaglia smiles sardonically at the man as you stare at the shopkeeper, confused by the sudden mellowing of his attitude.

“how much are tomatoes going for?” childe asks, interrupting the conversation. your eyes widen upon realizing someone else is perusing the same stall and you turn to look at the man that towers over you.

“one-hundred and twenty mora each,” the shopkeeper responds, doing his best to keep his voice level in the presence of the fatui harbinger.

“ah,” childe responds, lifting an arm up to scratch the back of his head. “no wonder you’re being haggled with! do you think you could drop the price to 50 mora for my companion here?” the words exit his mouth as a question, but one laced with a firm resolve that only demanded for the shopkeeper to comply with his words.

“y’know, i’m feeling pretty gracious today,” the shopkeeper stammers, eyes flitting between you and the man behind you as you watch the interaction, bewildered by the shopkeeper’s change in tune when it came to pricing. “how about i sell the tomatoes to you, forty mora each?”

you stare at the shopkeeper, mouth falling open in shock. “r... really?” you squeak with a hint of excitement to your voice, before pausing to think about the situation. “that’s quite generous of you, are you sure you can handle such pricing?”

the shopkeeper’s eyes dart to childe and the harbinger crosses his arms and nods at the shopkeeper with a pressed smile, narrowed eyebrows, and folded arms while nodding his head slowly up and down. in return, the shopkeeper nods his head quickly.

“of course! think of it as a reward for being a frequent customer!” the shopkeeper insists, all while you’re oblivious to his sweating of bullets at childe’s presence. he hurriedly hands you the tomatoes you desired. “thank you for being a fantastic customer!”

“oh!” you state, shocked, but taking the tomatoes and placing them in your basket.

childe drops the malicious expression and instead beams a toothy grin at the shopkeeper, his intimidating aura all but dropped. “thank you for cooperating, sir! i’ll be quite sure to take note of such generous deeds!”

the shopkeeper, seemingly understanding that he’s been reprieved of having to deal with childe’s presence, lets out a long exhale of relief before turning to sell to another customer. as you situate the produce you purchased in your basket, you realize that your produce pricing hero is about to turn away and you can’t let him escape without thanking him!

“w... wait!” you say, tugging on childe’s sleeve. he turns back and looks at you with a mischievous, knowing smirk.

“oh?” he asks coyly.

“thank you!” you state, briefly clasping your hands around one of his as a gesture of appreciation. “that was amazing! i’ve never been able to purchase tomatoes for such an inexpensive price before!”

childe revels in your kind words and praise. he shouldn’t take pride in such a frivolous thing, but the way you stare at him, eyes blown wide with adoration and awe, causes his heart to skip a few beats faster. as your sworn protector, such actions should only be routine for him, but seeing you bat your eyelashes at him and ignite his skin as you brush your fingertips over it makes him want to evoke any and all forms of praise about him that he can get out of your mouth.

however, his daydreams and desires come to a screeching halt after you utter your next few words.

“i have to ask, what’s your name? i’ve never seen you around here before?” you say excitedly, eager to get to know the harbinger.

his cheerful mood falters for a brief moment as he’s forced to face reality. despite all of the nights he’s spent with you, all of the favors he’s done for you, all of the times he’s watched over you, the two of you had never truly spoken. as a cool oceanic breeze brushes over the two of you, childe holds back a shiver of discomfort as he’s faced with the reality that he loves you far more than you love him, that he knows far more of you than you know of him, for the knight protecting the tower is always a stranger to the royalty sheltered within.

despite the fact that you bring him to his knees, you have no idea of the effect you have on the harbinger, for the two of you have never exchanged words until this moment. all of childe’s declarations of love to you have been one-sided, whether it be words or actions. his resolve is shaken to the core, but, in a split second, he steels himself and returns the smile to his face, for what good is a knight who gives up when faced with reality?

“i’m tartaglia, but you can call me childe, if you prefer,” he croons, extending a hand out to you for a handshake.

as you grasp his hand firmly and shake in return, childe isn’t sure if he ever wants to let you go.

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imagining-in-the-margins · 3 years

Text

Here to Misbehave (Finale | S.R.)

Summary: It’s Halloween, and there are a lot of things on Spencer’s mind.

A/N: Here it is, everyone: the end of the story. Thank you so much to everyone who’s read this far. I greatly appreciate all of you, and I hope you enjoy it! Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Fluff/Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Penetrative sex, light D/s, mostly fluff! Word Count: 7.5k

—————————————————

Autumn has widely been considered the season of change. It is an understandable characterization; from the shifting hues of the leaves to the wildly fluctuating temperatures, few things stayed consistent in the fall. Perhaps that’s why someone who loathes change, someone like me, finds the season so thrilling.

It’s like the Earth and the Sun made a pact to make changes more predictable in their own unique, chaotic way. The breeze becomes biting and the days become shorter, but for these downfalls, we are granted a beauty and calmness that can’t be rivaled by any other season.

But she wasn’t a season, and when it came to my attention and appreciation, there were few choices that were easier to make.

“Spencer. You’ve got to be kidding me.”

(Y/n)’s face was half covered by the cup she held tightly with both hands, but I could picture the hidden expression perfectly, regardless.

“What? We don’t have to agree on everything.”

The truce was received poorly, her response a heavy scoff and a shake of her head. I tried to follow along with her suddenly heated words but couldn’t contain the stars in my eyes that often accompanied my daydreams. If she did notice, she stubbornly ignored the adoration to continue, “I understand you’re a genius or whatever, but I think your opinions on cider and cocoa are... wrong. They are wrong.”

It was my turn to feign displeasure (I hoped hers wasn’t real, anyway), clutching tighter to my own drink that I found myself defending on a park bench with dozens of strangers as an audience.

“An opinion can’t be wrong!” I chirped, only hating the way my voice jumped a little bit. After all, it was hard to hate it when it made her giggle. But despite how much sweeter the liquid seemed when I drank it in the presence of her smile, I also knew that she wouldn’t appreciate my immediate agreement. So, I pushed back just a little, “It can be misguided or ignorant but not outright wrong.”

“Unless it’s yours, on this topic,” she shot back without hesitation.

I tried to flash her a pout, hoping that maybe it would work for me like it did for her. It did not. Her eyebrows shot up and her jaw dropped open with another laugh, and I decided that I preferred that outcome, anyway. The longer my bottom lip stuck out, the wider her smile got. I waited to stop until her eyes closed and turned away, just long enough for me to let the full force of my affection show before she noticed.

She saw it, anyway, in the form of a similar smile spread over my face when I softly admitted, “Fine. You’re right.”

“Oh, I know.”

Her tongue peeked between her lips, and I found myself thinking less of cider and cocoa and more about how unbelievably lucky I was to find someone that I never felt the need to prove anything to. A person that didn’t care if I held all the answers.

I might’ve continued down that sappy train of thought, but it was hard to do while she had hoisted herself halfway over the table to try and grab hold of my cup right as I went to drink from it. Of course, she had failed to take into account just how big the table was, and just how close I was willing to come to falling before I let her drink from my cup right after she’d criticized my preference of fall flavors.

For a second, I really thought she might climb onto the table to win, but the judgmental looks from the parents in the park must have beaten her desire to win. As forlorn as humanly possible, she fell back into her seat with a loud “Hmph!” which really only managed to elicit an equally immature giggle from me.

“Shut up,” she laughed before shoving my paper plate further into my chest, “And eat your stupid pie.”

All I could think as she grabbed my fork and stabbed the middle of the piece to try to lift the entire thing at once, was that I was right about one thing: Autumn, in all its vitality and beauty, could still never compare to her.

That thought persisted through the pumpkin patch, growing in intensity as she skipped through the vine-laden path like a regular fall fairy. It was much easier to get lost in her there, crouched and inspecting foliage. Her arguments regarding gourds were much less spirited, with her watching me wide-eyed and curious as I explained the stages of pumpkin growth and all the different uses for the fruit.

I still let her make the final choices, opting to analyze her selections and tease her for them later, instead. That was the plan, anyway, to continue the competitiveness lest she gets bored with me before the day was over. When she walked past me holding open the passenger side door, I thought it might’ve already happened.

But then she just placed the pumpkin into my hands so she could open the back door. Before I could even move, she carefully removed it from my arms again and placed it in the seat.

“What are you doing?” I said through a very amused chuckle.

She was decidedly not entertained by my confusion, stopping to turn to me with a bored, frustrated expression. “I’m buckling him in,” she explained slowly, like I might need the help. Then, to add insult to silly injury, she added, “Duh.”

I was too distracted by the details to tackle the absurdity of it all.

“Him? It’s a boy pumpkin?”

“Obviously. Look at him,” she snorted, finally clicking the seatbelt in before tenderly petting the top of the lucky little gourd. Once she was convinced it would be as safe as she could make it, she allowed me to begin to escort her into her proper seat.

“You know it’s safer on the floor, right?” I asked before she’d slipped past me. I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her away from the car so I could enjoy the warmth of her before it was replaced with the dry air of the engine.

“How dare you,” she balked with an open mouth that was just begging to be kissed. By the time I got close enough to try, though, her hand fervently shoved my cheek away. I tried to laugh, but she used the same hand to cover the noise, trying and failing to convince me she was being serious.

“Why don’t you just hold him?” I mumbled against her palm.

That was enough for her to abandon my embrace altogether. With a scoff and a roll of her eyes, she pried my arms off of her and finally made her way to my passenger seat. I didn’t fight her too hard, even taking the time to shut her door like my mother always insisted.

The mercy was not returned, with her eyes narrowed into a playful disbelieving glare that I hadn’t seen in some time. My mind was brought back to the first time she ever let me know she was jealous, bickering over blondes and preferences while she sat in the very same place. And, just as before, she was still wearing the same raggedy old sweatshirt of mine.

“If this is any indication of how you’ll be with a human baby, I have dramatically overestimated your competence,” she droned, obviously unaffected by the stars that appeared in my eyes every time I looked at her.

“The one and only time you’ll ever be able to say those words. I hope you enjoyed it,” I joked. A funny enough joke that she couldn’t help but smile through her facade.

“Don’t worry,” she chuckled, “I did.”

The day could have ended there, and it would have been enough. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be better with her there. In a way, I think we were trying to prolong the high of ‘hooky,’ finding even the faintest interest in an activity as enough of an excuse for a detour.

… Which was probably how we found ourselves in our third park of the day. After all, I loved any autumnal vision, so how could I decline an opportunity to let them serve as a backdrop for watching her? And that was an accurate description of how I spent the day. It might sound boring, and if it were anyone else, it probably would have been. But no matter how often I saw her, I found myself learning new things about her every single time. Each freckle and scar became a part of the high-definition collection of memories that I would never let myself forget. The most beautiful images that kept me sane in the face of evil and filth.

“Do you see that?”

For a moment, I thought she might have read my mind. But then I realized that her eyes were still fixed forward, stuck on the horizon ahead of us.

“See what?”

“That,” she pointed, “Right there.”

My eyes followed the line, finding nothing but an area of carefully manicured, yellow grass and trees already set to rest for the season. It must have been clear to her that I was lost, because her pointing became more animated and her voice rose as she shouted, “Right there!”

“The giant pile of leaves?”

“Uh-huh.”

Then, in all of my obliviousness, I just sort of stared. Even when her hand grew tighter around mine and her feet started to move faster, I didn’t put two and two together until it was too late.

“What about— No! (Y/n)!” I shouted, cutting off my own train of thought and only barely letting go of her in time to watch her jump straight into the collection of fallen foliage that some poor landscaper had obviously worked hard to gather.

I have to believe that even if that unlucky, underappreciated individual saw what she’d done to their hours of work, that they would forgive her. It was hard to feel anything but joy at the sounds that came from the pile. Yet I approached her cautiously, with both hands in my pockets to avoid the urge to throw myself into danger with her.

“You’re a terror,” I said, settling for a crouched position in front of her. Still able to see her but far enough from her grasp that she had to crawl through a wall of leaves to come nose to nose with me. “This is literally the scariest thing you’ve done all season.”

“Come on in, the water’s fine,” she purred.

As enticing as the offer was, my mind was too preoccupied with statistics of spider and snake bites, not to mention the possibility of ticks still scouring the landscape for any last second hosts. The answer was easy.

“Absolutely not.”

With another exhale of pure displeasure, she threw her body back into the leaves, burying herself into a mess of yellows and reds that somehow only made her look even more beautiful. The chaotic scene matched her energy well, and the harm she was doing was minimal considering I was absolutely going to search every inch of skin for any marks later.

The only thing that was more appealing to me than watching her make an absolute fool out of herself in a pile of leaves was the intense urge to tease her about it. So, taking a regrettable seat on the grass, I sighed, “I think I’m going to have to arrest you for trespassing.”

There was a loud gasp from the center of the pile, followed by a scuffle of flailing limbs among the foliage.

“You don’t own this leaf pile! I do! I am queen of the leaf pile!” she screeched.

“Alright Princess,” I subtly corrected, “whatever you say.”

As promised, I didn’t put up a fight. Even when she finally got a hold of my hands and dragged me into the madness with her. I followed her no matter what nonsense she demanded, just as she had with me so many times. Granted, my desires weren’t nearly as dangerous or strange. They were pretty much just a collection of foreign films and reading that always lulled her to sleep.

But that day there was no sign of her energy waning. The early sun faded and we kept going. I’m not sure how, but she managed to enjoy herself in the D.C. landscape of bars and blaring car horns despite not being able to indulge in anything herself. Although she did half-heartedly attempt to trick me into buying her drinks in several different establishments, I think she was honestly proud that I avoided the drinks altogether. It was a nice reminder that sobriety could be something enjoyed between the two of us, regardless of the environment. However, we didn’t let that stop us from jumping into a crowd of very drunk women who had insisted we join their haunted tour of the city.

“Are you scared?” she whispered into my ear. The feeling of her warm breath against my skin caused a shiver to run down my spine, ruining any credibility I had in my response.

“No. Why would I be scared? It’s just history.”

“Are you sure?” she asked again.

“Yes!” I insisted with the worst possible timing. Because just as soon as the word had left my lips, I felt the distinct sensation of fingers running down my neck and arm opposite to her. I was so convinced that’s what it was that I even spun around with a yelp, crashing into at least three different people just to find a very startled woman with the worst hung scarf I’d ever seen.

(Y/n) had already put two and two together and was lost in an absolute fit of laughter. There were already tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she doubled over, barely able to stand through it all. Because there I was, her 31-year-old FBI agent boyfriend, screaming over a scarf.

“Laugh it up,” I droned. And she did. She kept laughing through any attempts at a response, and after the initial embarrassment wore off, I couldn’t help but join her.

“I hope you know you chose me. You chose this man!” I shouted, gesturing to the people around us who had already forgotten about our shenanigans, “And everyone knows it!”

“I’m sorry I can’t—” she wheezed, pausing to take a necessary breath that was all lost with another bunch of giggles “—You’re a fucking FBI Agent!”

“Well I can’t shoot a ghost, can I?” I mumbled through the hit to my ego. But any suffering was quickly dealt with as she threw dramatic arms around my waist, pulling me close and protecting me from any other errant scarves that might show up.

“I love you so much,” she said.

“I’m glad you’re having fun,” I returned with a quick kiss on her forehead. And even if I implied otherwise, I think she knew that I was having just as good of a time as she was. In fact, it was one of the most relaxing days of my life, which was saying something, considering how much walking was involved.

But no matter how tired we both were, I still had one last place to take her. It took her a while to figure out why the route felt so familiar, but I wasn’t ready to ruin the surprise. I wanted to watch the realization dawn on her. She didn’t disappoint.

“The Mayflower?” she asked with a bit of a bashful laugh before looking up at me through narrowed eyes, “Feeling nostalgic, Dr. Reid?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Thought it was more romantic than the club,” I offered, trying to shrug off the nervous butterflies that burst through my stomach. “Not by much, mind you.”

Although I got the feeling that she didn’t know, or perhaps just didn’t remember, that wonderful night from almost a year ago was one of the most important days of my life. I knew it then, too. From the second I set my eyes on her from my pitiful place against the bar, I knew that she would ruin me.

“Nothing screams high end romance like an alley and a little light law breaking,” she sighed. I almost missed it, too preoccupied with the way her arm tugged me tighter so she could rest her head against my shoulder.

“I can take you home if you’d rather.”

“Hmmm. Depends,” she hummed. Then, turning her head up to me with that playful look that always turned me to putty in her hands, she purred, “How much longer do you think you can wait before you just have to have me?”

I sucked in a sharp, sarcastic breath, eyeing her just long enough for her to start to fume, I let out all the air with a defeated sigh, “I guess we’re staying.”

That serene sort of teasing continued past the reception desk and all the way up the elevator. If there were other people there, we didn’t bother noticing. We were too busy watching one another to even look away long enough to find our room. Doubling back through the dizzying hallways until we found the elusive number, we finally settled into the only vaguely familiar layout of beige and tan.

She was much quicker at it than I was. Before I’d even finished washing my hands and checking exposed skin for bugs that I was convinced had hitched a ride from the leaf pile, she was already stretched out on the bed in nothing but a tiny piece of lacy cotton and her favorite sweatshirt. The sight made me stop, lost for breath and logic of how I was lucky enough to be there with her again.

“See something you like, Dr. Reid?” she teased through giggles, no doubt recalling the same memory as me.

My answer didn’t need to be said, but I said it, anyway. She deserved to hear it.

“Yes.”

With arms outstretched, she sleepily begged, “Come here.”

But I couldn’t.

“Not yet… I just… I want to look at you like this a little bit longer.”

How could I move on from this moment, when it was the best I’d ever felt? So overwhelmingly safe and at home despite being in a strange, sterile room. I had no desire to move any inch of me if it meant that this image would persist for the rest of my days.

“You getting all romantic on me?”

“Always,” I chuckled. Her usual disgust for my sappy behavior didn’t show itself, overpowered by the gentle curve of her lips and hands that were becoming more and more insistent to be held. Eventually, I had to move, knowing that it was the only way to hold her.

My body reacted the way it always did when it found her. All of the tension dropped from tired shoulders, desperate to touch her more. To feel the imprint of her body pressed against mine, a mess of heat and need and love.

She was the one to kiss me first, and for a moment I let her do it without reciprocation. I wanted to feel how her touch became softer and shier as she realized what I was doing. That I was spending all of my energy memorizing the way her lips parted as she tried to hold back a giggle against my almost-still lips.

“What’s happening in that big genius brain of yours?” she murmured with eyes half open but still containing universes.

“I’m just thinking of all the things you’ve done to make me fall in love with you.”

I thanked all of the gods in every pantheon that made her too tired to tease. Instead, she just laughed, playing her part in bringing us back to that night we met.

“Like quote Picard?”

“We still haven’t watched Star Trek together,” I whined.

The sound must have stirred something new in her, because she rolled us over to take her seat on my lap. She hung over me, looking down at me, hopeless and breathless at the feel of her thighs under my hands. My heart started to race, but I didn’t know why.

It wasn’t until she spoke the words that were already running through my mind, “We’ve got time. Picard can wait.”

Everything about it was effortless. Our bodies had fallen together and mouths found each other exactly like every romance novel has ever tried to tackle the metaphor of gravity.

But if we were an orbit, it was not a binary like the traditional notion of two equal souls. Despite the nickname I’d chosen for her, nothing about her soul was small. And even though she burned bright, she wasn’t anything like the fiery combustion of a star.

She was a home. A thing so full of vitality and life that I would love to watch for whatever time I had left. I was just a moon, loyally following her and trying my best to shield her from whatever might try to harm her. To protect her when she needed rest and to lead the tides to kiss her when she wished. I would be her shadow, shining a light onto her even in the darkest time. All that I asked for in return was a spot beside her.

‘One day,’ she had said before, ‘if you will have me.’

But it was never a question. Not for me. And if she really needed me to answer it for her, I was happy to give her that. I hadn’t been waiting for even a year, but it felt like a lifetime.

“Yeah, he can,” I repeated, quiet and with such a heavy waver that I’m surprised she could understand the shifting inflections. Even if she didn’t, she knew that something had changed in those few seconds of silence.

“What’s up, Spencer?”

I didn’t know how to answer. How to explain what I was feeling. But I grabbed hold of one hand, clinging desperately to her and guiding her to the heart that felt dangerously light. The rapid pace of its beating still not enough to alert her of the true cacophony of my thoughts.

“Are you okay?”

The answer was yes. Because no matter how loud and chaotic the sounds inside my head were, they all lead me to the same conclusion.

“Picard can wait, and we have a lot of time,” I tried to explain through a dry throat that was only growing tighter with the unwieldy weight of the feeling.

“Yes…” she mumbled back, just as trepidatious and nervous as I was.

Just like I was. Because we were. We were connected by some force, whatever you want to call it. Whether it was a chemical or psychological or heavenly connection, I didn’t care. I wanted her to know how I felt. To know that there was nothing that would ever tear me away from her.

“But I don’t… I don’t think I want to wait.”

After a couple more seconds of silence, she answered with a knowing stare, “… What?”

From my position underneath her, I was able to reach over just enough to grab my jacket. Of course, it helped that she moved with me, clearly curious and terrified of the possibilities. But a good kind of terror… I hoped.

My confidence grew as her legs gripped tighter around my hips and her hands shot up to cover her chest with balled fists pressed against one another. I heard the friction of her skin as her body started to shake in a different way, with an adrenaline that I hadn’t seen from her in even the most dangerous situations.

But when I pulled a small velvet box from the internal pocket, everything stopped. She became completely still. Her eyes were wide and frozen on the object in my hands, only to look away when she heard my voice.

“(Y/n).”

“Where did you get that?” she asked like she hadn’t just seen me pull it from my jacket. The same jacket that I wore every time that I was with her. The wool fabric that she’d swaddled herself in on a number of occasions, none the wiser of how much heavier it was for me when I wore it.

“I know this is really random, a-and to be fair, I wasn’t expecting it, either,” I said through the most awkward laughs I’d ever produced (which was saying something), “I mean, I knew I wanted to marry you, I’ve known that for quite some time, hence the ring.”

I paused, but got nothing in response. Nothing except her lips quivering from their parted position, and her nose twitching as she tried to settle on just one expression. But it didn’t matter how she contorted her face; they were all exactly as they should be. Because they were all her.

“But today, with you… I-I’ve never been that happy in my life. Jumping in leaves and fighting over fall flavors and I—“

Her eyes stopped bouncing, settling with my gaze and robbing my lungs of all air. She made up her mind, deciding to leave everything exactly as it was. The honest truth of the overwhelming storm of every emotion that had been experienced in the little time we had shared together.

The knowing that everything had happened exactly as it should have to bring us here.

“I love you so much,” I whispered, careful to make every word as genuine as they were, “And I know that we have all the time in the world left with one another… but I don’t want to wait any longer for you to be my wife.”

“Ask me,” she answered immediately and abruptly.  

“Okay,” I laughed, endlessly entertained by how she could sound so aggressive even when we were both at our most vulnerable, caught in the nexus of our love.

“Um… Will you… marry me?”

There was no hesitation. No worry, no fear, and no doubt.

“Yes, you stupid old man!” she outright screamed, throwing arms around me even when it meant we both slammed against pillows and the headboard. She didn’t stop squealing even when she kissed me, struggling to find more of me to hold onto.

After she decided that tugging on my hair was the best way to express her affection, I managed to break away just long enough to shout, “Wait! I have to put the ring on you!”

“Then put it on!” she yelled, thrusting her hand in front of my face and practically slapping me in the process. But none of the pain mattered. Nothing was even recognizable outside of the feeling of her sweaty, shaking palm resting against my fingers.

I noticed for the first time that I was also trembling. I took the time to focus, slipping the ring over her finger. But once it started to safely slide into place, my eyes returned to watch what I knew to be happy tears fall over her cheeks. I wiped them away, but they were replaced with the wetness from my face when she brought us together again with a long, gentle kiss.

A calmness came over the room like the feeling following a storm. A clean slate with soil enriched for growth. A hope for a future forever changed.

“What do we do now?” she asked, biting her bottom lip and holding tight to my hands.

The answer seemed clear enough.

“Whatever we want.”

—————————————————

Is this really happening?

I stared at the diamond shining back at me with a clarity that had to be a metaphor for my heart. In the vague reflection of yellow light and us, I felt a warmth that doesn’t normally accompany metal. My finger’s new companion felt so comfortable in its new resting place. A constant reminder of the man I called home.

Then I turned back to him, unsure how I was supposed to move on from this moment. I never wanted to leave, but I also needed to move. I compromised and settled with my face against his chest, listening to the heartbeat he’d just dedicated to me. In that peaceful quiet, I heard him speak so softly I wasn’t sure I was meant to hear it.

But I did.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said with fingers dancing through the ends of my hair, “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

And for once, the thought didn’t feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like freedom. I was finally free to be who I was without worry that I would be alone. Without worrying that I would be too much or too little to please him.

I was enough.

Enough.

“I love you,” I said, tasting salt from tears I hadn’t even noticed were falling.

Curiously, and in a rare role switch, Spencer was the one who took a blatantly affectionate display and turned it into something else. Pulling me away from his chest, he dragged me up until he could drag his lips over my jaw.

“Don’t cry, little girl,” he cooed with what I could only imagine was a wicked grin, “I haven’t given you a reason to yet.”

Something about that gruff rumble in his throat caused my skin to ripple with goosebumps. Every inch of me burned with flames that could only be put out by his touch. I chased after his lips with my own, but he was insistent on trailing down my throat. He knew I would be powerless to him. I wouldn’t be able to argue when my hands were knotted in his hair and my hips were already rocking helplessly against his erection.

“I want you to fuck me,” I seethed. My blood was boiling from the heat I felt within, and before he could even answer I was already working at the buttons on his shirt.

“Oh? You don’t want me to make love to you?” Spencer laughed. As if that had ever been our style.

“No, I want you to take what’s yours.”

He responded to the demand by pushing me from my seat, forcing me onto my back on the other end of the bed. I wasn’t going to complain, either. The new position allowed me access to his belt, which I unbuckled before he even had time to laugh.

“Are you really challenging me right now, little girl?”

But despite the taunt, he did nothing to stop me. His hands were also busy removing my clothes. And just like before, our nakedness was reciprocated. With each lost layer, I should have felt lighter, but I didn’t. I felt so powerful, so aware of how our bare bodies twined together.

“Here, of all places? Do you remember what I did to you that night?”

How could I ever forget?

“I’m not the same girl you had in your bed then,” I purred. We both knew it was true, although not in the way I was implying.

Because Spencer had changed me. Irrevocably. He taught me so much — not just about physics, literature, or criminology, either. He taught me about kindness, softness, and vulnerability. He taught me how to trust that someone could hold me without the intention of letting me go. More than anything, he taught me that I didn’t have to learn these things alone. Even the smartest man I’d ever met needed help with them sometimes.

Then again, something told me that Spencer wasn’t in a very humble mood. Perhaps it was the fact he’d pinned me down again, with his hands clumsily gripping hard enough to leave crescent moons in my forearms.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he growled with a small, chaste kiss, “You’re still just a fucking brat.”

I wasn’t feeling bratty then, though. Especially not as I felt the head of his cock pressed against me, just hard enough to feel the resistance of my body. He waited there, no doubt taking pleasure in the way my whole body squirmed underneath him. My hips bucked, but he managed to keep a cruelly steady distance.

“You’re so precious when you’re needy,” he mumbled. And although I stubbornly avoided looking him in the eyes out of protest, he forced my face towards him again, anyway. “Go on. Say please.”

“Fuck off,” I whined through a prominent pout that did me no favors.

“Say it.”

“Please!”

I managed to make eye contact, but it was fleeting. As soon as he thrust forward into me, my back arched and I lost myself in the pillows. My hands found him, though, leaving angry red welts over heated skin. If Spencer was at all affected by the pain, he made no showing of it. His pace continued, steadily forcing our bodies together until I trembled in his hands.

He would hold me there, at my limit but not pleading for him to do anything different. With tender hands, he would fuck me until I swore bruises would follow. But I never felt unsafe; I felt cared for and cherished in a way I’d never known. I trusted him to know my limits better than myself.

I trusted him with all of me because I had already seen that when given the chance, he would do whatever he could to protect me.

The love I felt must have shone through my eyes because his hips got slower, drawing out each movement. My hips rose in tandem with his, allowing me to feel every inch of him inside of me.

“This body belongs to me now and forever,” he whispered.

It always has.

“You belong to me.”

And I felt it. The undeniable string of fate that tied us to each other. I could feel his every emotion as his fingers brushed over my throat. I melted under his touch, completely consumed by the love he felt for me. The kind of love that people spent their whole lives searching for only to come up empty. That powerful thing that drove gods to war and men to madness.

The only feeling that could tear down every wall that had been carefully crafted to protect myself. Because I didn’t need them anymore. Spencer’s arms would take their place, holding me through the storms that might follow the same way he had carried me through the ones that led us here.

“Yes,” I breathed, “I’m yours.”

For forever and whatever comes after.

The words were truer than they’d ever been before, and Spencer took it as permission to let go of any remaining hesitation. The slow, gentle thrusts became faster and our moans echoed in the small room without a second thought to the poor patrons in the rooms surrounding us. Because if they felt what we did, they would understand. Spencer still tried to hush the sounds, crashing his lips over mine in a sloppy, frenzied kiss.

I was suddenly reminded of every romantic story I’d ever heard. They all spoke of feeling so close to someone that they felt like an extension of yourself. I wasn’t sure if it was completely true, but there was no denying how at home our bodies were. The way our tongues wrapped around one another and how our noses bumped so gently in the chaos was unmatched by any meeting driven by lust or need.

His hips met mine over and over again, no matter how hard I tried to keep him closer. Even when my hips chased his to be held longer, Spencer was persistent in the ruthless pace. Because like me, he was lost in the euphoria. I knew it from the sound of his whimpers and the way he bit my lip just a little bit harder.

“Tell me what you want, little girl,” he begged. Not ordered. Begged.

“You,” I answered without any doubt, “I just want you.”

His response came even faster, even more desperate and scratchy as it came through his lips into mine.

“You have me. For the rest of my life and whatever comes after, I will take care of you.”

There was nothing left to say. I could feel the truth and force behind the words as he fucked me harder, eliciting one more quiet cry from me in the sound of his name.

“Spencer...”

When he returned the call, though, it wasn’t with any name I’d heard from him before.

“So you better get used to this feeling,” he said through a smile that I felt on my lips before he drew back. He looked me in the eye as he buried himself in me, tensing to hold himself back just a few seconds longer. To see the look on my face and let that be the feeling of us giving in to each other for the first time in our new story.

“Because I’m never going to grow tired of this, Mrs. Reid.”

Mrs. Reid.

That was going to be my name.

Mrs. Reid.

That was the only thought running through my mind as I felt the coil in my gut snap and all of my muscles tense around him. There were no whorish sounds left in my lungs, only little whimpers and whines as I tried to claw him closer. Spencer gave up his visual in exchange for kissing me while he finished. My walls held him so tightly that I felt each pulse and every place where his release filled me. But nothing was more compelling than feeling the way his lip quivered between mine as his body fell onto mine with no grace required.

Spencer could act hard all he wanted, but I felt the way he craved softness. Safety. Love. All things I was happy to give… for a price.

“Say it again.”

“Say what again?” he replied sleepily but animated enough to have a healthy dose of snark. Snark that earned him a rough nudge of my elbow into his ribs.

“You know!”

But naturally, the genius had to play dumb. With a happy little hum, he snuggled closer to me, burying his face into my neck so he could mumble against the skin, “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Please,” I sighed, “for me?”

He seemed to contemplate the plea for a little while longer, with wiggling toes I felt against my shins and a happy sigh that breezed over my neck. I tried to take in those small things while I waited, knowing that while I had a lifetime to learn them, this moment would never come again.

“Fine,” he finally settled, propping himself up to give another soft kiss followed by the most beautiful sound in the world.

“Only for you, Mrs. Reid.”

—— The Next Morning ——

Waking up next to Spencer with a ring on my finger was literally waking up to find my dream come to life. And sure, his light snoring and constant wriggling under the sheets he continued to pull off of me weren’t perfect or picturesque, but they were real. The same way that he chirped when he felt my legs wrap around him in his sleep and only woke when he heard me giggling.

His eyes fluttered open, taken aback by something that he saw. Although I would blame it on the sunlight filtering through the curtains, I was sure that he would give me all the credit.

“Good morning,” he slurred.

“Hi,” I answered with a smile and an attempt to pull him closer. But my hand was stopped by his, squeezing my palm between his fingers before dragging my knuckles to his lips. From there, he laid a gentle kiss over the diamond he’d placed there the night before. Although it was strange to be outshone by a rock, I let it go for now.

“I know you shouldn’t sleep with it on, but it’s so nice to see it’s still there,” he said with a heavy breath before lowering our still joined hands to rest against his heart. I could feel the way it beat a little bit quicker as I came closer, and I wondered if this was really what it would be like forever.

“I couldn’t resist wearing it.”

“You know you can still change your mind, right? We haven’t told anyone.”

“I haven’t changed my mind,” I replied unlike every time before. There was no teasing, no joke or anger or sadness. Just a pure, unadulterated joy.

… Of course, the question did bring up an entirely new anxiety. It did feel a bit silly, but it needs to be expressed.

“Have you?”

“God, no,” he laughed. Like he’d only asked the question to see the way I might panic. But as soon as I heard his assurance, I knew it was the truth.

My mind started to drift back to that first morning we spent together. It felt like a lifetime ago, but everything still felt so very much the same. I wondered if there were things I would change if given the chance. It wasn’t until after I ran through the laundry list of things that we would have been better off without that I realized I’d asked the wrong question.

It wasn’t a matter of what I would have changed, but what I would have kept the same. And the answer was simple. No matter what I would face in my life, I just wanted it to be with him. Everything would be okay as long as I had him.

However, when I tried to kiss him, Spencer still seemed hung up on the things he would have changed. Our lips didn’t connect for even ten seconds before he broke apart, happily laughing through the words, “This is so much better when I’m not hungover.”

“Old man.”

He didn’t argue back, wiggling under the sheets until our chests were pressed together. I took it as a very poor attempt at a power play, because instead of craning my neck to look up at him from my spot, I simply climbed his lanky figure until our noses were pressed together.

“Your old man now,” he corrected, followed by my own clarification of, “You were always mine, Dr. Reid.”

“But now you get to show everyone.” He grinned, letting go of my hand to roam over the curves of my body. His daily attempts to memorize each version of me he held. After a few more moments of silent reverence, I asked the question we’d have to face eventually, lest we face even more awkward, embarrassing moments with the team.

“Who’s gonna tell everyone?”

He barely even considered the options before he shrugged.

“Let’s just… wing it.”

I paused, certain that I’d heard it wrong. “You, Spencer Reid, would like to ‘wing it?’” I repeated, barely able to get the words out without laughing from the absurdity of it all.

But he was quick to assure me, “Yeah, I do.”

“Alright. Whatever you say,” I sighed. I figured that it wouldn’t be worth it to plan right now, anyway. It wasn’t exactly our style. If anything, we would find the perfect time completely by accident.

“You know what we should do first though?” I excitedly announced to the best audience a girl could ever ask for.

“What?”

“Coffee,” I drawled. To which he quickly answered, “I love you an ungodly amount.”

Taking full advantage of that admission, I shoved the poor soul who’d shackled himself to me forever away as I ordered, “Go turn it on. I am craving shitty hotel coffee in bed with my fiancé.”

“Fine,” he resigned with a smile while rolling out of the bed, “Spoiled brat.”

“Your spoiled brat!” I shouted back from safe under the covers that I could finally get back in his absence. They weren’t as good as him, but they would be enough for now. I buried my face into his pillow, snickering as I heard a very tired Spencer call from the bathroom, “Forever mine!”

Just as the sounds of running water filled the room, I lifted my head at the distant sound of familiar chiming beside me.

“Is that my phone?”

I didn’t answer, paralyzed in my place as I felt the most intense sensation of deja vu I’d ever experienced. Right there on the nightstand, I saw the name Hotchner.

Spencer was quicker this time to leave the bathroom, but just as he turned the corner, a thought must have stopped him. Because he paused, staring at me with hotel sheets gathered around me and his phone against my ear.

He didn’t try to fight me for the device. In fact, he didn’t move at all, watching from a few feet away with a smile I’d never seen before. The kind that I felt so deep inside of me that I realized this was what they meant to share a soul with someone.

“Hello,” I spoke softly and filled with love, “this is Mrs. Reid.”

The End.

—————————————————

Epilogue

#spencer reid #spencer reid series #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid request #reid request #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #spencer reid self insert

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procrastinatingsapphictrash · 3 years

Text

Migraines

Word count: 1679

Genre: Hurt/comfort

Pairings: Natasha x fem!reader, platonic avengers x fem!reader

Warnings: Some swearing (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: hi~ was wondering if you’d do a natasha x reader with a dash of platonic avengers when reader has chronic migraines but hasn’t told nat so ends up in random places to try and sleep them away and the others keep finding her and then nat figures out she’s hiding something and feels hurt but ends fluffy wanting to take care of reader next time? you can choose who and change any part you want!

Summary: Reader gets really bad migraines and is constantly being found by the team when she wants to be alone, however her girlfriend Natasha doesn’t know what’s going on.

A/n: This request was for @casperlikej so I hope you like it! Also I would like to mention that I know next to nothing about migraines so this probably won’t be super accurate but hopefully it’s ok to read anyways. I’m queuing this to come out on Sunday so that over the weekend I can work on the friends to enemies to lovers three part series and get that out soon (no I have not forgotten about that request). I am only like a sixth into that series but so far I’m super proud of it so I can’t wait to get it done! Also if anyone has ideas, feel free to request anything because I like having multiple fic ideas to think of at all times. Anyways I’m rambling now but I hope you enjoy this fic!

You hated being away from Natasha because although you had only been together for a few months and only known her for half a year you were sure you loved her but sometimes you just couldn’t stand pretending to be okay in front of her so you would hide yourself away. Currently your favourite place to hide was a nice rocking chair near the medbay area that was tucked away in the corner of a room. Barely anyone ever went by and the few that did never seemed to notice, giving you the anonymously you needed in order to curl up with your head in your knees and try to calm your head down.

“Y/n? What are you doing here?” You hear Tony’s voice ask and you startle.

“Oh, um, I’m just spending time with myself.” You respond lamely as Tony raises an eyebrow.

“You never spend time by yourself,” he points out, “whenever you want to get away from us you always spend time with Natasha.”

“I am alone sometimes.” You say starting to get annoyed.

He scoffs. “No you aren’t, is everything ok between you two?”

“Everything is fine, just leave!” You snap at him. He hesitates in leaving the room but ultimately goes without saying another word after seeing how intensely you started glaring at him. It takes longer than usual for your migraine to go away because usually staying level headed helped but at least you yelling got Tony out of the room and to stop asking questions.

---

It was only a few days later that you got another migraine. You excuse yourself from the room you were sitting in with Bruce, Tony and Nat, mumbling some bullshit about needing to go to the store and ignoring Tony’s worried look on your way out. You knew that Tony would come looking for you in your old place so you decide to hole up in the room near the pad Thor uses whenever he visits earth. Today wasn’t a very bad migraine because you were able to catch the signs early but it still takes slightly over an hour for your head to stop pounding. You’re about to leave the room and go back to find the others but just to your luck Thor happens to arrive today unscheduled, something that only happens every few weeks.

“Lady Y/l/n!” his voice booms happily as he steps inside, “it’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here, I wasn’t aware I had informed anyone of my arrival.”

You laugh slightly at his formal way of speaking and confused expression. “You didn’t, I just happened to be here because I was trying to be alone for awhile.”

“Are you feeling unwell?” He asks, looking concerned.

“Not at all,” you reassure him, “in fact I was just about to go back to the others when you arrived, shall we find them together?” He nods eagerly, holding out his arm for you to hook onto like a true gentleman.

---

The next time you try to hide away you’re talking to Steve and he isn’t getting your subtle cues that you want to leave so he just keeps talking. You think he is talking about some sort of mission but honestly you don’t know because it physically hurts your brain to pay attention. You want to yell at him so badly but you can’t bring yourself to because he isn't trying to hurt you at all and he’s too nice to be angry at.

“You agree Y/n?” You manage to make out.

“Yes.” You say, not knowing what you’re even agreeing to.

“Great, I’ll go talk to the others, see you tomorrow for the morning training!” He says before walking off. You groan out loud as soon as you can no longer see him, partly because of how much your head hurts and partly because you accidentally told Steve that morning training was a good idea. This time you just plop yourself on the nearest couch and hope nobody finds you.

---

You stumble into Bruce’s lab calling out for him. It had been over a week since your last migraine and encounter with Steve, one of the longest breaks you’ve had within recent memory but that came back to bite you in the ass when today’s was worse than ever before, even blurring your vision a little because of the pain.

Bruce stands up from behind a pile of boxes. “Y/n, what brings you here.”

“Pain meds now.” You order in a weak voice. He looks curious but doesn’t question you, heading towards a back cabinet and pulling out a bottle of pills. You immediately take two and swallow, ignoring him scolding you that you should only take one. Luckily since Bruce invented them himself it only took about five minutes for them to kick in.

“Sorry, I had a really bad headache.” You tell him which is a half truth.

He looks at you in concern. “Are you sure that was only a headache? It looked bad.”

You wave him off, heading towards the door because you didn’t want him to ask anymore questions. “I’m fine Brucie, thanks again!” He sighs and shakes his head as he watches you leave, worried but deciding it’s not his place to badger you about it.

---

Since every time you got a migraine you always ended up around one of the others you made a plan so that you could avoid everyone because you knew that one day your luck was going to end and Natasha would be the one to find you. You knew that she wouldn’t be mad at you or anything since you can’t control them but the relationship is still new and you don’t want to badger her with any of your problems.

That’s why as soon as you start to feel a migraine coming on you hoist yourself up into the vents above your (sort of) shared room with Natasha where you had left a blanket and some pillows to relax with… only to find Clint waiting for you there.

“I was wondering who had left these up there.” He says, seeming like it was a perfectly natural thing for him to be in the vents above your room. You decide not to question it, only sighing because you know that conversation would take up too many thoughts that you don’t have space for right now. You’re just so fucking done with your migraines and want them to go away.

Clint notices your sadden expression and is serious for once. “Y/n, what’s going on?”

“I get these stupid fucking migraines and it only seems to be getting worse and I don’t want anyone to think I’m weak and I want Natasha but I don’t want to bother her with my problems.” You unload, holding back tears.

“I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t know how to make you feel better,” he confesses, “however why don’t you try to take a nap in your own bed and if you really don’t want Tasha to find you I can keep her distracted.” You nod and he helps you back out of the vents, climbing down after you.

“Clint?” you say as he’s leaving the room and he turns around, “thanks.”

---

Clint makes his way to the common room where he sees Steve talking to Natasha.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” He asks with a smile, faltering when he sees Natasha looks upset. “Nat, what’s wrong?”

“I think Y/n is going to break up with me.” She says, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve frowns. “I told you not to jump to conclusions, maybe you should just talk to her.” Natasha just shakes her head, looking down and taking a deep breath, trying to regulate her emotions.

“Y/n’s going to hate me for this,” Clint says as two pairs of eyes turn to him, “but you should go to your room, I promise that she’s not planning on breaking up with you.”

Natasha noticeably brightens. “Are you sure?”

Clint nods. “I’m sure, she said not even five minutes ago that she wanted you. She’s going through some shit right now that you should talk to her about but she wouldn’t break up with you.”

“Thanks.” Natasha replies, before hurrying to your shared room, worried about you after what Clint said.

---

You curl up on the bed and let a few tears fall out and before long you are full on sobbing. You always try to stay strong and not cry but you just can’t deal with the migraines anymore. The bed shifts behind you and you sit up straight looking behind you. Natasha is climbing on to it and looking at you with a worried expression on her face.

“I thought Clint was going to keep you busy.” You say, sniffling to try to stop your tears.

“He must have lied because he told me to come here.” She responds.

“He’s an asshole.”

She gives a small laugh. “Normally yes, but he did the right thing, I want to help you with whatever is upsetting you.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this,” you tell her, “my migraines are my problem that I have to deal with.”

She moves across the bed and puts her arms around you. “No sweetheart, I’m here with you.” You start to cry again, this time while it’s slightly from the pain it’s mostly because you feel so overwhelmed with how much she supports you. She pulls you in tightly to her chest, and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

“I will always be here for you if you need something ok?” she says. “But now you need to rest.”

“But-” you start to protest before she cuts you off.

“No buts, you need sleep.” She says while shushing you. You wiggle back, trying to be as far into arms as possible before you slowly drift off, the pain of the migraine going away and all you can feel is warmth.

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @stop-drop-and-drumroll @acertainredhead (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask, or message me)

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #black widow x reader #avengers #avengers x reader #platonic avengers x reader #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction #x reader

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burnedbyshoto · 4 years

Text

quirk mastery

— In which Mirio gets his quirk back and he’s desperate to show you just how well he’s remastered permeation.

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pairing: togata mirio x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, pwp-ish, semi-public sex, clothed sex, anal, size difference, finger sucking, fingering

word count: 4,021

a/n: day three of kinktober and here we be!!! this was based on the concept of mirio being the perfect candidate for have clothed penetrative sex LMAOOO. make sure to comment (even if its a simple emoji) on any fics you like, authors super appreciate it.

main kink: anal

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

To be quite honest, you never thought Mirio was going to get his quirk back.

You remember when it happened in high school.

The cold fall morning as you had woken up earlier than usual for a school day, deciding that maybe you should get a cup of tea given that it had been cold and something just felt off.

Nearly three years ago, when you had arrived through the doors of UA as a hero student, you had taken your seat in class 1-B, and almost immediately, your class became your family. Everyone was so talented, lively, and brimming with their own excitement of being here, but one person always just seemed to be brighter than the rest.

His smile captivated the first moment he looked at you, his blue eyes so precise and accurate you knew immediately he was someone to trust.

His name was Togata Mirio, and true to his sunshine hair, his own sunshine personality allowed the entire class to address him by his first name within hours of meeting him. It was no surprise that you felt your heart skip a beat when he placed a strong arm around your shoulder later in the year because you had fallen for your classmate.

As a third-year, you still harbored deep feelings for your classmate and now best friend. But you knew better than to enact on them at the moment. You were busy with your hero work, and his latest work-study with the former All Might’s sidekick kept him busy nearly every day.

He would still be there once you graduated, you always liked to remind yourself. But as energetic as Mirio was, he definitely was not an early riser. So it shocked you that as you reached the dorm's kitchen area, he was standing there quiet and fully dressed in his school uniform. His eyes were concentrated on his phone, and his face was serious, for a moment, the off feeling you had seemed to make sense as you stared at his solemn face.

“Mirio?” you had called out, suddenly feeling a bit underdressed in your pajamas, and you held onto your elbow as you stared at your flirt of a classmate. “You okay? We still have an hour and a half before classes start.”

It seemed that he had not even heard you enter the room based on how he startled just the bit before turning his gaze towards you.

Blue eyes murky with regret and guilt. You hated that they weren't clear, and you always hoped they would be cleared soon.

“I’ve got my work-study today,” Mirio answers with a soft smile that doesn’t clear his eyes. “Something came up, so I'll be gone for the morning. We’ll probably be back before classes end today.”

You nod your head, already knowing who belonged within that we.

“Are you doing okay? You’ve been looking a bit… uh, worse for wear, and I don’t want you getting hurt because you’re distracted by other things,” you admit, venturing further into the kitchen so that you leaned against the opposite side of the counter of where Mirio stood.

The smile on his face grows just a bit, a small spark dazzling in his clear blue eyes before he shakes his head good-naturally.

“You admitting you care about me?”

“Have I ever denied it?”

Mirio laughs softly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck before a heavy sigh passes his lips, “I guess not.”

You keep the frown off your face at those words, his inability to flirt back slightly concerning, but you stop before you can frown. By the front door of the dorms is none other than Tamaki and Nejire from class 1-A, two other close friends of yours, and equally involved in this case of theirs that they all refuse to tell you about. Guess that’s what happens when you join Edgeshot’s agency.

Mirio follows your gaze and motions to your friends that he’ll be joining them in just a moment before he turns back to you.

“Well, looks like it’s time,” Mirio speaks with finality, his shoulders as stiff as his smile, and your heart aches just the slightest bit.

“Be careful, Mirio,” you say firmly, your eyes locked on his that have become emotionless. That pit in your stomach is unignorable as you speak up on your concerns. “I know you’re strong, but please be careful.”

Mirio stills for a moment before he nods, and he walks around the counter. His arms stretching out, pulling you into a tight hug that you more than willingly return. It seems like the two of you stand there hugging each other for centuries before Mirio makes a soft noise in an unwilling attempt to tell you to let go.

“I know, I know,” you sigh, pulling away, your eyes meeting his for the millionth time. “You’ve To-gata go now.”

And for the first time in weeks, his blue eyes clear up, and a proper genuine laugh breaks through his lips as he shakes his head, already walking away.

“You’re pretty amazing, y/n-chan!” he shouts as he opens the front door, and you can hear Nejire calling her hellos to you. “I’ll be back before you can even blink!”

“You better!” you call out, waving at your three friends who bunch up and walk off.

As you watch their retreating backs, the pit in your stomach remains as you whisper softly: please.

It’s within twenty-four hours that you find out the case they were working, and you feel sick when Mirio doesn’t return, confirming to you that he was the one to have lost his quirk that day. When Mirio returns two days later, it’s not with good news as he admits to you that he’ll be leaving UA now that his quirk is gone.

His eyes are clear again, not at all like he was two days ago as the two of you seem to only be talking to one another within the crowd of both class 3-A and 3-B. It’s later once everyone is gone that he admits that a young girl who was responsible for his quirks erasure could potentially bring it back, but it’s unknown at the moment.

You remember holding his cheeks and promised him that even if it doesn’t come back, he would always be a hero who, in the end, did what he set out to do, saving a million people. It was almost shocking to you as you watched for the first time since his teacher died in front of him, Mirio crying yet again, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

But that was five years ago.

Five long years of being a Pro Hero in a society that no longer looked the same.

Three years of finally being able to call Mirio your boyfriend.

One year of organizing the current hero gala, the two of you are attending right now.

One month of Mirio finally regaining his quirk.

In a heavily watched attempt, Eri-chan, who had been able to figure out a way to train her quirk. It was all due to the help of a young yet brilliant support engineer, Hatsumi Mei, without having to interact with real soul-having things. It took almost ten hours, but the young girl was both resilient and determined as you watched as she sat with her fingers pressed to Mirio’s cheeks and a warm yellow glow surrounded her.

The shriek that ripped through you when Mirio suddenly fell through the floor, your initial fear of Eri completely rewinding him from existence flaring in your chest, and undoubtedly hers as she gasped in horror. You watched his clothes dropping from where he once sat, and then you could hear the familiar, distant sound of Mirio being rejected by matter, and you bolted at Eri. It was a frantic team effort response to make sure Eri would not see him in his naked glory when he resurfaced, and that memory still sent you in a round of uproarious laughter.

But a Heroes Gala was something that was occurring recently, and it wasn’t quite what it had once been before. Pro Heroes were not recognized within these events; instead, the common man was, and more importantly, helping those deemed as outcasts within society. With the reign of AFO gone, and the destruction of what the heroism did to society, it had been a weird shift in energy, but a needed one.

Pro Heroes Deku and Ground Zero being the trailblazers on that front, pushing to look at the reasons the world deemed villains as so, and doing their best to fix it at the source.

It definitely wasn’t perfect, far from it actually, but these galas helped to keep energies high on many different fronts.

Speaking of high energy, if your face was able to emit heat energy similar to that of a sun, right now, you would be a supernova.

Located in some hallway in the back of the event, you sat on a marble table. Your legs somehow wrapped around Mirio’s waist, arms thrown around his neck, pressing his gliding lips even closer to you as he enthusiastically, carefully, and completely dominated your lips. To the rest of the world, it just seemed like the two of you were simply indulging into your horny twenty-three-year-old needs. There was nothing conspicuous about what you both were doing, not if your clothed states had anything to say about it.

But that was just the thing.

Like a wolf in sheep's clothing, the large, voluminous skirt of your evening gown easily covered Mirio’s powerful, thrusting hips, blanketing his ulterior motives with fabric from the rare eye that managed to come and look at the both of you.

Maybe if they had x-ray vision, they would know the truth; they could see it too.

For not even five minutes ago, you had teasingly whispered just how hot Mirio looked in his get-up. Your teeth nibbling on his earlobe about how excited you were that when you two would inevitably get home, his clothes would be gone in a matter of seconds. It seemed that your boyfriend wanted to jump the gun and just show you what both of you had been missing these past three years.

You could barely keep up with his quick, long strides. Your heels caught onto the length of your gown multiple times until he had brought you into this hallway and picked you up without so much of a grunt and planted your bottom on the exceptionally sturdy table. It still hadn’t hit you just what he had intended to do when his lips crashed against yours, and the world exploded into white static as he kissed you, consuming your mouth with every fiber of his being.

A gentle moan left your mouth when his tongue entered your mouth, but the prominent, hard bulge pressing between you and the many, many layers of fabric made you yelp. You pulled away from his lips, your eyes, wide, impossibly frantic.

“Togata Mirio!” you hissed in shock, your hand slapping across your mouth as you simply stared at your lover who was smiling at you brightly.

The smile and the clear blue of his eyes let nothing indicate just how fucking hard he was and how much he craved your cunt around his cock just as you had teased him about earlier.

“What is it, sunflower?” Mirio asks, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face. Your spine stiffens up as he leans in close, his mouth pressing against yours for a small, seemingly chaste kiss before he presses the corner of his mouth to your ear. “I think I’m having some issues with my quirk control, and I think this is the perfect way to practice the uh… fine-tuning of my quirk. Right?”

“Mirio…” you warn as he softly begins to grind against you, his large hand shifting from your shoulder blades down to your lower back. The pressure of his hand provided such numbing heat to blaze through your core, and it only added to the feeling of his cock against your slowly seeping cunt.

“Dontcha want to help me practice?” Mirio asks, his teeth biting onto your earlobe, and a wanton moan reverberates from your chest at the feeling. “Help me master my quirk again?”

You’re not sure what makes you cave, what makes you say fuck it under your breathe. It could have been the heat of his breath on your ear, the way he kissed down your jaw, the clear blue of his eyes glazing over darkly with lust, and maybe it was the way you could manage to feel his cock through the miles of fabric between the two of you. It didn’t matter now anyway, it couldn’t because you turned towards his face, your lips desperately seeking his, and thankfully Mirio met you there immediately.

Hot desperate mouths clashing together, tongues meeting in the middle, and you could feel his hands shoving you towards him until there was no space between your meeting hips if you ignored the dress and his pants.

Your hazed over mind chanted to be ready for anything, to be prepared for the feeling of his cock against your already soaked cunt, and to not be surprised. Nevertheless, when you felt the hot, heavy, and stupidly thick head of Mirio’s cock pressing between your desperately needy folds, going against all of your brain's logic of how this shouldn’t be possible with your panties still on.

“M-Mirio!” you cried, head knocked back at the feeling of his cock pressing through your tight, clenching hole. His cock thick, veiny, and hot, even in your inner walls as he kisses you. You couldn’t focus on him, your mouth agape and lax, his lips pressing against your teeth, tongue curling on the roof of your tongue, and you wantonly moaned as he shifted outwards and slammed right back into you.

For the past three minutes, the two of you had begun this desperate, needy, over your clothes public fuck. Your hands feeling so small, pressed onto his back. Your mouth biting into his neck as he slammed into you over and over again.

The heat in your stomach was throbbing, the soft thrumming of your orgasm about to tip as Mirio claimed you like this.

“So cute like this, baby,” he laughed as if his cock wasn’t stretching you out despite all your clothes still being on. You felt his cock head press up against your cervix, and a loud pathetic whine stumbled out of your lips. “Did you like that? Finally, got to that little spot you like despite this angle?”

He hit it again, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head, all noises that so desperately wanted to be heard getting cut off.

“Look at you! You’re so cute like this, sunflower! You can’t even look at me, and you’re babbling! I think I’m doing great… job… at this, fuck, quirk control…”

Your eyes flutter shut, a gasping, needy breath expelling into his mouth as he kisses you greedily, and the heat grows exponentially when his hand permeates through your dress to pinch and pull at your clit. You’re so close, so deliriously near that, you begin to seize up, your walls fluttering with the actions that you know mean that you’re about to nosedive off a cliff into orgasmic bliss.

But there were always issues with having sex in public with a man who could not shut up.

“Togata-senpai, Y/l/n-senpai!” A voice yells at the two of you. Even with the thrumming warmth of your pre-orgasm, the voice washes coldly over you. Rippling the start of orgasmic bliss right from beneath your feet as you snap your head away from Mirio.

A loud, choked gasp escapes you when for a split second, his cock disappears from your clenching, denied cunt in an experience you could not begin to explain.

“Iida-kun!” Mirio exclaimed jovially as if the two of you weren’t at all fucking moments before, but as he did so, he seemed to deactivate his quirk on his cock.

“What are the two of you doing here! It is quite preposterous for the two of you to be… canoodling within the gala when we are all awaiting your presence!” Iida exclaims, his hands cutting and chopping at the air as he seems to frown at the both of you.

But you were busy with other thoughts.

With his cock completely solid back inside of you, tears were leaking from your eyes as white, hot pain erupted in your stomach and curled all the way down into your toes.

Mirio returned his cock into your ass, and the lack of any warning due to his quirk nearly had you throwing up in this new sensation. Your fingers curled roughly into Mirio’s shoulders, your ragged breathing “I’m-in-so-much-pain” breathes alerting both of the men before you who turned their attention to you.

“Are you okay, sunflower?” Mirio asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he brushed a tear that managed to streak down your cheek. “What’s going on?”

“Yes, what is going on? What can I get for you, Y/l/n-senpai?”

“It h-hurts!” you cry, eyes locking onto Mirio’s, who seemed to gather just what was going on as his eyes grow with worry and also knowing actions.

He shifted slightly, and his cock that was already so big moved within your ass, and you balked. You leaned forward onto Mirio’s chest, feeling absolutely dwarfed by your boyfriend as you held onto him with trembling arms and soft groans of pain and growing, intense pleasure.

“Ah, Iida-kun, would you mind if you could possibly give us some room? I promise we’ll join the gala in less than ten minutes?”

You can’t even see Iida’s reaction given that your eyes are leaking with your tears and the fact that you can’t even raise your head to look at your old younger-classmen.

“Of course, I’ll leave y/l/n-senpai to you, but if anything happens, please come and get me.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you!”

Your sniffling doesn’t seem to stop as Iida’s loud footsteps confirms his exit, but Mirio’s mouth is by your ear again, his hips taking a tentative, shallow thrust that sends you whining like a bitch in heat. Anal was something that Mirio loved to do. He always confessed to you each and every time as his cock would line up to your muscled rim that there was just something indescribably hot about you taking his cock that way.

Mirio was a big dude with a bigger cock, and you usually could, in fact, handle — thoroughly enjoy — anal with the proper steps to lead into it, but this was a cock appearing in your ass without warning or knowing of it happening. You could feel your tears streaming down your neck, but bubbling moans of pleasure had already started again. The pain of the surprise was already wearing off by the time Iida had disappeared, and Mirio was once again shifting his hips for your best pleasure.

“God, I can’t believe you took my cock in your ass that calmly,” Mirio whispers in pure admiration, his hips taking longer, deeper strokes into you. “That was so fucking hot, I’m sorry I lost control like that.”

“S-Shut up…” you gasped, hands fisting into his coat as you tried to ride out the waves of pain instead. “Fuck m-me already.”

The laugh that seems to grow right from Mirio’s stomach makes your skin crawl as he nods his head, his hands grabbing your chin to stir you into a kiss as he begins to thrust into your asshole with much more daring conviction.

“I always forget how much you like this!” he sighs against your lips. “Always so ready for my cock no matter where it is.”

You whimper loudly, teeth burying into your lower lip, the slick from your cunt slowly gliding down to his cock, allowing for partial lubing.

In and out, he moves, his hips moving faster than a manageable speed. Even without him being a hero, Mirio had kept himself in pique condition, and moments like this proved it. His fast rutting and delirious power into every slam of his cock into your ass was commanding and revolutionary. Your eyes welled with tears at the constipated feeling in your asshole, your mouth pressing back into his neck, sobbing his name. His fingers dive down and permeate through your dress and panties, and you swear you’re drooling when his calloused, hot fingers tweak and pull at your clit, savagely teasing it.

Mirio laughs softly at the way you’re trying to hide your cries of pleasure. How you’re burying your head into his shoulder, teeth biting into his clothed skin. His thrusting movements became quicker, harder, and more consistent until a familiar sensation of his balls slapping your skin burned your mind.

He was—

Holy shit—

He was making sure you could feel his once concealed balls against your skin and the warbled, shameless scream that he interrupted by shoving his fingers in your mouth.

“More,” you beg around his fingers, staring straight up at him. Your saliva coating his fingers, lips sucking around his fingers in hopes that he’ll heed your command. “Fuck my asshole harder.”

Mirio merely groans the pinch on your clit, making your hips buck awkwardly and pathetically against his cock and balls because of the table. And he began to barbarically slam into you so that the soft thudding of the counter hitting the wall shudders down your spine.

Your body shifts with his every movement, the counter rocking with the force, your slick pouring from your cunt, and he let go of your tongue. In your crazed state, you sob at the loss of contact, but his hand that had been playing and teasing your clit shifts so that his thumb resides on your clit, and three of his fingers curl into your throbbing, orgasm denied cunt. The force alone nearly sends your eyes flying open, your vision still blurred with tears when his fingers drag against your puffy walls that you knew would let you squirt if he manipulated it just enough.

His fingers work at double the speed of which his hips slam into you. His fingers pushing the limits of your heat radiating walls, dragging them deliciously against your clenching heat. Then there was his cock, and at times the thin walls that separated his fingers and his cock brushed together, sending you into a new frenzy while you sobbed his name.

Begging for more, pleading to make you come.

“You needa come, sunflower?” Mirio huffs, his sweaty forehead pressing against yours, and you moaned loudly, knowing that he was also close. “Then come for me. Come against my cock and my fingers!”

“I-It feels so fucking good, so good baby,” you garble. Your jaw is unable to move for its slack against his shoulder. Your cooes only adding to the electrifying pleasure singing through your nerves, and with a loud squelch from your pussy, you come hard against his fingers, your ass instinctively tightening up at well.

You could feel the more foreign sensation of wet heat fill your ass as Mirio collapses against you, his heart hammering in his chest as the two of you just sit there. Your hands shifting to thread into his soft, fluffy hair as his limp cock disappears from within you, and you groan at the loss of feeling.

“Gross…” you mumble as Mirio stands straight up again after some time.

“Wha—”

“You came in my ass,” you sigh, although not at all displeased with it.

“Oh, sorry! I got a bit overexcited!”

It takes an additional three minutes for you to be willing to move to return to the event, but as you do, Mirio has an arm around your waist, readying to keep you upright all night if needed.

“Ne, Mirio?” you call as the both of you return to the main stage.

“Hm?”

“I think you’ve pretty much mastered your quirk again!”

#togata mirio x reader #mirio x reader #mirio smut #bnha #bnha x reader #mha #bbs kinktober 2020

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