#and so....if i split it then the stress of Chapter Too Long will go away and i can resume being insane in a fresh document for chapter 26 🩷

[fivie]

lmao due to my chronic inability to stfu it looks like I'll be splitting UMW chapter 25 so uhh may be updating much sooner than expected 😂

I'm a menace and if I had an editor they'd try to kill me with hammers. They'd probably say that the entirety of what is about to be chapter 25 isn't even necessary and could be brutally cut down or excised. Kill your darlings, they'd say. But I have no editor. I'm wild and free on AO3 and I'm making it everyone's problem.

[whisperofaflame]

♡ Collision Course ♡

Chapter 15b: Interlude [Part 1]

WandaNat x [innocent, femme] Reader

Collision Course – Masterlist

Link to full fic (so far) on AO3

Chapter Summary: Natasha prepares for a difficult but necessary conversation with Wanda, on her return. Wanda walks home from work, caught in a spiral of regret for and justification of her actions.

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: This follows on directly from Chapter 15 of Collision Course. I've been absolutely swamped lately with work and other commitments so I've not been nearly as productive as I'd like, but I thought I could at least give you something by splitting this bonus chapter into two parts. This first bit delves into their perspectives a little. I hope it's okay -- and I'm sorry to give you so little after so long!

Natasha hovered by the kitchen window, watching you pace barefoot on the grass like a wild animal trapped in a too-small enclosure. She could see from your hasty, repetitive movements and the way your clutched at your torso that you were stressed. It pained her to see you like this, but she knew the only way to resolve it was to do the thing you dreaded, and actually talk all together about what was going on. Realistically, they wouldn’t be able to explain it all today. And, more than that, they really shouldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to you to throw you in the deep end so soon, and it would be risky on their part. Even if Wanda was already convinced; even if you seemed to slip into the state Wanda craved so perfectly at times. The ethics — or lack, thereof — of the situation concerned Natasha greatly. At times, she worried they were being coercive. That the kindness they offered to you was merely increasing your vulnerability, and making you feel obliged to meet their every whim. And despite her repeated warnings to Wanda, and reminders to take it easy on you, her wife continued to push you into that submissive headspace, without thinking of how it would impact you when she inevitably had to retreat. 

It had been a strange day. You’d been wobbly this morning, worried and withdrawn. Perhaps from something Wanda said or did in the brief window of Natasha’s absence — she wasn’t sure. You’d hidden yourself away, and then almost disappeared without telling them. 

It wasn’t all bad, though. After Natasha’s compromise, you had brightened considerably. Exercise obviously helped you, and being outside seemed to do wonders for your mood too. On the walk to the bakery you’d been relaxed and cheerful. Natasha had enjoyed your company then, enjoyed seeing a little spark of the personality that seemed so often otherwise to be hidden beneath your anxieties. 

But then you’d crumbled again, at the prospect of upsetting Wanda. Over something so small too: the mere suggestion of starting up your course proper at college. Natasha knew her wife was a big believer in rest and relaxation, but she hadn’t anticipated that Wanda’s views on recovery would be dictating your thoughts to such a degree. You shouldn’t be so constrained by what Wanda might think, not when you had only just met each other, and there had been no communication about roles or expectations. In many ways, Wanda was acting like there was already an established dynamic between the two of you. And you, in turn, had been responding to that. Falling prey to her dominance. Submitting. Dropping.

Looking at it that way, your distress this afternoon made perfect sense. In Wanda’s absence, you had plummeted into sub-drop, scared of upsetting her, embarrassed by your predicament. Without Wanda there to reassure you, Natasha had had to step up. She wasn’t the best person to comfort you — it had been a while since she had been obliged to look after someone in that kind of way, after all — but she did her best. And in your need, you had clung to what was made available to you, even though Natasha had sometimes hesitated and second-guessed the affection she could offer. She hadn’t been quite sure whether to offer physical affection — could it, too, count as coercion? — but your eagerness to accept a hug, and the way you relaxed in her hold, seemed to point to it being appropriate in that situation. And it had been kind of nice, Natasha had to admit. Nice to feel needed, nice to feel nurturing and warm. But she had to stay objective. Her desires couldn’t come to the fore, couldn’t be allowed to dictate her actions. Especially not when Wanda was struggling to contain her own emotions around you. Someone had to be sensible.

Perhaps the note and the nickname were too much, in retrospect. It was difficult to judge how much affection to give, how much aftercare was appropriate after Wanda crossed yet another line. In general aftercare really ought to be proportionate to the scene that precipitated it, but then did that mean the aftercare too would be implicated in the case of consent (or rather, the lack of it)?

Natasha noticed you pause in your pacing of the garden, your gaze turning to focus on the bushes. A streak of white appeared in explanation, and she watched you crouch to greet Mayakovsky. The immediate bond between the two of you was rather sweet. Unfortunately, you undeniably had a lot in common. Plucked from the street by Wanda’s eagerness to heal. But you weren’t a cat they could keep without question. You couldn’t just be fed and conditioned into comfort in this home. Sometimes, Natasha worried that Wanda forgot that fact. Hence that awful comment she had made in the dead of night, which she would probably regret forevermore. Pet project. She still believed it a little, still believed that Wanda was working her magic to mould you into her vision, but it didn’t justify her speaking it aloud when you were plausibly within earshot. 

So many regrets already, Natasha considered. So many mistakes, so many messy feelings. And it hadn’t even been a week since you entered their lives. Was it really reasonable to hope that all this could be resolved neatly? 

Perhaps not all at once. Tonight would just be about smoothing over, and creating a foundation from which you could all consider possibilities. Basic boundaries needed to be drawn. Consent and communication needed to be established. Maybe that was all that was required just now. A necessary springboard, should you all choose to revisit it.

Natasha peeled her eyes away from your distant, crouching form, and turned to the kitchen island. Pulling out her notebook from beneath the dog-eared book she had nearly finished, she flicked to a new page and slid the ballpoint pen out of the loop at the side. She jotted down some abbreviated notes, her writing still neat but not quite as intentional as the careful letters she penned in her note to you earlier. 

Withdrawn.

Almost run → spin bike. 

Lunch → fine, not much. 

Bakery → good, then upset. 

She paused, spinning the pen between her fingers as she pondered on what she wanted to discuss, after relaying the events of the day. Then she added two queries she wished to bring to Wanda, alone. 

Sub-drop? 

Columbia?

Natasha set her pen down beside the notebook, which she closed over just in case you came in prematurely. It helped her to have the words written down, even if she didn’t refer to them later. The act of recording her thoughts in such a way always helped resolve the niggles and hone down her intentions.

Wanda would be back within half an hour, Natasha supposed. They’d have to chat first, to bring Wanda up to speed and hash out any differences of opinion before bringing you into the fold. And then they ought to have the conversation with you straight after, to save you from the agony of waiting and anticipating what could be said. All in all, it could take anywhere between twenty minutes and an hour, Natasha supposed. She rolls her fingers on the counter, nails tapping rhythmically against the marble. You’d probably need some downtime after their chat, she considered. Dinnertimes hadn’t always proved to be peaceful for you, so perhaps it would be better if Wanda took you up for a bath before dinner, since you’d probably want one anyway after the cycle.

After estimating all the notional timings in her head, Natasha decided to make a start on the chopping, at least. She wasn’t making anything too fancy — just mushroom stroganoff and a beetroot salad — but preparing the ingredients now would both give her something to do and ease the actual cooking process later, when she may be a little distracted in the aftermath of the conversation. 

Natasha found the dried mushrooms in one of the lower cupboards and set the packet on the counter. She was about to start boiling the kettle to rehydrate them when she hesitated. The last thing they would need after a tricky, emotional conversation would be a difficult dinnertime. She really ought to check if you were okay with the ingredients, since the peppers debacle had proven you were not entirely forthcoming with dislikes.

She slid open the balcony door and stepped out. You immediately looked up at the noise, eyes wide and nervous. You were probably wondering if Wanda had arrived back. 

“Just a quick question,” Natasha told you calmly, leaning both hands on the railing and smiling down to reassure you. “How do you feel about mushrooms and beetroot?”

Mayakovsky rolled over beneath your now stationary hand, and gave a petulant meow of displeasure at the neglect, before stalking away from you and heading back to the bushes. You seemed momentarily distracted by his departure, watching him stalk behind the foliage before turning back to Natasha and beginning to answer her enquiry.

“I like them,” you said, smoothing your shorts over your thighs. “I… thank you for asking.”

Natasha gave you a simple nod, and started to turn before realising something, and spinning back to face you.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, frowning down at your bare legs crossed over on the grass.

“I’m okay,” you replied quietly, the fingers of your left hand leaving your lap and finding the blades of grass beside you. “I think I want to stay outside for a bit, if that’s alright?”

“Of course,” Natasha assured you, giving another nod to emphasise her agreement. “If you get cold there are blankets on the patio chairs — or if not there, in the basket.”

You sent a small smile back up to her, seemingly relaxing at the prospect of her permission. 

“Thank you.”

“Wanda or I will come and get you when we’re ready, okay?” 

“Okay.”

Natasha hovered a moment longer, then pressed away from the railing with a push of her hands. She wondered about leaving the door slightly open, but supposed you might feel watched if she did so. So she closed it over behind her, separating the two of you in this time between. 

Wanda seemed a world away right now: apart from the chaos she had instigated, yet still somehow pulling the strings from afar. Even in her absence there were echoes, her words and touch felt by both of you in memory, dictating feelings and guiding intentions with implausible ease. And you too felt far away, despite there being only a pane of glass and a couple dozen feet between you.Your physical proximity contrasted with the emotional distanced you maintained, whilst you processed the past and protected yourself for the future. 

The three of you were disparate, but seemingly bound to meet in the middle somehow. Like three shooting stars, each set on a course to collide.

—————

As she walked back home, Wanda resumed the questioning that had plagued her all day. She wondered if she had pushed things too far. Perhaps she had gotten a little bit carried away this morning, when she’d doted over you during breakfast… She had a tendency to lose herself, she realised, when she saw the flush of your cheeks and that slightly glazed look in your eyes. It propelled her to press harder, to tease a little more. 

If Natasha had been there, she would have held back a little. That alone was proof enough that she had maybe taken it too far. Wanda knew that Natasha wouldn’t have approved, and that it would have prompted raised eyebrows and hushed warnings if witnessed in person. 

But Natasha wasn’t there, in that moment this morning. And Wanda had just let herself slide into that rather blissful, almost hypnotic state of focussing in on you, and attending to your every need. 

Even as she thought it, Wanda could hear her wife’s voice in her head. 

But really, whose need are you meeting? Hers? Or yours?

Who could tell, really? When you, too, seemed to slip into that sweet state which had Wanda’s insides go a little giddy? She saw it; she saw you. She noticed the way your breath hitched, and the times when your eyes lingered a little too long in intimate places. She spotted the squirm of your body, the ducking of your head to hide heated cheeks. She saw everything. And she knew.

Natasha knew too; she could tell. But Natasha was holding back, holding herself hostage to logic and reason, as she was always wont to do. The contrast between them was one of the reasons they worked so well together. Wanda’s passion and impulsivity balanced out Natasha’s reserve and precision. They’d always been able to marry the two perspectives together, to connect the truth between them and find the suitable course of action. But in the past few days, they had experienced more minor quarrels than they had in perhaps the last two years. 

No, not quarrels exactly, Wanda reasoned. Just… differences of opinion. And a delay in reaching agreement.

Natasha had urged her many times over to tone it down, to lay off you and stick exclusively to the roles and responsibilities of hostess to a guest.

In contrast, Wanda had petitioned Natasha to relax, to let things unfold naturally without holding back or putting up walls. 

In many ways, Wanda was winning; Natasha’s resolve to remain appropriate and aloof was clearly waning. She’d started to let slip some pet names in Russian, and she had admitted this morning upon waking to comforting you after your nightmare, to taking you back to bed and staying with you until you slept. To her shame, Wanda had felt not just elation at their new connection, but also a little jealousy too. How she would have loved to be the one to ease your worries and settle you to sleep last night. But alas, she was a sound sleeper, and her wife could hear a leaky tap two floors below even whilst in the depths of REM.

Maybe — just maybe — that small sting of jealousy might have fuelled some of her behaviour this morning. Wanda had been a little worried when waking you, scared to find you distant and withdrawn again, just like at dinner last night. But you’d leaned in and let her help you, let her dress you and guide you downstairs. And yes, maybe she then got a little carried away. But the way your cheeks flushed and your eyes went wide at her praise and teasing… it stoked a fire within her; it fuelled the flames. 

Wanda had always been somewhat turned on by vulnerability. 

Something about being needed, being completely relied upon… it did things to her. Natasha hardly ever presented such moments, though on the rare occasion she did, Wanda valued the opportunity to care for her immensely. 

But you… You were different. Open, wanting. Automatically accepting of affection, even if you sometimes second-guessed it, and tried to hide. You needed the care, the reassurance, the praise. And God… Wanda was more than willing to give it. She’d give it forever, if you’d let her. 

Fuck, she though suddenly, gripping the strap of her bag a little harder. She shouldn’t be thinking like this. Because although Wanda had the greatest love of her life safely at home awaiting her return, she had also learned, early and repeatedly, that to love is to lose. Natasha was an exception, not a rule in her life. Aside from her wife, all Wanda knew was loss. Family, friends, relationships, dreams…

She could get caught up in the whirlwind of passion sometimes, and forget the fear. But Natasha always remembered, on her behalf. She held the grief for her, kept it steady until Wanda was ready to confront it again, and attempt to process the pain a little more. Natasha was her rock and her reason. And yet, Wanda never seemed to remember to pay heed to her wisdom. 

Natasha wasn’t always right, though, Wanda’s brain warred. Like with Mayakovsky: she’d been downright aghast at the adoption of the stray, as if his mere presence was an omen of something awful yet to come. But then she begrudgingly fell in love with him (though she’d never admit to it as such) and no dreadful thing ever came to pass. They hadn’t lost him, or been hurt by him. The worst he had done was vomiting on Natasha’s shoes.

However…

Natasha had good reason to be wary, and Wanda knew this too, despite her desperate attempts to bury the knowledge to the back of her mind. They had been hurt before, by someone Wanda fell for. Natasha had called it, over and over again… but Wanda hadn’t seen it until it was too late, and by then the emotions were spilled. Even though Natasha had foreseen it, Wanda knew it hurt her too. Perhaps more, because she always took on Wanda’s emotions too, like she harboured sole responsibility for the fallout. It was understandable that she didn’t want to repeat the same mistakes again, but Wanda could feel in her bones that this was different. You weren’t the sort to take advantage. You’d fallen into their lives, not orchestrated your way in. 

Natasha always saw what could go wrong.

Whereas Wanda always saw what could go right.

And she clung to that conviction, as she turned onto their street. She was almost home: to the place, the feeling, the people.

A/N: Thanks for reading! Chapter 16 is on its way, I promise!

Edit: Part 2 now available here

[dykeforhire]

Feels Like Home

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x gf!reader

Description: a rather cozy evening in bed with the love of your life, Emily.

Warnings: 18+ smut (vaginal!fingering, oral!sex), bottom!emily, top!reader, reader is in love and so is Emily, quite fluffy and adorable and yeah... no use of y/n.

Word count: 4k

Playlist: Home - Depeche Mode

masterlist || read on ao3

a/n: this ones fairly short, I hope you enjoy!!

...

The room is cast in a glow of deep oranges and yellows as the bright late-summer sun sets for the evening, warming the room through the gaps of your half-drawn blinds, a slight breeze wisping from the cracked window and through the sheer curtains.

You haven’t been in bed long, just perched atop the covers with your back against the pillows— reading a few chapters of your latest vintage bookstore find whilst Emily showers.

Today was an easy day. After finishing up a case, it was time for paperwork—a lackluster day filled with sighs of boredom and far too many cups of coffee. You feel as though you should be happy when days like that come… but nothing beats the rush of adrenaline, or the buzzing of minds at work when there’s a case to solve.

You are thankful for this though; the warmth of your bedroom— the bedroom that you share with Emily. 

After a hard day of work, you used to dread coming home to a partner, having to talk about your day, what you did. You wanted nothing more than to be alone, to sit on the couch and wash away your sorrow and tiredness with a tall glass of whatever cheap booze you could find at the local convenience store.

But that way of thinking changed when Emily Prentiss wormed her way into your life. 

Neither of you had meant for it to happen. She was a creature of similar habits… nights alone, drowning herself in work. The team teased both of you about your lack of social lives, but you’d just brushed it away.

You couldn’t help but notice that subtle, longing look in Emily’ eyes though. Stupid profiler brain.

All those late nights at Quantico, sitting at your adjacent desks— sharing thoughts and laughs. All the restless evenings in strange cities, sharing hotel rooms and splitting a bottle of drugstore wine while away on case… It brought a special bond between the two self-proclaimed loners of the BAU.

And everyone on the team seemed to notice it… except you and Emily, of course.

They teased and teased; whether it be Derek asking if it was a special date when you’d announce you were going for drinks with Prentiss, to which you’d shoot him down with ‘No Emily and I are just friends, I don’t have time for dating’. Or when Penelope tried to set up a girls’ night at your apartment, but then miraculously, she and JJ couldn’t make it— leaving you and Emily alone. 

You hadn’t complained about that one though. The excitement bubbling in your gut at the thought of being alone with the undoubtedly beautiful brunette was palpable, but you just chalked it up as excitement towards getting drunk and having a nice time with your best friend.

But then again, that had also been the same night you and Emily had privately decided to start sleeping together for the sake of comfort and stress relief. 

Just sex, nothing more. 

Later that night you kissed those perfect, soft, heart-shaped lips for the first time—discovered what she tastes like, what it looks like when Emily Prentiss, not some random hookup, comes undone.

You knew from then on you were fucked, so tremendously fucked.

The next time you saw her at work, you couldn’t help but notice the flush on her cheeks as she sat across from you in the round table room— how she watched your hands as you spoke. 

It didn’t take long before you slipped up and whispered ‘fuck, I think I love you’ into her hair as she came around your fingers, her panting breath dampening your neck and she fell apart above you. She just leaned back and looked at you after that, grinning.

‘I’ve been waiting so long to hear you say that,’ she whispered back. ‘I think I love you too’.

And now you’re here, about a year after that first fateful night— lying in your shared bed, in your shared apartment, reading a book, one that she recommended when you first became friends, while Emily showers in the next room.

You don’t really believe in the afterlife, but if you have to think of a form of heaven… this would be it.

The screech of the shower knob being shut off pulls you from your thoughts, you look over at the en-suite door— steam seeping out from the crack above the floorboards.

You smile, a real genuine smile, and place the worn down book on the bedside table— the page dog-eared, a habit you’d picked up from Emily.

With hands folded together in your lap, you wait.

You hear the humming of the fan switching on from the inside—she doesn’t like how cold it gets when it’s on—and then the door creaks open and there she is, Emily, the heat of her shower still steaming off her bare shoulders as she enters the cool bedroom.

Your heart swells as you look at your beautiful girlfriend, yours. Her already dark hair is almost black as it clings soggily to her face and neck— water droplets gathering in the dip of her collarbones and over her shoulders. She’s bare-faced except for the tiny remnants of eyeliner smudged into her eyelashes, you think it suits her, and her lotion-smoothed skin sort of glows in the warm light of the sunset.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She grins, tugging the towel snug around her chest as she steps toward the dresser, sights set on putting on her usual sleeping attire, boy-short underwear and one of your old t-shirts that you’d already taken the liberty of setting out for her. 

Your eyes follow her as she moves, dragging over the shape of her body beneath the thick and rather offensive fabric. The towel’s edge stops just short of her ass, and you find that to be quite rude. 

The familiar burn of desire sets in your chest as you continue your observation, the swoop of her spine, the tiny bit of tummy peaking through the layers of the towel, the unmistakable outline of her hardened nipples. She is so fucking beautiful it hurts.

“Hello, gorgeous.” you smile back, a telltale ode to Barbra Streisand’s character in ‘Funny Girl’ with the Brooklyn twang in your voice. You sit up on the bed and scoot towards the foot of it. “Have a nice shower?” 

“Yes, felt so good after today. Sitting at that desk destroys my back… might be my body telling me I’m actually getting old.” She chuckles, grabbing the clothes you set out and tossing them on the bed.

She steps closer to you and you let your eyes trail over her front, your smile growing. 

“You are not old, Em…” you tilt your chin up at her, fingers reaching out to grasp at the fold of her towel. “Everyone’s body hurts after sitting in those god-awful chairs all day.” She relaxes into your touch as your hands run over her sides, pulling her to stand between your parted knees.

“I’m getting up there though… God, I can’t believe I’m gonna be forty…” Emily sighs, her eyes trailing over your face as she runs a damp hand over your hair. 

“Forty is not that old, it's quite hot actually… Plus, I’ve always had a thing for cougars so-” You giggle quietly, your hands sliding down her hips and under the hem of the towel. You hear her suck in a breath above you as your fingertips trail over her thighs, she’s always been sensitive there.

“You are something else…” she scoffs, cupping your jaw and bending down to place a gentle kiss on your lips. You pull her towel open gently as she does so, not letting it fall to the ground just yet— but enough for you to take in her most unadulterated form.

She hums into the kiss when she feels the cool air rush around her torso, smirking as she feels your warm hands on her hip bones, thumbs drawing absentminded circles.

You nip at her bottom lip and she shoves you away. You gaze up at her playfully as you land on your elbows, quickly pushing yourself back up and reaching out for her again— grabbing her wrist and tugging her against your chest. 

She falls against you with a hmph, her knees bumping into the edge of the mattress in front of your crotch. Your arms wrap around her behind, one hand on her lower back and the other cupping her ass.

“Baby…” she whines, nails raking over the back of your neck as you press a trail of wet kisses over her belly. “I just showered.”

You make a muffled noise against her in response. Her skin is so unbelievably soft, and she smells so clean. The scent of the semi-sterile antibacterial soap mixed with her sweet-florally lotion fills your senses—the thought of licking it all off of her like a dog crosses your mind.

Instead, you crane your neck up and press a few kisses to the underside of her breast before sucking her nipple into your mouth. The towel falls to the floor with a plop as she shivers, clutching at your nape like she’s going to fall, but you’d never let that happen.

Emily’s lips part, letting a few shaky breaths fan across your forehead. You gaze up at her through your eyelashes, her cheeks are flushed just like that day in the office day after you first hooked up, except this time, you can watch as it travels down her neck and chest. 

Her belly quivers against your chest as you scrape your teeth over her sensitive nipple, it makes you smile. You’ve always adored how well her body responds to you, and how easy it is for her to let go with you. Your heart does backflips in your chest just thinking about how much she trusts you, how much she loves you… how much you love her.

Emily shifts suddenly, and it pulls your attention away from her chest. She looks down at you with dark, drooping eyes, her bottom lips pulled between her teeth. 

“You know I can’t resist when you touch me like that… it’s evil.” she purrs, her voice low, slightly raspy. You just smile up at her, leaning into her touch as she cups your cheek. She leans down to kiss you again, her lips cold and wet—you suck in a sharp breath against her nose. 

You scoot further back on the mattress, making room for her to straddle your lap comfortably. The kiss is slow and heart-wrenchingly passionate, her hands roam across your neck and shoulders while yours spread across her lower back and thighs, holding her close as she settles against you.

She’s probably leaving a wet patch embarrassingly resembling that of a child who’s just peed their pants over your sweats, but you couldn’t care less. Emily Prentiss, your girlfriend, is utterly naked and needy in your lap—nothing could ever get in the way of that.

She deepens the kiss first, her thumb brushing over the joint of your jaw as a silent request for you to open, you do, and she licks inside your mouth, meeting your tongue in a duel of affection, one in which she’ll inevitably let you win.

Emily grinds into your lap, growing more desperate for your hands on her body by the second. You let your hands wander, always wanting to appease the older woman as usual. One hand slides to her front, cupping a heavy breast, thumb brushing over a pert nipple while the other grips at the meat of her hip, kneading it as she grinds against you harder.

You can feel the heat growing between her legs as she presses into you, seeking out any kind of stimulation. 

You slide the hand on her hip down her thigh, nails scratching faintly over the skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Emily whimpers into the kiss as they brush a little too close to her center. 

“Touch me, baby… please.” she pants against your mouth, pressing chaste pecks over your cheekbones. God, how am I supposed to resist that? You think to yourself. 

You don’t.

Your nose brushes against the curve of Emily’s jaw, inhaling her dewy skin, before nipping at it. She lets her head fall back with a quiet moan, giving you full access to her jugular. You can feel her pulse thrumming beneath your lips as you kiss along the length of her neck.

The hand on her leg slides up further, fingertips brushing against the crevice of her thigh. You can feel her prickly, trimmed pubic hairs as your thumb drags over her pelvis. You think it’s cute that she still grooms for you regularly, even though you insist she doesn’t have to after being together for so long. 

‘The jungle must be explored!’ you’d joke, usually earning a swat to the back of your head. She likes to keep it neat, and you certainly do not mind. 

Her arousal is already spreading down her inner thighs when you decide to finally touch her. The pads of your middle and index finger brushing lightly over her slit, so warm and ready.

“So wet for me already?” you murmur, spreading the wetness over her swollen clit. Emily squeaks as you do so, her hips jumping at the sensitivity.

“Always… you know that.” She whimpers, knotting her fingers in your hair as you kiss down her neck and chest—leaving little red hickeys over the thin skin every once in a while. “God, that feels so good, honey.” Her chin comes to rest atop your head as you dip lower, kissing the tops of her breasts.

You smirk against her skin as she speaks, listening to the way her voice quivers ever-so-slightly. 

You press harder against her sex, relinquishing your teasing for something that’ll actually get her going. Her hips roll with the movement of your hand, you can hear the sounds of her slick coating your fingers as they slide through her folds.

Emily clutches at your shoulders when you slip your middle finger inside, curling it against her pubic bone. Your thumb works her clit as you slide another finger in, pumping slowly as she adjusts.

Emily nibbles at your shoulder to quiet her moans, she’s always been shy when it comes to being vocal during sex, but over time you’ve noticed it just takes a minute for her to gain the confidence. Because in the right moments when you’re really going at it, she can be quite loud. 

Those are some of your favorite moments… when she’s completely uninhibited without a single care in the world besides the feeling of whatever you’re doing to her.

“Good, baby? I wanna hear that pretty voice.” You whisper against the cartilage of her ear, nipping at it.

“Yeah-hm…” she’s cut off by a sharp breath, the pads of your fingers rubbing perfectly at the spongy spot inside her. “Shit—m’ sensitive… you feel so good.” she pants, needily grinding into your palm as your motions grow more intention.

“My pretty girl…” you purr, running your hand up her spine, holding her close, feeling the way it curls as she arches into you. “So pretty in my lap, riding my fingers.” 

“Fuck… can’t talk to me like that.” Emily groans, leaning back in your grasp and putting more force behind her hips as she rides you. 

Her wet bangs frame her face in clumps as she gazes at you, her skin now dampened with perspiration instead of water from the shower. You catch a falling droplet from her hair as it lands on her chest, beading down the valley of her breasts. You lurch forward and drag your tongue over the flesh, lapping up any droplets you can find.

Emily hums at the warmth of your tongue on her skin, her nails scratching at your scalp as she holds your mouth against her. One of her hands braces itself on your knee as she leans back further, dangerously close to falling off your lap as your mouth attacks her breasts again.

Her hips stutter as you suck her nipple into your mouth, tongue swirling languidly over the bud before releasing it with a pop and doing the same to the other side. 

Her thighs squeeze around your hips and her walls flutter around your fingers as they keep up their consistent pace—you can tell she’s getting close.

“Getting close, baby?” you murmur against her chest, chin pressing against her clavicle as you gaze up at Emily’s face.

Her eyes are screwed shut, brows knitted together in pure focus as she tries her hardest to chase the orgasm she knows you’re gonna give her, you never leave her hanging—ever. Not unless you mean to, of course… but that’s not on the table right now.

Right now, you want to make your beautiful girlfriend cum. You want to hear those precious whimpers fall from her lips as she shakes in your grasp, and then you want to do it all over again. 

You can feel your own center burn with anticipation at the thought of it, making her cum over and over again. You’re already planning what you’re gonna do to give her the next one before she’s even had her first.

“Yes… so close. Kiss me.” Emily moans, her hand leaving your knee and cupping your jaw to bring your mouth to her forcefully. She moans into the kiss as you pump into her a bit harder, her thighs clenching together once again. 

It hits her fairly quickly after that, the warmth of your lips sliding against her own seemingly adding the finishing touches. 

She inhales sharply as her body jerks with the oncoming orgasm. You pull back slightly, letting your forehead rest against hers as you watch it overtake her. The ragged breaths that fall through parted—swollen lips, the way the muscles in her abdomen visibly clench, the way her walls clamp down on your fingers as they work her through it.

“There you go, pretty girl… so good.” You whisper, drawing soothing circles over her upper back as you guide her down. She shivers, goosebumps pebbling over her skin as the final waves wash over her.

Slipping your fingers out, you wrap both arms around her torso tightly— she practically melts into the hug, body falling limp as her hands clutch at your neck. 

Her breathing begins to even out as you rock her gently, brushing the soggy locks of hair away from her face as she curls into you. She presses a kiss to your collarbone when she finally comes to, then another at your pulse point.

“Hi…” she mumbles, inhaling the scent of your skin.

You chuckle softly at the adorable gesture, cupping the back of her head as she grasps tighter around your shoulders.

“Hi, sweet girl. You alright?” You feel her nod quickly, you smile again— pressing a kiss to her temple. “Too tired to give me another one or can you do that for me?” 

She perks up at that offer, righting herself in your lap with a bright smile, her dimples on full display.

“Wide awake.” She wiggles her brows before leaning in to kiss you again. 

“Yeah?” You smirk against her lips.

“Yeah…” Emily tsks. “I think you are a bit too clothed, my love.” Her hands snake beneath the hem of your shirt, nails scratching at your hips and she suckles on your bottom lip.

You pull your shirt over your head immediately at her request, tossing it across the room blindly. Emily chuckles at your eagerness before swooping in to kiss you ravenously. Her hands roam your naked torso, soaking up the warmth of your skin against her own.

“You’re so warm…” she murmurs against your lips, wrapping her arms around you and pulling your chests flush to each other. She shivers against you faintly, and it’s hard to tell whether it’s from the arousal or because she’s truly cold.

Even though the room is at least seventy degrees with the summer-evening breeze floating in through the window, Emily always runs a bit cold, and the fact that her hair is still wet probably doesn’t help.

With a swift peck, you stand—wrapping your arms around her bottom as you move to your side of the bed and place her down on your pillows. Emily falls into a fit of giggles as you kneel over her on the mattress, she stares up at you with glittering eyes.

“So strong…” she teases, pouting as her hands slide over your arms and down to your stomach. “Come here.” Her fingers curl into the waistband of your sweats, tugging you on top of her.

You meet her in a slow kiss as your bodies press against each other. Emily’s legs wrap around your hips, pulling your pelvis into hers—she lets out a muffled moan at the friction, her back arching into you as your arms cage around her head.

Her hands splay over your shoulder blades as she lets you deepen the kiss, your tongue dragging over her bottom lip before curling against the roof of her mouth.

“Mm, you should do that somewhere else…” Emily breathes out, smirking, her eyes dancing over your face.

“Oh, should I now?” You raise your brow curiously, sitting up a bit as you wait for her answer.

“Yes…” She hums, chewing on her bottom lip in that especially seductive way that has you bending to her every will. “I think you should.”

You grin cheesily as you lean back in, using your thumb to pull her lip from her teeth before pressing a kiss to it. She wraps her arms around your shoulders as the kiss deepens again, swollen red lips sliding together in a mess of saliva and want.

You trail the kiss across her cheek and down her neck, sucking a tiny spot just below her ear. She whimpers as you trail lower, teeth scraping over bulging tendons and down to her collarbones. Her hands fist at your hair as you drag your lips over her chest, pressing featherlight kisses to the flushed skin. 

Her chest rises and falls rapidly as you trail even lower, lapping at the underside of her breasts,  sinking your teeth into the protruding edge of her ribcage. You’re just about to kiss down her belly when you suddenly stop in your tracks—looking up at her with a skeptical expression.

“Are you suuure?” you tease, running a finger between down the valley of her breasts.

“I love you so much, honey...” She whispers against your lips. “But, my god, are you pissing me off right now… please just eat me out.” She cups your face in her palms, shooting you a sarcastic smile before patting your cheek—urging you to get a move on.

“Alright, no more teasing. Noted…” You nod at her with a tight-lipped smile, quickly getting back to kissing your way down her body. “I love you, too.”

“Yes, thank you.” Emily grins as she watches you go down, your lips pressing wet kisses across her hips and down to her thighs.

The smell of her arousal clouds your brain as you get closer to the source, your mouth waters. 

You meet her eyes as you drag your tongue along her inner thigh, tasting the salty mixture of her skin and leftover arousal from earlier. Emily’s legs spread further apart as you reach the apex, your nose running over the hot flesh.

“Please…” She whines, pushing her hips towards you. 

You study her face as you part her labia with your middle and index fingers, strings of thick arousal clinging to the digits as you bring them to your mouth. Emily’s taste is something you don’t think you’ll ever get over. It’s so precisely her, so divine, so sweet and heady—you could drink her for the rest of your life and you undoubtedly plan to.

Her lips part as she pants out shaky breaths, she rolls her hips at the faintest touch from you, desperately seeking more.

Leaning forward, you swipe your tongue over the entire length of her sex, your arms wrapping tightly around her thighs to keep her in place. 

Emily falls back against the pillow with a guttural moan when you suck at her clit, her hips immediately springing into action—jumping against your mouth. The hand in your hair flexes as you circle the sensitive bud with a pointed tongue before dipping down and curling it into her slit, the same way you did to her mouth just minutes before.

“Fuck, love…” She gasps, lurching forward to watch once again.

You smile against her pussy as you meet her eyes, making a point to flick your tongue over the hypersensitive spot just below her clit. Her body twitches, the muscles in her legs quivering as she tries to hold back the rapidly building orgasm.

You’re practically just making out with her pussy at this point, tongue lapping at her before closing your lips around her clit and sucking gently. 

After doing this so many times, you know exactly what makes her tick—what gets her there with the best feeling result. You’ve also found that oral often makes Emily cum rather quickly, which is why you typically only start or end a night with it. 

Emily’s thighs start to close around your head as she reaches the climax of her orgasm, trapping you in place as you continue your ministrations. Quiet whimpers crackle from her throat as the wave overtakes her again, her body seizing up and trembling as it rolls her in its current.

“Fuckfuckfuck-” she squeaks out before her body finally releases—her hips, grinding against your mouth as she rides it out. 

You groan against her, the vibrations sending a jolt to her overstimulated clit. You chuckle and press a final kiss over her folds before resting your cheek on her inner thigh, watching adoringly as the aftershocks make their way through her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of that. God, you’re like the prodigy of giving head.” Emily manages between panting breaths, reaching down to brush a few sweaty hairs from your brow.

“Oh, why thank you.” you beam as you crawl up her torso. “You’re the prodigy of like… wielding highly addictive pussy.” your face scrunches up at your own overtly cringy statement. Emily just laughs.

“You, my love, are such a fucking nerd.” she shakes her head, adjusting her body to fit comfortably against yours as you cuddle into her side. “But somehow, I’ve fallen madly in love with you…” You smile against her shoulder at the comment, nuzzling into her.

That’s another thing you don’t think you’ll ever grow tired of—hearing Emily say she loves you. It’s hard to believe sometimes, but the look in her eyes when she says those words is just so telling. Those precious, nearly black irises, sparkling… her pupils dilating subtly as she gazes at you… it washes all your worries away faster than they ever arose.

The way she looks at you reminds you of a home you never had, a place that you will always belong.

“And I, you… unconditionally and irrevocably in love.”

…

a/n: heyyyy, feel free to leave a comment on what you think, theyre always appreciated!

happy masturbation.

Taglist: @prentisslvrsworld @piiinco @xoxo-maryssa @prentissmultiverse @blackcatlesbo @teeshatequila

[fuk3d]

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (?)

Warning: Murder, Descriptions of blood, Major character death.

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N: Hey everyone. I really appreciate the support you guys gave on my last post, it was really overwhelming for me even though it might not seem a lot to most lol.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday | Chapter 2: Distant Memories

Blood. 

Its smell is tang and metallic. Its colour is dangerous, fervent with connections of power, hatred, anger, and… death. 

Blood.

A fickle thing it is. In the way it stains, no matter the material. It stays, even when you try to get rid of it. But you already knew that didn’t you, [Name]?

“[Name] you must stay quiet, no matter what you hear and what you see, stay right here, please baby. Mama loves you” Your mother would say to you, the last thing she would ever say to you actually as she shoves you into the closet, shutting it with a harsh push before hurriedly walking away. Away from you. 

‘Don’t leave me’ you thought. 

Your small form had curled into itself in the dainty closet, small tremors compelling your whole body to quiver and shake. You were just a child back then, hiding away from the sounds of glass shattering, minute fragments of it scattering onto the hard-wood floors. Furniture could be heard crashing against the walls, multiple gruff voices penetrating through the sanctuary your mother had called your ‘safe space’. The sounds of her broken voice breaks through the closet barriers whilst she fights viciously, for the both of you. Still, all you could think about in that very moment was- 

When is mama coming back? How long has it been? Are they still here? Are they gonna hurt me too? Like how they’re hurting mama?

Your body couldn’t handle the stress, streams of whimpers and curt gasps escaping from your lips. You didn’t even know you were beginning to hyperventilate, your eyes blurred by the oval tears that had begun to collect. You couldn’t stop feeling, couldn’t stop hearing the sounds of struggling. You can’t breathe, can’t see, you can’t even hear what’s going outside beyond the closet. All you knew in that split second was that you needed to get out, smell the clean air before you went insane. 

And peculiar, how fate works in its twisted ways; it's almost like it could hear you, begging for a somewhat momentary release. The noise had died down, and everything had suddenly just come to a…. Stop.

Silence.  

No more were the sounds of screaming, yelling, and crying. Now, it was just you. 

You remember that night so clearly, every detail drilled through your head in a never-ending loop. 

And so, with much hesitation, you step out of the closet. Eye’s locked onto the horrific sight that had been laid in front of you. There lies your mother in a pool of her own blood, her eyes, like polished globes appeared lifeless, dead. You take a step, and then another one, then another, until you're standing in front of her. 

“Mama?” Your lips wobbled, legs buckling under the realisation that she was dead. You drop to your knees with a hard ‘thud!’, pain coursing through your little knees. Red starts to stain your clothing as the colour envelopes your tiny hands. Fluorescent red and blue gleam through the apartment. 

“Mama! Mama, wake up! The police are here, can you hear them? They’re coming to save you so you can stop pretending!!” You yell at her, attempting to pull at your mothers hand. Only to reel back from shock at how cold she felt. “Mama, why’re you so cold?” You put your soft hands on her own, feeling tears before it even registers in your mind that you’re crying. The transparent liquid sliding down your puffy cheeks, dripping at your chin before trickling onto the floorboards.   

The noises of your grieving reverberate off the worn down walls, the shuffling of heavy footsteps can be heard but you ignore it, too engrossed in your own mourning. When the police arrive at the designated area that you were in, they’re stunned by the sight. In the middle of all the broken glass and shattered furniture, was you and your mother.

You’re hastily carried away from her, a sick and uneasy feeling growing within your stomach when you see people gather her body and shove her into a body bag. 

What happens next is hazy. You fuzzily recall arriving at the police station and taken in immediately for questioning. They had asked if you knew who your dad was, to which you shook your head ‘no’, shaken by the awful tragedy that took place tonight. You think back to the two officers chatting to each other, just outside the room you were situated in. “Said they don’t know who their father is, poor thing. Must’ve been hard not having a dad.” A resounding slap could be heard as the officer scolds his friend with a coarse tone, “Keep your voice down will ya? You dickbag, they can hear us.” You remember their voices becoming distant, soft mutters of  ‘Alright! Alright!’  became nothing but background noise. 

After that, the police got you cleaned up before taking you down to a hospital lab, the people there extracting a sample of your DNA and swiftly sending it off for a paternity test. While they tossed you into an orphanage for a temporary stay. That's the system for you.  

It had been 6 weeks after that night, and during your abode at the orphanage, you had become entirely numb, both physically and mentally. You didn’t even attempt to make friends, too wrapped up within your own head about that night, about what went down. You completely shut down and refrained from opening up until one of the caregivers gave you a letter addressed to you. A black wax seal with a big, fancy W was engraved into. Curiosity akin to a cat, you unfurled the envelope, eyes lighting up with excitement when you realise that your father was Bruce Wayne. After all the traumatic shit you had gone through, you deserved to distract yourself from all the bad memories that had been plaguing you. 

Three days. 

 In three days, your dad (a word so foreign to you) will be taking you to your new home, where you’re safe, where you can sleep without any fear. 

Three days. 

Time seemed to feel prolonged, and it made you tense. You were so conscious of how skittish you had become over the course of three days. You just couldn’t sleep properly, couldn’t sit still at the thought of finally meeting Bruce Wayne, the man who was your father.

So, when the three day wait was up, you were dressed in your best attire (with what little clothes you own) and hurriedly made your way to the front of the orphanage, your cute suitcase in hand as a monochromatic  vehicle pulled up. You were basically jumping out of your shoes when you heard the car door open, only to realise that it wasn’t a man who looked to be your father. Actually, it was an elderly gentleman dressed in butler attire, with balding grey hair and a pale complexion. Huh, how disappointing.

You couldn’t help but frown, struggling to mask the disdain as he stepped towards you with an air of confidence. “You must be the child Bruce was talking about.” Huh? Why did he say it like that? Where was your dad? “My name is Alfred, I am your family butler.” 

Your lips stretched down into an impossibly deeper frown. “Okay… but, where’s my dad?” You questioned, awaiting his answer as Alfred cleared his throat. “Your father is… busy as of right now. He’s attending to matters regarding work. I hope you forgive him for his improper timing Young [Name].” Alfred dips his head, mimicking something similar to a bow while you poorly nodded at your family butler– Alfred. You stay silent as you step inside the car, Alfred shuts the door while he gets into the driver seat, the car's engine roaring thunderously as it shakes the vehicle. 

You look out the window, eyes reflecting off the glass whilst the people and buildings blend in together. Gotham was such a dull place, monochrome colours mixing into each other. It was the only region that was able to turn its own people into vile, foul, and disgusting human beings disguised in sheep's clothing. It was the only region that could turn its people into villains and monsters. And it certainly had a habit of making the people with the most potential suffer a fate worse than death. Just like you. 

Why didn’t my dad pick me up instead? What was so important that he couldn’t even meet me himself? What’s going to happen to m-

No. You shouldn’t think like that, you wouldn’t think like that. You’re sure it was just an accident, a slip up, a one time thing right? It doesn’t matter, as long as he’s your dad and as long as he cares right?

‘Right’ you affirm to yourself. Your confidence comes back, you're excited once again. 

If I can’t meet him at the orphanage, I can just meet him at my new home, right?

You really couldn’t wait. You couldn’t wait to meet your new family and you couldn’t wait to see your new home. 

“We’ve arrived Young [Name].”

@strwberryglass

End Note: Okay so I was contemplating if I should continue this further because I didn't want to start a piece of writing just to lose the motivation or interest. I want to do this for myself and not for the sake of writing for others (no offence). Anyway, thank you for reading!

Also, updates are going to be pretty slow since I'm starting school next week! So please hold on until then :)

[avifaunaa]

share your soul with me [ unzip your skin, let me have a see ] [ l.m. + s.s. ]

Authors Note: I swear to god if you know me no you do not. I’m going to hell lmao. i had to split this into TWO parts with smut coming in the next one.

Masterlist

PART TWO

Pairing: Lottie Matthews x fem!reader x Shauna Shipman

Summary: Survival in the Wilderness with territorial Alphas and naturally violence-avoidant Betas was going well, all things considering. Your sister, Jackie Taylor, had worked hard to ensure a pack dynamic had formed before the crash and that it remained strong two years within the struggle for your lives. Until you presented, that is, as an Omega.

Content Warnings: I cannot stress this enough — this is a fic that contains A/B/O dynamics so if you aren't comfortable with that I do have multiple other non-a/b/o fics and don't plan on making this a super-regular thing. I’ve never written for this, but here we are.

Within regular Yellowjackets dynamics: Descriptions of injuries and illnesses, death and blood, discussions of + actual cannibalism, canon-typical violence, cult-like behaviors, the Wilderness being the Wilderness

A/B/O Warnings: pack / power dynamics, gender-norm discussions within ABO context, heat/rut cycles, presenting, r is distressed later in the chapter

Word Count: ~4.8k

The sobs and the screams were almost drowned under the sound of your own blood swimming in your years. How is it you've never noticed how loud your heartbeat is?

You weren’t supposed to even be here with your older sister’s soccer team, stuck fighting for survival and waiting for a rescue that may never come. Jackie wouldn't look you in the eye sometimes over it, anymore.

You were meant to still be back at the same University you all attended. One year behind most of the team -- some were in their final graduating years, some were in their third years like Jackie, Shauna, and Lottie. It was your first year away from home, fresh and wide-eyed and supposed to be attending frat parties you had no business being at and making mistakes you would save later first years from when you were in your second year.

Was there any point dwelling on it? You did not think so -- you clung to your older sister most of the time anyways.

Jackie was a formidable Alpha both in the field and off. She made a great captain and her leadership skills were second to none; but you were always privy to the side of Jackie that revealed more of what made her an Alpha. She was fiercely protective in nature and had been your guardian from the second you'd come into the world a wailing, pink-faced creature. It had kicked her instincts into gear, she had told you, having something so innocent and vulnerable to help her parents care for.

And so you became Jackie's shadow. You never presented -- not in any way that would declare you anything other than a Beta -- and that allowed you to drift through unnoticed in Jackie's circle [ in the world ] while keeping your head down and trouble away. It never kept your sister's overprotective nature from lashing out at times, but it turned unwanted attention off of you.

And it allowed you to become integrated within Jackie's pack -- the Yellowjackets team -- without seeming like an intruder or like anyone the team looked too closely or too long at. At most, you were simply the soft-spoken Beta sister of Jackie Taylor who shied away from sports herself and always had pink ribbons in her hair.

You were welcome within the dynamics of the pack your sister had created in the soccer team. Strange, quiet, often kept to herself -- but you always seemed to be there and thus the team saw you as belonging.

So why wouldn't you have been with them on the plane? Shauna had claimed a seat with Jackie [ "That's fine," you promised the Alpha shyly, cheeks pink when the taller woman beamed at you ], so you settled with Misty Quigley -- a strange Beta in her own right.

Everything had been a blur after the plane had taken off.

You woke up in excruciating pain in your left knee and your sinuses being crushed by the invasion of uncontrolled scents of death, of dying, angry Alphas and --

“Hey.” Hands encircled your cheeks and a comfort blanketed you. The familiar peach and vanilla scent [ Jackie, your hindbrain recognized on instinct, a rush of knowing filling you ] wrapped around you like a soothing second skin. "Oh, Watson," she murmured, tone cracking.

Watson. She was never a big reader -- but you had once convinced her to read some of the Sherlock Holmes books with you. The nicknames had stuck.

The air was so thick with distress from everyone around you that it was becoming so overwhelming, on top of the pain that was rippling down your knee in never-ending waves. A noise of your own distress was beginning to rise in the bottom of your throat as your sister's shaky hands stroked your face in an attempt to soothe.

"H-hurts," you garble out, eyes finally opening. You regret it instantly when you're greeted by Jackie's face above you spinning around in circles. She was bleeding from somewhere on her temple, blood fresh in a waterfall down the side of her cheek.

Something shifted slightly on her features -- or were you just imagining that?

"I know," the redhead responded, still keeping a careful hand on your cheek. You were no fool -- you could feel her shaking. "Don't look, okay? Are you cold?"

"A little," you murmured.

Jackie's scent suddenly soured, drowning out the surrounding scents but still choking you. You did not think she realized she was releasing it so strongly as she rapidly began to shift your shoulders closer into her lap. "Okay, okay . . . MISTY --"

The last thing you remember is hearing bloodcurdling screams that you would, in the future, come to understand were yours.

The cabin was blessing in not-so-great disguise. Coach Ben had lost an entire leg, some of the members of the team and another coach were lost in the process -- leaving behind two of his teenaged sons for your pack to care for. An unpresented boy, Javi, and a withdrawn Beta, Travis. They liquidated into the dynamic as well as they could considering what the shared experience was forcing on them.

You woke after initially passing out three days later, apparently, to a warm mid-day with Shauna hovering beside you. Most of the group was gone, Jackie included, but their scents were still fresh enough to tell you they hadn't been gone for more than an hour.

The scratching of paper had you weakly turning your head. Shauna was sitting dutifully at your side -- a couple of feet away -- writing in her journal with a furrowed brow and the side of her cheek sucked into her mouth.

For the first time since you were introduced to her by Jackie, she did not look like an Alpha. She just looked like . . . she simply looked like any other college girl, you'd surmised. Freckles dusted her face, but you wondered if, once the grime and injuries were washed off, more would reveal themselves to you.

Her scent was pleasant to your senses, as well, and had never irritated you like a lot of Alpha and Omega scents did. An earthy oak with an underlay of smoky that seemed to fit her just right.

You had been to doctors for scent sensitivity, an unusual ailment for Betas to be afflicted with. You had been tested for mis-presentation, underlying illnesses, and damaged sinuses. Nothing. You were just an outlier Beta -- sensitive to the other two presentations without having either of the traits to declare you either one.

You do not know how long you watched her, but you were eventually found out. A strand of hair shifted from her bun as she turned her head and met your gaze. She blinked in surprise as she instinctively shut her notebook.

"How long you been awake, Taylor?" she asked, setting the object to the side and turning her body to face you fully.

"Just a couple minutes," you rasp, pressing your shoulder upward against the tree you'd been leaned against so you could test your knee. "How bad?"

Her eyes drifted down to your knee, then back to your face. "Quigley has more medical expertise than we ever gave her credit for," she told you as she reached out to help you sit up, allowing you to escape the slumped over position you'd been in. "Your kneecap seems broken. She found some parts of the plane that had come apart during the crash and we worked to make a brace that would hopefully heal it."

Your eyes drift to your knee, splayed out straight. You noted your jeans had been torn to your upper thigh on that leg and some of the strips had been used to help tie a seatbelt from one of the plane's seats to a make-shift brace of a part of the plane.

"You won't be able to bend your knee very much, if it works right," Shauna added after a minute of silence as you stared at your injury.

"Okay," you said, swallowing. You hoped you weren't expressing too much anxiety in scent or body language as you came to comprehend your position right now. You're lucky at all they managed to get somewhat of a brace to try and work it out, but it may never heal right. Knee injuries were . . .

"At least I don't play soccer," you said with a shot toward humor when Shauna's hand drifted to your arm, radiating concern from her place near you.

Shauna snorted, and she seemed to be smiling at you a little more relaxed when you looked away from your knee and at her.

The girls who had left had returned in a jittery, excited mood. "We found a lake," Jackie told Shauna, eyes twinkling. "It's open skies and if a plane flies over they could see us. We could write an SOS on the shore.''

"Shouldn't we stay here?" you asked hesitantly from behind your sister. "What if a rescue team finds the crash? What if they're looking for us?"

Tai crossed her arms and kicked at some dirt. "We're running on rations and luck right now. The cabin is shelter until help gets us and the lake is a water source. We can make an HQ there at the very least."

It was hard to argue even as Jackie told everyone to lay out pros and cons of staying at the plane and going to the cabin. Eventually the pros of migrating to the new spot won out and everyone was given the afternoon to take what they wanted now and come back for the rest later.

Jackie had a familiar dusty pink backpack over her shoulder when she came striding over to you, a smirk on her face. "Ready to go on an adventure, Watson?"

You blinked. "Is that mine?"

She shrugged her shoulder with the backpack hoisted over it and confirmed, "Sure is. It has all your goodies in it. All you need to do is try standing up."

You rolled your eyes but felt tempted by the change of clothes you had in there alone. "No need to bribe me, Holmes. Get over here." You reached your hands out, looking pathetic you were sure.

The Alpha was oozing a smug confidence as she strides closer and wrapped her arm through yours and -- carefully -- hoisted you to your feet. You yelped out when you started putting pressure on both feet like you normally do, easing up on foot with the broken knee and allowing it to hover.

"Did any of your makeup survive?" you asked Jackie as you leaned into your older sister's warmth and letting her help you over to the gathering team.

The redhead scoffed in your ear. "I don't know. We're gonna come back later to search for more suitcases. Be happy I dragged your backpack out."

You kissed her cheek. "Best big sister in the world."

Jackie pretends to look disgusted when her free hand flew up to wipe her cheek, but the Alpha in her seemed pleased to provide for family -- or anyone -- who needed her help.

Lottie and Shauna hovered nearby the both of you as Jackie became your human crutch. Shauna in particular was aggravated as she hovered behind you and curled a lip at anyone who approached with an offer to help. Lottie simply became a comforting presence, talking to you as you tried to walk through the pain.

You knew the team was dragging slower because of you, but it’s not exactly like any of you were on a time crunch. The walk was filled with revive and hopeful chatter as the forest seemed to open up the closer you got to this cabin and the lake nearby.

And finally, you were rewarded. The view was breathtaking in and of itself — the wide open view, the singing of nearby birds, and even the lake looked welcoming.

Scents started to change from despair and uncertainty to excitement and joy as the girls started ripping away from the pack a few at a time to dart toward the shore of the lake.

Jackie squeezed your waist reassuringly, but urged you toward what you now realized was the cabin. It looked rather old, as though it hadn’t been cared for in years. It wasn’t in shambles but it would take effort on everyone’s part to make it livable while you waited for rescue.

Jackie helped you settle onto the front steps of the cabin and followed you down, resting against you like she knew what you needed was your sister’s comfort.

Shauna stayed nearby instead of meeting the rest of the pack at the lake, but Lottie had parted from you guys with a wave.

You placed your head on Jackie’s shoulder, watching the backpack she carried for you flop down on her other side. “Hey, checking in. How’s your knee?” she murmured.

“It hurts,” you admitted tiredly, reaching a hand down to rub at the injury wrapped together with spare parts and old shirts.

“I’m sorry, Watson,” Jackie started, unable to prevent the shakiness from entering her voice as she did, “I’m so fucking sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you . . .”

You swallowed when she started this line of thinking, of guilt-eating anxiety you saw overwhelm her before. You place a hand on hers in her lap, settling her rocking knees. “Jacks I don’t blame you,” you said quietly, glancing up to make sure Shauna wasn’t listening to close. She wasn’t, busy inspecting the sturdiness of the cabin’s porch beams.

“None of this is your fault,” you continued with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “Let’s not cause either of us more distress if we can prevent it. Please don’t let me be a contribute to a mental breakdown.”

A huffed breath of laughter from behind you. Shauna had perhaps been listening closer than you believed, not that you were discussing anything of sensitive nature.

You knew Jackie. Your sister, your greatest protector, your best friend. She carried the responsibility and wellbeing of her pack — her team — like it was a burden she alone had to endure. It made her both a great Alpha, one that can be assured reliable and capable, and her own greatest foe.

Shauna knew this too — she had been Jackie’s constant next to you in the redhead’s upbringing. They were attached at the hip even before they presented and instead of seeing one another as a threat they had each other’s backs. Jackie relied on Shauna to be another set of eyes on the team, to see and hear what she couldn’t. And Shauna — Shauna was a different Alpha that fit Jackie’s like a puzzle. They were a duo that couldn’t be challenged.

Bring in Lottie . . .

Lottie had come in during Jackie and Shauna’s first year of university. She had simply . . . “Slipped in,” Shauna offered during their break home and catching up with your family. “She slipped in. But she’s great.”

You weren’t positive Shauna wasn’t in love with the brunette Alpha, from the way she talked about her all the way to meeting her and seeing Shauna interact with her. They were different than Shauna and Jackie, or Jackie and Lottie.

They were an enigma you had always found fascinating but kept your eyes from wandering too dangerously.

Jackie had been talking, you not listening. You drifted off into your thoughts and only managed to get shaken out when you felt a nudge.

“Watson, you with me?”

You blinked at her. She watched you with mild concern, holding one of your ribbons from your backpack delicately in her hands and fiddling with it, twirling it around her fingers before loosening it and pulling at it.

“Sorry, yes I’m with you,” you respond with a futile attempt at hiding your brainwandering.

Jackie’s eyebrow quirked and a small smirk pulled her lips. “Liar,” she teased, but didn’t sound too upset. “Are you upset I didn’t take you to the lake?”

You shrugged. “I can go to the lake tomorrow, or when my knee is less sore. I don’t think I can walk that much again right now.”

Your sister nodded in agreement. “I didn’t think so. I don’t want the materials we’re using to get ruined if you swim and we just put them on . . . So I thought . . .”

“Good idea, as usual, Holmes,” you praised, offering a mock salute to which earned you a scoff.

1 /12 Years Later — Winter, The Wilderness

“More snowfall?” The voice of Jackie drags you out from a fitful sleep, the heat of the fire in the cabin forcing your eyes to remain closed.

“Bad,” Natalie’s cold-soaked voice rasped, half-muffled behind what was probably the scarf she used to keep her face covered from the piercing storm while she went hunting. “No visibility.”

For a moment the only sound that could be heard in the crowded cabin was the wood crackling from the fire. Then Jackie sighed. “Thank you for trying.”

“It’s the third day in a row.”

“I know, Nat. We’ll — we’ll work something out.” Jackie didn’t sound so assured, but her scent remained as steady and calm as she could when she was this concerned.

“We . . . I don’t want to have to . . . Again.”

“We may not have a choice,” your sister whispered, “but neither do I.”

It was a dismissal, and Nat shuffled through the cabin to get to her usual spot near the back window. You heard the press of her shoe near your head as she treaded lighter. Jackie rejoined you, and you allowed her movement to make you pretend that’s what woke you.

“Jackie?”

“Did I wake you?” The Alpha settled herself back into your shared nest. Your making with what few materials you had. You had considered discussing with Jackie about making a nest for the entire pack, for warmth; but so many people were on edge and you weren’t entirely sure how they’d take a Beta making the offer.

“No,” you lied, turning around and pushing yourself up on an elbow to gaze at your sister. She had bags under her eyes, shadowed by the firelight that danced off the corners of the cabin. “Have you slept?”

“No,” Jackie echoed though you feared she was being truthful in that regard, pulling her ragged blanket toward herself. “It’s getting . . . Well the snow isn’t getting lighter right now.”

You eyed her with suspicion simply from how she seemed to avoid saying exactly what she was thinking and the furrow of her brows.

“It’s going to be okay,” you vowed to her, reaching your hands out to warm them at the fire while your back was turned to her. “We’re going to be fine.”

Until you got sick.

The body aches and dizziness were what came first. Misty was adamant that you had no fever, even if you felt warmer inside of your own skin. Usually you tended to the fires and helped with laundry when your knee permitted it, but currently it was mid-afternoon and you could barely crawl out of bed.

Jackie was pacing like a rabid animal, unsure of how to help you but feeling unable to physically approach. She was avoiding you in the same breath that she was hovering from a distance.

You ate your rations when they were offered [ Melissa was the Wilderness’ choice this season, the sacrifice for greater success of the rest ]. You were ravenous, and though the piercing stomach pains were telling in your continued hunger, you did not mention it.

Sleep, food, wake to shiver and go to the bathroom. Repeat. Eyes were following your every movement, mostly from Shauna and Tai — like they were studying an animal at an exhibit. Shauna’s were shadowed over as though they were hiding something from everyone else. It terrified you and drew you to her — and somehow, her scent made your mouth water.

Another three days bouts of sleep and shakes was when the nesting started.

It took the team by surprise when you crawled out of your own barely shaped nest, created by whatever you and Jackie had managed to use as blankets and clothing when it was colder at night, and started seeking out items. You later would hardly remember any of it, just going on an instinct you didn’t know you had.

Lottie and Shauna’s scents stuck out the strongest and as the most soothing — so you went to their beds first. Neither of the Alphas, who stood near their beds, tried stop you [ nor did anyone else ] when you started grabbing small items from their makeshift beds.

You snagged something of Misty’s and Mari's— even though they were Betas — and you definitely may have something from Tai in the attack while she was out with Van.

It went unaddressed, but there was a fascination as the women watched you work. Your body was aching like it did when you first landed and yet you moved without even consciously thinking about it. Autopilot in full force and you do not remember much of it.

The fever eventually struck a day or two later and waking up that morning feeling it in its' entirety was a hectic one. Your burning eyes peeled open from a long sleep, and as your senses returned to you the barrage of aggression and tension filled every pore. The air was thick and when your eyes adjusted, you noted most girls moved with a cautious stiffness.

You did not see very much of it with Jackie apparently using her body as a sort of shield. You noticed, blearily, Melissa make hesitant movements past you and Jackie's body turned with each step, keeping herself as a wall between yourself and the other Alpha.

Claw-like sensations ripped at your lower back neck, urging you to try and make sense of your surroundings. Uneasy, nervous, you felt so many things and -- "Jacks?" you managed to slur, fists curling into the thick nest you had unknowingly made, "Jackie what's going on?"

Your voice seemed to snap her out of some sort of mindset. Her face angled slightly back toward you without moving the rest of her body. "Hey, Watson," she greeted softly, tone a lulling purr she used when she knew something had upset you, "How are you feeling?"

You started sitting up as she spoke and she moved quickly in response; a hand curling around your arm to help you. While her touch was usually welcome and encouraged, her fingers making contact with your skin set off a reaction you'd never experienced.

You whined lowly as the touch brought on a burn. Why did it feel wrong? Why did your stomach lurch, curl into sickly knots, urging you to pull away and bite at her fingers for daring to --

“You’re presenting.”

Lottie's announcement from her spot feet away was met with silence so intense that only the howling of the wind against the rafters of the cabin was heard.

Presentingpresentingpresenting—

Tai and Van were hunched with Nat near their spots by the front door, the Alpha and two Betas gazing your way with soft eyes, concerned frowns.

Not many of the other Alphas were in the cabin right now, you noted, as your eyes darted around.

No.

“Lottie,” Jackie snarled with warning, followed by a fast rise to her feet that momentarily left you exposed. Your head was spinning as Lottie got closer — oh, she was —

“As an Omega,” Lottie continued as though Jackie hadn’t said anything at all. Her dark eyes were steadily firm on you; an Alpha who was awful relaxed while supposedly in close proximity to an Omega in their first heat.

Your fingers dug into the nest you’ve created for yourself in your haze. Now you understood, with a sort of unrecognizable prick of satisfaction [ they're providing, pack is caring, a low purr you did not have days earlier echoed in your head ], the lack of protest in your doings — the Alphas not stopping you when you entered, uninvited, to their own beds to snag their warm clothes, the Betas who wouldn’t meet your gaze.

With that understanding also came a wave of dread that covered you like a thick sandstorm covers any form of life not smart enough to get out of the way. You sat on your knees as Lottie's never-ending gaze rest upon you with an expression you could not read.

And then tears filled your eyes. You lifted your hand to bite down on your knuckles to stifle the sounds -- but you could smell your own pheromones pouring out of you like the tears you cried. You were spiraling quickly, unable to yet control it and the overwhelming realization that your entire life as you knew it was changing.

"I didn't . . ." you whispered, choking on more tears, teeth sliding across your chapped knucklebone, "I had . . . no idea. I wouldn't have kept this . . ."

Jackie's head snapped back around to look at you fully and the panic in her eyes was not helping. She moved slow and crouched in front of you. "Oh, Watson, we know that. We know you didn't know. How could you?" She reached out a hand, as though to soothe a wild animal, but her scent -- normally a comfort you took readily -- was currently sour and had you rearing back from her offer.

Her expression revealed hurt, briefly, before she lowered her hands to her knees. "You must be . . . pretty deep into it if you can't stand the scent of me anymore," she said a little sadly.

You blinked owlishly at her, digesting her words and trying to connect them to what you learned about Omegas in biology. You recalled [ after a few moments of thought ] that Omegas in a heat cycle will suddenly reject the scents of Alphas or Betas they're related to, as their biology and the changes that came with a cycle began to prepare for said Omega to seek out a suitable mate. Familial scents would sour and attempts at comfort were met with resistance until after an Omega was mated or the cycle was over.

You had an Omega friend who commented on how disgusting her family smelled for days after she returned to classes after her first heat. It took a week for it to return to normal, she had told you.

You tried to give your sister an apologetic whine, crooning and deep with signs of distress. A noise you never knew you could produce -- you were a Beta for twenty one years of your life.

"We need to move her to the attic," Tai said from her spot. Your eyes moved to her and you breathed out in relief when the Alpha seemed to be showing little interest in you. You had suspected she mated with Van, but the lack of interest seems to prove your theory.

"My nest," you weakly protested, palms running along the pathetic little nest you made. Not that you had many options in the wilderness.

"We'll move it upstairs with you," Jackie promised, nodding at you. "Make it nice and cozy, less crowded."

The door opened suddenly and a snowy Shauna entered, bringing int he scent of fresh snow and the oak you familiarized her with. You were drawn to her so intensely like you were with Lottie.

She glanced at you very briefly before beating her shoes of snow and stalking over to Lottie. You watched intently as the two Alphas lowered their heads together and murmured something that you could not hear even when you strained to listen.

Jackie was a ball of nervous energy as the Alphas gave you space, and Jackie, to move your nest and belongings up into the attic. You couldn't help but feel as though you were being isolated for an illness . . . but the rational side of you that remained understood why this had to be done.

That didn't mean you hurt less as you were forced to recreate your nest and curl up ride out the pain on your own, away from your pack and processing what this meant for the future.

PART TWO

Again you absolutely do not know me if you know me.

[gazstations]

A Path Diverging

PART SEVEN of SERIAL KILLER AU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 CHAPTER SUMMARY

You grapple with the new reality while you try to figure out what to do.

♡ Chapter Warnings: Mentioned sexual themes but not detailed at all, talks of murders (duh), nothing extreme

◇ Note: Sorry this took so long, folks. My brain went dumb. But I think it's back some now.

○●○ SERIES MASTERLIST ♡ PREV ♡ NEXT

NAVIGATION MASTERLIST

♡◇♡◇♡◇♡◇♡

YOUR EYES WERE HEAVY WHEN YOU WOKE UP. Arms barely functioned. Heavy and numb against soft sheets. Your throat was achingly dry, feeling like a hole was drilled through, or someone just rubbed the tender esophagus raw. You smacked your lips together, swallowing rapidly and trying to produce saliva.

You went to reach for water that was at your bedside, but a hand dropped over yours. It was large, didn’t need too much pressure to pin yours back down. Your neck twinged with a rotten ache as you turned your head.

“It was for the best, dove,” Kyle spoke, eyes downcast as he watched you recoil just the slightest bit.

It all came back to you. The barrage of emotions bubbled in your stomach as doubt and caution filled your head. The men you had loved, had trusted, were filthy liars. Your heart pounded as you tried to make sense of it yet again. Yet, your mind was foggy, dialed down to low operating power from whatever it was they made you drink.

“You drugged me,” you rasped.

Kyle bit his lip, “Technically, John did.”

You went to move again. To grab something but remembered yet again, both hands were currently indisposed. The binding rubbed against the delicate flesh of your wrists with each movement. You tried to find a loophole, but you lived with experienced fighters. The bindings were tight and strong, not going to break under you. Not at this angle.

“We’re still the same people you know,” Kyle continued. “You just have to let us show you. John just needed you to calm down.

A tight, lackluster chuckle of disbelief left your lips. Was he serious? Nothing was the same anymore. Your lovers killed people right under your nose for a long time. While you just sat there obliviously. This wasn’t some quick apology. It was a clusterfuck.

“Was in your position before,” Kyle said softly. He brushed a hand over your cheek. Loving. Present. Comforting. You forced yourself not to lean into it. “I fought. Was a lot less composed than you are.”

“That supposed to comfort me?" You asked bitterly.

“You end up here regardless of what you do, dove,” Kyle warned. The delivery was saccharine sweet, but the words were haunting.

You felt upset in your belly, acid threatening to come up your esophagus. You didn’t want to be alarmed, to be afraid. Not of any of them. You had always felt secure. Now you wondered how much of your time together was a lie.

“Will you kill me if I run?” You asked quietly.

“No. No. We don’t hurt what we cherish,” Kyle assured. “We love you.”

You looked away. Your head was splitting open from the strain of stress on your heart. If you blinked hard enough or slapped your cheek, you would wake up to the reality you remembered. The one where you were content in the mudane life with your four partners. Not one where their side hobby left bile poisoning its way up your esophagus.

“Do you like it?” You asked. Did you really want to know that? He would most likely would say ‘yes’ and leave you with your throat plummeting into your stomach.

“No,” Kyle’s answer was surprisingly quick, and you looked back over at him.

“What? Then why-” Kyle cut you off before you could run yourself silly in your rambling thoughts.

“You and I didn’t get the same terms of negotiations, dove.”

That just left you with more unanswered questions. Kyle went rigid after that, shifting uncomfortably. You've known him long even to find his small tells. The downturn of only one side of his mouth, the straightening of his eyebrows, the faintest way he bit at his lip, and the way his right foot tapped just the slightest bit.

You went to reach a hand out, but remembered you're locked like some poor prisoner to the headboard. They didn't trust you. They believed enough that you were going to frighten and run. Yet you knew better. The ones that ran in the books always were the ones that ended up killed. Brutally, usually.

“Ky…maybe we-” the doorknob jiggled before you could continue.

John walked in, a plate of food in his hands and the familiar grin on his face. The kind that made the lines around his eyes deepen as they squinted and his cheeks to puff out. It was always such a sweet smile, and it had you feel horrible. There was a sinister energy beneath the grooves of his exterior facade, one that had you swallowing slowly as you eyed him.

He perched next to you on the bed, dipping his fork into the eggs that were on the plate. He pressed the fork against your lips, but you refused to open. Stubborness would only get you so far. Though, you couldn't forget that he literally drugged you. Just to keep you quiet about your discovery.

“Darling, you need to eat,” John chastised. He clenched his jaw, eyes narrowing the smallest bit.

You said nothing, but you were, admittedly, hungry.

“Do not play games…” John hissed.

He reached up and pinched the dimple of your cheeks, making your mouth open instinctively. He shoved the forked eggs into your mouth, watching closely. Once he watched your teeth mash the food into a digestible pulp, he hummed.

“It breaks my heart that you think we're any different because of what you know now,” John continued. He seemed genuinely upset, and you almost had the compulsive idea to apologize.

But you didn't.

Doubt hazed your thoughts, creating a murky field. You stood at one end, squinting through the fog, hoping to find some answers beyond the unsettling gray. Maybe something would manifest, come towards you, and guide your hand with its own.

Maybe it was Kyle. Your unsuspecting leverage.

There was something about the way Kyle was responding that wasn't right. Would he even give you answers if you asked? You wouldn't have known since John chose that time to appear. You hated that you fidgeted in his presence now.

What you and John had was endearing. He took care of you with a steady hand. Was wise and could always calm you by coaxing you into his lap. He was the solid foundation you clung to for so long.

Now you didn't know where you were going to land. Back in his arms or right into the concrete.

Maybe it wasn't a big deal. Maybe if you pretended, maybe-

No.

That would've been a direct insult to the victims. It was already bad enough living within the boundaries of their killing spot, but now you had to live with the fact that while you were playing house, your partners were two-faced.

Fuck, how many people have they killed?

“You kill people, John,” you finally found your voice, bitten back by layers of cracking cement. Your tongue was in your stomach as you manifested the strength to look at John.

“And you weren’t supposed to know that,” John said. He seemed calm, but you could see the clench of his jaw. “Johnny messed up, and we're dealing with it.”

Your stomach was unsettled. You didn’t like that. It wasn't Johnny’s fault he walked into the conversation that roused your suspicion. And, if anything, Simon was more at fault for the way he reacted with anger rather than shutting down your claims easily. But Johnny wasn't the top of the food chain in your little relationship, so it was easy to pick on him. Of course, Simon wasn't going to be blamed for any of this.

Why were you even defending Johnny in your mind, though? He was still a killer alongside them. For all you knew, the same vileness infected his blood as well. Was it always there, or did someone craft that type of evil? If you had to guess, John would be the one that put it all together. That was easy to assume, considering he was the eldest and most natural leader. You weren’t too sure it mattered, however. A killer was a killer.

You were trying not to have sympathy.

“So, I'm your prisoner now?” You asked, pulling on your binds for emphasis.

“Just a precaution, dove,” it was Kyle that spoke this time.

You frowned.

That was just the same as confirming what you asked. You never felt demeaned by them, but at that moment, you did. It was an unnatural feeling after a blissful time with them. The honeymoon stage ended abruptly, you supposed. You felt like a sheep surrounded by wolves, considering you were lesser than them simply because they had the knowledge and you didn't.

You despised it.

“Just need you to stop throwing a fit, darling,” John spoke as his deep blue eyes analyzed your face closely. It was penetrating, making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Was it fear or animosity? “Then I will undo those binds, and we can resume exactly as we were.”

“You think I'm just going to accept murder?” You asked incredulously.

Was he serious? This wasn’t some admission of thieving when they were three years old. This was comtinuous looping murderous sprees that made you want to vomit up your insides. It was no walk in the park.

You wondered how you could miss all the signs. They were good at hiding it, though. It was a dreadful thought. One that made your blood run cold. All this time, you were oblivious to the monsters that went bump in the night.

But it also made sense. The way John always steered you from the backyard sometimes. How Kyle always asked about how your writing was going, specially about the crime aspect. The way Simon had questionable nicks sometimes–easy to overlook when he was always getting dirty. Or the way Johnny always took you away from the house to go get food.

Is that when they dragged the bodies in? When you were halfway through a milkshake and burger with your partner chatting happily across from you.

The plate of food in John's hands suddenly felt like they were full of squirming maggots. You no longer had an appetite. Not that you had much of one before.

Kyle put a hand on your back and rubbed your trembling body. You couldn’t exactly run away from his touch, so you sat there in defeat.

“She needs a bath,” Kyle told John. “She's spooked. It will help her calm down.”

“Reckon you're right, eh?” John agreed. “You want Kyle to bathe you, darling?”

You shook your head. You didn’t want a bath. You wanted out of here.

“How about Johnny? Though, I doubt he'll be very relaxing? Mutt will be all on you begging for forgiveness,” John suggested.

“I can do it myself,” you declared. “I don't need help.”

John frowned. The lines on his face got deeper, and you swallowed. You knew immediately that you said the wrong thing. John's energy was commandeering. If it fluctuated, so did everything else. Easy to feed off of. Easy to be manipulated by.

“Okay. Kyle can do it,” you relented.

John kissed your forehead. He smiled, and you instinctively returned it before you dropped the expression. “Good girl, darling,” he cooed. “Don't get shy on us now.”

He glanced up at Kyle, and the younger man nodded. He picked himself off of the side of the bed, his impression still imbeded into the firm mattress. You watched him go into the bathroom, leaving the door wide open. Allowing you to see his backside as he bent over to turn on the water.

You saw John move next to you. “Don't make me regret letting these go,” John said as he undid your binds. “Be good now. You always have been.”

Why did that feel so condescending?

You stumbled towards the bathroom, still a little dizzy from whatever John had drugged you with earlier. Kyle smiled at you when you entered the space and walked towards you. “Bath bomb or not?” He asked thoughtfully as you stared at the filling tub.

“Um. Sure…” you mumbled.

Kyle nodded and opened a cabinet and grabbed the collection of bath bombs you all had. You and Kyle used them most. Though, sometimes, John indulged as he liked the smells and how it made his skin feel afterward.

You glanced back to find John gone, though you still felt like someone was watching you. Or maybe you were just paranoid. You shook your head and turned back to Kyle.

He approached you after dropping the bomb into the tub, letting it dissolve into a bubbly essence. He gripped the hem of your shirt and looked at you. “Off this goes, dove,” he said.

You held your arms up, and Kyle pulled the shirt over your head. You didn’t miss the way his deep, analyzing eyes roved over your body. They all looked at you in a way that made you feel the cool structure of your skeleton. You were aware of everything because they seemed to glimpse beneath the ridges of your skin and into the very essence of you. Especially Kyle and Simon. They were the best at prying you apart. Limb for limb. Organ to bone. Bone to soul.

Kyle bent the distance it took to curl his dexterous fingers beneath the waistband of your bottoms. He kissed at your shoulder as he peeled everything off. You let him, unable to resist the desire to be taken care of. It made you sad to think that you might not have the simple loving caress of your partners after a while.

Everything had to fall apart eventually, right?

You let out a soft noise of surprise when Kyle suddenly cupped the warm flesh between your legs. Your core tightened for a moment, knowing the familiar touch and subconsciously begging for it. To your dismay, Kyle pulled away as quickly as he touched you.

“I won’t do anything while you’re still worked up, dove,” he said in a low timbre as he pressed one kiss to the delicate vein running through your neck. “C'mon…”

You watched with parted lips as Kyle pulled away and started undressing as well. Your eyes trailed up his body as every solid muscle was revealed. Yoy swallowed, unable to stop the involuntary response. It killed you that Kyle also wasn't indulging, but he seemed to be aware of your staring when he grinned over his shoulder at you.

He got in the tub first, letting out a content sigh as the water level rose due to his weight. He then blinked over at you and motioned for you to move.

You did, sliding into the warm bath and between his legs. The bath was custom-made to fit the mountains that you were surrounded by. Not a single one fit in a regularly sized bathtub. Well, a bigger tub meant more positives.

Kyle pulled you onto his chest, enveloping your body with his presence. Your mind was at war as his large, veiny hands ran up the now dampened flesh of your arm. He was respectful, simply touching you rather than pressing for more.

Despite the situation, you found yourself sinking into it as the seconds passed. You couldn’t help it. Kyle was always comforting, humming softly behind you as he rested his back against the back of the tub and cradled you against his chest protectively.

You relished in it selfishly for as long as you could because this would be the last time you did.

°•○●○•°

TAGLIST

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[melancholy-of-nadia]

heart on the window FINALE (m) | ksj

title: heart on the window (m) pairing: ksj x reader(f) rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; roommates au / streamer/cam boy au / office worker au, childhood rivals to awkward roommates to lovers? au summary: You got the job! ... but at what cost. A long year living with Seokjin comes to an end, and so does camming with him and any contact with him as well. It's time to move on with your new job at Netflix, finally feeling like life is moving forward though something is missing. note: this is the end line!! i hope you enjoy the finale! happy jin echo day!! warnings: end of the house party drama mess, big fight drunk fight, sad move out from jin's place, breakup (they were never together) sex, shower sex, off cam, final cam stream, a lot of sad internal monologues from jin and reader, moving on??, distancing, namjoon x reader?, date, convos with yunjin and wendy, a year timeskip because they suck at feelings, final confessions, i don't want to spoil more etc. drop date: May 15th, 3:00pm pst word count: 12.8k crossposted on ao3 here <- chapter 6 | THE END | special chapter - -

“You… you got the job? Congrats…” Jin repeats, his voice uncertain, almost like he doesn’t believe his own words. Then, for a split second, doubt crosses his face—like he’s afraid he sounds anything but supportive.

But you barely register it. Your mind is spinning too fast, a relentless, pounding blur of everything that’s happened in the last fifteen minutes.

God, the alcohol is hitting way too hard now. Your head pounds. Your stomach churns.

“Uh, yeah… thanks,” you say, voice unsteady. The words feel foreign coming out of your mouth, like you’re speaking from underwater. “I just—”

A sudden wave of dizziness crashes over you.

“Agh,” you gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as the world tilts beneath your feet.

Jin steps forward immediately, hands hovering near your arms. “Whoa—hey, Y/N, are you okay?”

You’re not.

Your thoughts won’t stop—rapid, repetitive, overlapping in a frantic, endless loop:

Netflix job. You just got offered the job.

Seokjin just fucking kissed you with no explanation.

Moving away.

Seokjin’s place.

The party going on outside this room.

Seokjin’s unknown intentions.

Both of your friends sensing something off.

Seokjin and you camming and fucking.

Exes. Stress. Netflix job. You just got offered the job.

Seokjin just kissed you with no explanation.

Moving away. Seokjin’s place.

The party outside. Seokjin’s unknown intentions.

Both of your friends sensing something off.

Seokjin and you camming and fucking.

Exes. Stress.

Seokjin. 

Seokjin.

Your breath catches, stomach twisting violently. The room feels too small, like the walls are closing in, like everything is pressing down on you all at once.

You need to get out.

Now.

In a frantic blur, you push past Jin, making a beeline for the door. Your fingers barely brush the handle before—

Jin steps in front of you, blocking your exit.

“H-Hey, I’m sorry, I’m just— I’m not feeling well,” you blurt out, voice strained. You clutch your head, wincing. “Can you just go back to the party?”

Jin’s brows knit together, concern deepening in his gaze. “What? No—Y/N, you’re obviously not okay. What’s hurting? Just tell me what you need—”

“I need you to leave,” you cut in, more sharply than intended. “Please, Jin. I just… I just need a second.”

Jin doesn’t budge. His lips press into a tight line, eyes searching yours. “Why are you pushing me away?”

His voice isn’t angry. It isn’t teasing.

It’s something else. Something softer.

Something that makes your chest ache.

But you can’t deal with that right now.

“I just—” You suck in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to stay upright. “I need space, Jin.”

A long pause.

Then, slowly, Jin exhales through his nose. His expression shifts—just barely. His jaw tenses, but after a lingering second, he steps aside.

“…Fine,” he mutters.

He lingers for a moment, like he wants to say something else. But then he shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, and turns toward the door.

“Just don’t pretend you’re fine when you’re not,” he says quietly.

And then, he’s gone.

The door clicks shut.

And finally, finally, you let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

But it doesn’t help.

Because the second you’re alone, the weight of everything crashes down even harder.

Your legs give out beneath you, and you sink onto the edge of the wall next to the door, head in your hands.

Your pulse is erratic. Your hands tremble.

You don’t know if you want to scream, cry, or just close your eyes from the overwhelming pressure you’re feeling right now.

But you do know one thing.

Nothing is ever going to be the same after tonight.

You’re not the only one with too much on your mind.

Jin steps back into the party, the bass of the music thrumming through the floor, the warmth of bodies pressing in around him, yet all of it feels strangely distant. Like he's watching the scene unfold from behind glass.

His head is spinning—not from the alcohol, not entirely—but from the reality that just crashed into his lap.

You got the job.

The words replay over and over, each time sinking in a little deeper, a little heavier.

You’re leaving. Maybe not immediately, but soon.

That door you once saw as an escape hatch has finally opened, and for the first time, Jin realizes he never wanted you to walk through it.

The Netflix office isn’t far from his place, but logic tells him you’ll want to move closer. And why wouldn’t you? It makes sense.

But knowing that doesn’t make it easier to swallow.

His jaw tightens as he pushes through the crowd, forcing himself to look collected, normal, like nothing inside him is unraveling. He’s barely taken a step into the living room when Namjoon, Yoongi, and your friends spot him.

“Seokjin! How’s Y/N?” Namjoon asks, concern laced in his tone.

Jin tugs at the collar of his shirt, his throat suddenly dry. “She was feeling nauseous. Got a little overwhelmed.”

“Oh no! Is she okay? I can go check on her—” Yunjin starts, already turning toward the hall.

“No!” Jin’s voice is too sharp, too forceful. It startles everyone, including himself.

A beat of silence follows, and he quickly smooths his expression, schooling his tone into something more neutral. “I mean… she said she wanted some space. She looked exhausted, so I think she’s calling it a night.”

It’s half-true.

You’re overwhelmed. Probably still reeling from everything that happened in the last hour. The job offer. The kiss. The weight of an entire future shifting in real-time.

And Jin?

Jin is trying to pretend it doesn’t affect him.

But deep down, he knows he’s been bracing for this moment since you first showed up at his door. He’s watched you pour yourself into job applications, practice interview answers, take skill courses late into the night, anything to build the career you’ve been dreaming of.

He should be happy for you. And he is. He really is.

But there’s a small, selfish part of him—the one that still remembers every moment with you, every fleeting touch, every night spent tangled together under dim lights—that aches.

Because this is it.

Your exit ticket.

The chance to leave, to move forward, to disappear from his life once again.

You were never one to keep in touch. He knows that.

If it weren’t for your moms staying in contact all these years, he doubts you would’ve crossed paths again at all. The idea of it twists something deep in his chest.

He’s always been a little soft for you, even as kids. Even through the teasing, the bickering, the playful fights that turned into something else entirely.

And despite the years, despite the distance, time never really dulled his feelings.

He dated other women, of course. Wendy included.

He cared about her, respected her. Wendy is truly a great catch after all. Their breakup wasn’t achingly painful, not in the way losing you will be. It was sad and disappointing, for sure. He wasn’t blind to how he’d let things fall apart just because he put his gaming company job above all else. But the hurt he felt wasn’t about her leaving.

It was about himself.

Was he just… not enough?

If you had been in Wendy’s place, would you have left him too? Would you have grown bored of him, and realized he wasn’t what you wanted? Realizing that his desires and likes were too odd and unique for any girl for that matter.

That doubt festered for years, and then you came crashing back into his life.

And when you found out his secret—that he made money through camming—he thought for sure you’d be disgusted. Instead, you surprised him. You were intrigued, fascinated even. And eventually, you crossed the line.

And so did he.

And now?

Now, Jin has no idea where you stand.

His thoughts swirl, thick and heavy, as he sinks onto the couch. He can hear the guys around him, their conversation humming in the background, but the words blur together. His head tips back, eyes slipping shut for just a moment, the weight of alcohol and exhaustion pressing down on him. Yet, he decides to pick another drink. And another. And another.

By the time he blinks himself back into focus, the party has dwindled.

It’s nearing 2 a.m. now, and most of the guests have cleared out. Only Yoongi, Yunjin, and Wendy remain, standing near the door.

Yunjin crosses her arms, eyes sharp as she looks at Jin. “I don’t know what happened or what you did, but we have to head back to our hotel and rest because we have other plans in the morning,” she says, her voice leaving no room for argument. “I know how Y/N gets when she isolates herself, so please, Seokjin, check on her later and take care of her.”

She doesn’t wait for his response before turning on her heel and walking out.

But Wendy lingers.

She hesitates, biting her lip before finally taking a breath.

“Jin… I don’t know if I did anything to cause tension—between you and her—because of our past. But please let her know I mean no harm.” Her voice is soft, careful. “I feel like now’s not the best time to talk about this, but, reach out to me to catch up, alright?”

Jin meets her gaze.

For a long moment, he just watches her.

Then, finally, he nods. “…Yeah. I will.”

He still has her number, though in his old phone. He’ll reach out once he’s able to feel more comfortable doing so.

Wendy looks like she wants to say more. Maybe ask something, maybe clarify something. But instead, she just gives him a lingering look before stepping out the door, closing it in the process.

And then, silence.

The house, once buzzing with life, is eerily still.

Jin exhales, running a hand through his hair.

He should clean up. He should go to bed.

But instead, he just sits there.

Because for the first time in a long time, he feels like he’s already losing you.

Yoongi still there, hunched over his phone, tapping out a beat with practiced ease, but he’s only half-focused. He glances up at Jin slouched on the couch, eyes distant, fingers gripping the cushion like it's the only thing keeping him tethered. With a sigh, Yoongi locks his phone and sets it down.

“You look fucking pathetic.”

He pushes himself up and starts gathering the discarded cups and bottles littering the living room, tossing them into the overflowing trash can in the kitchen. The rhythmic clatter of plastic and glass fills the silence between them.

Jin exhales sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s because I am.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother sugarcoating it. “What happened? You brooding like this because you’re in your feelings, or did something actually go down in her room?”

Jin hesitates.

Does he even have the right to talk about this? About you? About the life-changing opportunity that just landed in your lap?

His gaze flickers toward the hallway. The door to your room is shut, silent. If he knows anything about you—and after these months of living together, he does—it’s that you’re probably passed out by now. Alcohol always hits you hard, and the weight of tonight must have drained you completely.

At least, he hopes you’re asleep. He hopes you didn’t cry yourself there.

He swallows, choosing his words carefully. “We fought. Then we made out. Then she got a call—Netflix offered her a job.”

Yoongi stills, eyebrows lifting.

Jin presses his lips together, jaw tight. “And then she had a panic attack and kicked me out of the room.”

A beat of silence.

“Oh.” Yoongi pauses mid-step, fingers tightening around the empty beer cans he’s holding before he exhales through his nose. “Well, shit.” He dumps the trash into the bin with a hollow clatter. “That’s a hell of a sequence of events.”

Jin huffs out a laugh, humorless and dry. “Yeah.” He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “Tell me about it.”

Yoongi eyes him for a moment before heading back to the couch, sinking into the spot beside Jin. He doesn’t say anything right away, just pulls out his phone and taps at the screen, as if looking for the right words.

Jin doesn’t know what to say either. His mind is still a mess, tangled up in the events of the night, replaying over and over. Your lips on his, the way you clung to him like you needed him just as much as he needed you—then the sheer panic in your eyes when reality came crashing down.

And that fucking phone call.

A golden opportunity, the very thing you’ve been working toward, and it hit you like a freight train instead of a celebration.

Jin sighs, rubbing his face with both hands. “I don’t know what to do, man.”

Yoongi finally looks up from his phone, a brow arched. “About what?”

“About… all of it.” Jin gestures vaguely, as if that somehow explains the storm in his head. “She’s leaving.”

“She got a job, Seokjin. That’s a good thing.”

“I know that.” His voice comes out sharper than he intends, but Yoongi doesn’t flinch. Just waits. “I know that,” he repeats, quieter this time. “She deserves it. She worked her ass off for this.”

“But?”

Jin swallows.

“But I don’t want her to go.”

Yoongi sighs, leaning back against the couch. “Yeah. Thought so.”

Jin stays silent, staring at the floor.

“You gonna tell her that?” Yoongi asks after a beat.

Jin scoffs. “And say what? ‘Hey, I know this is your dream job and all, but could you maybe stay here and keep fucking me instead?’”

Yoongi snorts, shaking his head. “Jesus. Maybe not that wording.”

Jin exhales sharply, slumping against the couch.

Yoongi taps his fingers against his knee, considering something. “Look,” he finally says. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, and honestly? I don’t think you do either.”

Jin opens his mouth to argue, but Yoongi cuts him off.

“I do know that you need to figure your shit out before it’s too late.” His voice is even, but firm. “Before she’s packed up and gone, and you’re stuck here wishing you had said something.”

Jin’s chest tightens.

Because that’s exactly what he’s afraid of.

Yoongi decides to crash on the couch, too tired to make the trip home at this hour. Before he dozes off, he mutters something about Jin needing to stop being a coward and say what he really feels. Jin doesn't respond, he just stares at the ceiling, drowning in his own thoughts before also falling asleep.

By the time the sun rises, Yoongi is already up and gone, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of his Invictus cologne and a lazily folded blanket on the couch. Jin doesn’t dwell on it. Instead, he gets to work, cleaning up whatever remnants of the party are still scattered around the apartment. Empty bottles, forgotten jackets, a stray phone charger. It gives him something to focus on, something to do—because if he sits still for too long, his mind circles back to you.

To last night.

By the time he’s done tidying, he’s moving onto breakfast, stirring a pot of haejang-guk (hangover soup) on the stove when he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps behind him.

You.

Waddling into the kitchen, looking half-asleep and disheveled, dressed in a faded Sex Pistols t-shirt that hangs loose on your frame and a pair of soft, hot pink shorts that—fuck—leave way too much of your legs on display for him.

You move straight to the fridge, pulling out a cold bottle of water, cracking it open and taking a long sip. You don’t notice him right away, but when you finally glance up, your entire body stiffens.

Jin’s standing at the stove, stirring the pot, hair slightly messy from sleep, wearing sweats and a plain black t-shirt that clings to his broad shoulders.

Your heart does an embarrassing little flip.

Oh. Right. Last night.

The sheer panic that overtook you. The way you shoved him out. The fact that he kissed you before that—before your entire world was upended by one phone call.

You were too overwhelmed to process it all then, too drunk to even begin forming coherent thoughts. But now? Now you feel... clearer. Hungover, sure, but rational. Maybe now you can finally piece together what to say.

You need to ask him about that kiss, because what was all of that about?! Why did he do that?

You mentally repeat to yourself that you’re going to ask about this, but when Jin glances up, eyes locking onto yours, just like that, your carefully assembled train of thought derails entirely.

“I–Uh, good morning…” you mumble.

Fuck. "Morning. I made hangover soup for us."

For us.

Ah! Now, how the hell can you even bring this up? Your grip tightens around the bottle of water as you shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the apartment feels now. No music, no voices, no party—just the soft bubbling of the pot on the stove and the occasional scrape of Jin’s spoon against the metal.

You should say something. Acknowledge something. Last night. The job offer. The kiss.

But all you manage is a nod, stepping closer to peek into the pot. 

Maybe you should just wait until he brings it up? Or just bring it up another time before you move. You need to eat something now.

The scent of rich broth and soft tofu fills your senses, warm and grounding. Jin ladles some into a bowl and sets it on the counter in front of you.

"Eat," he says simply, sliding a spoon your way.

You hesitate, but only for a second. The first sip is heaven—warm, salty, soothing against the dull ache in your head. You let out a quiet sigh, and Jin chuckles under his breath.

"That good, huh?"

"Shut up," you mutter, but there's no real bite to it.

Silence falls between you again, but this time, it’s not as suffocating.

Jin sits across from you on a stool, eating his own bowl, eyes flickering toward you every so often like he’s waiting for you to speak. Waiting for you to bring it up.

And maybe he’s right. Maybe it should be you. Maybe this is the moment to clear the air, to figure out where things stand between you now.

You set your spoon down. Take a breath.

"I—"

But before you can finish, Jin beats you to it.

"Are you really taking the job?"

Unexpected question, you’d thought he’d bring up the kiss first, out of all things.

"Huh? I mean, I gotta take the job. I haven't worked…professionally in months. Why wouldn't I take the job?" 

Jin sets his spoon down, his fingers drumming against the countertop as he watches you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a slight tension in his jaw, a flicker of something behind his eyes. Something he’s trying to suppress. 

"I don’t know," he says finally, voice even. "You just seemed... overwhelmed last night."

You blink at him, then scoff lightly. "Of course I was overwhelmed. I was drunk, we were arguing, I got a job offer out of nowhere, and you—" You pause, heat creeping up your neck.

Jin raises an eyebrow. "I...?"

You swallow. He’s really going to make you say it, huh? "You kissed me."

Jin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look away, but he doesn’t rush to explain himself either. Instead, he leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the counter. "And you kissed me back."

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Because—fuck. He’s not wrong.

But could he focus on that instead of making a fuss about your new job!? You want answers, but you’re also not going to push if he’s just not going to do that first.

Jin tilts his head, studying you, and then sighs. "Look, I’m happy for you. Really, I am. You worked your ass off for this." His fingers tap against the counter again. "But I just—I guess I didn’t expect it to happen so soon."

You frown. "It’s not like I planned it either."

"I know." He exhales sharply through his nose, ruffling his bangs. "And it’s not like I’m trying to hold you back, but…"

"But what?"

Jin hesitates. And for the first time since this conversation started, you see it—the crack in his composure, the barest flicker of something else.

He shakes his head. "Never mind."

"Jin." You push your bowl aside, heart pounding just a little faster. "Just say it."

He looks at you for a long moment, then rubs the back of his neck, glancing away. "It’s just—I guess I was getting used to having you around again."

Your breath catches.

"And now you’re gonna be gone," he adds quietly.

A lump forms in your throat. You grip the edge of the counter, staring down at your hands as a new kind of unease settles over you.

Because the worst part?

You were getting used to him too.

“...But maybe this is a good thing," you say, voice quieter now. "I feel like I need some space.” You keep your eyes on your hands, tracing an invisible pattern against the counter, afraid to meet his gaze.

“Space?” Jin repeats, like the word itself is foreign.

“To grow… to move forward. Life has felt kind of stagnant.”

Jin lets out a short, dry scoff. “Has it really? Has life felt stagnant here? The last few months…we—" He shakes his head. "Did none of this mean anything to you?"

It has meant something.

More than you ever expected. It’s given you back the confidence you didn’t even realize you lost. It’s helped you rediscover yourself and explore your desires in ways that felt safe and natural because it was with him.

"It did," you admit, forcing yourself to look up at him. "But like any job, when time starts running out, you start looking for the next thing. That’s just where I’m at now."

Jin’s lips press together, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, finally, he nods. "I get it," he says, but there’s something heavy in his tone, something almost... resigned. "So... I guess that means we’re done camming, then?"

Something about hearing it put so plainly makes your stomach twist. 

It started out as something so outrageous, just to take up the challenge.

But damn, you really did get used to this—to him.

"Yeah," you exhale, trying to ignore the ache in your chest. "That’s the next step. I’m back in my professional field now, and if I stay at Netflix long enough, I could actually be somebody there. So I’d rather not have the sexiest part of my quarter-life crisis come back to haunt me."

That finally earns a laugh from Jin, even if it’s brief. "That’s a shame," he sighs, rolling up his sleeves and heading toward the sink. "We never did figure out a way to stream shower sex on cam."

“Seokjin!” Your gasp is immediate, scandalized, but also, if you're being honest, just a little turned on.

He smirks, unbothered. "What? I’m just saying. Missed opportunity."

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words slip out—half joking, half serious.

"I mean… we could still do it."

Jin pauses mid-rinse, fingers still gripping the dish in his hands. Then, slowly, he turns his head, eyes narrowing with intrigue.

"One last hurrah," you add, teasing. But there’s an edge of challenge in your tone.

You haven’t had sex with him off camera since the first time he fucked you when he discovered you masturbating to his stream. All sexual activities have been restricted to the livestream to keep that emotional/mental barrier with each other up. This would be the second time you guys do this without others watching…if he decides to indulge in this.

And by the way Jin’s gaze darkens, he definitely hears it too.

He sets the dish down in the sink, shaking off the excess water from his hands as he turns to face you fully. His expression is unreadable at first—lips slightly parted, eyes flickering with something unreadable but intense. Then, his tongue swipes across his lower lip, and you know exactly where his mind has gone.

"You serious?" His voice is low, careful.

You hesitate for just a second. Not because you don’t want to, but because the reality of what you just suggested settles in, and it sends a ripple of anticipation down your spine.

"Why not?" you say, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, playing at nonchalance even as your body betrays you—the way your thighs squeeze together just a little, the way your breath hitches. "One last time. Just for fun."

Jin exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. But then he steps closer, bridging the space between you with deliberate slowness. His fingertips ghost over the hem of your shorts, barely there.

"You say ‘one last time,’ but we both know how that goes," he murmurs, eyes locked onto yours.

His hands slide to your hips, pulling you flush against him. He’s warm, solid, and already you can feel the way his body reacts to the proximity. You swallow hard, heart thudding against your ribs.

"Then let’s just not think about it too much," you whisper, tilting your chin up slightly. "Just... take me to the shower. I need to take a shower anyways."

Jin doesn’t need to be told twice.

In a blur, he grips the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up effortlessly, and your legs wrap around his waist as he strides toward his bathroom. It's big enough to fit the both of you unlike your own en-suite bathroom.

Your back presses against the cool tile wall, a contrast to the heat blooming between you, and Jin's mouth is on yours before you can take another breath—hot, demanding, hungry.

His fingers are already slipping beneath your shirt, teasing along your bare skin, and you gasp into the kiss, clutching at his shoulders as he grinds against you.

"Hope you weren’t actually planning to shower," he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with amusement and arousal.

"Jin," you whimper, already half-lost in the sensation of his hands roaming your body.

"Yeah, yeah, I got you," he chuckles darkly, and then he’s reaching for the faucet, turning the water on full blast.

The warm spray hits your skin, but the heat between you burns hotter. And as Jin’s mouth trails down your neck, his hands already tugging at your soaked clothes, you know—this last hurrah is about to be anything but tame.

Steam rises in thick waves around you, curling against the glass shower door, but it’s nothing compared to the heat between you and Jin. His mouth moves against yours, hungry and insistent, hands already roaming under the hem of your soaked t-shirt, fingers grazing over your damp skin.

"I’m gonna make you never forget this last time,'" he mutters, lips brushing against yours, teasing.

You shiver—not from the water cascading down your back but from the way his fingers tighten around your hips.

"Jin—" you start, but he’s already lifting your shirt, peeling it off your body and tossing it out of the shower. The cool air hits your bare skin, but it doesn’t last long before his hands are on you again, palms gliding down your sides, his touch possessive.

His mouth trails down the column of your neck, hot and wet, as his fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts. He tugs them down slowly, teasing you with the friction of the fabric sliding against your thighs before they hit the wet tile with a dull thud. You kick them away blindly, more focused on the way Jin takes you in. His eyes dark, pupils blown with something raw and unfiltered.

"Fuck," he murmurs, hands dragging over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading the softness of your thighs.

"Your turn," you breathe, reaching for the hem of his drenched shirt. You yank it up and over his head, reveling in the way the water beads down his toned chest.

Jin grins, though it falters slightly when your fingers dip into the waistband of his sweats. You make quick work of them, shoving them down along with his boxers, and suddenly there’s nothing between you but heat and urgency.

Before you can even think, Jin’s hands are on your waist again, spinning you effortlessly and pressing you against the shower wall. The cool tile is a sharp contrast to the warmth of his body caging you in, chest flush against your back, one hand braced against the wall beside you while the other slides over your stomach, dipping lower.

"You sure about this?" he murmurs against your ear, voice thick with something dangerous.

You nod, breathless, your hands splayed against the tiles. "Yeah. No cameras, no audience. Just us getting out whatever final pleasures we have left in us."

Jin groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he lines himself up, teasing you for a moment before rolling his hips forward, sinking into you with one slow, deep thrust.

A strangled moan escapes your lips, your body arching against the wall as he fills you completely. The feeling is almost overwhelming—the heat of the water, the way he stretches you perfectly, the way his grip tightens on your hips as he starts to move.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Jin groans, pressing his mouth to your shoulder, his thrusts slow at first, deliberate, making you feel every inch of him.

The sound of the water hitting the tiles mixes with the slick sounds of your bodies moving together, the heat of the shower amplifying everything—the way his hands grip your thighs, the way his mouth drags along your spine, the way he groans your name like a prayer.

Your fingers press against the wall for support as his pace picks up, his thrusts hitting deeper, harder, pulling desperate gasps from your lips. The sensation builds rapidly, pleasure curling low in your stomach, threatening to spill over.

"Jin—I’m—"

"I know," he pants, his own breath ragged, his movements growing more erratic. "Me too—fuck—"

And then everything shatters.

Pleasure crashes over you in waves, your body trembling as you cry out, clenching around him. Jin follows right after, groaning into your neck as he stills, his body shuddering against yours.

For a long moment, neither of you move. The water beats down on your overheated skin, and Jin rests his forehead against your shoulder, breaths heavy, arms still locked tight around you.

The aftershocks still pulse through you, leaving you breathless and spent against the cool tiles. But he isn’t finished.

Before you can fully regain your senses, he shifts, strong hands gripping your waist as he pulls out, only to turn you toward him. Your back meets the slick glass of the shower door, the warmth of the steam making it fog up around you. Jin’s body is pressed flush against yours, the heat of his skin searing against the wetness of yours.

He leans in, lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that reignites the fire in your belly. One of his hands trails downward, skimming over the curve of your hip before gripping the back of your thigh. With ease, he lifts your leg, hooking it around his waist as he presses forward again, burying himself inside you in one deep thrust.

You gasp against his lips, hands flying up to grip his shoulders for support. The new angle sends pleasure sparking through your nerves, and when your eyes flutter open, they land on the large bathroom mirror just beyond the shower glass.

From this view, you can see everything—Jin’s body pressing into yours, the way your skin is slick and flushed from the heat, the way his muscles flex with every movement. His dark eyes meet yours in the reflection, filled with raw hunger, a smirk tugging at his lips when he notices where your attention has drifted.

"Like what you see?" he murmurs, voice rough with desire.

Your only response is a whimper as he thrusts deeper, his free hand sliding up your body to cup your breast, fingers rolling your nipple between them. The contrast of the warmth of his palm against the cool air makes you arch into his touch, your head falling back against the fogged-up glass.

Jin groans, his grip on your thigh tightening as he quickens his pace, his hips snapping against yours, the wet sounds of your bodies moving together echoing through the steamy bathroom. Each thrust pushes you harder against the glass, the coolness against your burning skin only amplifying the sensation.

Watching it unfold in the mirror only heightens the pleasure—the way his body moves, the way your own writhes beneath him, the way his hand greedily kneads your breast, thumb flicking over your hardened nipple as he fucks you relentlessly.

"Jin—fuck," you gasp, nails digging into his back, leaving half-moon indentations in his slick skin.

"Look at us," he commands, voice strained as he fights to hold himself back, to prolong the moment. "Look at how good we look together."

You do. And it’s almost too much—the sight of his body pressed so intimately against yours, the way his jaw clenches as he watches himself disappear into you over and over again.

His fingers tighten around your thigh as his thrusts grow erratic, each movement slamming you harder against the glass. The coil in your stomach tightens dangerously, your vision blurring with the overwhelming pleasure building deep inside you.

"Seokjin—I’m close—"

"Me too," he groans, his mouth dropping to your neck, biting and sucking until he’s sure he’s left his mark. "Come for me, Princess."

And with one final thrust, you do. Your body shattering around him, pleasure crashing over you in uncontrollable waves. 

Jin is also nearing his end as well, which leads you to do one last crazy thing. You suddenly push against his chest, breaking the rhythm of his thrusts. His brows furrow in confusion, his lips parting to ask why, until you drop to your knees on the slick shower floor.

Jin’s breath catches, his body going rigid as you look up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, water streaming down your face. You lick your lips, your voice sultry and certain.

"Wait, I want you to finish in my mouth."

His reaction is immediate. His jaw clenches, his grip tightening where he’d been holding your waist. You can feel his cock twitch against your palm as you wrap your fingers around it, stroking him slowly.

"Fuck—" Jin groans, his head tipping back for a moment, overwhelmed.

It catches him completely off guard. Majority of the time, the pleasure is focused on you, which he loves. He gets off on making you unravel, watching you fall apart beneath him. On the rare occasions you do something for him, it’s never expected, always a surprise that leaves him completely undone.

And this…this is different.

Your lips wrap around the flushed head of his cock, and Jin sucks in a sharp breath. You take him in slowly, inch by inch, your tongue swirling around him, savoring the way his body shudders at your touch. His hands find your wet hair, threading through the strands as he watches you with hooded eyes, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Shit—just like that," he rasps, his voice strained as you take him deeper, your hands gripping his thighs for balance.

The warmth of your mouth, the way your tongue flicks against his sensitive spots—it’s almost too much. His restraint is slipping fast, and the sight of you kneeling before him, water cascading over your body, your lips stretched around his cock, has him throbbing with need.

You hollow your cheeks, your pace quickening, sucking him in with more fervor. His fingers tighten in your hair, hips stuttering forward as he fights not to lose control.

"You sure you want this?" he asks, voice rough, a last attempt at restraint.

Your only response is a low hum around him, the vibration sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his core. That’s all it takes.

"Fuck—" Jin groans, his head dropping forward as his grip in your hair tightens. His hips jerk as he finally lets go, spilling into your mouth, his entire body trembling with the force of his release.

You take it all, swallowing around him, your tongue teasing him until he’s completely spent. When you finally pull back, releasing him with a soft pop, he stares down at you, his expression dazed, still catching his breath.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he mutters, pulling you up and crashing his lips against yours, tasting himself on your tongue.

Jin pulls you close, his hands roaming over your slick skin as he deepens the kiss, the taste of himself lingering on your tongue. His heart is still hammering against his ribs, his body thrumming with the aftershocks of pleasure.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The sound of the shower fills the space, steam curling around your bodies, the warmth of the water cascading down your backs. His forehead rests against yours, his breath still uneven, but his hold on you is firm—like he doesn’t want to let go.

Eventually, he exhales a quiet laugh, his fingers tracing slow circles along your waist. "That was…unexpected," he murmurs, amusement flickering in his tired eyes.

You smirk, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back. "Figured I’d give you a send-off worth remembering."

His grip tightens, a silent protest, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses one last kiss to your temple before reaching past you to shut off the water.

With a sigh, you both step out, Jin immediately grabbing a towel and wrapping it around you before drying himself off. The silence between you is thick—not uncomfortable, but heavy with the weight of what’s to come.

As you catch your reflection in the mirror, you can’t help but wonder—was this really just a send-off? Or was it something else entirely?

You glance at Jin, who’s already watching you through the mirror, his expression unreadable.

"Well, the water bill is going to be so damn high because of this," he says softly, handing you some clothes. “It was worth it, though.”

You giggle at his words as you exit the bathroom and go back to your room to change.

As your time with Jin dwindles to an end, the two of you decide to host one final stream for your Chaturbate audience, though, not as wild as your usual performances. 

It’s still teasing enough to leave an impression, however!

This time, it's a mix of sensuality and humor, a slow-burn farewell.

Jin sits back against the headboard, shirtless, microphone in hand as he reads passages from Fifty Shades of Grey in his smooth, deep voice. His tone is velvety, deliberate, and teasing as he enunciates every sultry word, making even the most absurd lines sound seductive.

You, on the other hand, straddle him, taking as much of him as you can, moving slowly, carefully, trying to keep your reactions minimal. Your hands grip his shoulders for support, your lips occasionally pressing into his skin to stifle the little gasps that threaten to slip out. 

The challenge is clear: stay quiet or suffer the consequences.

The chat erupts with excitement at the unusual setup:

“ASMR daddy Jin? What kind of blessed content is this?”“How the hell is she staying quiet? I’d be a goner.”“Omg, is this their last stream? SAY IT AIN’T SO.”“Pls don’t leave us. We just got used to this masterpiece of a channel.”

Every time a particularly breathy sound escapes you, Jin smirks, setting the book down momentarily to deliver a sharp smack to your thigh or breast. 

You bite your lip, gripping onto him tighter, the thrill of the control he has over you mixing with the bittersweet realization that this is the last time you’ll be doing this together. Despite the playful tone of the stream, there’s an underlying sadness creeping in.

By the time the session ends, the chat is flooded with messages, not just of arousal but of disappointment and farewell.

“Our Princess Peach is really leaving us? After all this?”“This is the best cam duo we’ve ever had.”“Jin, are you at least keeping the channel? Even if it’s just continuing to do solo stuff?”“Thank you for everything. You two were insane together.”

Jin watches the comments roll in, his expression unreadable, but you can tell he’s taking it all in. His channel has exploded over the last several months due to the duo concept, catapulting into the top 20 cam accounts on the platform. It’s ironic, really.

Just when things were at their peak, it’s all coming to an end.

Jin logs off, shutting the laptop. Silence settles in the room, save for the hum of the city outside. You look at Jin, unsure of what to say.

He beats you to it. “Well… that was one hell of a ride.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Yeah… it was.”

But as much as you both try to keep things lighthearted, there’s a heaviness in the air that neither of you want to address.

And probably never will.

This heaviness continues to linger days after.

The following Monday, you meet with Gia, the director of the team you’ll be working with, to discuss your offer and finalize your start date. In two weeks, you’ll officially begin your role at Netflix. It still feels surreal. You’ve spent so much time chasing this kind of opportunity, and now that it’s here, there’s no turning back.

In the days that follow, you search for an apartment near the Netflix office, combing through listings, arranging viewings, and packing up your things at Jin’s place. The transition should be exciting, but a lingering emptiness gnaws at you.

Jin, who once felt like a constant presence in your life, eating meals together, going out to eat together, spending time with each other… starts becoming more and more absent.

He leaves early for work and returns late, barely sparing time for conversation. 

You don’t push him for answers about his absence or anything else lingering about your relationship with him. You assume he’s caught up in some major project coincidentally as things are starting to ramp up again in your life. 

And knowing Jin, he likes giving it his all in the work he does.

But the lack of his presence stings more than you want to admit.

And now, the absence in this place is much bigger. The weekend before your first day of your new job, Jin leaves town for work. He texted you an apology for not being able to help out with your move, but told you he’d send Namjoon to help you out and Yoongi would be picking up the spare keys from you. You’re glad that he didn’t let you handle the final move on your own and sent for one of his good friends to help you out.

Namjoon is someone you found yourself growing closer to since the party, bonding over a mutual love for romance novels. You discovered beneath his intellectual, slightly intimidating exterior, he was just as much of a hopeless romantic as you.

As you tape up another moving box, Namjoon sits nearby, flipping through one of your books. “You have a ridiculous amount of these,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “And? Sue me for enjoying love stories.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No judgment because I like them too. Just… it makes sense, considering your past shitty relationship.”

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. “Always dreaming of finding better partners in my love life like the books,”

The response makes him and Wendy giggle.

Wendy was luckily in town for a work conference, so she offered to help out too.

Since the night of the party, she’s has been overly apologetic about never telling you she dated Jin. Every time, you wave it off, telling her it doesn't matter. You don’t even blame her for not mentioning it. After all, you had no idea they even knew each other. You weren’t on social media to keep up with her life, too busy being wrapped up in your own.

Back when you were still with Mingi.

Sigh.

With the last of your belongings packed, your car and Wendy’s are stuffed to the brim with boxes. You slide into the passenger seat of Wendy’s car while Namjoon follows behind, driving yours. Slowly, Jin’s beautiful apartment complex fades from view, swallowed up by the cityscape. Little by little, it disappears in the distance, and from your life.

"Are you going to miss living with him?" Wendy glances at you as she stops at a red light.

You inhale deeply, weighing your answer.

"Not really," you lie. "It was nice having company, though." That’s the only piece of truth you allow to slip through.

Wendy studies your expression but doesn’t press. Instead, she says, "If you like him, you should go for him."

You shake your head. "Oh no, I’m not interested! Plus, he doesn’t like me like that."

Jin has always been impossible to read. His words, his actions, they blurred the lines between friendship, something deeper, and something entirely fleeting. Some days, he felt like a stranger. Others, he felt like someone you could have had forever with.

You’re too old to be pondering this like a teenage girl trying to connect the dots that a guy likes her back.

"If you’re worried about the fact that we dated, please don’t be," Wendy says, keeping her eyes on the road. "I admired him when we worked together, and that turned into dating. But honestly, our relationship always felt more like a deep friendship with bits of romance sprinkled in. Our hearts were always… elsewhere."

Elsewhere.

You chew on that word, wondering where Jin's heart really was if not with her.

"Thank you for letting me know, Wendy. But I think for now, no relationships!" You force a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "I just want to focus on my new job and what's to come."

Wendy nods in understanding, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "That makes sense. A new chapter, a fresh start."

"Exactly." You lean back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window. It’s easier to say than to actually feel, but you want to believe it.

As the drive continues, Wendy chats about her upcoming projects, the books she's been reading, and her plans to visit her family soon. You listen, grateful for the distraction.

By the time you reach your new apartment, Namjoon is already out of the car, stretching before starting to unload the boxes.

You take a deep breath, looking up at the unfamiliar building. It’s a sleek, modern 3 story apartment building not too far from the main streets of the entertainment capital of the world. A stark contrast from Jin’s quiet, cozy apartment tucked away from the chaos of the city. Here, the hum of life never stops: cars honking, distant music drifting from other homes, and the constant murmur of people moving, working, living.

The lobby is just as polished as the exterior, with minimalist décor, warm lighting, and a concierge desk where a sharply dressed employee greets you with a polite nod. Floor-to-ceiling windows give a panoramic view of the city skyline, and the elevator ride up feels surreal—like stepping further into a new reality, leaving behind everything familiar.

Inside, your unit is just as modern. Open-concept, sleek hardwood floors, a kitchen with marble countertops, and floor-to-ceiling windows that let in the golden glow of the setting sun. It’s smaller than Jin’s place, but it feels fresh, new, like an empty canvas waiting for you to make it your own.

"Welcome home," Namjoon grins, patting the hood of your car as he stretches. "Ready for the next big thing?"

You let out a slow exhale, stepping onto the threshold of your new life.

"Yeah," you say, more to yourself than to him. "I think I am."

A home, that doesn’t feel like home yet, but you’ll eventually get there.

The apartment is too quiet.

Seokjin steps through the door and kicks off his shoes with less energy than usual. No warm lighting in the hallway. No lingering scent of the candles you used to light in the evenings. No soft laughter drifting from the living room. It’s dark—just the faint glow of the city outside bleeding through the windows.

He flicks on a lamp, and the room looks… untouched. Clean. Cold. Soulless.

You’re gone.

He exhales through his nose, the weight of the silence pressing into his chest like a familiar ache. The same kind of ache he felt years ago, when his family moved away and he disappeared from your life without warning. Back then, he was just a dumb kid who didn’t know how to say he liked you, didn’t know how to say that teasing you wasn’t because he disliked you—it was the only way he knew how to get your attention.

But now? He’s an adult, and still he didn’t say anything.

He told himself it wasn’t the right time. That you had too much going on. That you were only here for a little while and what you two had was just comfort, release, boredom, exploration. That’s what he told himself. That’s what he told himself when you smiled at Namjoon a little longer than you ever smiled at him. He didn’t think Namjoon was as handsome or charismatic as him, but maybe you preferred that anyways.

He unbuttons his dress shirt slowly, absently. Shrugs it off and tosses it aside, then sinks into the couch in just his undershirt and slacks.

The ceiling stares back at him.

He thinks about texting you. Maybe something casual—

"How was your first day, corporate baddie?" Or something stupid and sweet—

 "Rate your new apartment on a scale of 1 to missing me terribly."

He even types them out halfway in his head. But his fingers don’t move. His phone stays face-down on the coffee table.

You have your own life now. A real job. A new place. People to meet. Maybe someone else to love. Maybe someone like Namjoon. Maybe someone he doesn’t know.

And he’s just Seokjin. The guy who let you slip away again. The guy who made you laugh, who made you come undone under soft lights and steady hands, but never said what he really felt.

Maybe this is just how it’s meant to be. Some people pass through your life like seasons—warm, intense, fleeting.

He rests his head back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parting in a slow sigh. “I miss you already,” he murmurs to the ceiling.

But no one’s there to hear it.

And still, he doesn’t send the text.

Leaving these words left unsaid.

Three months pass. It’s a rainy afternoon as you drive home, stuck in traffic, the gray skyline blurring into streaks against your windshield. The light drizzle taps a restless beat on the roof of your car, a soft soundtrack to the ache that’s been gnawing at you all day. You could’ve blasted music to drown it out. You could’ve called anyone else. But somehow, your fingers drift to Yunjin’s contact.

You’re tired. So tired. And not just from work. But from thoughts constantly looming in your head of what you should’ve and could’ve done in the past.

The phone rings once. Twice.

“Hello?” Yunjin’s voice comes through immediately, warm and concerned, like she’s been waiting for you to reach out first for once.

You hesitate for a second, then sigh, forehead leaning against the steering wheel. “Hey. You busy?”

“No, no, not at all…are you okay?” she asks, voice tightening a little. You know she’s been worried. She’s your best friend after all. She’s been checking in more ever since the night of the party. Ever since you moved out of Jin’s place. You kept brushing her off with that stupid excuse: alcohol plus stress from all that damn job hunting plus the sudden job offer out of nowhere. A bad combination of good and bad stuff. Nothing more.

But Yunjin’s always seen through you. She just never pushed.

Today, though, something inside you gives.

“I just…” you start, the words sticking to your throat. “I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts tonight.”

There’s a pause. She lets you set the pace.

You grip the steering wheel tighter, the rain smearing lights into watercolor blurs around you. “Remember that party at Jin’s? It wasn’t just a breakdown that night. I lied.”

“I know,” she says softly.

You laugh—bitter, shaky. “Of course you do.” She’s always been good at reading through you, and the people around her.

Another silence stretches out between you, but it isn’t heavy. It’s patient.

“I got...close to Seokjin,” you say slowly, voice fragile, like if you speak too loud the memories will shatter. “Closer than I ever was… and ever meant to. And I didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late.”

You swallow hard, fighting the sting in your eyes.

“Living with Jin was supposed to be a temporary thing, you know?” you murmur. “But it felt...safe. Like for the first time in a long time, I didn’t have to hold my breath around someone. He just—he made it easy to exist. I didn’t have to be ashamed of not having a job, or being in a quarter-life crisis, or being cheated on...”

You hear Yunjin breathe in, steady and soft. She’s listening. She always does.

“And I think I...I fell for him,” you admit in a whisper, as if the confession itself might break you. “Slowly. Stupidly. Without even realizing it.” you bite your lip, pulse quickening, careful not to spill too much on your camming secret life with him. “I had a negative opinion of him growing up, but that didn’t reflect into who he grew into now. The way he looked out for me. The way he made me laugh when I thought I couldn’t anymore.”

Your chest tightens unbearably, and you blink rapidly at the windshield.

“But it’s whatever now,” you add quickly, the words a shield, a desperate, crumbling wall. “I’m moving on. It was just...temporary. A phase. He probably didn’t even think twice about it. I’m being stupid. I’m not even sure it was real.”

You try to laugh again, but it comes out cracked and hollow.

“God, Mingi would laugh at me if he saw me like this. Hung up over someone I never even officially dated. Acting desperate for love or whatever. I must look pathetic.”

Yunjin’s voice is warm, a balm to the raw ache inside you. “You’re not pathetic!”

You exhale a shaky breath, the traffic crawling forward a few inches.

“Maybe not. But I feel it.”

Outside, the rain keeps falling, a steady murmur against the world. And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel as alone with it. For a while, you both just sit in the silence, the rain filling the space where your broken words can’t.

Then Yunjin speaks, her voice careful, gentle. “You know…” she starts, trailing off thoughtfully. “I think maybe you should talk to him.”

Your heart skips in your chest.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Talk to Jin?”

“Yeah…” she says, trying to sound casual but you can hear the note of something careful in her tone. “I mean...you lived together for months. Got close. Maybe it’s not as one-sided as you think.”

You scoff lightly, looking away from the windshield. “I doubt it. ”

But Yunjin presses on, choosing her words delicately. “You’re both stubborn. Maybe he’s just...waiting for you to make the first move. Or at least to clear the air.”

You frown. It sounds too hopeful. Too dangerous to believe. You don’t want to entertain this idea on the pretense of a “maybe”. 

And Yunjin must sense your hesitation because she adds quickly, “Or, you know...maybe it’s time for you to start fresh. Meet someone new. Go out with some girls from work, hit a club, get drinks. Or like, take a yoga class. Focus on you again.”

You let out a small, exhausted laugh. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“I’m serious,” she says warmly. “You’ve been carrying too much by yourself. You deserve to breathe a little. To live a little. And if you ever need a plus one for any of that? I’m there. I’ll try to visit more often, okay?”

A lump forms in your throat, but this time it’s a little easier to swallow.

“Thanks, Yunjin.”

“Always.”

You can’t see her, but you know she’s smiling that soft, stubborn smile of hers.

Outside, the rain eases into a gentle mist. Somewhere deep inside you, you feel the tiniest, stubbornest spark flicker to life again. Tiny, but alive. Having a full on convo with Seokjin feels like too much, but maybe you’ll send some greetings when you can. Maybe for now, you can continue to give it your all to your new job, and find new ways to cope and forget about all of this. Bury these feelings from within.

No one really says anything—not you or him. And despite the silence, time keeps moving forward, uncaring, unbothered.

It’s been a year since you moved out of Seokjin’s apartment. A full year since you packed up your things and closed the door on a strange, intoxicating chapter of your life. You’ve rebuilt since then. Slowly, carefully. Your new job became your anchor, the thing you threw yourself into fully. You’ve climbed your way back into a stable routine—morning coffees, back-to-back meetings, long work trips to film sets in Seoul and Tokyo, wine nights with your new team.

You helped coordinate the launch of the newest Black Mirror season. You got flown out to Jeju to help with on-set logistics for When Life Gives You Tangerines, a K-drama that’s now getting rave reviews online. You’ve attended wrap parties, panel events, rooftop mixers. Your calendar stays full. Your mind stays busier.

Past memories blur like fog in the distance. The pain from your breakup with Mingi? Obsolete now. The shame and exhaustion from your previous job? Gone. Even those sweet, stolen nights in Seokjin’s kitchen, the intimacy of your shared glances, your whispered jokes, the hot silence between cam sessions—those too are starting to fade.

But not completely.

Sometimes, on nights when your apartment feels a little too cold, you catch yourself wishing he were there. Not to do anything special. Just… to be there. To sit beside you on the couch, to play something dumb on the TV and make sarcastic commentary, to cook something absurd at midnight just because. You didn’t think you’d miss him this much. But the truth is, Jin had a way of making space feel like home just by being in it. And now that he’s gone, that kind of warmth is hard to come by.

He hasn’t contacted you much over the past year—just the basics. Birthday greetings. “Merry Christmas.” “Happy New Year.” You always replied in kind, but nothing deeper ever came from it. No check-ins. No “how are you’s.” Just little digital waves in the distance.

You haven’t seen him in person either. Fate, it seems, prefers irony—like running into Mingi at a shopping plaza looking happy and carefree while you stood there trying not to unravel. But Seokjin? He’s stayed away. Not maliciously. Just… vanished into his world.

Sometimes, you check his cam room. Not out of obsession, just out of habit. Curiosity. Human nature. You tell yourself it’s harmless—just peeking. You notice that he hasn’t streamed in months. The last one was over half a year ago, and even that was a short, quiet stream. His gaming content? Almost nonexistent now. His socials have slowed too. A few posts here and there—group shots with the guys, a couple of work-related updates. There’s the occasional woman in the background of those pictures, which makes you wonder. Maybe he’s dating again. Maybe he never stopped.

And maybe you should start too.

You remember you still owe Namjoon a hangout. He’s been patient and sweet and always texts you about books he thinks you’d like. You two get along almost too well—sharing playlists, talking about art, texting late into the night about some line in a poem that made you ache in a good way. Maybe… maybe it’s time to see where that could lead.

You’re not trying to replace Jin. But you can’t keep orbiting a ghost of something that never fully bloomed. Something he never really reached for.

So maybe it’s time to open that door. Even just a crack. To see if something else is waiting for you on the other side.

After getting home from work, you toss your bag onto the couch, kick off your heels, and sink into the soft cushions of your apartment. It’s been a long day—back-to-back meetings, a creative pitch that went surprisingly well, and now… just stillness. Your place is beautiful, sleek and modern, tucked right in the vibrant heart of Hollywood. City lights spill through your windows, reflecting off your glass coffee table and polished floors. It’s a stark contrast to Seokjin’s cozy apartment tucked outside the chaos—a bit quieter, a bit softer. You try not to think about that too much.

You unlock your phone and open your messages. Your finger hovers for a second, then taps on Namjoon’s contact photo. You start typing.

"i don’t know if you recall, but i owe you a hangout mister"

He replies almost immediately, the little typing dots barely making an appearance before his message lands.

"surprised you remember haha"

Then another follows a few seconds later.

"didn’t want to be weird and bring it up before in case you weren’t down for it, but i’d be delighted to still hang out with you."

You smile softly. You always liked the way he typed—careful, a little poetic, like he thought about his words.

"sounds like a plan, what did you want to do?"

You wait a few seconds before his reply comes in, a thoughtful pause between each message:

"mmm well"

Another pause.

"i saw there’s a wine & film screening event at the Getty on friday night—screening Pretty Woman on the lawn. it’s free, 21+ only, and we can bring in our own snacks."

You picture it: the grassy hill overlooking the city, art lovers and couples lounging on blankets under the stars, the glow of a classic film playing on an outdoor screen. You’ve been craving something peaceful lately. Something warm.

"that sounds perfect actually. i’m in!" you type back.

"should i bring wine for us to enjoy the night ? ;) 🍷" he adds with a winking emoji.

"of course! you know me too well."

"haha friday it is then." he says. "can’t wait."

You lock your phone after hearting the message and set it aside, eyes drifting to the ceiling. A strange warmth settles in your chest—equal parts comfort and nervous excitement. It feels like the beginning of something soft. Something kind.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel okay leaning into it.

Friday arrives with a golden warmth that clings to the breeze. The sun hangs lazily above the horizon, casting long orange shadows across the Getty’s gleaming white stone walls. The soft glow of late afternoon is the perfect backdrop for your outfit—a golden yellow Beverly and Beck Ruby Ruffle Bow Mini Dress, cinched just right to show your figure without trying too hard. A delicate lace bandana in a matching yellow hue ties your hair back, fluttering gently as you walk toward the lawn entrance. You feel good. Fresh. Ready.

You glance at your phone again.

No messages. No Namjoon.

You try not to overthink it—he’s usually good with time. Maybe it’s just traffic. But five minutes before the movie starts, you’re still standing outside and still no sign of him? The anxiety builds in your chest.

You pull out your phone and call him. It rings once. Twice. Three times.

Then he picks up.

“Namjoon! Where are you? I’m here—”

“Hey…” he cuts in, his voice calm but strained. “I… got into an accident about twenty minutes ago.”

“What!? Holy shit, are you okay?”

“I’m okay now, just some scrapes and bruises. A car hit me while I was biking back from Trader Joe’s with snacks. They brought me to the ER to get checked out, but… I don’t think I’ll make it to the Getty in time.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh my god. Forget the movie—I’ll come to the hospital. I can stay with you, make sure you’re alright—”

“No!” he says quickly. Too quickly.

You blink. “No?”

“I mean… you don’t have to. Yoongi and Hoseok are here with me, so I’m fine. I—uh—actually sent someone in my place.”

“Someone?” you echo, confused.

And then, as you look up, you see him.

Seokjin.

He’s standing a few feet away, his gaze already fixed on you. His hair’s grown longer, a little messier, soft waves framing his face. He wears a clean white shirt beneath a gray blazer, his stance easy, yet charged with something... unspoken.

“Seokjin?” you whisper into the phone.

“I’ll let you go now,” Namjoon says on the other end before hanging up.

Jin walks toward you, a familiar boyish smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It’s been a while, Peach.”

Your heart flips.

“I… What are you doing here?”

“Someone said a princess needed saving,” he says with a wink. “So they sent the best person to do it.”

You raise a brow, arms crossing with a playful smirk. “Mario?”

“No. Me,” he says with exaggerated pride. “Though… yeah, I guess I am Mario in a way.”

You laugh—genuinely, loudly, in a way you haven’t in weeks.

“You sure haven’t changed,” you tease. “Still full of yourself.”

His smile falters for half a second as his eyes sweep over you, lingering just a bit too long, just a bit too thoughtfully.

“That’s not the only thing that hasn’t changed,” he says softly.

Your breath stills for a beat. The movie starts to roll on the lawn behind you, but you barely notice. Because Jin’s still looking at you like no time has passed at all. Like the space between now and a year ago never existed.

“…What do you mean?” you ask, your voice nearly a whisper.

He takes a small step closer. Then another.

He stands there for a moment, the soft glow of the museum lights painting his profile in gold and shadows. His voice drops a little, quieter, more unsure.

“I’m good at expressing my thoughts about things, but for some reason… this is the one thing I haven’t been able to bring myself to say.” He pauses, brows furrowed slightly as he searches for the words. “Maybe out of fear. Or maybe because I convinced myself it wasn’t the right time.”

You don’t say anything—your breath held, your body still, your eyes locked on his.

“I talked to a few people since you left…like Namjoon, Yoongi, Wendy, even Yunjin,” he goes on. “But all of it… it only made me realize something. I should’ve really told you this sooner.”

Your heart stutters. Then starts beating faster. Loud enough you wonder if he can hear it too.

A sensation you haven’t felt in so long spreads through your chest. A warmth. A pull. The kind that’s equal parts terrifying and magnetic.

Jin exhales shakily, his hands slipping into his blazer pockets like he’s trying to ground himself. “I missed you,” he finally says. “Not just your company. I missed you. Your laugh in the mornings. The way you dance around while brushing your teeth. The way you'd tease me when I lost on stream. I missed you so much, my Princess Peach, it made everything else feel… dimmer.”

Your breath catches, tears suddenly threatening to well.

“I thought I was just someone you passed time with,” he adds, voice softer. “But for me… those were some of the brightest days I’ve had in a long time.”

The movie flickers behind you—Julia Roberts’ voice carrying faintly over the lawn—but you’re somewhere else entirely. Caught in this moment with him.

“What are you trying to say, Jin?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He finally steps in close, closer than before, and gently brushes a strand of hair from your face, the touch so careful it nearly undoes you.

“I’m trying to say… I’ve been in love with you for a lot longer than you’ve ever realized.”

You stare at him, stunned. Your throat tightens with something you can’t name.

“And if there’s still even the smallest part of you that feels the same,” he says, voice husky, “then maybe—just maybe—we can try again. But not as roommates. Not as cam partners. Just… us.”

Your eyes brim, lips parting. You don’t know what to say at first—your thoughts tumbling into each other, your heart pounding wildly.

But then your fingers reach for his. And that’s answer enough.

He smiles, wide and boyish, like the Seokjin from years ago and the one standing in front of you now have finally become one.

You let out a shaky breath, fingers tightening slightly around his.

“I feel the same,” you say, your voice soft but steady.

His eyes widen just a little, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it so soon, so plainly.

“I might not have loved you for as long as you’ve loved me… or maybe I never realized a part of me has been in love with you all along,” you continue, “but your feelings… they never went unnoticed, Jin.”

He looks at you then like he’s been holding his breath this whole time—waiting for something, anything, to tell him he wasn’t alone in this.

“There were moments,” you go on, your voice catching slightly, “tiny ones, quiet ones, when I’d catch you looking at me or saying something that felt deeper than the surface. And I’d wonder… ‘Could he be feeling the same thing I am?’ But I was scared. Mingi really left a big fucking wound and I just didn’t want to fall for you and somehow end up hurt again in the future.”

The tension in his shoulders finally softens, relief washing over him like a warm tide that crashes gently on the shore. He doesn’t speak yet—just watches you with eyes that shimmer in the low light as he wants to fully hear you out.

“I tried to move on. I tried to pretend it was just a phase, that it was just… comfort. But I kept missing you, Jin. Not just the apartment or the routine, you. The dumb jokes. The thoughtful silences. The way you made things feel lighter even when everything was falling apart.”

You smile a little, tears finally gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“And now that you’re here, saying all this… I don’t want to wonder late at night about the ‘maybes’ anymore.”

Jin exhales, a sound filled with emotion, and pulls you into him—his arms wrapping around your waist as you fall against his chest. You rest there for a moment, feeling his heartbeat thrum against your cheek, steady and real.

And when he pulls back, just enough to look at you again, his smile is full of something soft. Something new, but also… always there.

“I’ll never leave you hanging ever again.”

He just looks at you—really looks at you—with an expression so open, so vulnerable, you feel it in your chest.

And then he leans in.

His hand gently lifts to cradle the side of your face, thumb brushing softly over your cheekbone as his eyes search yours one last time, as if asking are you sure? And when you lean in too—when you don’t pull away—he closes the distance.

The kiss is slow, tender, but full of all the feelings neither of you could say until now. His lips press against yours like he’s memorizing the shape of them, like he’s been dreaming of this moment and wants to make it last. You melt into him, your fingers curling into the front of his blazer as your mouths move in sync, soft and yearning. It’s not rushed or clumsy—it’s full of quiet reverence, like the kind of kiss you only give someone when the feelings have been sitting in your heart far too long.

When he pulls back, just barely, his forehead rests against yours, his breath a soft tremble between your lips.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he whispers.

You smile, eyes still closed, heart beating wildly. “Me too.”

And above you, the stars begin to come out one by one, while Pretty Woman flickers quietly in the distance.

But neither of you are watching.

Because for once, there’s nothing better than simply being here, in this moment—finally together.

Epilogue

You and Seokjin left the Getty hand in hand that night, hearts lighter and warmer than they’d felt in a long time. When you got back to your place, it didn’t take long for the soft kisses to grow into something deeper—needier.

But this time, it felt different. This time, you took the lead.

You guided him to your bed, eyes locked on his, and undressed him slowly, worshipping every inch of him not just with touch but with emotion. You rode him with purpose, with tenderness, with the weight of everything unsaid over the last year pouring into each movement. He let you consume him, surrender to you, just as he'd once held you through your hardest moments. It wasn’t just sex. it was a quiet promise. A healing. A homecoming.

Later, you fell asleep curled in his arms, your head resting against his chest, listening to the soft rhythm of his heartbeat.

The morning sunlight filtered in lazily, spilling gold across your sheets as you stirred next to him. He was still half-asleep, hair tousled, lips slightly parted.

"So," you said, voice soft, teasing, "you haven’t been doing camming content for a while."

His eyes shot open, brows rising. “H–How did you know? Have you been checking?!”

“Perhaps... out of curiosity,” you smirked. “But answer the question!”

He sighed, but there was a smile tugging at his lips. “Nope. I honestly didn’t feel like doing it because you weren’t around for it.”

Your breath caught. “You’re so blunt.”

He grinned, eyes sparkling. “Why are you asking? Did you want to do it again? Another 'bed scene' together?”

“Huh!? N–No...” you stammered, cheeks heating.

“That doesn’t sound too sure,” he said, flashing that familiar playful smirk. “But if you figure out a way to keep it a secret and keep our actual jobs... I might consider going back to it. With you.”

You laughed, burying your face in the pillow. “We’ll see.”

Jin slipped out of bed, walking over to the large window beside it. You watched as he blew a light breath onto the glass, fogging it up slightly. Then, with his finger, he drew something.

“A heart?” you asked.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I’m leaving this heart on the window so you don’t miss me too much.”

You blinked. “Miss you?”

“I’ll see you again tomorrow,” he said casually.

“Huh!?”

“I’m taking you to Locanda Veneta for dinner. Heard it’s got some solid Italian food. Then maybe we can discuss... moving in together.”

You sat up, stunned. “W-Wait, Jin!?”

“Don’t worry,” he waved off, pulling on his blazer. “I’m moving into a new place soon—it’s halfway between your job and mine. So it’ll work out.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “God, you’re still always plotting things ahead.” You pause and look at him, “Always unbelievable…I love you.”

He turned to look at you, eyes widening, then relaxing as the softest smile grows on his face.

“I love you too. Haha, I can’t miss any moment now that I’ve got you.”

And once again, you were happy and content with this being your life. Not just as someone tagging along, not just as a passing moment in someone else’s life, but as someone chosen, someone wanted. All the heartbreak, all the waiting, all the wondering had led to this: waking up beside someone who looked at you like you were the beginning and the end of everything. And as Seokjin smiled at you with that mischievous glint in his eyes and a future already forming in his head, you realized there was no plan better than the one you were building together—one kiss, one laugh, one fogged-up heart on a window at a time.

a/n: thats the END!! how did you like it? did you expect this ending? or did you have other theories?! any questions you're curious about ;)) please let me know! for now, all i got to say is PLEASE! give jin's new album so much love when it gets released this week! and maybe... reread this fic again as i feel the vibe of the album will definitely reflect a lot of the thoughts hotw! jin had throughout this fic. i think me and jin connected to 7G haha but for now! i must disappear. please look forward to my future works or go check out some of my other works!! also 5/17 EDIT: here is a special chapter to celebrate jin's new album and "don't say you love me" mv

➸ let me know what you think OR join the taglist for future works! ➸ check out my masterlist for other fics I have made

[runningincircl3s]

Blood Sport

Noah Sebastian x Reader

Chapter Ten

masterlist

chapter warnings: none!! kinda a filler chapter? :)

okay so i've been slacking with my writing recently lmao, i only have a few more pre-written chapters left before i run out so i want to lock in this weekend and write!!

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It was the second day of the festival, and the first time that Bad Omens were headlining. To say Noah was stressed would be a massive understatement.

He’d tried to play it cool that morning, acting like the pressure wasn’t getting to him, but it was obvious. You could see it in the way his jaw stayed tight, how he barely touched his tea, how he hadn’t even made a single sarcastic comment all day.

Matt wasn’t much better. He was pacing the gravel outside the trailer like it was a treadmill, muttering to himself about setlists, lighting cues, and potential tech disasters. Meanwhile, Folio and Jolly were lounging in fold-out chairs with ice creams in hand, soaking up the sun like it was just another day.

You sat nearby, drumming your fingers against your knee as the faint sound of Catch Your Breath’s set drifted over from the main stage, but the sound was drowned out by Matt's stressing.

“Matt, chill.” Nick said without looking up from his ice cream, “You’re gonna wear a hole into the ground.”

“Seriously,” Jolly added, stretching his legs out. “You’re making me anxious.”

Matt shot them a glare.

“I’m making you anxious? Good. You're acting like this is nothing, don't you guys realise how serious this is?”

The guys just shrugged and you smothered a laugh behind your hand and glanced toward the trailer. From inside, you could hear Noah running through vocal warm-ups. Even through the walls, his voice was sharp, clear, and too beautiful.

“You sure he’s okay?” You asked, tilting your head toward the door.

Folio shrugged.

“It’s Noah. He’ll be fine once he’s on stage.”

But you weren’t so sure. Whatever had happened between you two the other night hadn’t just vanished, but you could already feel the old walls starting to creep back up. You’d thought about checking on him, just to ease your own nerves, but you knew better. If he wanted space, he meant it.

The trailer door swung open a few minutes later, and there he was, hair messy from his hands, a flush on his cheeks like he’d been pacing, too. His eyes scanned past you like you weren’t even there. He grabbed a water bottle from the cooler beside Jolly’s chair and twisted the cap off with a sharp flick of his wrist.

“You good?” Folio asked.

“Yeah,” Noah muttered, taking a long drink. “Sounds bad but I'm just ready to get it over with.”

…

A few hours later, the guys were getting ready to go on. The energy was like nothing else, a mixture of anxiety and excitement made them buzz, except for Noah. 

He stood off to the side, head down, lost in his own world, toying with a loose thread on his mask. You wanted to say something, but what could you even say? Was there anything you could say that wouldn't make it any worse?

And then, like he could feel your eyes on him, Noah glanced over.

For a split second, everything slowed.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. But he didn't look away, he just held your gaze.

So you walked over.

“No pressure,” you said softly, voice barely above the rumble of the crowd on the other side of the stage. “This is only like, a super big deal.”

He huffed a dry laugh, but didn’t look away.

“Really?” he murmured, “Never would’ve thought.”

You stepped closer, the noise around you fading. 

“You sure you’re okay?”

Noah swallowed, jaw tight. 

“I will be. Once I’m out there.”

“You’re gonna kill it, y’know. Always fucking do…”

“Yeah... I know.” 

“And if you suck, I can always take over.” You smirked.

“Thanks.” He chuckled.

You nodded slowly. Then, without really thinking, you reached for his gloved hand, the one still clenched around the mask, and gently wrapped your fingers around his.

And he didn’t pull away.

For a moment, you both stood in silence, his eyes fixed on the way your thumb rubbed the back of his hand. And when he finally looked up again, there was something different in his eyes. His expression was softer.

“Stay by the stage?” he asked, barely above a whisper. “Just for the first song.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to bite back the emotion that rose too quickly in your throat. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice steady. “Of course.”

A voice crackled through someone’s headset: One minute.

Noah let go, stepped back, rolling his shoulders before he pulled his mask on, and you made him bend down so you could adjust it for him. 

The rest of the guys had already left, and Noah adjusted his in-ears as he waited for his cue. 

Then it was finally time. The crowd screamed. He gave you one last smile, a genuine smile, beneath his mask before picking up his mic.

And then Noah Sebastian walked on stage like he owned the world, like he was the fucking king.

And good lord did they put on a hell of a show. 

Noah’s stage presence tonight was like nothing you’d seen before, and his voice… He in fact did not suck. You had never seen them play with this much enthusiasm before, like this wasn’t just their job, this was their passion, their purpose. 

This is what they lived for.

You couldn’t help but feel a little emotional knowing this was their last show for this album cycle, but you were glad you were here to watch. Their energy tonight was just unmatched, you truly had no words to describe it. 

As Noah spoke to the crowd, thanking them for coming out, telling them this was their first ever festival they were headliners for, you knew what song was about to come next, which one they were going to finish off with, and a part of you braced yourself to hear Just Pretend again. 

The lyrics had an extra meaning to you tonight, after what he had told you the other night. 

You chuckled to yourself for a moment, I guess love really is the death of peace of mind. 

You’d save that one for later. 

…

“Y/n, I have something to tell you, and I need you to promise you won’t get mad.” Folio turned around in the passenger seat, looking suspiciously guilty.

You, wedged between Noah and Jolly in the back of the van, immediately narrowed your eyes. The guys had come off stage sweaty and full of adrenaline, but after showering and eating, they were all winding down, except for Folio, who was still way too energetic for this time of night.

And now a part of you was curious. A part of you was panicking. 

“…What is it?”

“I might’ve told the guys we could have a hot tub party at our place next week, for finishing the album-”

“We don’t even have a hot tub!”

Folio winced. 

“Okay. This is where I need you to not get mad…”

Your stomach dropped. 

“Nick. What did you do?”

He hesitated. 

“…I may have bought a hot tub..."

“Where the fuck are we putting a hot tub?!” You laughed at how ridiculous this was. “What about my vegetable patch!”

“Hey, you promised not to get mad!”

“Did not!”

Noah, who had been silent the entire ride, cracked an eye open from where he was slumped against the window. 

“In her defence, she never said she would.”

Folio huffed, turning back to you. 

“Okay, maybe I should’ve asked first, but just think about it… imagine all the sick parties we could throw! Or even just coming home from a stressful day and getting in the tub!”

“…I guess it’s not a bad idea.” You sighed, rubbing your temples. 

Folio grinned, triumphant. 

“See! I knew you’d be down for a hot tub party. It’s gonna be sick, just wait.”

…

By the time you got back to the hotel, exhaustion had finally caught up to you. Between running around all day, the rush of the festival, and the chaos that was Folio impulsively buying a hot tub, you were ready to pass out.

You didn’t say much as you followed Noah into the hotel room. Neither did he.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. It was… something else.

Noah tossed his bag onto the chair in the corner and immediately pulled his hoodie over his head, revealing the tank top underneath. His tattoos stretched with the motion, and you had to force yourself not to look.

You cleared your throat, walking over to your bag to grab some pyjamas. 

“Dibs on the bathroom!” You called. 

Noah let out a breath of amusement as he flopped down onto the bed. 

“Okay.” 

You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes just for a second. 

“Wow, you didn’t even fight me for it, you must be tired.” You chuckled.

His head sank into the pillow, his voice quieter now. 

“Yeah. A little.”

You hesitated.

Something about him felt off. Maybe it was the way he had been so quiet on the ride back, or maybe it was the way his shoulders still looked tense, like he was carrying something he couldn’t put down. Maybe it was just the comedown from the show, but maybe it was something else...

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but you didn’t.

Instead, you grabbed your things and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

When you came out, fresh-faced and in an oversized t-shirt, Noah was still awake, sitting up in bed, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. 

You climbed into your side of the bed, pulling the covers over yourself, but sleep didn’t come as easily as you thought it would. For a while the glow of Noah’s phone screen was the only light in the room, casting a faint blue hue against the walls, until he had set it down with a sigh. 

But still neither of you could sleep. 

You heard him sigh after a while, so you sat back up. 

“You’re thinking too loud." You murmured, turning to face him.

Noah let out a quiet laugh, the first real one of the night. 

“Didn’t realise that was a thing.”

“Well, it is. What’s on your mind?”

He hesitated, then sighed. 

“Nothing.”

You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t push.

He picked his phone back up, and there was another beat of silence. Then he spoke again.

“You were right, by the way.”

You blinked sleepily. 

“About what?”

“Earlier. When you said I’d kill it. I really didn’t think I had it in me tonight, but we really fucked it up out there. I'm glad you were here for it.”

That caught you off guard.

Noah wasn’t the type to accept compliments easily, let alone bring them up himself.

Your lips curled into a small smile. 

“Thanks... I always know what I’m talking about. You should listen to me more.”

He set his phone back down on the nightstand. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He glanced over at you, the room too dark to read his expression. “Goodnight, y/n.”

“Goodnight, concrete boy.”

You closed your eyes with a little smirk.

Neither of you said anything else. Neither of you fell asleep right away, either.

…

The soft creak of the bathroom door opening stirred you from sleep. You blinked against the morning light filtering through the hotel curtains.

Then, you saw him.

Noah stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling around him from the lingering heat of his shower. A towel hung dangerouslt low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his tattooed skin. His damp hair fell messily over his face as he gently shook his head, stretching slightly before rolling his neck and shoulders.

Yeah. You’ve woken up in your own personal hell. 

You didn’t mean to stare. You really didn’t.

But how could you not when he looked like that?

Then, just as you were about to snap yourself out of it, he flexed.

It was subtle- just a stretch, and a slow roll of his shoulders as he reached into his bag- but you knew. The way his biceps tensed just enough, the way his abs clenched slightly as he shifted. It was intentional.

Your thighs pressed together, fingers curling into the sheets. 

Asshole.

You swallowed, dragging your gaze upward before he could-

Too late.

Noah smirked. Just slightly, just enough to let you know he definitely caught you.

“Morning.” He said, voice a little rough from sleep.

You forced yourself to play it cool, clearing your throat as you sat up. 

“Morning.”

He didn’t move right away, just stood there, towel still in place, so dangerously low, watching you with that amused little glint in his eyes. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he was waiting for you to crack.

Instead, you huffed and looked away, reaching for your phone. 

He chuckled, finally turning back to his bag, rummaging for clothes. 

“Sleep okay?” He asked casually, as if he hadn’t just been showing off in front of you on purpose.

“Yeah. You?” You exhaled, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. 

He hummed in response, pulling a shirt over his head. You weren’t sure if it was an answer or if he just didn’t feel like talking about it.

You hated how you felt fuzzy inside, it was clear he was doing it on purpose, the playful glint in his eye gave it away. 

But you knew just how you’d get him back, you were planning it already. 

You knew exactly what you would do. 

“Excited for Folio’s hot tub party next week?” You asked, an innocent smile on your face, not letting on that what you were plotting in your mind was far from innocent.

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

@bloody-spades @death-ofpeace-ofmind @miss570 @dominuslunae @dontwantthemoney @amelia-acero @noahslutbastian @blade-dressed-in-red @super-btstrash-posts @kait16xo @oobleoob @sunshine-lvrr @lacy1986 @enemiestolovershoe @samanthasgone @superpiratecriminalchef @lukeevangelista @lunabuna991 @ami--gami @bluehairpunklol @darknightstarryeyes @xxkittenkissesxx @renegadebirch

[dem-obscure-imagines]

You're So Timeless | Vol. 1

Steve Rogers x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Summary: In 1943, Steve Rogers was visited by his soulmate. He fell hard. Problem is, she was from the future and didn’t stick around for long. Now, in the twenty-first century, he finally found her again, except this version of her hasn’t met him yet and won’t know he’s her soulmate for another year. 

Note: So this is a combination of my other two Steve Rogers soulmate AU fics, but lengthened and fleshed out into a full fic. I was literally possessed to write this. I have no other explanation. I really like how it came out. I gave this one chapter headings (I am also going to post it to Ao3) and yes some are Taylor Swift titles. Sorry about that. It takes place roughly around the time Civil War would, but we have managed to avoid the war this time around. I also moved some other characters up the timeline because I think they’re neat and I said so. Without further ado, please enjoy my new Magnum Opus.

Also Tumblr made me split it into two parts. Part 2 linked HERE and also at the end of the post.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence/injuries, soulmate au, tons of mutual pining, kind of a slowburn but in reverse. Light angst, but a happy ending.

Word Count: 38.7k total (I am not sorry)

Reader Is: Enhanced (forcefields), 24 years old, female 

The End

Time.

It was a fickle thing. In the blink of an eye, a year had passed. A mere twelve months earlier, you had been living a different life. The only life you had been responsible for was your own. And your plants, but…they never seemed to last that long under your care. Now, everything was different.

It was the day before your birthday. Your twenty-fifth birthday, which, in the world you lived in, meant that tomorrow, a name would appear on your wrist, the name of your soulmate. It had been stressing you out all day, the weight of tomorrow and everything it meant.

It was late, and you were exhausted from a day of overthinking. The longer you stayed up, the longer you delayed the inevitable reveal, and thinking about it too much made you nervous, so you just decided to get to sleep sooner than later.

It was once you were just about to climb into bed that there was a knock at your door.

“It’s open!” You called. The door opened slowly, revealing Steve, who was leaning in your doorway, arms crossed, that pensive look in his blue eyes. “Oh, hey.”

“Hi.” He chuckled. He seemed nervous, although you weren’t sure why.

“Everything alright, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. I actually came in here to check on you. Wanda said you were…quiet.”

“Yeah, you could say that.” You hugged your arms around your frame and bit your lip, looking up at the super soldier standing in front of you. “Just…I don’t know. I’ve been looking forward to tomorrow for my entire life, but…now that it’s here, I’m so scared.”

“Hey, come here.” He said, pulling you to him, strong arms wrapped around you, as if he could protect you from the future itself.

“I don’t know what to do…”

“(Y/N), whoever they are, they are incredibly, incredibly lucky. You don’t need to worry about anything. It’ll all work out. It always does.” He said it like he was certain. Like somehow he knew what would happen in the morning when suddenly your life was turned on its head and you had to venture out to find your other half.

Since you’d met him, Steve wore a leather band around his wrist, covering his soulmate’s name. You’d figured he must have met them in the forties and…maybe they hadn’t made it long enough to see him come out of the ice. But you didn’t ask about it. You never dared to put that question into words. He’d been through enough heartbreak already.

“What if they don’t like me…?”

He scoffed, holding you tighter. “That’s impossible. They’re going to love you. So much. I promise.”

“And…and we’ll still be f-friends?”

Steve pulled away, looking down at you, a hand very carefully touching your cheek. “Of course we will still be friends. Nothing is ever going to change that. I promise.”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Good. Thank you, Steve. For everything.”

He gently wiped the tear away, the pad of his thumb warm. Once he was sure you were okay, he let go, looking at you with that knowing sparkle in his eye once more. He took a little extra time to look at the shirt you were wearing, the Star Wars tee you’d had since high school. “See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” You agreed.

“And happy birthday, (Y/N).”

We’ll Meet Again

“Ma’am? Are you alright? Ma’am?” The voice sounded far away. You were pretty sure you were still dreaming. You opened your eyes slowly and immediately became aware of the pounding pain in your head.

“Ow, oh my God.” You reached up and felt there, but it didn’t feel like you were bleeding or anything.

“Ma’am?”

You froze for a second, slowly looking up at the figure standing above you, confusion written all over his familiar features. It took you a long moment to put the pieces together. You were on a porch somewhere in what appeared to be New York, but it was…different. A lot different than the parts of the city you knew. Alright, it had to be a dream.

You looked up at the man standing above you and did a double-take. But no, it was him. It was a tiny, frail version of Steve. Your eyebrows furrowed and you sat up slowly, staring at him for a long moment before whispering, “Steve?”

His mouth opened and then shut again and he made a face of confusion, like he was trying to place where he knew you from, but he didn’t know you yet, and wouldn’t know you for several more years, to say the least. “Do I know you?”

“It’s complicated.” You exhaled. “Can we go inside? You’re going to need to sit down for this.”

Dumbfounded, Steve nodded and you stood up from the porch, only to find that he was at your eye level when you did. Weird. He led you into the small apartment and you looked around. It was quaint. There was an easel in the corner of the room and…Bucky Barnes sitting on the couch? You stared at him for a good, long moment, a shiver running down your spine.

“Who’s the dame?” He read your shirt. “What is Star…Wars…?”

“About to find that out myself.” He chuckled, leading you into the living room. “Buck, could you give us a minute?”

“I’ll be in the kitchen.” Bucky got up and walked to the other half of their tiny two-bedroom.

You sat down on the couch and so did he. The silence was thick. You thought for several moments. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in the 1940s. You looked down at your hands and it was then that your gaze finally landed on the writing on your wrist. And then everything made sense.

“What’s the date today?”

“It’s July 4th, why?”

“July 4th…” You whispered. “What, 1943?”

You could see the wheels turning behind his eyes before he replied, “Yes ma’am.”

“Well, happy birthday, first of all. And second of all…” You held up your wrist so he could read it. Steve’s eyes went wide and he stared at the three words written neatly on your skin in his own handwriting.

Steven Grant Rogers.

“You’re my…” He looked at you for a long time, his eyes wide. He hastily undid the cuff around his wrist and held it out to you, your own name written there. He ran a finger across the letters, as if to prove they were really there.

“I’m your soulmate.” You said certainly.

It hit you like a truck, then. The weird look on your Steve’s face, the way he was so certain that everything would work out. It was because he had already lived through this. And that meant that in all the time he’d known you, he’d been hiding his mark not because his soulmate had died, but instead because you were his soulmate and you didn’t know it yet.

Your entire year of friendship, of memories, of roadtrips and missions and movie marathons…he had known the whole time. And that look in his eyes wasn’t just his protective side coming out. It was love. It had been love the whole time.

Oh.

Steve exhaled a long, shaking breath, really taking you in. Once again, he had a million stars in his eyes. He let out a whispered, “Wow,” as tears began to form.

You came back down to earth. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, sniffling as a tear ran down his cheek. “I’ve just, I’ve got a lot of…health problems, so I wasn’t sure if I’d ever…meet you. And you’re here and you’re great and I just…I’m sorry.”

That brought tears to your eyes. “Oh, Steve…” You pulled him into your arms and he didn’t hesitate to surrender to your embrace, his arms wrapping tight around you and holding you close, head nestled into the crook of your neck. “Just breathe. It’s okay. I’m right here. I’ve got you.”

Always.

He took your advice, doing his best to avoid an asthma attack on what was shaping up to be the best day of his life. Once he finally caught his breath, he pulled away to look at your face again. “I have to ask…How did you know?”

“I don’t know if you can tell from these clothes,” you motioned down to the t-shirt and sweatpants you were wearing, “but I’m not from around here, exactly.”

“I kind of thought so, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He smiled softly. “Um, where are you from, then?”

“I’m from the future. Like…a while from now. It’s hard to explain why or how, and I’m not really sure how I got here, to be honest, but I’m glad I am.” You sighed, thumb grazing his cheek, wiping away his tears. He crooned at your touch. “I don’t know how long we have before I have to go back.”

“Am I there? Where you’re from?”

“You are. It’s complicated. We’re really good friends and…when I get back, I’m sure we’ll probably be even more than that.” You smiled, shaking your head. “I can’t believe I didn’t put the pieces together sooner.”

“(Y/N)?” Steve asked, trying out your name for the first time.

“Yeah?”

“Let me take you out today, show you a good time here before you have to go back.” He took your hand and carefully laced his fingers through your own, testing the weight of it, the feel of it.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Not to eavesdrop, lovebirds — congratulations, by the way — but if you’re going to take her out, we’re going to need to find her some clothes that aren’t so…‘not from around here.’” Bucky leaned in the doorway.

“Yeah, I thought the same thing.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll call one of my girls and we’ll get her squared away. Sit tight.”

“Thanks, Bucky.” You said, chuckling when his eyes widened after you addressed him by name. “I know you, too. From the, uh, future.”

“Weird…” Bucky decided.

“Long story?” Steve asked, studying the look on your face.

“Very.” You agreed. After staring at him for another long moment, you pulled him back into your arms again, exhaling a long breath before whispering, “Steve, I’m so glad it’s you…”

***

“Wow.” You stared at yourself in the mirror, studying the way Bucky’s, ahem, lady friend, had curled your hair, done your makeup. You did a little twirl and relished in the way the skirt of your dress twirled. It was navy blue, short ruffled sleeves with a flared skirt and buttons down the front. “I think it suits me.”

“I agree. Blue is a good color on you.” Steve was sitting in a chair at the edge of the room, absolutely enamored as he watched you. “Although, I’m sure they’re all good colors on you, doll.”

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks. “Thanks.”

“I mean it.” He stood up and walked to you, slipping one of his hands into each of yours and staring into your eyes, looking at the way you looked standing next to him in his reflection. His soulmate. The kind of girl people write poems about. “You look great.”

“I don’t look out of place?”

“No one is gonna think you’re a time traveler. Well, unless you tell them.” Bucky said. “Maybe don’t do that anymore.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t planning on it.” You chuckled and gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “Where to first, soulmate?”

His cheeks reddened as soon as you said the word. “Well, I was thinking we could go to my favorite little diner down the street to grab something for lunch, and then maybe we could take a walk through the park, catch a movie, and then go out for drinks tonight?”

“What, you aren’t gonna take her dancing?” Bucky teased, ruffling Steve’s hair under a large hand. “Show the girl a good time?”

“I would if I didn’t have two left feet.” Steve chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. He looked at you, waiting for some kind of response. “How does that sound?”

“It sounds like a great time, Steve.”

He smiled. “Good.”

The two of you left the apartment not long after that, and walked side by side towards the diner. Your hands were swinging in the space between you and your hand brushed Steve’s once, twice, a third time, and then you slipped your hand into his, intertwining your fingers.

You caught him smile out of the corner of your eye. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, of course it’s okay.” He grinned and chuckled to himself. “You can hold my hand as much as you want, doll.”

When the two of you finally got to the diner, a little bell rang over your heads and you got seated at a booth by the window. The two of you ordered drinks and you skimmed the menu while you waited.

“So, tell me about yourself.” You said, resting your chin against your fist and looking over at Steve. You studied the way his blue, blue eyes flicked up to your own and the blush that covered his cheeks shortly thereafter.

“You probably know a lot of it already.” He chuckled. “Unless we don’t talk a lot?”

“We talk quite a bit, but I still want to know about this you. Here and now.”

“I like art. Drawing and painting and stuff.” He said. “I haven’t had time to do much lately, but I’d like to get back into it.”

“See, that I didn’t know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into art.”

“I could, uh, show you sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that.” You smiled. “What else?”

“I like to read. I like going to Dodgers games with Bucky. One time he took me to Coney Island. I don’t like rollercoasters, but I liked playing the games. He wasted three whole dollars trying to win a teddy bear for a redhead named Dot.”

“Three whole dollars…” You chuckled. “Well you don’t have to worry about the rollercoasters too much, I can’t go upside down without throwing up.”

“That makes two of us. Enough about me, tell me about you.” Steve nudged, his hand slowly moving towards yours. “How do we know each other? When did we meet?”

“We’re…coworkers, I guess you could say. We met about a year back and now we live in the same building? I’m sorry for being so vague, I just—”

“Don’t want to give it away, yeah, I get it.” He nodded, understandingly.

“You took me under your wing as soon as I moved in and really made me feel welcome. You’re the one that brought me onto the team, actually.” You took a sip of your drink. “We’ve been through a lot together already, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“Mmm…” Steve nodded. “I know I just met you, but I’m really glad you and I are close. Well, will be close.” He paused before chuckling and shaking his head. “There’s still some little voice in the back of my head telling me all of this is just some amazing dream.”

“That doesn’t even begin to cover it.” You chuckled, tucking a piece of curled hair back behind your ear. “I’ve…I’ve had a crush on you forever, Steve. I can’t believe this is happening.”

He stared at you, almost dumbfounded. “O-on me?”

“Yeah.” You agreed. You’d forgotten, you supposed, that Steve had had this phase, the self-depreciation, the insecurity. Your Steve, when complimented, was shy, sure, but you knew he understood what people were talking about. This Steve didn’t see it that way. Not yet. But it would be your job to use your one day with him to change that, to make your soulmate see that he was worthy of love, even self-love. “Yeah, of course on you, Steve. I can’t believe I get to have you.”

His cheeks reddened and he finally took the leap, taking your hand across the table, thumb grazing your knuckles with care. His blue eyes sparkled. “Funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you.”

***

Once the two of you were finished up at the diner, you took a walk through the park. It was gorgeous out, a bright, sunny, warm summer afternoon. Several couples were strolling down the paths, hand in hand, and you were one of them, your hand held tight in Steve’s, his thumb gently stroking the back of yours.

You went to the theater and caught a movie together. Luckily enough, they were showing the Wizard of Oz. Your current situation had you feeling like Dorothy in more ways than one. The movie had only come out four years earlier, which was definitely strange. Not to mention the fact that the tickets were only twenty-five cents, the popcorn a mere ten cents.

And then, once the movie was over and the sun was setting, you went to a bar, where Steve ordered each of you a drink. You took a sip of yours, something sweet, and smiled at him across the table.

“So, how’s your day been, birthday boy?” You asked coyly.

“The best I’ve had so far,” he replied, his eyes sparkling. The sparkle faded, however, when his expression grew somber. He hesitated, but then asked, “Okay, I have to know…How long do I have to wait to see you again?”

You exhaled a long sigh, biting your lip. If you told him the truth, he might ask questions you couldn’t tell him the answers to. And besides, the real answer would require some math. You didn’t know the specifics.

“I’ll be honest, Steve, it’s…it’s a pretty long time.” You thought for a long moment before continuing, “I…I can’t really tell you why. It’s all really complicated, and if I tell you too much, it might not happen the way it’s supposed to.”

“Oh…” Steve nodded and took a sip of his drink. Once he set down the glass, he reached across the table and took your hand. “Well, however long it is,” he looked straight into your eyes and a chill ran down your spine, “It’ll be worth it. Every second. I promise.”

You could have cried. “I hope so.”

“There you two are! I was wondering which bar you’d wandered into!” Bucky was, apparently, already slightly intoxicated as he approached you and Steve with a date of his own. “How was your day on the town, lovebirds?”

“Spectacular.” You replied. “I wish there was more time to soak it in.”

“New York sure is something, huh?” Bucky’s date asked, giggling innocently. If only she knew the half of it.

“Yeah, you could say that.” You laughed and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear.

“You guys wanna sit with us?” Steve asked.

“If you don’t mind too much, punk.” Bucky grinned.

Steve got up and switched sides of the booth so he was sitting next to you instead of across from you. You slid your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He smiled, chuckling softly to himself as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“Did you give the lady her dance, Rogers?” Bucky asked, smirking.

“Not yet.” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see. The asthma makes it a bit difficult sometimes.”

“Never seems to stop you from getting into fights.” Bucky muttered, causing Steve’s cheeks to flush.

“Just wait until the band plays something slow,” Bucky’s date pointed out.

“There you go!” Bucky raised his glass to his lips. “Great idea, Maggie.”

“Glad to be of service.”

And so, the four of you chatted until the band started to play something sweet and slow. Steve looked at you for approval and you nodded. He led you out onto the floor with the other couples.

Steve blushed, flustered, and he looked at you before saying, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“It’s easy.” You promised, guiding one of his hands to your waist and holding the other. “That’s it. And then we just move to the music. You can twirl me around if you feel so inclined.”

“Alright.” He chuckled, swaying in time with you. “Hey, uh, (Y/N), I need you to know…I had a really, really great time today. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted in a soulmate and I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you someday, however far away that someday is.”

“I’m glad I met your expectations.” You smiled, tugging him a bit closer.

“No, you exceeded them. You’re better than anything I could have imagined. I’m so lucky.” He paused, and his expression fell a little. “I know I’m a lot. I have a lot of problems and they might complicate things sometimes, but…”

“Steve, you’re perfect.” You shook your head and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “The universe gave you to me for a reason and I’m so, so glad it did. You’re amazing. I can’t think of anyone better to spend the rest of my life with.”

He was quiet for a moment before whispering, “Can I please kiss you, doll?”

You leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, the music swelling around you as you guided his hands to your waist, cupping his cheeks to hold him close to you. When the moment had passed, you rested your nose against his, meeting his eyes and inhaling his scent, committing this version of him to memory before he was reduced to just that, a memory.

“Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.”

You spent the rest of the night together. Twirling across the dancefloor, talking, soaking each other in. But when you reached the front porch of the townhouse, Steve looked back down the steps to find you’d disappeared, leaving him with nothing but the memory of your lips, your laugh, your smile.

“You gonna be alright?” Bucky asked, a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t know.” He replied, words swallowed up by the sounds of the night. “Just give me a minute, pal.”

Bucky nodded, solemn. “Take all the time you need.”

The Beginning

Steve remembered the day you’d met—for the second time, though he didn’t realize it right away—like it was tattooed on his brain. It was a few years after he’d come out of the ice and he had taken Tony’s advice to get out more, which had led him to the local mall.

It had been an uneventful day. He strolled around the perimeter, taking in the storefronts, studying the fashion, browsing the menu of a pretzel place, reading the posters on the exterior of the movie theater, the things that were coming out in the coming months. Nothing interested him in particular. He didn’t really care for war movies.

After a few quiet hours, his peaceful walk was interrupted by screams, people running away at top speed, which, of course, caused him to spring into action, assessing the situation. He ran towards the source of the chaos, scanning, scanning, until his eyes landed on the attacker, a guy with a flamethrower, aimed at a teenage theater employee. Steve hurdled over a trash can, moving people out of the way, directing them to safety and trying to put himself between himself and the mallgoers, but before he could, you did, hands out in front of you and what seemed to be an invisible shield poised there, redirecting the flames and protecting the movie theater employee that had nearly been caught in the crossfire.

A quick flick of your wrist knocked the attacker’s gun out of his hands and it slid across the floor to Steve’s feet. He chucked it into the fountain without a second thought, where it fizzled pathetically. The guy lunged at you with heavy metal gauntlets, and you dodged the first swing but caught the second in the face, falling backwards. When you landed, however ungracefully, you sent a blast of energy at the guy, knocking him over a plant and sprawling onto the tile floor.

While the guy was on the ground, Steve tackled him, wrenching the gauntlets off of his hands and chucking them away, too. Soon, the police arrived, apprehending the guy while mall security comforted the distressed mall patrons, ushering them to safety and medical attention.

You sat on a bench after, breathing heavy, a cut on your forehead. Steve walked over, interested in this superpowered rescuer, someone who wasn’t yet on the Avengers’ radar, but would most definitely be on the news the next day if the sheer amount of phone footage recorded was any indication.

“Are you alright, ma’am?” He asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just glad everyone is okay.” You told him, meeting his eyes.

He finally got a good look at you and froze, looking bewildered. A deer in headlights. “You’re…”

There you are, doll. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.

It was you. Of course it was you. Since the moment he’d been unfrozen, he’d been looking for you. His soulmate. The girl from the future that popped in on his twenty-fifth birthday, turned his whole life on its head, and then left without warning, hours after their first kiss. Back when he was five-foot-nothing with asthma and more medical conditions than he could even remember.

Back before he was anything.

And you’d loved him anyway. You’d given him the day of a lifetime and hope for not only a future, but for love. That someone could love him for him despite it all.

“I know.” You knew? “I…I don’t know what it is or…why I can do it. I’ve been like this since college.”

Your powers, you meant. You thought he was talking about your powers and not your name, which was burning a hole into his wrist beneath the thick leather band keeping it hidden.

“Right. Well, it’s…” He sighed, gathering his words, hiding the elation and pain behind a warm smile. “It’s a good thing you were here. I don’t have my shield on me.”

“Mine is built in.” You chuckled.

“You, uh…have a cut. On your forehead.”

“Oh, do I?” You reached up and found it with your fingers and they came away a bit bloody. “Shit.”

“Come on.” He offered you his hand and you took it, letting him lead you over to the counter of the theater. “Hi, do you have a first aid kit we could borrow?”

“Yeah, of course.” The girl at the counter said, rushing to grab it.

Steve patched you up with gentle hands, off in a corner on your own, in the room the theater used for birthday parties. Staring up at him, you finally realized the obvious. This was Captain America. And he was using a careful finger to spread a triple antibiotic ointment on your cut.

Play it cool, (Y/N).

“Do you do this often? The hero thing?” Steve asked, trying to sound somewhat indifferent. He couldn’t be, though. Not entirely. Not when it came to you.

“No.” You shrugged. “Haven’t had much opportunity, thankfully. I mean…I’d like to, I just didn’t know how to…get into it, I guess. Any email I sent to Stark or S.H.I.E.L.D. or whatever would end up on a slush pile.”

“Well, I’ve got some connections. If you’re seriously considering it. I can’t say I recommend it, but…Obviously you’ve got that protective instinct and you seem to work well under pressure.”

“I don’t know about that. My heart is about to leap out of my chest.” You admitted, laughing as he carefully laid a Bandaid over the cut, closing the kit.

“That makes two of us.”

“Well, if you think I’m really cut out for it…I’d love to help.”

***

It was three days later that Nick Fury got in touch with you. You thought it was a scam call at first, but no one else would possibly have the info about you that he did. That was S.H.I.E.L.D. for you, you supposed.

You packed up your apartment, your boxes of books, your old journals, your clothes and makeup, your life, and hopped in the jet that was waiting for you at the meeting place. Inside was a pilot with flaming red hair, Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow. It was hard not to get a little starstruck.

She helped you load your things into the jet, let you settle into the copilot seat, and then you took off, soaring away from your old life and towards your new one, the mysterious, magnificent facility tucked into upstate New York, that iconic A emblazoned on the front of the building.

“Steve said you’re telekinetic. That’s cool.” She complimented with a smirk.

“Yeah, I’ve got force-field stuff. I don’t know what else, exactly.”

“Oh, we’ll figure all that out. Banner already has a list of tests he wants to run. Nothing too intense. I made him promise not to give you the lab rat treatment too soon.”

“Reassuring.” You chuckled.

“Wanda’s been decorating your room all day. It’s not often we get new blood.”

“I appreciate it. I can’t wait to meet everyone.”

“They can’t wait to meet you.”

The jet landed a little under an hour later and Natasha helped you haul boxes towards the front door, where Steve was waiting. It was like time slowed, that look in his eyes, glistening little stars.

“Come on, Rogers, these boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” Nat waved him over, snapping both of you out of your trance.

“Right, right.” He jogged over. “Is there anything heavy?”

“That one.” You pointed. “It’s got my candles in it.”

“On it.”

You grabbed a few tote bags, slinging your computer bag over your shoulder. A few others came out to help, Clint and Wanda namely, the latter of whom used her shimmering red powers to speed the process along. Were you any more confident in your own powers, you would do the same, but you hadn’t had much opportunity to use them yet, and you didn’t want to drop anything fragile on your first day.

You started unpacking the essentials, your smart speaker, your laptop, some books and your favorite candle. You put some clothes in the dresser, hung some up in the large sliding closet in the wall. Upon further examination, you had your own bathroom, too, which was nice. There was a wall tapestry with sunflowers on it, and several little knickknacks. Wanda’s loving touch.

Someone cleared their throat and you turned to find Steve there, arms crossed, leaning in the doorway.

“Hi there, um, just checking in. Figured you might want a tour when you got settled in. No rush, of course.”

“I would love a tour. I can already tell I’m gonna get lost in this place.”

He grinned. “Not on my watch. Come on. I’ll show you around.”

Steve walked with you through the office spaces, the computer labs, Bruce’s lab, Tony’s. Tony was in the city, but Bruce was home and introduced himself with a dad joke about the Hulk and a warm handshake. You saw the training facility, a giant room with floor to ceiling windows, a wall of mirrors, practice dummies, landing mats, and plenty of sparring weapons. There was, separately, a fully furnished gym, and then the basics, a large, modern kitchen, living areas and lounges, study spaces, a library, a party room with a bar, and a very fancy coffee machine.

You could see yourself making a home here.

Steve walked you back to the hallway where all the bedrooms were. “If you need anything or have any questions, my room is just down the hall on the left. Wanda is next door. Dinner is at six.”

“Six o’clock it is. Thank you, Cap.”

“You can call me Steve.”

“Steve.” You nodded, slowly accepting the fact that you were now on a first name basis with Captain America. “And you can call me (Y/N).”

“Nice to meet you, (Y/N).” He said, some twinge of nostalgia at the end of his words. You turned back into your room to get some more unpacking done and Steve walked back down the hall, taking a deep breath and looking up at the ceiling, doing his best to hold in his tears.

…Ready For It?

You spent the first few days in your room for the most part, unpacking but also hiding, if you were honest. You met Vision. He seemed nice. He also had the ability to phase through walls, apparently. Still no sign of Thor, but you weren’t holding your breath. You were sure he was a busy guy.

Sam Wilson introduced himself with the same offer everyone else had so far, to let them know if you needed anything. You appreciated it.

And then, finally, there was Tony, whose dry humor came across immediately. He sized you up, drilling questions about where you went to college, what you majored in, what your top three movies from the 1980s were. You were pretty sure he liked you, but you didn’t think he trusted you. And that was okay. You knew that was something you’d have to earn around there.

“No soulmark yet, kid?” He asked, eyeing up your bare wrist.

“Not yet.” You confirmed.

“That makes you what, twenty-three? Twenty-four?”

“Twenty-four. As of last month, actually.”

“Okay.” He nodded. “Well that’s exciting. I’m sure you’re counting down the days.”

“More or less.” You chuckled, catching Steve watching you out of the corner of your eye. He did that a lot, you noticed.

Before Tony could come up with some witty comeback, the lights flashed red, accompanied by a loud siren.

“Vis? What’s going on?” Tony asked as Vision walked into the room, his sophisticated sweater melting into the uniform you’d seen on the news, red and green with a golden cape.

“There seems to be a stir at the local fairgrounds. Tremors and gunshots. Hostages.”

“Alright, let’s go pay them a visit then.” Tony pressed a button on his watch and transformed into Iron Man in front of your very eyes. “You can stay here or come with us. Up to you. But suit up fast. We’re out in five.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for the shock to wear off, but the sirens definitely weren’t helping.

“Stick with me.” Steve instructed, voice calm, confident.

“Okay.” You nodded, following after him, towards the hangar where they kept the jets.

Natasha was standing at a locker, pulling her catsuit on with impressive speed, Clint beside her, loading a quiver with arrows, checking his bow.

“Nat, can you get her ready?”

“Baby’s first mission?” She asked, impressed.

You nodded, waiting for orders.

“Well, it should be an easy one, from the sound of it. Here, put this on. We’ll get you your own gear in the next few weeks.”

She chucked you an extra suit and you did your best to shimmy into it. Surprisingly, you could actually move in it. There were holsters, but you weren’t gun trained, so you figured it was best to leave that to the professionals. Instead, you followed the others onto the jet, hoping your forcefields and blossoming battle instincts would be enough to protect you out there.

***

The fair had devolved quickly into madness. There was fire, screaming, running, and gunshots. You flinched at the onslaught of it, but followed the others out anyway, listening to the voice in your earpiece, Steve’s voice, as he issued orders. You were put on civilian evacuation with Sam while the others engaged with the attackers. Six of them.

You did your job diligently, ushering people to a safe distance while law enforcement arrived. Until one of the attackers engaged with you, however, mistaking you for a civilian. Something snapped. In an instant your flight instinct vanished, replaced with the need to fight. He punched at you and you countered, sweeping a leg under him and then using a forcefield to knock him into the cornfield.

One of them launched a bazooka at Tony while he wasn’t looking, and without a thought, you trapped the explosive in a bubble, forcing it into the air where it exploded harmlessly, away from everyone.

And when the dust settled, the rest of the team turned to look at you, sharing looks with each other.

“Thanks for the save, kid. I owe you one.” Tony complimented, clapping you on the back on his way into the jet. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Your heart raced with the adrenaline of battle, the feeling of a job well done. Steve gave you a thumbs-up, a proud grin. His risk had paid off. You weren’t a total failure.

“You doin’ okay?” He asked, slinging his shield onto his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You replied, letting the energy fizzle back into your palms.

He watched with interest at the faint crackles of blue that made up your powers. “You did good out there.”

You felt your cheeks flush. “Thanks, I—"

“Alright new girl, were are we stopping for food?” Natasha asked, slinging an arm around your shoulders.

“I get to pick?” You asked with a laugh.

“And don’t be afraid to pick something fancy. It’s Tony’s treat.” Clint added, walking with the rest of you onto the jet. You strapped in while the others tried their darndest to influence your pick, bickering like siblings. Like your family.

Yeah, you could get used to this.

Waypoint

Your training started shortly after that first mission. Bruce took all your vitals, measured them before, during, and after use of your powers. He recorded said powers with every device known to man until he had your ability down to a science. He had a hunch they were of cosmic origin, but you had no idea when you could have possible come in contact with something like that.

Next came a uniform. At the moment, it was a dark indigo color, something similar to navy blue, but leaning a bit more purple. The chest area was left blank, Tony claiming he’d add a symbol once his graphic design team came up with something. He did add some accents up the arms and down the legs, thin, light blue lines that matched the color of your powers.

Natasha and Clint gave you a few crash courses on weapons and your aim left a bit to be desired, but your hand-eye coordination wasn’t bad. Sam put you on a modified military workout regimen to get in shape, get your stamina up with the rest of the team.

You practiced making forcefields, seeing how big you could make them, how small, how much force they could endure before they broke. Natasha shot some bullets at them, and your fields caught them, allowing you to kill their momentum and drop them harmlessly to the ground. They could withstand some electricity, but not Wanda’s powers. And they held against Steve’s superstrength, but not for long. Still, a few hits from a supersoldier was more than most could endure, so it would buy you some time in the field.

Eventually, you moved on from just forcefields and started learning to move objects. It turned out, you were not limited to bubbles. You could create platforms underneath things. This evolved into creating platforms underneath people, that they could jump on, or ride on top of while you moved them.

You practiced using them for transport too, but it was harder standing on them while controlling them, especially if you tried to jump from platform to platform. It was a bit like patting your head and rubbing your tummy, and it would take a lot of practice.

There weren’t many missions, and the ones that popped up, you didn’t get sent on. They were high level things, and while your powers were improving, and very quickly, Bruce was always quick to reassure you, you weren’t ready for covert ops yet, especially ones that had been months in the making.

Every time Steve got sent off, he left with that sad little half-smile of his, the one where he pressed his lips together, eyes glittering like a lake under moonlight. He’d give you some words of comfort, usually dealing with how short the mission was supposed to be. It didn’t often make you feel better.

Bruce stayed behind with you, most times. More like all of the times. Code Greens, as they were called, were seldom necessary, and besides, as they had learned with Wanda back during the Ultron days, Bruce could be a liability if someone else got in his head. But it was nice not being completely alone in the big empty facility.

“He always looks so sad when he leaves.” You noted, sipping from a mug of warm tea. Steve had left only moments before, the last member of the team that was shipping out.

Bruce thought about it for a moment. “Does he?”

“Oh. I don’t know. Maybe I don’t know him that well.” You shrugged, the sounds of Animal Crossing resonating from the TV.

“You know, he has, lately. He didn’t used to.” Bruce noted.

“Weird.”

“Uh-huh.” He replied absentmindedly. “So explain to me this game?”

“Okay, so you move to this island and have to spend all your money paying off debt to this raccoon…”

It was in another training session that there was a malfunction. A shock grenade went off dangerously close to Sam. Before you could even process what you were doing, your hand shot out, a bright, pulsating star crackling in front of him, another, second star on the other side of the room. Steve assessed the situation and used the shield to knock Sam into the star, neutralizing the grenade right after. There was a bright flash and Sam appeared on the other side of the room, tumbling out of the second star.

You froze, curling your fingers and closing both of them. There was a slight pinch in your shoulder, near the base of your neck. The others all stared.

“Wait, what was that?” Bruce asked over the intercom.

“You did that?” Steve asked, motioning to Sam as he walked over.

“I think so.”

“What was that?”

Natasha asked, looking you up and down. Sam stared at you like you’d sprouted a third eye.

“I don’t know.”

“Do it again.” Bruce insisted. “Hang on, I’m coming in there.”

The door from the observation room opened and Bruce joined the rest of you in the circle that was steadily forming, all of them watching you, waiting.

“I don’t know, it was just like…” You focused on that feeling again, the desperation to get Sam the hell away from that grenade, and as though you were punching a hole through reality, it opened in the center of the circle, an eight-pointed star, bobbing and ebbing and flowing, made of the light blue energy you were so familiar with.

Carefully, you opened another one, ten feet in the air above the first. Clint shrugged and chucked a tennis ball into it. Sure enough, it popped up to the second one, before falling down through the first one again. This continued until eventually you closed the bottom one, letting the tennis ball bounce harmlessly across the floor.

“Well shit.”

“Waypoints.” Bruce said, deep in thought. “Teleportation. This…this opens up a lot of doors.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Steve murmured.

“Hey, that’s kind of cool. Waypoint.” Clint said, drawing attention to it. “What do you think?”

“What, like as a codename?” You asked, weighing it as an option.

“I like it.” Sam grinned. “Waypoint.”

“Waypoint.” You repeated, trying it out. Hi, I’m Waypoint. I’m an Avenger.

It sounded silly, but it was getting more official by the day. There was, of course, only one way to make it official official, and that was with one of Tony Stark’s famed parties…

Wonderstruck

You let out a sigh, staring at your reflection in the mirror. It was the night of the big party. Your first, as an Avenger, and the official induction of what Tony was deeming the second class of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, Sam: the Falcon, Wanda: the Scarlet Witch, Vision, and You: Waypoint.

He’d gotten you a dress to wear, one that matched your uniform. It was long, sleek, that navy blue/indigo color. It glittered like stars and moved like a dream. And in the middle of it, poised at the base of the sweetheart neckline, was the eight-pointed star that Tony had turned into your symbol.

Your hair and makeup were done, and all that was left was the zipper.

Someone knocked on the door.

“It’s open!” You called, expecting Natasha or Wanda. Instead, it was Steve, who, when he saw you were unzipped, pulled the door almost all the way closed and shielded his eyes with his hand.

“Sorry! I’ll leave—”

“Wait, actually, could you help me zip this up? I can’t reach.”

Steve nodded, slowly lowering his hand and entering the room. He closed the door behind him to give you some privacy. He was dressed in a sharp black suit with a blue tie. His lapel pin looked like a tiny version of his shield.

“Wow…” He murmured, taking you in. “You look great, (Y/N).”

“You think so? I’m not sure blue is really my color…”

He scoffed. “It most certainly is.” He swept the hair off of your shoulder, meeting your eyes in the reflection in the mirror as he gently pulled the zipper higher until it was secure in place. “In more ways than one.”

“Yeah, guess so.” You agreed, nervous energy crackling around your fingers, blue as ever. You dispelled it, snapping out of it.

Steve looked at the two of you in the mirror for a long time before turning towards the door again. Halfway there, though, he turned back around, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a flat velvet box. “This is, um…for you.”

“Oh! Thank you.” You reached for it, heart racing. Inside was a necklace, its pendant a silver star with eight points. In the center, an aquamarine gem. You gasped, looking at it. It was beautiful, delicate. “Steve, this is beautiful. Thank you so much.”

“It’s the least I could do.” He said, offering his hand. “May I?”

“Please.” You said, handing him the necklace and moving your hair out of the way. He did the clasp behind your neck. It settled between your collarbones.

“There. Now it’s official.” He whispered.

“Almost.”

“Almost.” Steve agreed, offering you his elbow. “Right this way.”

You looped your arm through his, letting him lead you out into the initial murmurs of the party. What Natasha dubbed the “extended family” had shown up. Rhodey, Maria Hill, Nick Fury, Happy Hogan, Pepper Potts, and, of course, Thor.

He was a sight, that was for sure. He towered over everyone else at 6’5”, arms the size of tree trunks. It was a bit intimidating to say the very least.

“Rogers!” Thor bellowed.

“Thor! I didn’t think you were coming.”

He grinned. “I never miss a feast.” His eyes fell on you. “And you must be this new team member Banner spoke of.”

“I’m (Y/N). It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“The honor is mine.”

“Here.” Natasha handed you a champagne flute. She eyed up your necklace. “That’s cute.”

“Steve gave it to me.”

She quirked an eyebrow and looked up at the supersoldier, who still had your arm. “Steve has good taste.”

“Steve had help.” He admitted, smiling sheepishly.

“I’d get you one too, Rogers, but Thor has the strong stuff.” Natasha said, patting his other arm while you took a sip of the champagne. It was sweet, tangy. “God’s favorite boy scout has trouble getting drunk.”

“My tolerance is too good.”

“I think we just need to get you a Four Loko. Or two.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“It’s like four drinks in one can. They’re insane. I tried in college, but tapped out halfway through.”

He considered it for a moment, letting out a laugh. “See, that just might work.”

Tony wandered around the lounge, greeting everyone. He looked you up and down. “You look beautiful, Portal Girl.”

You internally chuckled. The others had advised you not to feed his ego when he used his nicknames. “Thank you, Tony.”

“And you’re also here, Rogers.”

“Tony.” Steve nodded.

“You her date tonight?” He asked, motioning to your joint arms.

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose I am.” Steve agreed, not budging. Neither were you.

“Well, I hope you’ve taken some dance lessons since last time, Rogers. I’m sure (Y/N) wouldn’t want to have her feet walked all over.”

Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes as Tony moved onto his next targets. Sam emerged, looking very sharp in a red suit. Even Vision had dressed up for the occasion, Wanda beside him wearing an elegant red dress. The two of them talked and laughed on the other side of the room and you smiled. You could tell when you moved in that he cared about her.

You wondered if robots could have soulmates, too. If any android had a soul, surely it was Vision. Maybe you’d ask him about it sometime.

Once all of the expected guests were accounted for, Tony did the briefest ceremony in the history of ceremonies, introducing you all to the few members of the press he had allowed to come. You spent the beginning of the evening shaking hands, networking, and then once the strangers left, the real party started.

Nat switched you to something a lot stronger to champagne, and she was running the bar, so it was easy to get refills. Clint and Thor were arm wrestling on one of the tables which was…hilarious, admittedly.

Steve found you after a few hours apart. “Hey, will you be my partner?”

“Sure, for what?”

He laughed, loosening up quite a bit with Thor’s Asgardian mead in his system. “Sam and Bruce are trying to teach me how to play Beer Ball or something.”

“Beer Pong?”

“That one, yeah.” He nodded. “Winners play Clint and Nat.”

“That checks out.” You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m game. I haven’t played since college, though.”

“I haven’t played ever so I’m sure you’re a step ahead of me anyway.”

“We’ll see about that. Your physics skills are pretty good, what with the shield and all.” You complimented, earning that charming smile of his. “We might just give them a run for their money.”

“Enough flirting, kids, get over here.” Bruce grinned as he finished lining up the cups.

“You know how to play Beer Pong?” You asked, plucking a ping pong ball off of the table and fiddling with it.

“Kid, I have seven PhDs. I have played my share of Beer Pong.” Bruce admitted.

You couldn’t help but smile at that. It was nice to see the Avengers loosen up like this, have a good time together, really truly bond.

You gave Steve the basic rundown of the rules: no elbows past the edge of the table, balls back, stoplight, island, and that if you let Sam and Bruce get too many cups, you and Steve would get “schwaisted” as the kids said, or, at the very least, you would. Steve would probably be fine.

“Ladies first.” Sam said, giving you the second ping pong ball, one of which, you handed to Steve.

“You’re gonna regret that.” You said, rubbing the ball between your hands before perfectly bouncing it into the cup at the front of the pyramid. “Your turn, Steve.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He said, sinking the ball into the same cup. “I believe that’s three cups, gentlemen.”

Sam’s jaw dropped. He shared a look with Bruce. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“You’re telling me.” Bruce chuckled, retrieving the ping pong ball and rolling it back. He started drinking the contents of the first cup, leaving the other two to Sam. “Alright, do your worst.”

Needless to say, you wiped the floor with the other two. Barely even gave them a chance. Which is why it was only fair that Clint and Natasha kicked the absolute shit out of the two of you.

You struggled to down your third cup, which is why when you reached for the fourth, Steve shook his head and took it from you, only offering a wink when you opened your mouth to protest.

“Hey! Steve, it’s supposed to be five each.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, she already finished hers.” Steve shrugged, chugging another like it was water. “Right, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah absolutely. What he said.” You shrugged.

You helped clean up the mess a bit after the game was over, rounding up empty cups, wiping down the table, and then washing your hands as Tony switched the music to something upbeat, dancing music.

“Come on, let’s dance.” Steve urged, clearly toeing the line between tipsy and drunk. He reached out for your hand and you couldn’t resist. You didn’t even try.

You let him lead you out to the middle of the room, where Wanda and Vision were already dancing together and looking adorable doing it.

“I thought you couldn’t dance.” You laughed as he spun you around to the music.

“I’m a quick learner.” He whispered, mouth against your ear.

You swore your entire body flushed red, but you let your feet lead you through the dance. Steve took both of your hands, swinging you out and then back in, spinning you around. You blamed the alcohol on what happened next. Your heel caught on the fabric of your dress and you fell over the back of one of the couches, tugging Steve down with you.

He laughed, using an arm to push himself off of you, hovering, eyes soft. “Sorry.”

“It’s my fault. You’ve got me falling for you, Rogers.” You murmured, gazing up at him through your eyelashes.

You said it as a joke, a quip, but there was some truth in it. More than some. It had been a magical, magical night. And if it weren’t for the leather cuff on his wrist, you could see yourself spending the rest of your life with him.

Steve closed his eyes, smiling and sitting up, helping you upright again. “I’ll go get us some water.”

You sighed and sat back against the couch, heart hammering in your chest.

Natasha perched on the armrest, looking down at you. “What was that?”

“Not sure. I think I fumbled the bag. If…if there even was a bag I guess.” You chuckled, shrugging.

“No, there is something there. I can see it.” Natasha said, thinking as she nursed a glass of wine. “Hmmm…”

Steve stood in the kitchen, getting two glasses of filtered water from the fridge. He exhaled a deep sigh, leaning against it. He replayed the moment in his head over and over. The look in your eyes, the way your necklace glimmered in the light, the sound of your voice, the flush of your cheeks. You were catching feelings for him, that much was clear. He wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

Steve Rogers, I am so sorry you will not hear me say these words until after I go back tomorrow, but I love you. I have loved you for a very long time. And I know I will love you for the rest of my life.

Maybe it was a good thing, he reasoned, thinking back on his first night with you all those years ago. But you still couldn’t know why. Not yet.

It was going to kill him to keep it a secret for ten more months.

Timeless

Sherbert rays of the sunrise lit the training room, filling it with a warm orange glow. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs while you listened to music. That was another thing on the growing list of skills that had improved during your stint as an Avenger: your flexibility.

Suddenly, Steve was standing over you, saying something you couldn’t hear due to the noise cancelling headphones over your ears.

You slid one off, looking up at him. “Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re here early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” You shrugged, reaching for your other leg.

“Sorry to hear that. Wanna talk about it?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I think I drank too much caffeine before bed last night. Learned my lesson. No caffeine after six.”

“That’s a good rule. Mind if I stretch with you?” He asked.

“I don’t mind.” You tossed your headphones onto your workout bag and connected your phone to the Bluetooth speakers, putting on some music you could both listen to.

“I recognize her. This girl’s voice.”

“Taylor Swift.”

“Ah. Yes, her. I keep hearing about her.”

“That doesn’t surprise me.” You laughed. “Have you liked any of her songs so far?”

“I don’t know if I could name one for you, to be honest.” He listened to the song that was playing. “This one’s not bad, though.”

“I’ll send you some recommendations. There are some I think you’d really vibe with.”

He smiled. “I’d really like that.”

The others came in not long after, did their warm-ups, and then Steve briefed everyone on the plan for their training session, one in which everyone would swap weapons, practice using each other’s things in case they ever had to in battle if one of their teammates got disarmed.

You started with Clint. He showed you the absolute basics of archery, how to pull back the bow, how to notch an arrow, how to aim, taking into account distance. You fired a few arrows into a target and did okay, you supposed, but you would need some practice if you wanted to actually get good at it. Years of it, realistically.

Natasha showed you how to use her electric batons, which were fun, but did intimidate you a little. You definitely did not want to end up on the wrong end of those things.

And then, inevitably, you were standing in front of Steve. He offered you his shield, which on its own seemed daunting. You held it for a second, assessing the weight of it. It was noticeably lighter than you thought it would be.

“Woah.”

“Yeah. People always expect it to be heavier.” He said, a hand resting on his hip as he watched you hold it. It looked so right in your hands, he decided. “It’s good for a lot of things, but first…” Carefully, he helped you put your arm through the straps on the back of it, holding it in front of your body in its primary and most famous purpose.

You let out a sigh, shaking your head. “This is so crazy.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, you have no idea.” You chuckled, waving it around a bit.

“You keep looking at it like it’s Thor’s hammer or something.” He teased.

“Feels like it.”

“Well the good news is, this thing is not password protected by some Asgardian magic words. The bad news is, that means the bad guys can pick it up, too.” Steve said, gently positioning your body in an offensive stance, nudging a foot with his own, switching your arms around. “You can use it to bash somebody head on, or you can angle it a bit to get a more direct blow. It will take the force of most things. I…I actually kind of don’t know the limits. Hasn’t failed me yet. The paint does come off from time to time, though, so don’t worry about that.”

“Okay, wow.” You nodded. “Good to know.”

“I trust you with it.” He said, eyes meeting yours.

You smiled, heart racing. “I’m honored.”

He showed you a few other tricks, and then training wrapped up for the day, everyone grabbing some water, taking a shower, or making plans for lunch. Once you walked off with Wanda, Nat cornered Steve.

“What was that?” She asked, that catlike grin on her face.

“What was what?”

“I saw it, you know, the way you looked at her. I think you’ve got a soft spot.”

“Yeah, well, I did rope her into all this. Can’t say I don’t feel responsible for her.” He dodged expertly, weaving through Natasha’s mental gymnastics with skill and precision, or so he thought.

“Uh-huh sure. Well, she, Wanda, and I are going antiquing this afternoon. You should come. After all, you know quite a bit about vintage valuables.”

He laughed. “Hey!”

She walked off, smiling to herself. Steve thought about it for all of four seconds before he decided he would tag along. He hadn’t been to an antique shop in this century, so he couldn’t imagine the kinds of things they had there now. He might even learn a thing or two.

***

After a quick lunch, Steve did decide to tag along. It wound up being him, Vision, and the girls, which he certainly didn’t mind.

You and Wanda were buzzing with excitement, Natasha looking on and following behind with Steve. Vision lingered, studying everything, picking things up to get a closer look. He had projected a human disguise over himself, something Steve didn’t know he could even do, but it seemed to work. No one had batted an eye at him since they stepped foot in the shop.

“This place is…huge.” Steve said, glancing down the hall of the seemingly endless store.

“Biggest one in the state.” You chimed. “It’s the whole city block.”

“There’s a basement, too. And a second floor.” Natasha informed him, patting his arm. “This is gonna be an all day kinda thing.”

“Oh undoubtedly.” He said, setting down the teacup in his hands, a petite, floral thing.

You sifted through a box of records, picking up the soundtrack of the Muppets Movie.

“Is that a frog?”

“This is Kermit thee Frog, show some respect.” You laughed, putting the record in your basket.

“Kermit?” Steve asked again, seeming genuine.

“Oh I forgot you missed the Muppets, oh my god.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound familiar.”

“We need to fix that as soon as possible.” You told him. “Can’t have you missing out on cultural icons like Gonzo and Miss Piggy.”

“Okay now you’re making things up.” He chuckled, shuffling through the records as well. You showed him a few good ones and he added them to his basket, saying something about how he’s been meaning to use his new record player.

Wanda browsed some vintage rings, picking out a few, and Natasha rifled through a rack of vintage dresses, most of them from the forties and fifties from the look of it. Nat held up a navy blue one, silky, with short ruffled sleeves and buttons down the front. Steve froze, looking at it. For a moment, it looked just a little too familiar. Like the dress you had worn that night.

Eventually Nat put the dress back. You hadn’t seen it. You were distracted by a shelf of VHS tapes, looking for the old Barbie movies, whatever those were. Wanda was with you, on the next shelf over, calling out movie names when she found something cool.

Steve wandered off on his own, looking around at the different trinkets and toys, old letterman jackets and jewelry, dishes that may or may not contain lead. Finally, he came upon a little room full of art, paintings and photographs, handmade pottery.

Time stood still.

He stared at the large painting on the wall, oil on canvas. Two star-crossed lovers dancing in a bar in Brooklyn, a little guy with a dream, dancing with the most beautiful girl in the world, twirling in her dark blue dress. His heart raced. He never thought he’d see this painting again.

It had been his last painting before leaving for Camp Lehigh, the last painting he did before his life and body changed forever. He’d used the last of his paints to make it, every color mixed with care to get the exact color of your hair, your eyes, your lips, all from memory.

And it was here in front of him. When he had been presumed dead, it must have been sold off. He didn’t really have anyone left it could go to.

In that moment, he wasn’t Captain America. Standing in his shoes was that little guy from Brooklyn.

“Woah.” You murmured, suddenly right next to him. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yeah, it…it is.” He agreed, looking away from it. He didn’t want you to get too close of a look at it. However, that didn’t stop you from walking forward to inspect it closer.

“‘Soulmates.’ Artist unknown.” You read from the plaque. “Oh, it’s from the 40s. 1943. Does it look familiar?”

“Yeah, actually. Bucky liked that bar.” Steve said, pointing to the details of the interior. “It’s a little place in Brooklyn, called Val’s. Well, it was I guess. I don’t know if it’s still open anymore.”

Your eyes lingered on the woman’s face, on the man’s. You didn’t say anything about how they looked, about the uncanny resemblance to yourself and Steve. Instead, you sighed. “Someday, I want to be that in love with someone.”

He just about cried. But instead, he gathered his words, put a hand on your shoulder, and told you with confidence, “You will be.”

***

Hours later, when you were all shopped out and you’d checked out with your things, Steve stayed at the counter while the rest of you went to the car.

“Hey, um, that painting in the art room. The soulmates in the bar. I’m interested in buying it. Would it be possible to have it held here for a while, though?”

“Oh I’m sure we could arrange something,” said the old man at the counter with a smile and a nod. He started writing out the purchase form.

Steve glanced back towards where it was, that fragment of his soul he didn’t think he’d ever see again. He knew the fact that he’d stumbled upon it was nothing short of fate.

Wildest Dreams

It had been Tony’s idea. Of course it had. It always was, wasn’t it? He’d insisted that all the members of the team who hadn’t yet been exposed to Wanda’s mind manipulation should be, just in case there was a misfire during combat and one of you got caught in the crossfire. It would be important to see how each of you reacted, the kinds of things you saw so you’d be able to snap out of it.

Theoretically, of course.

This left Natasha, Steve, Thor, Bruce, and Tony out, as they’d already had their fun with Wanda’s magic. The rest of you, however, were waiting for your turn.

Wanda felt conflicted about it. She didn’t want to hurt her friends on accident, let alone on purpose, but Tony was insistent, and he had some of the others on his side. Namely, Rhodey, who had been hanging out more and more, and Clint, who’d had his experience with a different kind of mind control shortly before the Battle of New York.

It was part of why he’d volunteered to go first. Once he came to, he gave you a thumbs-up, shaking it off and walking over to Natasha.

“You sure you’re good?” She checked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. No big deal. Who’s next?”

Sam looked at you and the despondent look on your face before volunteering himself to go next. Rhodey went in solidarity, despite being too busy with his government responsibilities to be a full-time member of the team. And then it was your turn. You stood next to Wanda. She offered an apologetic smile before red crackled around her fingertips and it hit you.

For the first few seconds, you were fine. You felt tingly. You blinked a few times and your eyes felt weird. No doubt, your eyes were red, like the others’ turned when they were under the influence of Wanda’s powers.

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, voice urgent.

“Think so.” You replied, mouth full of cotton. It felt like that time in college someone had given you an edible that was too strong. The first and last time you’d ever gotten high. Like you were sinking and melting. Your legs buckled and Steve surged forward, catching you before you hit the floor, gently lowering you into a comfortable position. “Hey, you’re pretty strong…” You murmured, head lolling onto his shoulder.

The others all looked at each other. Clint dragged over a bean bag and Steve gently lowered you onto it, adjusting it so you’d be comfortable.

“She’ll be okay, Steve.” Natasha reassured him, the guilt in his eyes palpable, yet still not explained. Not entirely. She had a sneaking suspicion whatever it was had something to do with the name written on his wrist, the name he wouldn’t show anyone. Not her, not Nick Fury, not even Sam.

“Yeah, I know.” He nodded, slowly taking a step back. His eyes didn’t leave you. He had to force himself to look away. “I, um…I have to go…There’s a…” Steve motioned towards the door before leaving the room, while you sat there, catatonic, off in your own little world.

***

“Hey, (Y/N), you okay?” Steve asked, his voice close. “That was a long nap. Forget to set your alarm?”

You opened your eyes and you were laying down on the couch. Steve was standing at the island in the kitchen, cooking something. It smelled good. Really good. He was wearing a button-up, sleeves rolled to his elbows, still wearing his slacks from work. He had music playing from the record player, your vast collection of hits from decades of music, and he was still hooked on 40s jazz. You supposed you couldn’t blame him.

“You cooking?”

“Mmhmm.” He nodded. “Come over here and get a taste.”

You followed, out to the kitchen. He set down his wooden spoon and swiftly intercepted you, pulling you up onto the countertop, kissing you deeply, a hand running through your hair. Your hand came up to frame his cheek. He was growing a bit of a beard these days. You liked it, thought it suited him.

You sighed against his lips and then pulled away to look at him. He grabbed your wrist, pressing a long kiss to your soulmark. Three simple words. Steven Grant Rogers.

“I love you, doll.” His words cut through you, eyes tender and sincere. “Always have.”

But this wasn’t your Steve. And it wasn’t your reality, given away by the slightest tinge of red in his irises.

It wasn’t real. And neither was the glimmering wedding ring around your finger.

***

You blinked awake, the power dispersing from your head, leaving you shockingly sober. And hungry. That familiar sting was back, right between your neck and shoulder. You wondered how long it’d been.

Clint was in the room with you. So was Sam. Natasha was gone. Wanda too, surprisingly. As was Steve.

You got chills even thinking about him, the phantom of the wedding ring still clinging to your finger.

“You alright?” Sam asked, making eye contact with you first.

“Yeah, I’m good. How long…?”

“Three minutes. New record.” Clint said with a grin.

“Oh.” No wonder it had felt so short. Part of you wanted it to last longer.

“We’re sending Rhodey to get some food, if you’re hungry.” Sam said.

“Where from?”

“The golden arches.”

“I could go for some nuggies.” You admitted. “A McFlurry, perchance.”

Clint laughed. “How did I know you would say that?”

In the kitchen, Steve stood, hands on the counter, mug of coffee steaming in front of him, untouched. He stared at the cupboard door.

“That must be one interesting cupboard. You’ve been standing there for like five whole minutes.”

“It’s only been three.” Steve said, glancing at the clock.

“And the fact that you know down to the exact minute is why I’m so intrigued.” Natasha chimed, tilting her head. “What is going on with her? I have never seen you look at anyone like that in the entire time I’ve known you. Is she…what, the kid of an old friend? Grandkid?”

“It’s nothing, Natasha. She’s the newest member of the team, I’m just worried—”

“Steve.” She said, cutting him off, that look in her eye. “If you want to get all defensive about it, fine. Keep your secrets.” She sighed. “But if you need someone, I’m here. Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Steve let out a long sigh, weighing his options. It was something to the tune of eight months until your birthday. That was still a long time. A lot of time for that secret to slip through the cracks and, potentially, break the timeline. The Butterfly Effect was something he had researched extensively. Your future together was something he wasn’t willing to risk.

No, it was too important that you stay in the dark, even if that meant keeping his friends in the dark, too.

“Thanks. I appreciate it. But I’m fine, really. It’s nothing.”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded unconvinced. “Well, she’s out of it. Clint just texted. She wants twenty chicken nuggets and an Oreo McFlurry.”

The relief was immediate. You were okay. He could only wonder what you had seen in there, and why it had been so quick. The others had been under for upwards of ten minutes. You’d only been down three. “Well good. I’ll let Rhodey know.”

Invisible String

It was late. A few weeks after your tussle with the Scarlet Witch, if you could even call it that. You could tell Wanda felt guilty about the whole thing, but it wasn’t her fault. If anything it was Tony’s. Sure, the exercise had prepared you for a worst case scenario, but it had also dug a very awkward gap between you and Steve. You could barely even look at him without wanting to burst into tears.

He had his soulmate, whoever they were. You really needed to let it go.

You walked down to the kitchen to get a cold drink, but there was already someone sitting at the table. Steve, sitting there, hand resting on his chin, papers spread out in front of him. There was a picture you recognized as Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard whispers of him around the Compound from time to time. Steve’s best friend turned Hydra assassin, brainwashed for decades and now, rogue, out there somewhere. Sam always seemed to be looking for the guy. Natasha and Clint, too. And there had never been any sign of him. Well, until now, it seemed.

On the TV, Star Wars was playing. Empire Strikes Back. Steve looked up at it every so often.

“Star Wars?” You asked.

He chuckled and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Your first time?”

“No. They were the first things I watched when I was out of the ice. I like them a lot. The hope, the Force, the Jedi stuff, the music.” He shrugged. “They’re good.”

“Who’s your favorite?”

Steve smiled, sheepish. “Han Solo.”

“And here I thought you’d say Luke Skywalker.”

“He’s great, too. You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah, I used to be obsessed with them in high school. Haven’t seen them in a while, though. I’m something of a Leia girl myself.”

“That makes a lot of sense.”

“Does it?”

“Oh yeah.” He nodded. “You’ve got that spark.”

“What order did you watch them in?”

“Nat made me watch the originals first.” He confessed. “I like the prequels, though. Well, two of the prequels. Phantom Menace is…”

“Oh yeah. You’re not alone in that.” You laughed softly. “You know, I never really pegged you as a sci-fi nerd.”

“Yeah, well, someone I really care about seemed to like them a whole lot, so I knew I had to check them out.” He shrugged. “What are you doing up so late?”

“Getting a drink. What are you doing up so late?”

He looked down at the papers and then back up at you. “Oh. Yeah, this is just…Trying to get some stuff figured out.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” You offered.

He thought about it for a long moment, letting out a little sigh before nodding. That was the only reassurance you needed before grabbing a can of soda from the fridge and plopping down into the seat next to him.

“They found him. Clint and Natasha. They think he’s hiding out in Kentucky somewhere.” Steve said. He shook his head. “He saved my life a few years ago. After all the brainwashing, he still pulled me out of the water. I don’t know how much of him is still him, but…”

“But it’s worth a try.” You reasoned. “Obviously he’s been through a lot, but he must be pretty strong to have made it through everything.”

“I don’t know when I’m going. They haven’t narrowed it down all the way. And Tony doesn’t want me to even go at all.”

“Tony is full of shit.”

He laughed. “Yeah…”

“If you want to go, you should go. And if you need me, I’m there. You shouldn’t have to do it alone.”

He met your eyes with a sobering gaze. “You mean it?”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed. “When, uh, when I was in the eighth grade, my class took a trip down to DC. There’s a Captain America exhibit in the Air and Space Museum, it had just opened. We learned about you and Bucky. How close you were, what happened. There are videos of me just crying uncontrollably there, learning about it. They had to take me outside, get me some water. I couldn’t go back in. I don’t even know why. Something about it…”

“About me?” Steve whispered.

“That’s embarrassing. I shouldn’t have told you that.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“It’s not embarrassing. It’s sweet.” Steve said, reaching for your hand on the table. You let him take it, fingers curling.

“So when you found me that day, I guess I always knew it would lead to something like this. A stroke of fate, or something.” You admitted. “Some part of me knew that you would mean something to me someday. I guess I never thought we would be friends.”

“How old were you?”

“God, this would have been like ten years ago at this point. I was like fourteen or something. I was twenty-one when they found you in the ice. It was all over the news my sophomore year of college, kind of right when I was figuring my powers out, actually. And then everything was all over the news and I…went into hiding more or less, hoping it wouldn’t be me on the TV next.”

“Until the mall?”

“Yeah. But I couldn’t just…let it happen, you know? It was like some part of me knew that I had these powers for a reason, and that if I didn’t stop it, who would? I didn’t know you were there, obviously, but, I think even if I had, I still would have jumped in.”

He smiled softly, eyes earnest. He gave your hand a squeeze. “Well I’m really glad you did, for the record. I think we’re all a little better off because of it.”

There was a moment of quiet. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“How old are you?”

“Oh, um…I’m ninety-eight.”

You chuckled. “No, like how old are you really?”

Steve took a breath. No one ever asked him that. No one really cared about that. No one except you, it seemed. “I’m not sure. I’d have to do some math. I think I’m twenty-eight maybe. Twenty-nine.”

“Thought so.” You smiled. “Well, Steve, whenever you get it figured out, say the word and I’ll suit up. We’ll bring him home.”

Out of the Woods

The next mission you were sent on wasn’t to bring back Bucky. Not yet. Instead, you were on the team that got deployed into a rainforest to break up a rogue Hydra base. It was warm, almost too warm for your uniform, but you were grateful for the coverage, especially when they started shooting.

You ran down the makeshift path, evading enemies and throwing up forcefields to stop them in their tracks. Thor was in town, so he was zipping around through the trees with his hammer, the force of it bringing some down every once in a while.

“On your six.” Steve reported through the comms. You dodged out of the way and sure enough, a Hydra agent tumbled ahead, tripped by a small field you cast at his feet. A few of Natasha’s bullets took care of that.

“Thanks.” You replied.

“Don’t mention it. I could actually use some backup. I’m in the building. There’s more of them than I thought there would be.”

“I’m on my way.” You reported, changing directions and sprinting towards the building housing the Hydra base. What they were doing here, you had no clue, but Bruce theorized it had something to do with a meteor that had landed out that way a few months prior. They were probably harvesting whatever materials had been inside it.

You kicked down the door. Steve had six guys on him, two of which he disposed of quickly. You made a portal beneath one guy, sending him falling down a flight of stairs with the second portal you opened.

The other three guys went down quickly enough, only for a guy in a giant mech armor to come crashing through the interior wall. He shot and Steve jumped in front of you, taking a hit to the neck. A tiny syringe filled with shimmering purple liquid.

“Fuck! Steve!” You ran to him, but that didn’t take care of the large problem looming behind you. Seeing red, you made another portal at the feet of the robot, opened it in the ceiling, and cut it off as it was halfway through, destroying it in a flash of sparks and shredded metal. It shut down, giving you time to get to Steve.

He was sitting against the wall, head slumped to the side. You took the syringe out of his neck, tucking it into a pouch on your belt for testing. If this thing was poison, you’d need Bruce to start whipping up an antidote as soon as possible.

“Steve, hey, stay with me.” You touched his face, trying to wake him.

At your touch, he blinked a few times, drowsy. He gave you a crooked smile. “Heyyy, there you are.”

“Come on, we’ve gotta get you back to the jet.” You told him, pulling him to his feet, but he slumped in your arms like dead weight. You had been working out since you’d been recruited, but he was still heavy. “You’ve gotta work with me, big guy.”

“They used to call me little guy.” He murmured, sounding drunk. “Back in Brooklyn.”

“I’m sure they did.” You slung his arm around your shoulders and started hauling ass out of the building. A few agents shot at you, trying to hit you while you were distracted with carrying Steve to safety, but they forgot you were the one Avenger whose specialty was defense.

You lit a forcefield in your left hand, using its faint blue light to guide the two of you through the dim hallways. It slowed all the bullets to a stop, causing them to drop to the floor harmlessly. There was something kind of poetic about it, you supposed. Steve was so famous for that shield of his, but now you were the shield, protecting him.

“Did you guys find anything in there?” Clint asked.

“The good news is, we cleared most of it out. Bad news is, Steve got shot with something. I’m bringing him back to the ship now. I don’t know what it was but he’s acting really drunk.”

“Tranq darts seem to have that effect on him, yeah.” Bruce explained. “Bring him back here and I’ll make sure it wasn’t laced with something else.”

“On it.”

You lugged Steve along, stopping to rest and readjust against a wall for a second.

“Thank you for takin’ care of me even when I don’t feel so good.” He said, leaning his full weight against you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ve got ya.” You pulled his arm around your shoulders again. “You would do the same for any of us.”

He smiled, face impossibly close to yours. “Oh, I’d do anything for you, (Y/N).”

You knew it was probably just the drugs talking but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t do something to you when he said it anyway.

Once you were outside, you opened a waypoint in front of the two of you, the second portal in front of the jet, and then stepped through, closing it behind you. Bruce opened the door and helped you haul Steve inside, onto the cot of the makeshift mobile infirmary.

You handed Bruce the empty vial.

“Thank you for remembering. Thor always breaks these and then I have to do bloodwork to figure out what was in them.” He chuckled.

“He’s very smash first, ask questions later.”

“No wonder he and Hulk get along so well.” Bruce joked. “Alright, get back out there. I’ll make sure he’s alright.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful out there.” Steve advised, eyes half-lidded. “They have guns.”

“I’ll be extra careful, alright? I promise.” You met his eyes and he smiled immediately. Once you were sure he was okay, you stepped out of the jet again, getting back to help the others.

***

When you got back, you were nursing a bullet wound. They’d gotten you in the arm. It wasn’t too bad, though, the bleeding had almost stopped. Natasha went straight for the med kit when you two stepped foot on the jet, motioning you over to the stool.

Steve was there, still on the cot. He stared as Nat started cleaning your wound. “Wait, you got hurt?”

“I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

He nodded and reached for your hand. “I’m really glad you’re alright, doll. Had me worried sick.”

Doll. You replayed the word in your mind. Steve had called you a lot of things in the past few months, but never once had he used that somewhat outdated term of endearment. You liked it, though.

You met Natasha’s eyes and she smirked while the supersoldier held your hand.

Sam walked in next, eyeing up the scene unfolding in front of him. “Woah, what’d I miss? Feels like I missed several chapters.”

“Steve is drunk.” Clint explained, counting his remaining arrows.

“Tranq dart. He’s fine. Just needs to ride it out for a few hours. He should be back to normal by the time we get home.” Bruce explained as he put away his tablet.

“You feeling alright, buddy?” Sam walked over and put a hand on Steve’s other arm. “You’re holding (Y/N)’s hand kinda tight there.”

“Huh?” Steve asked, directing his eyes to your joint hands. He let go. “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Steve.” You reassured him.

The others trickled in slowly until everyone was accounted for, the base destroyed, the Hydra operatives in SHIELD custody for questioning. Fury and his team would handle it from there. You couldn’t help but play the mission over and over in your head.

Never had you used a waypoint to split something in half. But something had clicked in you when Steve was hurt. You’d never felt like that before, like part of your soul itself was being ripped out. He meant more to you than you cared to admit, especially when your fate was tied elsewhere.

Still, your new ability needed training. It was a dangerous skill to have, and if you didn’t hone it properly, you could end up doing some serious damage on accident.

Come Find Me in the Future

It was the night before you and a select group of the team were heading out to find and recover Bucky. Clint had finally gotten a hit on him. But if he had, that meant others could be after him, too. People that wanted him back. Badly.

You were nervous about it for that reason. You weren’t sure why the rest of you hadn’t already left, to be honest. You didn’t want to race with Hydra. It wasn’t one you were sure you’d win.

To stave off the feeling of dread, you had commandeered the living room TV and popped in Howl’s Moving Castle. You were nursing a mug of chamomile tea in your hands, playing games on your Switch.

You were near the end of the movie, at the part where Sophie was whisked to the past, when Steve walked into the room, in his pajamas, a tank top and a pair of plaid pants.

“Hey, Steve.”

“Hey. You’re up late. Big mission tomorrow.”

“Yeah, it’s almost over.” You told him. “Drinking my sleepy tea as we speak.”

“Sleepy tea?”

“Chamomile mint. It’s good. There’s some over by the Keurig if you want any.”

“Thanks.” He smiled, walking over. “What’s this?”

“Howl’s Moving Castle. One of my favorites.” You told him.

“What’s it about?”

“That is a complicated question.” You laughed. “I’d have to start it over, I think.”

“Another time, maybe.” He chuckled, crossing his arms.

Steve watched as Sophie got sucked back through the wormhole to the present.

She called out “I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!”

He perked up. “Wait, she…there’s time travel?”

“Yeah, she gets pulled into the past for a bit and tells him to find her and then years later, the first words he says to her are ‘There you are, sweetheart. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’ It’s really sweet.”

“They’re soulmates?”

“They are.” You nodded.

“Does that happen? Often?” Steve asked, hung up on it. “In real life?”

“I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of that happening before.” You shook your head. “I don’t think anyone would believe it, even if it did. Happens a lot in fiction, though.”

“Oh. Cool.” Steve nodded. He met your eyes and then looked down at his lap, tongue flitting across his pink lips. “I, uh, wanted to apologize.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “For what?”

“The mission last week. I, uh…I said some things and, uh…I just, I’d hate to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry if I did.”

“You didn’t.” You assured him. “No apology necessary. You were drugged. I probably would have said worse, to be honest.”

He smiled. “Okay. Cool. Thanks. And thank you for agreeing to come tomorrow. We could really use the help.”

“Of course. I’ve got your back, always.” You told him, earning another one of those earnest, lovesick smiles. “Anywho, I finished that playlist for you. The Taylor Swift one. I can make you a more general one with different songs, but…figured that was a decent starting place.”

“Great, yeah, thank you.” He nodded, looking at his phone as it pinged with the notification you had sent it to him. “I’ll give it a listen.”

“Let me know what you think.”

“Oh I will.” He chuckled to himself. “Really, thank you. I appreciate it. And um, have a good night. See you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” You saluted.

He nodded before repeating, “Bright and early.”

Bygones

Bright and early was an understatement. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when your alarm went off. You groaned, rolled over and silenced your screaming phone, forcing yourself to sit up so you didn’t drift back off.

Today was too important for that.

Instead, you got up, brushed your hair, and went out to the kitchen, where Vision had whipped up a full breakfast for everyone going out. It was you, Steve, Nat, Wanda, and Sam. A small team, but enough firepower to bring him back without overwhelming and/or scaring him off.

“Morning.” Steve said, eyes landing on you the moment you walked into the room.

“Morning.”

“Coffee?” He offered, pushing a cup of your favorite iced coffee over to you. You couldn’t lie, you were impressed.

“Thanks.” You grinned, taking a long sip to kickstart your morning. You loaded a plate up with eggs, sausage, bacon, and toast, plus a little side of hashbrowns, thanking Vision thoroughly.

“It is my pleasure, (Y/N). As someone who does not require sleep, it would be rude of me to let you all starve so early in the day.”

“(Y/N), you got him listening to Taylor Swift?” Sam asked, eyes drilling into you.

You laughed. “Uh, yeah. What about it? She’s a cultural icon, do you want him left out of the loop?”

“Hey, I’m not complaining.” Steve shrugged, sipping on his coffee.

“Of course you’re not.” Natasha chuckled, words warbled by her own cup. You noticed the way her lips pursed. If you weren’t mistaken, you’d say she was nervous. About what, you couldn’t tell. She seldom got nervous. Or at least, she seldom let it show. But it was definitely there.

Wanda was the last into the kitchen, already fully put together. She gave the chef her thanks with a warm smile and sparkling eyes. You couldn’t help but smile. Those two, beyond a shadow of a doubt, were absolutely made for each other. You wondered what her wrist would have to say about it when the time came.

Once everyone had eaten, those who weren’t suited up got ready, locked and loaded for a tense mission. You’d have Clint on the coms here, doing recon from a drone. The rest of you loaded up onto the jet, strapping in.

Nat and Sam hopped into the cockpit. Wanda sat next to you, Steve across the aisle, his eyes meeting yours every so often.

“It’ll be alright.” You said, trying to dispel his nerves.

He nodded, but didn’t reply, just giving a short nod and staring at the holographic map on the wall as you approached closer and closer. You could see that little guy from Brooklyn peeking through the eyes of the supersoldier sitting across from you, nervous about his best friend.

You unbuckled just before you landed, walking across the jet to strap on your weapons. The others did the same, arming themselves. Nat was going to keep the jet warm for a speedy exit, the look in her eyes still unreadable. The rest of you got ready for war.

It was an abandoned warehouse, large garage door, broken windows, slanted roof with a hole in it. Definitely not the most secure of places. According to Clint’s drone, Bucky was in the back room.

“Waypoint, I need you out here ready to get us a quick escape.”

“Got it.” You nodded, positioning yourself within eyeshot of the warehouse and the jet so you could make a portal either way.

“Wanda, Sam, you’re with me.” Steve instructed, taking a minute to breathe, to think. “He’s gonna be ready to run. We have to talk him out of it.”

“Uh, Cap. Might wanna work a little faster. There’s another plane incoming. About three minutes out.”

“Alright.” Steve nodded, taking off his helmet and slinging his shield onto his back. He led the other two into the building.

For a heartwrenching two minutes, you didn’t hear anything. And then you heard a plane. And then gunshots.

“(Y/N), now!” Steve instructed.

You did as you were told, opening the waypoint in the warehouse, another just outside. Nat had picked the jet up off of the ground, firing at the one Hydra had brought. She took another shot, damaging the wing and causing it to go down.

“Shit, wait—!”

There was a flash of light and you expected it to be Steve that came through first. Maybe Bucky, even. Instead, it was a grenade. And a split second later, it exploded, knocking you unconscious.

***

Steve stood over you, horrified. Thanks to your suit, the damage didn’t seem too bad. But you had blood and soot caked on your face, the ends of your hair singed.

It was his fault. He had told you to open the Waypoint, only for a Hydra agent to toss a grenade right through it.

He all but collapsed to his knees, collecting you in his arms. Bucky was on the jet already, Sam, too. Only he and Wanda were outside with you.

“(Y/N), come on. Open those eyes for me.” He pleaded, voice soft, eyes aching with tears. “Hey, come on. Please…”

“We should get her back to the jet.” Wanda goaded softly, a hand on Steve’s arm.

“Yeah.” Steve nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. He scooped you off of the ground, an arm beneath your legs, the other around your back. Your arms hung down, limp. Your head rested heavily against his shoulder, eyes closed.

By the time Steve walked up the ramp, Nat already had the infirmary cot down, ready to go. Bucky watched, eyes intense. He looked up when Steve approached, eyes falling on you. They widened when he got a look at you.

“Woah, is that…?”

“Yeah.” Steve nodded. “It is.”

Natasha helped him get you situated in the cot, wrapping the cuff around your arm that would measure your vitals. With everyone accounted for, Sam closed the door, lifting the jet into the air.

“I’ve got Banner on the line.” Natasha told him.

“Good.” Steve’s eyes didn’t leave you for a second, watching as the breaths entered and left your lungs. “Tell him to get the infirmary ready for her.”

“Already on it, Cap. She’ll be okay. Her vitals look…well they look good, all things considered.” Bruce relayed. “Just get back here as fast as you can.”

***

As soon as the jet landed, Steve unhooked you from the vitals monitor and collected you in his arms, carrying you to the gurney Bruce had ready, walking with him as he wheeled you towards the infirmary. Bruce insisted he needed some time and sent Steve away, taking a piece of his heart with him.

Vision checked over Bucky, giving him the okay almost immediately before going to help Bruce in the infirmary.

Steve sat at the table, Bucky sitting down to join him. The others gave them a minute alone.

“Hey, pal.” Steve exhaled, trying to force a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” He agreed. “Thanks for coming to get me.”

“Of course.” Steve nodded. “I’m with you—”

“Til the end of the line.” Bucky smiled, eyes soft. His irises flicked towards the infirmary and back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Steve let out a sigh, the wall finally coming down and more tears slipping down his cheeks. “It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. She’s—”

“She’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” Bucky’s hand grabbed onto Steve’s wrist, the covered one. The one with her name etched onto it. “She has to be. Has she…does she know yet?”

“No one does. Just me. And you.” Steve confessed. He wiped his thumb under his eye. “So you’re right. She has to pull through.”

Steve held onto that spark of hope for the coming hours. He showed Bucky to the room that had been prepared for him, but Sam offered to give him a tour of the place, knowing their friend was in a fragile mental state.

Eventually, Vision found him and told him he could enter the infirmary. Bruce had finished treating you. When Steve walked in and saw you, still unconscious, laying on that bed, he choked on more sobs. The bruising on your face was pretty severe. You were hooked up to several monitors, an IV. Supposedly, your injuries were not too extreme, but you had a cracked rib and would need time to heal before you could do any missions or training.

Hours later, Nat found Steve in there, wringing his hands, tears in his eyes. He fiddled with the cuff around his wrist. The playlist you’d made for him played softly from a speaker in the corner of the room. Timeless. As if he wasn’t already crying enough.

“She’s gonna be okay, Steve. Bruce thinks she might wake up soon.” Nat comforted, sitting in the chair next to him. She put a hand on his shoulder, confused by her friend’s sudden mood. Members of the team had been injured before and sure, he checked on them, but he never reacted like this.

“I know, I just…” He shook his head. “I’m worried about her is all. It’s…kinda my fault this happened.”

Nat pressed her lips together, tilting her head. “This seems like a little more than that. You wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

He wanted to hold onto his secret. He did. But he was feeling fragile, vulnerable. It couldn’t hurt to have just one more person on his side. “I can, just…not here.” Steve nodded, leading her out of the room, out of your earshot, if you could even hear him while you were out, but still in sight thanks to the soundproof windows.

Nat’s hands settled on her hips, waiting for an answer. Instead, Steve took the cuff off of his wrist and held it out to her, letting her read the letters that had been etched there for the better part of a century.

Her jaw dropped. She stammered, arms crossing. She met his eyes and when she saw the sadness there, the guilt and longing, her expression softened.

“I should have told her. A long time ago, I should have told her but I can’t. In six months, on her twenty-fifth, she’s going back in time to 1943 to meet me on mine. And it…didn’t seem like she knew until she was already there.”

“So you’ve just been holding it in this whole time?” Natasha asked. “You’ve been in love with her…”

“Since the forties, yeah.” Steve nodded. “My great lost love, as Tony likes to call her when he rags on the band I wear.”

“Does he know?”

“No. Just you. And Bucky.” Steve amended. “He was there when she…”

“Right. Weird.” Natasha let out a long sigh, looking through the window. Her fingers reached for her own cuff. She hesitated, but pulled it off, holding her soulmark out to him. “Fair is fair.”

Steve stared at the letters for a long time, realization slowly filling his eyes. The name on her wrist was none other than James Buchannan Barnes. “Oh my God.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you until all the dust settled, but it just settled, so…” She shrugged, putting the cuff back on. “I’ll figure out how to tell him, too, if he doesn’t know already.”

“Buck’s mark was grayed out back then. We thought…well, we didn’t know what it meant.” Steve said, shaking his head. It was the reason Bucky had dated around so much back then. He’d figured if he just found someone else, his mark would change and he wouldn’t have to be alone. Never could he have guessed what it actually meant, that his soulmate wouldn’t be born for another forty or so years. “And then he lost his arm…”

“Yeah, that part I did know.” She smirked. “Well, I’ll keep an eye on her. Let you know if she says anything you need to hear.”

“She probably thinks my soulmate is dead, too. Everyone else does.”

“Ironic.”

“No kidding.” Steve sighed, gazing longingly through the window.

“We’ll get you through it, Steve. You’ve waited seventy years. Six months is nothing.”

“Yeah. I’m gonna sit with her for a while. I don’t want her to wake up alone.”

He slinked back into the infirmary and sat in the chair beside your bed, watching your steady breaths and listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. Natasha watched him through the window, feeling lighter and heavier at the same time. Nevertheless, she was glad they had talked. At least now, they could be there for each other.

Vol. 2 Here

Tags: @cap-lu20

[clovermarigold]

Daggers & Daffodils Chap.30

Dagur x Reader

I liiiiiiive!!! So, a "little" over 10 days, but hey, that's just how my brain works, I guess. I had to split this one because it would have been too long. I DON'T HAVE THAT KIND OF TIME

Also, I can't believe I didn't realize the chapters on Wattpad have been out of order for who knows how long. So, I'd like to apologize for anyone who was confused by that (it has been fixed).

This is my first ever fanfic, but seeing as we've reached, I believe 3 years on it now, it's painful to reread it and see how many writing styles it's lived through. Maybe one day when its finished and my brain can handle it, I'll do rewrites and fixes.

On the other hand, for my Tumblr users, I am so sorry for whatever is going on with my masterlist. I'm not sure which one, but it seems like one of the chapters is missing from it. Here are the links for the Wattpad and ao3 versions of the story for you to read until the problem is resolved. If you happen to know which chapter is missing, PLEASE I BEG OF YOU TELL ME. My brain is too tired for this shit lol.

_____

Being 'not grounded' was a lot less terrible than you had initially thought. Though you were pretty sure that was due to the fact that for once the group stayed on the edge for more than a week before Dagur or some other problem decided to ruin your day. Mind you there had been a few times that the others rushed someone towards you due to a dragon burn, fractured wrist or other injury. But in all fairness, it was comforting. It reminded you of being back on Berk, and taking care of your sick patients, but without all of the stress. Fishlegs in particular has been so sweet and considerate as far in helping take over smaller injuries.

As much as you wanted to get back out there with the others and Silver Tongue, the amount of care the others showed you was enough to keep you sane.

What wasn't keeping you sane however, was the egregious number of stairs plaguing the edge. As the resident 'doctor' of the edge you had hoped that you telling the others hiking a marathon to get to the clubhouse, with a history of concussions, was in no one's best interest, would have a little more weight.

"Ugh" you groaned. Damn it, why did you have to think of the word weight. Every step felt like lugging around a basket of Meatlug's quartzite. Luckly you were currently walking downhill, craving the sweet break you had so perfectly crafted.

You had to hand it to Fishlegs, his Zen Garden was without a doubt the most peaceful and quiet place on the edge. But your brain found it nearly impossible to relax in silence doing nothing. It just stung you wrong. Not being active.

"eugh" you shuddered at the thought. Yeah. Unnatural.

No. Your sanctuary was the small flat grass beds next to your hut that you had turned into a lovely little garden. Your perfect patch of land you had managed to sca-.... haggle, from Snotlout was perfect for this unwilling sentence you had been given.

It also had to be the best smelling place on the edge. Lush with lavender, thyme sprouts, and an assortment of flowers. Some of them were medicinal, but others were purely aesthetic. The daffodils were a personal favorite. Exclusive to early spring, but so bright and colorful.

Being the lowest elevated of the huts, you were just able to make out the sound of the waves breaking in the shore while you worked outside. As well as gifting you a superb view of the shoreline stretching around the island in a bowl shape. It also had the unwanted effect of being the farthest from the pens and the clubhouse. But hey, who was keeping track?

You....

It was always going to be you.

You flopped onto the large sunbathing body strewn about in your yard. "Can you get better faster? I think my feet are going to get abs at this rate". Silver Tongue let out a sour huff before he did a quick jolt, sending you and Scabbard rolling off.

You sighed, shifting to face the now turned away form of your dragon, "Not a morning guy huh?".

The gang took turns when it came to cooking, today was yours. Both Fishlegs and Hiccup had offered to take over for you while Silver Tongue was recovering, but that was the last thing you needed. Unfortunately, that did leave you getting up at ungodly hours just to walk to the clubhouse, cook, eat, and walk back down.

Thank Thor you didn't have to worry about it until next week as of now. Mutton was simple. And not necessarily a breakfast food, but you were able to make enough for everyone. And now you could rest.

Closing your eyes you listened to the soft lapping of the waves beneath you, enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun on your back.

You liked doing this, the water felt so close. Honestly, in all actuality that probably wasn't a good thing. Being lower to the ground meant you were the most likely to have your hut stormed in an invasion. Then again, you doubted anyone would willingly climb up a cliff just to land in front of a temperamental ass of a dragon.

Dagur would

You hissed out your nose... well, there went your peace. You sat up quickly, walking over to your garden.

Dagur...

That stupid man.

You grumbled as you plopped down onto your stool, muttering to yourself as you began to whittle posts for your cherry gourds to grow on. The mere thought of him managed to sour your entire mood. Sensing the turn in energy, Scabbard began to rub herself against your shins, letting out a purr sweet enough to lift the corners of your dour frown.

Maybe blaming it all on Dagur was a little unfair, it had been weeks of repeating the same routine all the while having to deal with a grumpy sick dragon, and the incessant nagging at the back of your head that your brother didn't trust you.

Though, it was wrong to say that when you didn't even trust yourself. You dreamt of that day on the Hunters ship. Nightmare was the more appropriate term. Hiccup would ask you how you were feeling and what he could do to help. You knew it wouldn't help.

Bringing it up would only make the feeling fresh and strong. Moral in the group was back to normal now that everyone knew they could trust Heather again. You didn't want to destroy that because of your own problems.

Heather was behind enemy lines, Viggo had yet to be revealed, and Dagur was on the loose. It was too risky to make things personal.

"Ow" a sharp pain stung your hand as the knife slid along the wood in a strange angle, cutting into your palm. Wincing, you looked down at your now bleeding hand. Well, that was certainly a metaphor for something. Scabbard began to squirm from her spot at your feet. Climbing your legs to perch on your shoulder, all but shoving her massive head into your hand to get a better look.

"This is what you get for complaining" you scolded yourself, pushing Scabbard away with your uncut hand "Positives! Positives!".

Astrid had been one of your main sources of entertainment. Taking you on patrol with her so you could spend some time in the air. You never realized how dependent you were on Silver Tongue until now.

Wait no! That turned into a negative. You groaned, grabbing a clean cloth to wrap your hand, careful not to get blood on your finished post.

You had also realized how much you missed spending time with your best friend. Sure, you spent time together and had fun every once and a while. But it was nice to have some, one on one. Silver Tongue was less than amused at being left out, but when wasn't he. It was funny to say the least. As much as he sulked when you were gone, what really set him off was Scabbard bonding with Stormfly. The big oaf loved to pretend she was a nuisance and a chore, but the moment she makes new friends he gets jealous.

Being trapped on the Edge was so boring you actually caught yourself enjoying Astrid's morning fly's, or in other words, 'totally not a patrol'. Usually, the idea of getting up to move fast in the cold and misty morning air would make you gag. But you were growing in appreciation for the ability to be back in the air.

A loud thud sounded as if on cue, Stormfly landed not far from your garden.

"I can't believe those two" Astrid complained as she entered your room.

"They left two dummies to guard the entire Edge!" she began to march back and forward once she passed the small stone wall that lined the garden, "Seriously, could you imagine what could have happened if the hunters had been there last night?".

"Uh huh" you said, not looking away from your hands. Astrid huffed, "You're not even listening to me, are you?".

"I am. But you did just trample my celery, so you're not very high on my list right now" you smile at the groan of annoyance she let out when she looked down to see that you were not in fact joking. "Well, if you don't wanna listen, I'm going to tell Hiccup" Putting down your post you turn to her, "Oh, could you grab me some fish from the pens for Silver Tongue?".

"Sorry, you're not very high on my list right now" Astrid tried to sound angry, but the cynical smile she failed to hide gave her away. And you watched as your chance of avoiding the stairs moved to close the door behind her.

An added weight to your head followed by a tail blocking your vision with a low purr told you well enough that someone else was happy at the idea of you being forced to have some alone time. "Don't think I'm carrying you" Scabbard let out a cough of fire in disapproval.

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

"Dummies, you say?" you heard Tuff ask as you made it to the clubhouse's ledge, embarrassingly out of breath with a perked-up Scabbard on your head.

"She does. Poor confused thing" Ruff shook her head with a look of pity. Scabbard quickly leapt into action, lunging at another terror that seemed to have given Hiccup a message, into a playful tackle.

"What you fail to realize in your foggy morning state, is that those are not dummies. They are scare ships" Astrid pressed a hand against her head, likely to aid the oncoming headache, "Scare ships? You're serious?".

"You didn't see any ships near the island. Did you? I think not. And why? They were appropriately scared away. By the appropriately named, Scare ships"

Astrid turned to the two of you, mainly Hiccup, "Are you following any of this?".

"Not super closely. I'm actually reading this" he gestured to the note in his hands, "It's from Johann, he's in trouble". You exchanged worried looks.

"Right, Fishlegs, Snotlout, we're heading out" he called to the two still inside enjoying their breakfast.

"Oh no. You are not leaving me with these two mutton heads" Astrid semi-whispered. Much to the offended twin's annoyance, "She knows we're standing right here, right?".

"Of course, not" Hiccup said, making Astrid let out a sigh of relief. "I'm leaving you with these three mutton heads" he smiled while gesturing to you, "Hey, what did I do!?".

"Look, Johann is surrounded by Dragon Hunters, and his ship is taking on water. We have to get out there and help him".

"Then, let me saddle up Stormfly, I'll be there in-" Hiccup cut her off. "Astrid, you need to stay here and hold down the Edge. And make sure nothing happens to the Dragon Eye" he held out the spy glass, to be begrudgingly accepted.

"Welcome to team grounded" you say, propping your head on your hand with a sarcastic hooray. "Y/N, come on, you know you're not grounded" Hiccup argued.

"Then can you ground me, because being 'not grounded' sucks" Astrid looked to your brother with a near pleading expression, using your case as an example," I can't believe what's happening. This may actually be the worst day in history".

"Astrid, Snotlout and I have the only working dragon armor, and Meatlug is immune to the Dragon Hunters' arrows" Fishlegs bristled giddily, showering her in praises for being such a good boulder class dragon.

"Hiccup, please! For all that is sacred in Thor's world you cannot leave me alone with these two-"

"What do you say? Simpletons? Blockheads?" Tuff. "I was always partial to dimwit myself. it rolls trippingly off the tongue" Ruff. "Oh yeah. Watch this. What wit dim, would the twins dim wit, id dim wits could wit dim? Say that five times fast" the two laughed as Astrid dragged her hand down her face, "You see what I'm talking about, right?".

"Hey, it's not like we woke up this morning hoping to spend 24/7 with you either, Astrid. I mean you are not exactly a picnic. And I think you know what I'm saying. You have not ever been a blanket on a grassy knoll with delicious food" Hiccup groaned at the turn in direction the conversation had taken.

"But we are team players. We will do what in necessary for the good of the group. Hence, we shall remain behind and enjoy your good company, my fair Astrid" Tuff gave an exaggerated bow, "even if you have no blankets, or grassy knolls to offer".

"We'll be back by tomorrow at the latest. Just do the best you can. Okay?" Hiccup put a hand on Astrids shoulder comfortingly. "Aw no speech or encouragement for me to stay?" you ask.

"You don't need to be convinced, you just like to complain" sad and hurtful, but true. You huff a pout and mumble mockingly at your brother as he walks away.

"Bye we'll miss you. Write home often" Tuff waved, "Okay, I think the first team building exercise we should perform is that of going back to sleep. I mean, as a team, of course".

"I have to go hide this" she shook the Dragon Eye, "And when I get back, I expect both of you to be sweating profusely from hard work". The two made faces, turning away.

"You know that's not gonna happen" Astrid turns to you. "Please tell me that you're going to help me with those two".

"I prefer to stay away from drama" you crossed your arms with a smile. "Since when?" Astrid yelled as you turned to walk away towards the kitchen. "Since now" you giggled, the look of horror plastered on Astrid's face having made your day.

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

It took an embarrassingly long time to finish your chores, leaving you sweating in the son at the top of the club house stairs. Hiccup really needed to come up with a plan for getting around the edge easier. You were beginning to feel your ankle buckle, it was fine for now, but you made sure to be extra careful not to slip, a harsh landing may just finish you off at this rate.

"Ok. Yak face is fed. Posts are done. And the rat is moisturized" Scabbard squirmed lazily against the wood stairs with a grumble at the insult.

After being forced to trek the distance back and forth between your hut and the others you were scared to even look at the winding path again. No, you weren't going back down those steps until there was absolutely zero chance you would be needed back here.

Looking to the sky it was starting to get dark, the sun struggling to peak beyond the horizon. A multitude of heavy and light thuds clued you in to the hulking shadow of Stormfly.

Her rider strut close by, arms crossed in a sign of her mood.

"What's wrong?" you sat up to turn to her, an uncomfortable feeling in your gut when she avoided eye contact.

"You guys know I respect you, right?" the question caught you off guard. "Well... You hold yourself to a very high standard. Which is admirable" you held your hands up when she gave you a pointed stare, "You just.... also happen to hold everyone else to the same impossible standard". Astrid groaned, whether it was from annoyance with you or herself remained to be seen.

"Astrid!" the two of you turned towards the screaming and running Tuff. "Tuffnut, breathe. What's going on?" Astrid put a hand on his back as he hunched over gasping.

"You have got to do something about those stairs. I mean there must be hundreds of then, there's over ten at least. Honestly, Y/N, I don't know how you do it".

"That's it? The stairs?" Tuff shook his head, "No it's Ruffnut. They got Ruffnut".

"Who did?" You were quick to ask.

"Dragon hunters"

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[rollinouttahere-writes]

Hi for the Halloween event can I please request yandere slasher trio (Zoro , Nami and Luffy please ) where Reader decided to stay with Nami since all their friends are dropping like flies ; turns out Luffy and Zoro have been doing it and Nami is the mastermind of it all please . (I’ve been watching to much scream lately XD ) 

I really love how you make reader interact with this trio in the lucky fic and the one where reader has a crush on Buggy ; honestly fair enough Buggy has got it going on 😔👌

If possible can reader be female please ; if not no worries , gn is fine ❤️

Platonic maybe please ❤️💛🧡

Okay so... remember how I mentioned that I didn't want these fics being too long because I want to get to as many as I can? Yeah... y'all probably aren't going to be surprised that I have immediately failed at that. This story is going to be split into two maybe three parts because it's getting really long and I have accepted that I will not be finishing it tonight.

Also I hope you don't mind, but the rest of the East Blue gang managed to worm their way into this fic, though they won't appear until part two. This part is Romance Dawn Trio centric. Also, I really leaned into the Scream angle, so this takes place in the 90's and everyone is in high school.

East Blue Ripper(s)

Yandere East Blue Gang x Fem Reader

4.5k words

Summary: A night home alone turns spooky when you hear screaming coming from the neighbor's house, but fortunately your friends are there to comfort you.

Warnings: light drug mentions, gendered (female presenting) reader, talk of teenage angst, pretty tame chapter but it gets more intense in the next one so stay with me

“Did you finish the reading assignment?”

The question makes you snort out a laugh. You twirl the phone cord around your finger while kicking your feet up in the air as they’re resting over the back of the couch, “Nope! I’ll skim through the chapters during lunch or something.”

“Aw, come on! I was counting on you being able to sum it up for me!” Nami’s voice crackled through the phone as she whined over your answer, “You’re usually on top of this stuff, how could you fail me like this? You know that I’m busy helping my mom with the orchard, especially with Nojiko being away at college now.”

“Hey, don’t pin that on me! You know that I’ve been stressing over the calculus test, I needed to study for it. Failing that test would be way worse than bombing some reading comprehension quiz for Catcher in the Rye.” Briefly, your eyes glance towards the backpack leaning against the couch. The book is in there, and you contemplate taking it out to at least try to read it, but you shake your head and skim your fingers over the calculus notebook propped up on your lap.

“Hey!”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll forgive you this time, but you’re on thin ice.”

Another voice comes through the phone, slightly muffled from being further away, “Be nice, Nami. It’s not (Y/N)’s fault that you were too lazy to read it yourself.”

You chuckle as Nami starts bickering with her mom. You rest the phone on the couch cushion and decide to refocus on your notes while they argue. You’re a couple of equations in when you hear something. The notebook is tossed aside, and you cover the earpiece of the phone to hear better.

It sounds like screaming.

For a moment, you stay on the couch. Yelling and screaming coming from the house next door was hardly a new thing. Bellamy, an upperclassman who graduated a couple of years ago, rented it with his gaggle of followers. If the rumors were true, it was a trap house, and you had little reason to doubt that based on all the people coming and going from it in rapid succession. It was all shockingly blatant, and it was beyond you how they haven’t been caught yet.

Just when you’re about to go back to studying, you hear more screams. These screams sound different from the usual noise you hear over there. This doesn’t sound like a party or a fight between them breaking out. Whoever just screamed sounded terrified. You set down the phone and toss your notebook aside before rolling off the couch and onto your feet.

Hesitantly, you make your way to a window facing the house and lift up one of the slats of the blinds and peer through. It’s pitch black outside, with only dim lights coming from the neighboring home. You stare harder, but you don’t see anything weird. The strangest thing is that the house seems quieter than usual, but that isn’t exactly enough for you to get worried. You sigh and drop the slat back into place. It was probably nothing. Just some stupid fight between the delinquents you live next to.

You walk back over to the couch and sit on it, properly this time, and pick the phone up to see if Nami and Bellemere are still bickering.

“-llo?! (Y/N)?! If you don’t answer me I’m going to call the police!”

“I’m here! Calm down!”

A loud, exasperated sigh comes through the phone, then the scolding begins, “What is wrong with you?! I was worried when you wouldn’t answer me! I was still holding the phone, you could have at least said that you were going to the bathroom or whatever instead of scaring me like that!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to worry you. I just thought I heard something and had to go check it out.”

There is a pause, then Nami’s dumbfounded voice comes through the phone, “You heard a weird noise and went to investigate? What are you? The first person that dies in a horror movie?”

Your face felt hot at her pointing out how much of a horror movie faux pas you just committed, and you scramble to defend yourself, “It’s not like I went outside! I just peeked through the blinds!”

Nami sighs and you just know that she’s pinching the bridge of her nose. “What did you even hear?”

“I… I could have sworn that I heard screaming coming from next door. Where Bellamy and his cronies live.”

Once again, Nami pauses. You’re about to ask if she heard you when she finally speaks up, “... Did you see anything?”

“No, I didn’t. I couldn’t see anyone through the windows, and I haven’t heard anything else since I went to go look.”

“They were probably just fighting about something stupid like usual, or maybe a drug deal went south. Don’t worry about them.” The previous hesitancy in her voice vanished and she was now very quick to dismiss the noises you had heard as nothing, much like you.

“Yeah, you’re probably right…” You heave a sigh and rub your eyes. Perhaps you’ve had a few too many late nights and it’s making you paranoid. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call it a night here? “It’s been fun chatting with you tonight, but I think I’m going to-”

Another noise came from outside, but not from next door. It’s coming from one of the windows in your living room. Heavy footsteps approached the window, followed by a scraping noise. You’re paralyzed on the couch, all words caught in your throat. This would be a scary experience on its own, but after hearing screaming coming from next door, it was bone-chilling.

“Going to what? Did you cut out on me?” 

Nami’s voice instantly snaps you out of your terror-induced stupor. The phone is clutched tightly in your hands as you whisper yell into the receiver, “Someone is outside my window!”

“What?!” Any nonchalance she had previously was wiped away in an instant as she all but shrieked into the phone.

“I can hear someone trying to open the window! I don’t know what to-” 

The lock on the window clicked open.

Your mind is screaming at you to run, to scream for help, to find a weapon, literally anything but what you’re doing right now. Yet all your body can do is cower on the sofa while gripping the phone for dear life as if it will save you. Tears sting at your eyes and you can distantly register that Nami is shouting something at you, but you’ll be damned if you can understand any of it over the pounding of your heart.

The window is slid open, rattling loudly and catching on the sides repeatedly as it’s pushed up. Glimpses of an arm can be spotted through the billowing sea foam green curtains, but the rest of the intruder is obscured from view.

Both arms come through the curtains and push them aside so that the person can grab both sides of the window to pull themself through. As this person pulls themself through, you can finally see the face of your soon to be attacker and-

“Oh, god damnit! Zoro! You scared the shit out of me!”

Zoro, your classmate and friend, finishes climbing through your window and looks around your home, not once acknowledging you yelling at him. “This isn’t the dojo…”

The adrenaline leaves your system and you slump back against the couch as a wave of relief competes with the burst of irritation you’re feeling. Are you glad that a serial killer didn’t just climb through your window? Yes. Are you still mad that Zoro just scared you like that? Absolutely. You lift your head up to glower at him.

In the time that it took for you to calm your raising heart, Zoro had wandered over from the window to the couch and plopped down next to you. He was entirely unbothered. He looked over at you and nodded his head, “Hey, (Y/N).”

You want to yell at him, or hit him over the head with the phone, but you choose a different tactic. Your voice is cold as you speak, “Nami. Yell at Zoro for me.” With that, you prop up the phone at his ear and stand up, leaving him to the wrath of Nami while you go to the bathroom to refresh yourself after that ordeal.

As a lecture of epic proportions takes place behind you, you can’t help but chuckle at being able to hear Nami even from here. You step into the bathroom and close the door behind you while flicking the lights on. They flicker briefly before shining down on and illuminating the small bathroom. You only need to take one step before you’re face to face with the sink and staring at your own reflection in the mirror. The faucet knob for cold water is twisted, and you quickly splash your face with it and rub at your eye.

The water is turned off, and you return to your full height to look at your reflection again. While you dry your face and fix your hair, your mind drifts to the unexpected guest in your living room. Zoro was a friend of yours, but a very new one. You would be lying if you said that you felt particularly close to him, especially when compared to your lifelong friendship with Nami.

Both of your moms were friends, so you have pretty much been friends since birth. Well, birth for you, adoption for her. She’s been a consistent part of your life for as long as you can remember. There isn’t anyone that you feel closer to than her.

That’s why it hurt so bad when she started pulling away from you a few years ago. You two grew up being thick as thieves, only for her to suddenly stop hanging out with you and barely speak to you at school. It was around the same time when she started working at some shady restaurant that everyone knew was a front. The “restaurant” was run by a man named Arlong, someone with a horrendous reputation thanks to his short temper and the rumors that he was part of a gang.

It was beyond you why she would choose to work there, and it was even more confusing as to why that seemingly meant that you two couldn’t be friends anymore. It was a massive blow to you, especially when any attempt at confronting her on it led to her shutting down and not saying anything, which later escalated into her snapping at you to just leave her the hell alone and to go bother someone else for once in your life… You aren’t proud to admit that those words completely broke you and led to your own flurry of unkind words that you would spend years deeply regretting. It also led to your friendship officially ending.

This was, of course, a very painful point in your life, though you had at least one good thing come out of it. While you were mourning the death of your friendship with Nami, a new one had developed in its place. After the explosive fight with Nami, you accepted that you needed a new table to sit at during lunch. A part of you wanted to hide away in a bathroom stall, but even while in the throes of teenage angst, you couldn’t bring yourself to eat on a toilet. That led you to finding the quietest, most empty table and sitting at it. There was only one other person on it, and she immediately took you sitting with her as a proposition for friendship and surprised you by dragging you to the mall after school to hang out. At the time, you had been annoyed to have your solitude forcibly intruded upon like that, but you quickly realized how nice it felt to finally have someone to spend time with again. 

That friend you made was a girl named Perona. You had only ever seen her in passing before, and while you never had a problem with her, you never went out of your way to get to know her either. She was something of an outcast at the school. Not for any good reason, though the reasons usually never are, she was merely a victim of circumstance. Her father ran the Moria Funeral Home, and that was enough to make everyone else deem her weird and creepy. The labels never seemed to bother her. If anything, she leaned into it. Perona fully embraced the weird girl aesthetic and by all accounts had fun with it. It was a trait that you really came to admire in her as you two grew closer. Perona became a rock for you when you were at your lowest and helped to make you feel like you could move on from Nami and leave all that friend drama in the past.

So imagine your surprise when at the beginning of this school year, Nami approached you to make amends and to “pick up where you left off”. At first, you were rightfully dubious of this abrupt change of heart. You thought that she was fucking with you. That concern was only intensified when you saw that she had a whole entourage of new friends. You thought for sure that she was going to mock and make a fool out of you again for the sake of looking cool in front of them. You had every intention of brushing her off like she had done to you all those years ago.

But, obviously, that isn’t how it went. Not only was Nami persistent, so were all of her new friends. They were all aggressively trying to befriend you and vouch for Nami. Zoro, tonight’s intruder, was by far the most aloof about it. He just kinda… started following you around. It was mostly creepy to begin with, but it did come with the pleasant side effect of all of the school bullies leaving you alone thanks to how intimidating he was.

Sanji’s approach was the polar opposite. You had been aware of him in passing before, and even caught a handful of stray compliments from him on occasion, but now you are pretty sure that he has deluded himself into believing that he’s your boyfriend. The second you come into view, your ears are greeted by him all but screaming “(Y/N), my love!” through the crowded hallway. A more than mortifying experience that had unfortunately become a daily occurrence. At least he made up for it by bringing you admittedly delicious lunches for school.

Usopp had inserted himself into your life as if you had been best friends for years, including by sharing stories of past moments together that literally never happened. He had a reputation for being a liar, and while that was accurate, he’s also a funny and genuinely nice guy now that you’ve gotten to know him. He even helps you out with your homework if you ask. Out of all of the new people introduced to you through Nami’s return, he was probably the one you got along with the best.

And then there was Luffy. He was an interesting character to say the least. Much like Usopp, he was also acting like you two were best friends right off the bat. He’s always slinging an arm around your shoulders and trying to drag you off to whatever adventure he’s concocted that day, or inviting himself over to your house. Sometimes during the day like a normal person, or sometimes he scares the hell out of you by crawling through your window in the middle of the night like some sort of sleep paralysis demon so he can recruit you into whatever late night scheme he came up with.

Perhaps it was a testament to how much you missed Nami, but in the end they managed to get through to you and become people you considered friends. More importantly, they helped to bridge the gap between you and Nami so you two could finally make up and be friends again. Having Nami’s friendship back was all that you had ever wanted in your years apart, and words could not describe the relief that you felt when you could finally put all of that pain and misery behind you.

But, now really wasn’t the time to be dwelling on the past. You still had to deal with Zoro, didn’t you? You slap your cheeks a few times to get yourself back into the present moment, then exit the bathroom. Nami’s voice can no longer be heard echoing down the halls, so you guess she either calmed down, or -more likely- Zoro hung up on her. You step into the living room only to be greeted by a whole other problem grinning at you.

“Hi, (Y/N)!”

There, sitting cross-legged in front of the shelf containing your family’s collection of VHS tapes, was Luffy. He smiled and waved at you, completely carefree and offering zero explanation as to what he’s doing in your house.

“When did you get here?”

Luffy went back to going through the tapes. “A few minutes ago. You left the window open, so I let myself in.” He started humming to himself while pulling out tapes to examine them.

Actually, Zoro left the window open, but you decided not to harp on the details. God knows that Luffy wouldn’t care. The much more important thing to get to the bottom of was why Luffy and Zoro were even here. You glance back at the couch to see that Zoro is still there. He’s sprawled out with his arms crossed behind his head. The landline had been tossed haphazardly onto the side table, and had indeed been hung up. You’re sure that Nami is going to have a word or two to say about that in person when she sees Zoro at school tomorrow.

“Okay, why are you two here at,” you look up at the clock on the wall, “almost 11 at night?”

Luffy was quick to pipe up with an answer, “We were walking back home after hanging out with Usopp.” 

That made no sense, and you quickly point that out, “He lives on the other side of town. How the hell did you end up over here?”

“Zoro said he knew a shortcut, so I let him lead the way. That was pretty dumb of me, huh?” Luffy chuckled after his explanation, which evolved into full on laughter when Zoro threw a pillow at him from across the room.

While you were still annoyed, you had to admit that his story made sense. Zoro could get lost in a paper bag, so it isn’t at all shocking that he could have wandered over to your place while trying to get back to the kendo dojo he lived out of. 

“It’s cool if we crash here for the night, right? I don’t want Zoro getting us even more lost.”

The question surprised you. Shocked you even. While you’ve had them over to hang out before, typically with everyone else, the only people you’ve ever had stay overnight were Nami and Perona for obvious reasons, ones that you’re quick to voice, “No way! My mom will freak out if she finds out that I let boys spend the night!”

Luffy pouts at your answer, but it’s Zoro who speaks up this time, “Her shift doesn’t end until 8, right? We’ll already be at school by the time she gets home. She’ll have no way of knowing that we were ever here.”

What Zoro said was true. Your mom worked overnight shifts as an ER nurse at the local hospital. She probably won’t know so long as you all clean up and neither of them leave any evidence behind. Still… it feels risky, and you really don’t want to risk pissing off your mom by surprising her with two unexpected guests if she comes home early for whatever reason.

Sensing your unease at the idea, Luffy springs up and hurries over to you. He takes both of your hands into his own and stares into your eyes with a pleading gaze. “Come on, please! We’ve never gotten to have a sleepover before! It’ll be fun! We can watch a movie or something! Please!” Luffy is begging you as if you’re Sanji and he’s trying to get more Baratie leftovers. 

You don’t really want to say yes… but you know that Luffy isn’t the kind of person to take no for an answer. This would probably be fine. Your mom basically never came home early. You should be able to keep them having been here a secret. You take a deep breath, then relent, “Fine. You guys can spend the night.”

Before you can even blink, Luffy is scooping you up into a hug. Your feet are lifted off the ground as he spins you around and cheers victoriously. You’re dropped back onto your feet, and Luffy wastes absolutely no time before sprinting over to the shelf to grab a movie to watch. 

“Hey, wait. It’s really late. Shouldn’t we just go to sleep now?” Your protest was weak, and you could practically hear the answer before Luffy even said it.

“I thought you’ve had sleepovers before. You know that you aren’t supposed to sleep at sleepovers!” Luffy pulled a VHS case off the shelf and hurried over to the TV to put it in. It would seem that his mind was made up. Looks like you’re having an impromptu movie night. Luffy turned on the VHS player and cracked open the case. As he pushes the tape into the player, he looks over his shoulder at you with another one of his infectious smiles, “Do you have any popcorn?”

“Yeah… I’ll go make some.” With a sigh, you straighten up and wander into the kitchen to get started on the popcorn. Sock clad feet pad across the linoleum floor as you make your way to the pantry to grab a stovetop popcorn pan. Typically, you would only make one of these if Nami or Perona was over, or if you and your mom were having a movie night on one of her rare nights home, but it wasn’t unheard of for you to knock back one of these on your own. It shouldn’t raise any suspicion from your mom when she comes back home in the morning.

The pan is dropped onto the front right burner and you grab the temperature control knob, turning on the gas, then quickly igniting it into a controlled fire to heat the popcorn. From here, you can faintly hear the distinct sound of the tape being rewound. Ah, yeah, you and your mom do have a tendency to forget to do that when the movie is over. 

You can’t help but wonder which movie Luffy picked out. He was partial to action movies. Stuff like Jurassic Park, the Terminator movies, Star Wars, that kind of thing. Though with it being October, he was on a bit of a horror movie kick. Last week, you guys watched both Predator movies and made it through the first two Alien movies while hanging out at Usopp’s place. None of you were particularly big fans of the third one, so Usopp didn’t even bother renting it from Blockbuster. 

Popping kernels snap you out of your pondering and you glance down to see the aluminum top rapidly expanding. You quickly start shaking the pan to help circulate the kernels to keep them from heating unevenly and burning. Before long, the popping subsides and you know that the popcorn is ready. You cut the gas and move the pan to another burner, then crouch down to dig the large popcorn bowl out from its place in the cabinet. 

As soon as the popcorn is dumped in, you pick up the bowl to bring it to the living room and find the lights already off and the movie playing. Luffy and Zoro are seated on either side of the couch, leaving only the space between them open. You sit down, and your ass has barely hit the cushion before Luffy is grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

You look up at the screen, and it takes you a minute to clock which movie is playing. A man is getting into a car in a snow covered setting and speeding down the road. Realization dawns on you as the driver begins losing control of the car.

“Is this Misery?”

Luffy nods enthusiastically, “I heard Nami talking about it. She said it was really good!” He turns his head away from the screen to look at you properly. “Why? Do you not like it?”

“I like it well enough, I’m just not sure you will. I think you’ll find it a bit boring compared to what you usually watch, that’s all.” You quickly toss some popcorn into your mouth, eyes flicking back to the screen as the door to famed writer Paul Sheldon’s car is pried open by his obsessed fan, Annie Wilkes. The first time you watched this movie was when you were spending the night at Perona’s house. She was something of a horror movie buff and would watch them year round. Naturally, your friendship with her meant partaking in her interest. You’d seen a handful before, but she really got you into the genre and would bring you with her to the theater every time there was a new one.

Your reminiscing is cut short by Luffy. “But it’s a horror movie. How can it be boring?”

“I mean, it’s not boring boring, it’s just more of a psychological thriller rather than the gorey action horror movies you tend to gravitate towards.” You eat another handful of popcorn and spare a glance at Zoro, only to find that he has already fallen asleep. Whatever. You’re sure that Luffy will happily eat Zoro’s share of popcorn and most of yours.

“If it’s a thriller, it has to be fun, right?” Luffy throws his legs over your lap and you have to act fast to lift the popcorn bowl and prevent it from getting spilled everywhere. You move it to rest in the gap between yours and Luffy’s laps since it’s just going to be you two eating it.

“I guess so. Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll like it.” You sink further into the back of the couch, eyes already feeling heavy. It’s pretty unlikely that you’ll make it through the entire movie, and knowing Luffy, he will probably get bored and be out not long after you.

While you may have gone into this forced hangout a little annoyed by the whole situation, all in all, this wasn’t a terrible way to spend the night. If it weren’t for these two showing up, you likely would have spent the night being paranoid about the screaming you thought you heard earlier that was now little more than a distant memory.

You felt safe. You could trust them. There is absolutely nothing to fear.

[haleswallows]

BETWEEN A ROCK & A DRAGON'S EGG - CHAPTER 14 (UPDATE)

My links keep breaking!!

Fandom: DC x DP Pairing: Dead Tired (Danny/Tim) Rating: Teen High Fantasy AU, Arranged Marriage, and Dragons (oh my!) Chapter 14

TEASER:

The shouting didn’t stop, even as Danijel scrambled down from the roof. It was with pure brute strength he managed it all through his laughing. Tim, a little high on adrenaline from the close call because he had not noticed the loose shingle and nearly fell three stories, flipped himself over the edge. Broke his fall with a roll and a handspring just because he could.

The shopkeeper startled, recognizing Tim. “Oh! Your Highness!” he exclaimed.

“I am so sorry, we were being –,” Tim resisted elbowing Danijel as he snickered. “If we caused any damage, we’ll fix it.”

Then, before the man could reply, Danijel pulled Tim away. “Go go go, before he decides to put us to work.”

“Would he do that?” Tim chanced a glance over his shoulder. A little girl had joined the shop owner, the widest grin Tim had ever seen splitting her face. He waved. She waved back.

“I don’t know, and I’m not staying to find out.” Danijel herded him bodily. “Yes, cute kid. Keep moving.”

“Gods, you’re pushy.” Tim sprinted a few steps just to make Danijel have to run after him and to make the pushing stop. “The look on his face.”

They burst into laughter again. “He was probably expecting a dragon on his roof. Not Shadow and Phantom’s husband.”

It was comical. Gothamites were so used to the pitter patter of feet on their roofs. And the people of the village probably were too - just different feet, ones with claws. And certainly not the polished prince Phantom brought home from the treaty.

“Oh my gods, stop it!” Tim shouted, attempting again to elbow Danijel's side when he moved to trip him. “Spirits, even Damian is more mature than you.”

Danijel stepped away, a hand on his possibly bruised ribs. “Seems he might be more mature than you too.” His laughter petered off into chuckles. “You seemed handy with that sword, Fright mentioned it wasn’t your preferred weapon. What is?”

Tim smirked. “Did you want to spar? I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

With a hearty scoff, Danijel crossed his arms. “You sound pretty confident. Sure, let’s go. I gotta feed Wraith. Meet me at the training grounds in about fifteen minutes.”

Excitedly, Tim bounced on his toes before he settled. It was a relief to let out the pent up energy, even if Danijel regarded Tim like he was an excited puppy. “I haven’t met Wraith. Is that the drake you had with you in Trenton?”

“Yeah, she’s a brat.” He tilted his head. And smirked down at Tim, a disgusting mix of confident and brash. “Come on then. And then I’ll put you in the dirt.”

Arrogant! Oh, Tim could not wait to show him. He knew he was unassuming at best, but it was common knowledge Bruce had trained him. Even Fright Knight had been impressed, and he hadn’t even seen Tim in a fight yet.

Laughing, he pushed Danijel. Then dodged a swipe and took off running. They weren’t far from the tower, and he was sure Danijel would catch up quickly. Over his shoulder, he quipped “You’re going to look so dumb when I win.”

○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○○

Danny noticed them almost immediately. Laughter, loud and bright below him in the courtyard drew his attention. Like a moth to a flame, Danny absolutely had no chance at ignoring it.

The prince. Smiling brightly, unabashedly laughing and elbowing Dan who grinned back, bent nearly double in delighted guffaws. Danny froze.

Ancients. Danny swore low and ardently under his breath. It had been so long since he’d seen his brother so unburdened. Because of course, Danny’s own stress had been heavy not just on himself but his family as well. A mixture of grief and relief swirled in him like oil and water.

The sudden urge to jump down and join them had Danny rocking onto his toes. But he forced himself back, deeper into the shadowy balcony. He wasn’t welcome here. The prince’s terror and disgust, bitter on his tongue, was still so fresh.

Before the bonds could sour, Danny ruthlessly tamped down on his emotions. Let them be happy. That’s all Danny wanted, all he had ever wanted. For his people, his family, to have some sort of peace, stability. Happiness.

All of his efforts would be worth it. And look, Danny thought to himself, his breaths short in his chest, aching, look, it already is.

The naked joy Dan reflected at the prince was a salve on his bruised heart. It was fine, truly. Danny’s hurts meant nothing if… if this. A bubble of bright delight, somehow surfacing in spite of multiple generations of trauma and terror. Pariah Dark and his atrocities, all of it forgotten for a bliss-filled moment.

The sun shined in the Keep again.

The prince said something. And though he was too far to hear it, Danny knew his brother scoffed, making the prince bounce excitedly for a moment before he remembered himself and settled on his heels. Danny wrapped his arms around himself loosely. There was a bare honesty to the prince just then.

He was beautiful. Glowed with it, eyes shining and mouth in a lop-sided grin as he spoke. Danny could only watch, entranced. If only he could breathe, chest tight and heart thudding like he was mid battle.

The scuff of a boot drew his attention. Phantom turned slowly from the scene in the courtyard. Val stared at him, face hard. Though it softened as the prince laughed again. She joined him to covertly watch the pair. There was a knowing tilt to her head.

The prince shoved Dan, nimbly dodged Dan’s attempt to catch him and took off in a skittering sprint. He said something over his shoulder as Dan took off after him that spurred his brother to pour into a full run. They took off in the direction of the tower, leaving Danny and Val on the balcony. The echoes of their laughter, a welcome guest.

Danny breathed, just for a moment to savor it. Closed his eyes against the bright fresh press of his bond with Dan, consciously pushed something like love-here-glad into it. In return, it stirred in acknowledgment and knowing-yes-love.

When he opened his eyes, Val was watching him, still reflecting his posture. “We going to talk about this?”

“My marriage? No. It isn’t really your business, is it?” He turned to her fully. She rolled her eyes.

“It kind of is. What happens when he writes home to say you hate him?” Danny opened his mouth to protest, but Val spoke over him. “Which is totally what it looks like to anyone with half a brain, by the way. What do you think King Wayne or the others in the League will do in retaliation when they find out you’re freezing out the prince?”

“I don’t hate him, he hates me,” Danny grumbled under his breath and hoped Val didn’t hear. “It doesn’t matter. The treaty isn’t contingent on the marriage. It’s just one facet of it. The first import of dry goods from Gotham will arrive soon, they already have our gold. We wanted to secure lasting peace and show the League the Infinite Lands aren’t a threat.”

Stubbornly, Val jutted out her chin. “You don’t uphold a treaty by honoring only parts of it.”

If she wanted to litigate the terms of the treaty with him, so be it. “The contract says nothing about loving him. It outlines a marriage of equals and fair treatment. The purpose is to create friendship between the nations.” With a wide arc of his, Danny gestured to the courtyard where the prince and his brother had been. “What about that didn’t look like friendship to you?”

“You are so stupid, it is actually painful.” Val scowled at him. “What about your behavior is ‘fair treatment’, huh?”

The part where I respect the prince and his wishes to have nothing to do with me, Danny didn’t say. But it seemed his face said it for him when Val’s expression turned into something pitying. Regardless that they held no bond, she always could see the truth of him. The folly of a life-long friendship.

“Oh, Danny.”

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea IX

Summary: As far back as you can remember, the sea has been the singular source of calm in your life so long as you follow one simple rule: Never wander into the ocean after nightfall, no matter how tempting it may seem. Little do you know, it’s not the ornery tides or the tricky undertow you should fear. It's something that lurks deep beneath the black waters; Something sinister with a piqued curiosity and ill intent. Unfortunately, you've got his interest now. For better or for worse.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of violence, blood, attempted assault, sexual content, one very pissy, overgrown fish and bad writing and purple prose. The nastiness is arriving now folks, and she is not happy about it. Not one bit.

Here's the actual next chapter! Enjoy the early upload! Only five days, new fucking RECORD, baby!

Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII Ao3 Mirror

You awaken the next morning to spears of sunlight streaming through the windows and a blissful— if uneasy— silence. It feels all too similar to the morning after a pub crawl, right before the nausea sets in. For a few blessed moments, the events of the last day seem like something far off and hazy. None of it seems real at all; the remnants of a bad dream drifting into the eternity of your forgetful, foggy brain, velvet laden and whisked away by the morning sun as if by a broom. 

That is, until you crack open your bleary eyes and notice the chair wedged by the door, and the broken mug shards scattered carelessly across the floor. 

You groan, teeth gritting and grinding in a stress that’s sure to give you a preliminary headache. Church bells pound in your skull, bruised and swollen in places you didn't know existed. Worse than all of it is that somewhere, skulking around your home, the malicious predator hellbent on killing you and eating you— or something— is a very real threat and not a figment of your imagination. 

It wasn't a dream. The pain in your throat confirms it. You're certain there's a large handprint shaped bruise where a necklace should be, and if you tried to speak, you'd sound like a young lad going through a particularly vicious puberty. Your lip is clearly split from his assault last night, and if you worry at it enough, you taste the metallic tang of blood. 

“Dammit.” 

You test your voice with a pitiful squeak, sitting upright in your bed, rubbing a hand through your messy hair, trying to soothe your aching head. Your every instinct claws for more sleep, but eying the mess and the situation wouldn't allow it either way. Your eyes find the chair wedged underneath the knob once again, and even as something akin to relief settles, it seems unnatural and tenuous. 

‘At least he knew to keep his distance.’

It doesn't seem like he tried to get in. In fact, there's an unnerving quiet emanating from the rest of the house. It feels silent— like when you're entirely alone. The calm before a massive storm. 

But you're certain he didn't leave. He didn't come all this way to leave with nothing. Did he kill you in the middle of the night? Is this heaven? 

No. Heaven isn't a shitty apartment. 

It fills you with a sense of unease, not knowing where an apex predator resides in your residence. It feels like a macabre game of hide and seek, as if he could pop out at any time— the lingering presence in a horror film that lingers overlong with unbearable suspense. 

You do not want to leave your room. You want to crawl back under the covers until he gets bored, and you hear him leave. You want to bore him until he decides to ruin someone else's life. 

But who knows what hell he's wreaking in your home, and not knowing where he is or what he’s doing sets your hackles raising. 

Against your own will, you heave your body up from the mattress, standing and stretching away the residual sleepies that still linger in your poor, abused body. Your muscles sing with pain and a masochistic relief as you raise your arms over your head, kicking your legs out pointed toe to stretch your calves. You're going to need it— you have a feeling it's going to be a long day. 

Still, rather than facing down the devil lurking about, you half-assedly resign yourself to picking up the shards of your favorite mug instead, cursing under your breath and refusing to admit you're killing time. 

First an unwanted roommate, and now the reminder that your favorite cup is gone. Excellent. 

Unfortunately, the shards are finite, and eventually your floor is glass free. As you throw them in the garbage, you try to ready yourself to enter the house proper, knowing that Tomura could be around any corner. And better— or worse, somehow— he might not be. 

Maybe he got bored and left. Is that so much to hope for? But if he did, and he gets caught—

Best not to think on it. 

No matter which one you'll face, you summon up your courage, dragging the chair away from the door, opening the door as quietly as you can, clicking the knob with slow, languid movements. You peer out into the hallway and see… nothing. No lights. No sound. No Tomura. 

Relief again. And then blind panic. 

The bathroom door is open, and the tub is empty. You can see it even in the dark of the small washroom. Totally spick-and-span, devoid of any sign of life. 

“Tomura?” 

Your voice is hoarse as you call out into the house, not hearing so much as a mouse in return. Padding your way to the kitchen, you notice a foul scent as you draw closer, entering to see stacks of partially eaten, defrosted raw meat littering your countertops. It looks like a murder scene from a vegetarian horror novel.  

“Oh, you— you rat bastard!”

It reeks something fierce, tickling your gag reflex until you have to shield your mouth with the back of your hand. You wonder how he managed to make such a huge mess in such a short time. If it had only been a few hours, the meat wouldn't be in such a state, surely. Almost like he left it out overnight. 

You do your best to clean up, debating trying to salvage what you can of the cutlets, opting to cut off where his fangs have sank into the sinew and torn like a rabid animal and throwing the rest gingerly into the trash. You don't notice a damn thing, silly human. You only hear a voice from behind you, jumping out of your skin and brandishing the wayward kitchen knife in the general direction of the sound. 

“It all tasted disgusting.”

Tomura leans against the door frame, casual as can be, arms crossed over his willowy chest. He prowls like a fucking shadowcat, making no noise at all and simply appearing behind you like a spectre. Something that doesn't move on land under normal circumstances has no right to be so stunningly silent. 

You're far too irritated to be impressed or even frightened. 

“So, you just left it out!” you toss the knife into the sink in frustration, clutching the sides of the counter in an attempt not to punch him right in his wasteful, gluttonous mouth. 

“What else was I to do with it?” He arches a brow. “I needed to eat.”

“This is like— one hundred dollars worth of meat! This is what I eat during the week! It's expensive and it's all almost ruined!”

“That's what you're upset about?” He pulls away from the frame, cocking his head at you. “Not to still find me here?” 

“I was hoping you'd bloody leave,” you heave an exasperated sigh, chucking another half-hunk of meat into the bin with a loud thunk. 

“I told you I wasn't leaving,” he shrugs. “I wasn't kidding.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you roll your eyes. “Don't just stand around, useless! Help me clean this up!” 

He doesn't. He only blinks at you with slitted, scarlet eyes. A foreign creature, undomesticated and peerless, his very presence and affront to nature somehow. 

“Jesus, whatever, man,” you growl, disenchanted with his act and too angry to even come up with a proper insult as you wipe down your counter with a rag like you could wipe him away like a particularly stubborn stain. Muttering like mad woman, you kick the bin back under the sink. “You come into my damn house, ruin my damn cookware, incriminate my apartment, spoil my meat—”

“You're so high-strung.”

You feel hands on either sides of your hips, gripping too tightly to be tender. There's still the damn slip of your clothing tied around his wrist, and it confuses you. Something else prods at your backside that you don't want to think too much about— but won't let you think about much else. 

“I think I can help you there. If you'll just bend over again, I can—”

“Get off it, mate,” you try to shrug him off, but he stands firm. “I've never been more turned off. There's raw meat juice all over it. I'm out a hundred bucks. And you piss me off.”

“Maybe you just need to unwind a little,” his voice takes on that supernatural cadence that spells trouble through and through, and you clap your hands to your ears.

“No! Stop it! We're getting you home, and that's that!” 

“Don't know how you're planning on doing that,” he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms again as he removes them from your hips in a fit-throwing fashion, obviously offended at being snubbed yet again. Pouting. Like a child. 

“I'm driving you to the beach, and I'll chuck you in the water if I have to!” 

“It needs to be at night,” he says firmly, taking you back with the sudden seriousness in his tone. “So you'd have to wait anyway. I don't want prying eyes where I transform. That's the last thing I need is more of your filth infesting my sacred spaces.”

“But there's a curfew—”

“Even better then. Less of you nasty creatures out and about. If you're really going to be so rude as to try to kick me out, the least you can do is give me some privacy while you do.”

It's risky. There's a temporary curfew given the slaughtering. Granted, they think it's just local wildlife on a rampage, but still. Getting caught with him and the clothes and all of it—

“And you need it to be dark?” 

“Yes. Trust me. Transforming isn't pretty. Or short. Plus you don't want those in the public eye, I assume?” 

“I—”

Maybe he's right. Burning the clothes on the beach would be risky during the day. People here are social: they see a bonfire and think party. But at night, with a curfew… there might not be anyone around to try and socialize. 

Maybe it's the smarter move— if you can dodge prying eyes of cops out looking for stragglers. It's an all or nothing plan with high stakes, and you aren't much of a gambler. And yet—

“Okay, we'll— we'll do it your way. But we're leaving earlier in the evening. We have to get there a little early to start the fire. And then you go home.”

“Yeah, sure,” he waves his hand. “We'll burn these clothes you're so paranoid about.”

“Shut up, fish! You don't know how good law enforcement is these days!” 

“I know they're not good enough to know it wasn't a rabid animal that did it,” he bears his fangs in a prideful smile, wrath and ferocity incarnate. It gives you chills. 

“Depends who you ask,” you hiss under your breath. “Look, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I'm already stressed the fuck out. Just keep away from me until we get back. Do whatever it is that you do. Just away from me.”

“Are you certain?” He licks his lips, leaning forward again. “I can think of a few ways to pass the time. A bit of a fond farewell—”

“Leave it out! God, you have a one track mind. You might hate humans, but you have a lot in common with a lot of our males.”

“I could make you feel the way none of them ever could,” he spiders his fingers on the top of your wrist. “You must be terribly lonely, here all by yourself. No one to keep you company. Cooped up here day after day—” 

It is lonely, truthfully. Painfully so sometimes. You aren't one for socialization, and Tomura had managed to throw a fit over the one person you did sort of think you could connect with— even if it was a bit fast. Calling him wouldn't be safe. Seeing him, even less so. But it is lonely. An isolated island. A metaphor for something you don't like to think about. 

“—after day—”

It is lonely. So terribly so. You can't even think of any real friends you have here. A few acquaintances you can go out with, but nothing real. All of your relationships have been a flash in a pan, and you've thrown yourself into your work and your daydreams to compensate. The person you're closest to is— is Tomura. 

“—after day—”

God, it hurts. It really does. You don't think about it. But it does. 

‘Let me in. Let me ease your pain.’

You deny him so— why? What is there to lose? An empty life with nothing and nobody in it? A headlong fall into age and ever more loneliness? A life like the one called Lisa? Is that what you want?

“No,” your voice quivers, sounding alien. Like it's not even you who is speaking. “It's not.”

‘Let me in.’

He tilts your chin, studying your face while gazing into your eyes— red and so terribly heavy, suffocating— for a moment before leaning forward and gently and oh so tenderly pressing his scarred lips to chapped, broken ones. 

Your head falls into a fog before you can fully contemplate what he's done, and the pain fades. All you know is he feels nice and warm and like something you haven't tasted in eternity. 

‘Fall into me’

His hand snakes around your waist, pulling you deeper into him, taking the opportunity to dip you lower, encompassing you fully. His other hand brushes stray hair away from the crook of your neck as he gently cradles the back of your head with a gentleness so foreign to him that you can almost forget. 

He smells like the ocean— like home. A home you've never known, but long for with such intensity that it nearly flays you; incinerates your insides with longing that burns brighter than the sun above you. 

The taste of salt and the sea clouds your senses, dragging your mind into the depths of a dark abyss. Drowning, drowning, drowning in need— in desire; In him. 

It's a flame blossom blooming at the base of your spine, cascading into a thousand fires that encompass every inch of your being, burning you alive from the inside out, each of them howling and yearning for him like the very bones of the earth crave the all-encompassing blanket of the ocean. Unforgiving and unyielding, the hands of a hurricane swallow you whole in his waters. Cacophonous and cruel, he is all you can hear in your mind, clear as pure prayer. 

Nothing has ever felt so right as this. 

‘That’s right, give in to me—’

Salt and sulphur and— and—

The sharp, heinously pleasurable sting of fangs on your neck. Curious and playful, they dance across your skin, eager— so eager— to sink deep and partake. Teasing you with eternity, dancing to the ethereal tune of endless void, staggering on the precipice and making merriment with the abyss. You almost wish he would. Almost. Wish he would—

—Brine and sea foam, so soft you can feel it like velvet on your flesh–  

Endless ocean beneath a pearlescent moon, lapping hungrily. Greedily. It coaxes your flesh, dragging you under and even as you breathe deep the waters of your demise, you smile—

He tastes of sin and sulphur and abomination. You'd cast down all your gods to worship at his altar and cry his name from your lips upon your knees before him. He tastes of—

—of—

Raw meat. 

“Jesus!”

You try to shove him off hard at the shoulders, your spellbound state breaking with such force it nearly sucks out your soul. Suddenly, the harsh reality bears down on you as you realize what's just happened. The euphoria peters away and dies and every fibre of your being laments the loss, vying for the dying cinders of rapture that shrivel and waste away. 

You wanted him. You well and truly did with every ounce of your body. Even if it meant your inevitable end, you craved him. Needed him. Wanted him to use you and dig deep his claws and never let you go. Cradle you in his breast until the end of days, even as it's just your ghost. 

Part of you wants to cry at the loss of it. The other, more dominant half is furious. This isn't you. This is him.

“Tomura! You complete son of a bitch!”

His hand has found its way to your breast, squeezing like he owns it, still reeling and drooling over your neck, fangs drooling and ready. When he realizes that you're no longer acquiescing to him, he inhales sharp, looking every part child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. More than that, he seems genuinely shocked— even more shocked than you somehow— at what has just happened. 

“You— god, fuck! Are you kidding? I'm not some fucking piece of meat you can just sign your teeth into! I'm a human being! A person! Stop trying to force your will on me!” Before you can stop yourself, you slap him— hard. You could swear it's hard enough to slap the mole clean off his chin. 

You're expecting retaliation. Some kind of vulgar display of power from him. And yet, his mouth is agape for only a split second before he snarls with a huff, waving you off with seemingly new-found disinterest. “You're no fun, brat.”

“What happened to not using siren superpowers on me? Huh? What happened to that!”

“I never said that,” he shakes his head with an indignant gesture. “You said that. But now that you mention it? I don't need them.”

The unnerving grin that falls across his features has you more on edge than knowing you're in the presence of a predator. There's something sinister in it. Something cruel and cold that leaves you swallowing hard. 

“And what does that mean?” you shake out your hand, palm still tingling from the strike. You want to do it again and again until he fucking learns. 

“It means,” He leans in again, flicking his forked tongue out against your cheek as you attempt to dodge away from it, snarling and snapping at him. “That you want it.”

“Clearly not! I want to beat your fucking ass for touching me! Do you know how invasive that is? People go to prison here for that! You're assaulting me against my will and I want you to stop!”

He considers you for a moment, opting to speak anyway. 

“Oh, but you do. I might not understand how you can break my spell, but it's a bond between predator and prey. I can feel you when you let me in. You need it. You won't admit it, but you do,” His fingers brush against your neck again, sending a cacophony of shivers racing down the length of your spine. “I don't need to use my ability on you. You'll beg for it before long.” 

“You're off your damn gourd. Now stop touching me!”

“If you say so,” he singsongs, seemingly done with the conversation as he turns away dismissively once more. 

You roll your eyes, denying yourself the very real, very insistent urge to pounce on him and wail and wail until he isn't breathing anymore. He doesn't fucking listen to basic decency by violence anymore than he does by demand and decorum, clearly. 

‘He'll be gone soon,’ you remind yourself, exhaling the fire from your lungs. ‘He’ll be gone, and you'll be safe.’

Instead, you return to cleaning up his mess as if he's your useless child, resuming spraying the counter with whatever discount cleaner you'd picked up last week. It's not enough to air the smell out, but you can't risk opening your door. You'll have to settle for opening the windows. 

As you unlatch them, you can't help but feel watched. Doing something so domestic has never felt so… odd. You feel watched. Studied. Like you're a specimen in a glass jar, living your daily life for some eccentric researcher you've somehow ensnared with your strangeness. It's a feeling you can't shake. 

Unlocking another window, out of the corner of your eye, you catch him looking at you with a perplexed expression. Disturbed almost. Scratching endlessly at his neck where his gills should be, teeth clenched. He must catch you peeking, because it's merely a flash on his face, but it was still there, plain as day.

Somehow, you know. You're not sure how. 

There's something appallingly invasive about his abilities, but you're starting to think it's mutual. When he glimpses into you, you can glean something of his right back. Something something abyss and fighting monsters. While he's trying to devour your soul, you're getting tastes of his. 

You figure that's maybe part of why you're able to understand his expression. He's asking himself how. How you manage to resist him time and time again. How he gets so close and yet you're able to resist even his most feverish attempts to hypnotize and take you. You imagine it isn't something he sees often. You doubt he's even trying because he wants to anymore. He has to. He needs to know. To understand. He's a creature used to getting his way, and you've been denying him at every fucking turn.  

He makes it sound like you're the only one able to shake him off so easily. For someone that relies on that hideous power to live, that's probably fairly unnerving in and of itself. Like a soldier stripped of his sword, or a sorcerer of his weave. You take something he can't get back somehow, able to pull yourself from even his deepest entrapping trenches— so far. 

Helpless. Frightening. Like his claws have been rendered from his body and his teeth neutered. A whole part of him flayed clean and left exposed. 

You almost feel for him. Almost. 

He doesn't linger long afterward. His shadow is gone after a few sparse seconds, and you hear him flop down and make himself at home right on your sofa, content to allow you to keep cleaning up after him. Your TV turns on, volume obnoxiously loud, and honestly, you'd rather not know how he just knows how to do that. 

Clearly, he'd been snooping around your apartment all night. 

You wonder what else he uncovered. 

Whatever it might be, he isn't telling. 

“Get up,” you throw a pillow at him, knocking him from his TV-induced stupor. He hasn't said a word since this morning, and the quiet has been… disorienting. Discomforting. You're not comfortable enough with him to have a comfortable silence; something heavy lingers in the air that you opt not to think about. “It's time to go.”

“It's only sunset,” he says, all parts the lazy, slovenly slob you know him to be. 

“We need to get there early to start the fire. People start heading home right around now, but you know that. Let's go.”

With an exasperated sigh, he languidly pushes himself off the sofa, giving you a nasty side-eye as he does. 

“Good to see you've really made yourself at home,” you quip, dripping venomous sarcasm. “Too bad, it's time to go.”

“Yeah, whatever you say.” 

Something about it all feels off, but now isn't the time to question things. You've been fritting and fretting all day over this. Over driving to the beach during curfew with a bag full of exceedingly damning— and blatantly compromised— evidence. It should all be simple. You've been to the beach a thousand times, even during previous curfews. You're no newbie to sneaking around restrictions. 

But this time just feels more… wretched. More filthy. Contaminated. By the surreal nature of the situation, and the fact you're, again, cleaning up his mess— even if it is to save your own skin. 

He stretches, yawning and seeming awfully casual despite his demeanor the night before and his insistence that he would not, in fact, be leaving. You don't linger on it— you're eager to get this over with and return to normality… or whatever is left of it. 

It might be time to consider moving away. Somewhere away from the ocean. The thought breaks your heart, but could you ever truly be free with Tomura lurking? Despite it all, his words earlier cut deep, and maybe.. maybe he's right. Perhaps it's time for a fresh start. Putting yourself out there more. Building relationships. 

Either way, now isn't the time to loiter on the thoughts. One thing at a time. 

“Do you want a coat or something?” You offer him a small olive branch, trying not to show how giddy and eager you are to have him out of your life. 

“A coat?”

“You know, goes over the shoulders?” You make a strange gesticulation with your hands. “Keeps you warm? Do you get cold?” 

He looks at you like that's the dumbest question you've ever asked. 

“Do you have anything that will even fit me?” 

“I have— well—”

You have a long black trench with a belt and buckle that could fit. You save it for rainy days in monsoon season, but it'll probably fit him. It's a bit chilly out at night, and you imagine the loose black sweater he's wearing won't do much to stave off the cold. 

“Yeah— I want it back though! Now just get your shoes on.”

“You burned them.”

“Oh— right—”

Coat and shoes. Got it. He'll look almost normal before he goes. 

All you have in the way of shoes that could possibly fit is a pair of red sneakers that your ex bought and hated and subsequently left at your place as garbage for you to clean up. It might be a bit uncomfortable for Tomura, with the nails and all, but it's all you have, and the less suspicious the better right now. A shoeless man with clawed feet in ill-fitting clothes isn't exactly inconspicuous. 

“Here,” you rush back into the room, haphazardly tossing him the coat and the shoes onto the sofa. “It should fit. Might not be comfy, but it's dark and won't draw attention.” 

Mostly. He'll look like an out-of-place goth at the beach, but if all goes according to plan, no one will see you anyway. 

Slower than necessary, he fumbles with the shoes, attempting to fit them comfortably over his clawed feet, settling on tying them loosely with an expression that is equal parts disgust and discomfort. The coat is easier— it slips over his shoulders like a glove, and you hate it, but he looks good. 

You've always liked the bad boys, and frankly, he's the worst. 

“Alright, let's go. Keep low— and if anyone talks to us on the way out, just shut up and let me do the talking, okay?”

“I have no desire to talk to your kind.”

“Good,” you nod sternly, more at yourself than him. He'll keep his word on that one. Of that, you're sure. “Right, let's— let's go.”

One last shake of the jitters, and you're out of the apartment, grabbing your keys and shutting the door behind you. Quietly. 

Last thing you need is to alert Lisa to your leaving. You've been pretending to be gone all day when she stopped by to check on you. You hope she didn’t go to your work only to find out it’s your day off. You feel bad dodging her– you really do– but frankly, you could not explain this, or him, or the heinous smelling bag clutched in your palm— nor do you want to. 

The beach is quiet and serene and damn near isolated by the time your car rolls up to the parking lot. You'll need to move quickly still, but it looks like you're the only lawbreaking vagrants about. 

“Over here,” you exit the car swiftly and usher him towards the cliff of rocks where you first met. Not too far off the path, but a fire shouldn't attract attention from the street. 

“Nostalgic, are we?” 

“Seems fitting,” you smile despite yourself. God, you're so over all of this. Having it be so close that you can almost taste it gives you a possibly preemptive sense of relief. 

The fire pit is empty, and you waste no time kicking the evidence bag into it, dousing the contents in lighter fluid and sparking the flame. It'll take a little while, and you'll be looking over your shoulder the whole time, but you feel better having the damned thing on fire now. 

Now all there is to do is wait. When the bag is done and over with, you'll send Tomura on his way and this entire ordeal will be over. Well and truly over. And you'll have one hell of a story for your grandkids once you're a loony elder— if you ever have grandkids. At this rate, you doubt it. 

“There. Feel better now?” He eyes the bag with a slight arch in his brow, the flames dancing in his scarlet eyes. 

“I'll feel better when it's gone and so are you.”

“Right.”

He makes no moves to remove his clothing— both thankfully and curiously— and only stands with his hands crossed beside you as you tend the fire pit, poking every so often with a stick you'd found in the sand. He says nothing else, but does opt to sit beside you when you relax enough to drop down onto the rocks and cross your legs. 

You could swear he keeps looking over his shoulder. You probably should be, too. Being out is very illegal. The currently on fire bag at your feet and the fish-man at your side even more so. 

“I won't say I'll miss you,” you break the awkward silence. “But it's been… something.”

“Yeah, well, it's not over yet,” he narrows his eyes at something in the distance, head cocking almost imperceptibly. “There's still time.”

“For what? And don't say to eat me.”

“I do need to get food,” he acquiesces. “I'm ravenous. But no.”

“What, then?”

“To ease that loneliness. To feel like you've never felt before— or will ever again.”

“Not this shit again—”

“Oh, but I'm serious. I know you're lonely. I can feel it. Sorrow so deep that it cuts at your very being like a blade. Such terrible ache. You owe it to yourself to let me take you.”

“You just don't give up, do you?”

“Why would I? I've felt your internal struggle. I'm practically performing a public service.”

“Yeah, you know something about loneliness, don't you?” You snap, lip curling into a frown. “Intimately acquainted, I'd wager. That's why you keep prattling on about mine.”

He seems taken back for a moment, but composes himself, remembering the situation. “I'm not lonely. I prefer solitude.”

“That's what lonely people tell themselves. That they chose this. That this is what they want. That things are better this way.”

“You sure seem to know a lot about it,” his eyes narrow on you once more, his frown deepening to match yours. 

“Yeah? So do you, don't you? Are you sure I'm the lonely one?” You jab at the bag angrily, stoking the fire again. The stench is starting to wane as the contents turns to cinder. “Because I think you're projecting. I think you're lonely, and you won't admit it to anyone, least of all yourself.”

His mouth curls into a snarl, the white, jagged peak of his fang barely visible through the curtain of his lips. “You know nothing about me.”

“I don't need to. I've seen it. You're not special, you know. You're not some dark, mysterious figure. You hate humans, but clearly we have a lot in common—”

His hand lashes lightning fast from the sleeve of the coat, grabbing your cheeks with such an intensity that it leaves your eyes stinging. His claws poppy little tiny rivulets of blood on the fatty flesh, hurting too much to move. 

“You know nothing, little girl. And I am nothing like you.”

Some fiery thing from deep within you surges flame up your throat, and you snarl in turn. “So you say.”

“You're bold,” he moves closer— so close you can taste his breath on your skin. “It's why I chose you. But you're pushing your luck more than you know. You'd do well to just give me what I want. I'll have it in the end.”

“Like hell!” You grab his wrist, trying to wrench it away from your face, whining as he only holds tighter. “You'll be gone, and I'll be free.”

“Don't be so sure, little one,” he looks over his shoulder again. 

“See that?” You kick at the fire pit. “That's me cutting you out of my life forever. After tonight, you'll be gone, and I'll be free.”

“You seem so certain.”

The way he says it… it leaves you with a tight, spiraling feeling in your chest, tendrils clawing up your throat. Like he knows something you don't. Like he's certain that you shouldn't be. 

“That's why we're here, isn't it?” You spit through puffed cheeks, meeting his magmatic glare. “So you can go home and so can I!” 

“Night’s not over yet,” he smiles, and it fills you with a sense of unease. “Besides, I want a parting gift.”

“Parting gift? Your parting gift is me not throwing you in the fire pit!” 

“Oh, I don't think so.”

His tongue is in your mouth in seconds. Even as you work to close your jaw, he simply tightens his steely grip on your cheeks until you cry out and inadvertently allow him access. Something dark and wretched happens between your thighs and between the shame and the burgeoning feeling, you hardly have the ability to react. 

“Ga— ahf!”

“Gods, you taste like hell,” he groans, and you get a feeling that he means it as a compliment, even as it doesn't seem like it. “I can taste the downfall of nations in you.”

“That— is so— tacky— purple— prose—”

“I don't care what you have to say. Hush, girl.”

“Does that— really work— on anyone?” 

“None of the others were as talkative as you,” he heaves in breath, doing his damnedest to breathe you in. “Their mouths were a bit busy.”

You bite him. Hard. Right on his scar. 

He reels back, hand shooting up to his lip, where he wipes a bead of blood away with the back of his hand. At first, you think him furious— his eyes aflame in the ominous firelight, glowing dimly against the blackness of the chill night. His fangs emerge and you hear a growl— terrible and wretched and sending a primal fear resounding deep in your gut. 

And then he's on you again, tasting of blood and the ocean, forcing you to swallow his very essence. 

He's leaning over you, a cage of limbs encasing your back against the rocks beneath you, his hands gripping and groping with feverish need. You try to kick him, but it's futile, as he doesn't even flinch. 

“Tomura—!”

You cannot breathe, and what little you manage to rip into your lungs reeks of him. He's infesting you like a plague, a darkness spreading through your extremities and setting capital in your chest. 

Saline sulfur and the unyielding, tumultuous churn of the eternal ocean. He is all that is and all that ever was. He was created for you— to torment you— and fill his head with your Lamentations. An apocalypse of biblical proportions, tailor made to be your downfall. 

He says it is you, but he is the destroyer; the downfall of you. Your head fills with hymns that both praise and damn his name and cries it as a dark chant. 

Where are these absurd thoughts coming from?

You have to get away. Before it's too late. 

“Shigaraki— off! Off!” You swat at him, trying like the devil to get him off of you, to no avail. God, he's so unbelievably strong for a thing so wiry, and it fills your heart with dread to think of a thing like him losing control. 

“Not now,” he sighs against you, his hand slithering up your shirt to grasp at your flesh. 

“Yes, now!” 

He only giggles, his lips still pressed against yours. They have the texture of sand against skin, rough and dominating against yours. You can feel the scar that cradles his jaw, slicing through his lip like a cleaver. 

He needles your split, quivering lip with a fang, eyes flicking to yours as you sharp-inhale at the sting, too stunned to even attempt to slap him. 

“Play along.”

“What—” your brows furrow, ready and more than willing to push him off again.  

“Trust me.” he hisses, amping up his ‘affections.’

You do not, in fact, trust him. 

His mouth slams against yours once again, swallowing the squeal forced from the low of your esophagus. Arms too strong for comfort encircle you, tugging you ever closer to the lean muscle of his chest. Your eyes pop as a wet intrusion slips between your agape lips once again, his tongue worming between your teeth with renewed fervor. 

God, you could kill him. You might. 

But before you can, something stops you. A dreadful noise behind you. Footsteps. Footsteps and the crack of a twig beneath a heavy boot fall. 

“Oy! You! Over there! What're you doing?” 

A torchlight damn near blinds you, Tomura hardly seeming to notice as he seemingly loses himself in what he clearly calls kissing. It's difficult to make out through your lashes as you strain your head away from the rabid fish currently trying to devour you, but it looks as if a portly man in a blue uniform with a shining badge is making his way up and over the rocks towards you, coming to a halt when he sees the lurid scene. 

Horror. Horror and dread and panic. Your world spins, your eyes landing on the fire currently spitting at your feet. It's over now, it's all so over— 

It's only then Tomura pulls away, a facade of shock and surprise coming over his pale features. It's an expression you've never seen on him before, and it looks so— human. 

“Oh, officer—” he stammers, seeming every part the coy pervert caught in the act by a measure of authority. “We were just—”

“I know what you were doing!” The cop sweeps his flashlight over the area, and your heart seizes as it stops on the fire— your fire. Full of flaming evidence. Fuck, fuck, fuck— 

“We came out here for privacy,” Tomura shrinks, pulling away from you, seeming sheepish. “I wanted to show my girlfriend my favorite spot. We— we didn't think we were bothering anyone.” 

“Areas not safe at night, so there's a temporary curfew,” the officer chides him sternly. “Ain't you heard?” 

“Heard what?” Tomura blinks at him, all parts innocent, youthful, and foolish. “We— we're so sorry, we didn't know—” 

“Christ,” the cop runs a hand over his face, seeming exasperated. “Is there any more of ya lurking about?”

“No, sir,” Tomura shakes his head. “It's just us.”

“Obviously,” the officer looks sickened and impositioned, like some kind of anti-horny beacon made man— or like a preacher who just caught his daughter hooking up with one of the convent. Thankfully, he doesn't seem nearly as stern. Only inconvenienced.  “Look, just— just clear out of here. And put that bloody fire out! No Beach fires during curfew, you hear? Now get home, the lot of you! Or I'll haul you in!”

“Of course, sir,” Tomura stands and brushes himself off, giving the officer a brief salute as he does, and by God, you could just die. “My apologies, sir.” 

“Damn kids—” Officer preacher shakes his head, mumbling beneath his breath as he returns to his squad car. 

When he's far enough away, you realize you haven't so much as breathed. You can't stop the shaking. “How did you—” 

“Superior hearing. Heavy footsteps, radio chatter, an impertinent air of ‘petty authority complex’. He reeks of it. I heard him coming.”

“So that's why you—”

“Your police force deals with horny humans humping at each other on the daily. This island is like an aphrodisiac for your kind. They've got more important matters on their mind than indecent exposure, especially for a couple just raring to go at each other in his presence. But I could have easily killed him.” he brandishes his claws. 

Before you can chide him for such unnecessary violence, he makes a face like he ate bad fish, lip curling. 

“You have no idea how foul it feels to act so meek in the face of a man.” 

“You— you did well,” You stammer, adrenaline still pulsing. “If he'd have inspected that fire—”

“Beach fires are commonplace here, no? I doubt he thought anything of it. Just a little mood lighting for two saddled up youths.”

The bag of evidence still smoulders in the pit, devil-red embers glowing ominously beneath the paltry light of the moon. Flames flicker and vie for breath, the ashen contents of the burning plastic staining the rocks and sand beneath. 

“Do you think it's burned enough?” You mutter, unsure why you're asking him. 

“I think it has to be. Officer is waiting for us to leave, but thinks we don't know it,” He shrugs, rolling his eyes. “Must be a slow night.”

You stamp on the bag, suffocating the lingering fires with the bottom of your boot heel. It feels mostly like particles of ash and soot, much to your relief. Charcoal fodder for the pit. Stomping, you smear as much as you can to check the contents in the darkness. Little remains— but it still makes you nervous. 

“We should throw it away in a dumpster, that way—” 

“We can't,” he says, eyes flicking over to the side. “Looks far more suspicious to carry the burning remnants in front of the cop. Plus, we need to play the part.” 

He tugs you close, slinking an arm around your waist, fingers digging into the curve of your stomach. It wrenches a gasp from you, but he doesn't relent. You squirm in his grasp, trying to give some modicum of distance between you, but he's far too strong. 

“Remember, young couple raring to go,” he pulls you forward onto the rock, motioning quickly to a car parked behind yours. The lights are off, but it's clearly an off duty police vehicle. “Eager to tear into each other once they get home.” 

He kisses you again, this time with less urgency, but sloppier and more eager. 

“Showtime. Hope you're a good actress.”

He tugs you forward towards the parking lot, enjoying himself far too much for your liking. His hands wander over your form, becoming intimate with places that, if he weren't one hundred percent right about needing to put on a show, you’d have slapped his face clean off. Your face is a shade of crimson that you're almost certain qualifies as a brand-new color for a human as you see the officer eying you both with disgust and irritation. 

“Smile,” Tomura hisses. “Laugh. Giggle. Seem like you want this.” He palms your ass, digging his extremely sharp nails into the fat. You damn near jump out of your skin, laughing and obeying his command despite yourself, more out of shock than obedience. You are very likely bleeding where his claws prick at your ass.  

You are going to saw his head clean off, you swear it. 

“Now get into your car, and drive us home. And remember, baby,” he kisses you again, ripping at your lower lip with his front teeth. “Raring to go.”

He parts from you only to get into the passenger side, and you feel sick as you realize that he will be with you at least one more night. Disposing of the evidence makes you feel cleaner than before, but Tomura in your car on the way home gives you a pit in your gut that's cold and won't quite shake clean. Before you know it, he's leaning over and beginning an assault on your already-hellishly sore neck as you attempt to stick your keys into the ignition. Your hand shakes and trembles as you fumble your keys, trying and failing to find the key hole. 

“Tomura—”

“Still watching,” he purrs, licking a stripe up your neck that sends a shiver down to the base of your spine. “And we're still acting.”

His hair tickles your shoulders, his clawed fingers enclosing around your thigh as he leans over you. To a bystander, it might look like he's trying to jump your bones at this very moment— which you are praying is the point. If the cop is as uncomfortable as you are, he stopped watching a while back. 

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of his textured lips pressed against your pulse point, your car roars to life, your foot on the gas as you peel out of the beachside parking lot. 

His hand doesn't move from your thigh. Rather, it slides further up, squeezing at your upper leg. His ministrations on your neck don't cease either; rather, they become more insistent. 

“Tomura, st— stop,” you heave, trying to exhale the fire from your lungs and the adrenaline dumping onto your system from your close call. “Seriously, I can't focus—”

“Oh?” He grins against your flesh, and you feel him nip at the soft of your throat. “And why’s that?”

“Tomura, I'm trying to drive—”

His hand crawls further up, thumbing at your apex over the seat of your jeans. You inhale, teeth gritting, caught halfway between arousal and hatred. He's not using his power on you— you're certain of it. You're too lucid and aggravated. This is just him. 

“Better concentrate, then,” Tomura’s voice is slick and heavy against the shell of your ear, fangs teasing the lobes. “Can't have us getting pulled over.”

“Tomura, I'm seriously—” 

“Wet?” He giggles, an infuriating and somehow enchanting sound that leaves you even more breathless. “Oh, I know. Shame we didn't take a dip in the ocean—”

“No, you asshole! I'm— I'm fucked up right now, I'm afraid, and I don't need this! Do you realize how fucking close we came to getting caught? And— and you're not even supposed to be here! You were supposed to go home, but you're still here, and—”

“So why don't we make the best of it?” He blessedly moves his hand from between your thighs and you sigh an audible noise of relief— at least until he's messing with the buttons of your pants with dexterity that could make a professional lockpick green with envy, slipping his hand down in record time. “Let me help you to unwind—”

“Stop!” You screech, smashing the breaks and bringing the car to a winding halt. “I don't need this right now! I'm tired, sore from you trying to kill me, and I'm tired of you trying to fuck me before you do it!”

“You should drive—”

“Not until you stop touching me!” 

With a pouty whimper, he removes his hand, crossing his arms over his chest. He's glaring at you, scarlet eyes bearing down with a heady intensity. You can practically hear the cogs in his head turning, trying to figure you out— to box you in— and probably deciding whether or not he wants to risk using his ‘ability’ on you. 

He must opt not to, because instead, he turns away, staring out the window towards the foggy seascape. With a sigh of relief, you start the car back up, pulling back onto the road, grateful that no cop saw your tantrum. 

“You need to stop that,” you chide him, voice laced with a tired irritation.

“I told you,” He simpers, a Cheshire-like smile reminiscent and uncanny of the cat that ate the canary. “I don't need to force you. You'll beg. You’re not ready yet– but you will be.”

He pauses, looking over at you, still grinning, but there's something behind the eyes. 

“Unless, of course, that's what you're after.”

“Just— just be quiet. Please just be quiet,” you exhale, jaw clenched and legs feeling like jelly. Your face is red anew, and something about what he's said unnerves you. More than usual. “I just need to get us back to the house and then— then it's the tub for you. I don't want to hear a peep the rest of the night while I think about how to get you back home.” 

“As you wish.” 

You sit in silence as you drive, passing countless roadsigns through the fog. He looks at you every so often, something sly in his expression— something too reminiscent of victory for your liking. Sure, he's ending back up at your place— much to your dismay— but you can try again tomorrow—

Unless the risk is too great. You have a feeling the cops won't be so lenient next time, especially catching you out two times in a row. Tomura said it has to be at night— 

Something dawns on you. 

It needs to be at night. 

Tomura surveils the coastlines as a profession. It's how he feeds— how he lives. This cannot be the first time he's seen a curfew. Not the first time he's seen that cop. Not the first time for any of it. He knew. He fucking knew. 

“You rat bastard— you knew! You knew the cops would find us!” 

“And how could I have possibly known that?”

“You— you watch us! You know their routes! You knew they'd be there! You've seen their patrols, know what time they do their drive bys! Fucker! How the fuck did you know I’d take you there?”

He huffs a small laugh, derisive and cruel. “Because you’re predictable, girl. I told you that you could try to take me home. I never said I'd make it easy. You were stupid to trust me,” he eyes your neck, a devious smile playing on his lips. “I was serious about it needing to be at night, but when? Only I know. And I don't much feel like telling. Guess you're stuck with me for a while until I feel like it.”

Smug little—

“You stupid fuck! Jesus, the longer you're here, the more danger I'm in!” 

“Convince me to leave. Give me what I want from you.”

“My God, I don't even know what that is! Is that what you want? Me in jail for the rest of my life?”

“Be smart and it won't happen.”

“You evil fucking— I am never trusting you again!”

“I don't need you to trust me,” he sniggers. “That's not what I'm after.”

“I should kick you out onto the fucking street, what you've done!” 

“But you won't,” he smiles coyly. “Because you know that puts you in danger too. Can't have the wrong person finding me, can you? What would happen if I talked? You need to be sure I'm gone, and you won't let me leave until you know for sure. Quite the conundrum you've created for yourself.”

“I hate you, I hate you!” You swat at him with your free hand, dead set on jacking him in the jaw and knocking his fangs clean out of his gums. 

“Hatefucks are equally nice,” he doesn't stop giggling, unbothered by your attempts at physical violence, the sound of his laughter driving you damn near insane. “You should try it. Might help with all that stress that turns you into a tantrum-throwing, impudent little brat.”

“I am not having sex with you! I am certainly not letting you feed on me! Not now, not ever, no matter what you fucking think!” You stop slapping at him, both hands now clenching the wheel tight enough to leave crescent shaped indents in the leather.

“That's not what you wanted to say a few moments ago at the beach.”

“I was literally kicking you!”

“Didn't give me enough time to work, girl,” he sneers, eyes filled with a malicious mirth. “I could have you anytime I want. Didn't even need to use anything on you to get you hot and heavy. You practically purred when I grabbed that lovely ass of yours all hard. I'm getting a sense for the kind of things you're into.” 

“Not because you didn't have time! I would have kicked and fought! Screamed if I had to, and you know it! I've fought you every time you try this shit!” 

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “Or maybe you'd have given in the hopes I'd leave you alone— but that's no fun. Or maybe you like fucking people you hate, and you don't hate me enough yet. It definitely explains your relationships— or lack thereof. Is that what you like? Rough and hard and full of hatred? Feeling out of control and wild?” 

“Just stop talking. Just stop. I'm done talking.” 

You have to be, because you have some very choice words on the tip of your tongue that are sure to get you killed. You're very good at pinpointing people's weaknesses, and you're pretty sure you know just what to say to set Tomura over the edge and have him lunging at you with wrathful fury— and you don't feel like dying tonight. That's just giving him his stupid victory— even if it's not how he wants it. 

“Not talking I'm after either.” 

“Good. Shut the fuck up.” 

“There's a good girl,” he gleefully bears his teeth. “That's what I like to see from you.” 

You'll kill him. You swear. You will. 

[able-remedious]

Aurora Light

Return of Light

Summary: this is the start of a one shot/chapter based story I’m making about Mr Ring a Ding aka Lux and my self insert Deliah. It is titled Aurora Light and this one shot chapter will be when they meet.

In the year 2025, about 73 years after the missing 15 people incident the Plazzo movie theater remains slightly abandoned and from that abandonment comes curiosity when a young woman enters the theater to explore and what she finds is something she did not expect.

A/n: Pictures and divider are not mine, the theirs one is a picrew and I used that for my drawing reference and to give you can idea on what Deliah looks like, not much trigger warnings here really, I have not watched any other piece of Doctor Who

A young brunette woman walks into an old movie theater that was pretty empty, why would an average woman walk into some place? Well Deliah was here in Miami for a small trip and she heard of this old movie theater and there was a 15 missing peoples incident in 1952. The rumor is that they all just disappeared into thin air then returned three months later no one really knows the real truth because from what witness said the police didn’t believe.

So being curious and wanting to do something then sit in an hotel room for her final day here. So she walked around the place it was mostly dusty and looked a bit oudated but it was said they were gonna renovate the place.

“This isn’t so creepy” she said to herself and walked into one of the theaters, it was dark and some debree on the ground she began to walk up the stairs and look between the seats then the sound of a light being turned on was heard and the whole theater was now lit up “what the heck?”.

Her nerves started to act up, was someone in here with her? She felt about leaving now, then the sound of someone walking with tap shoes on drew her attention.

It sounded like it was coming from the stage she just stood on the step she was on, too petrified to move, but she could at lest say something “is anyone there?”.

“Tada!” In a split second something that looked like it came from an old cartoon just came behind the curtain. Deliah was confused, shocked, a bit freaked out.

“Golly, I must of ended up in heaven cause I see myself an angel” he had an awe look on his face. Deliah was surprised from the compliment but still more surprised from the fact there was a living cartoon in front of her.

“What are you?” She asked and the being only smiled, “well dear ma’am, as you can see I am a cartoon”.

“I am Mr Ring a Ding, but although my true identity is Lux Imperator, the god of light at your service” he took a little bow while Deliah just stood there more confused.

He got off the stage and walked up to her “now, what’s your name sweetie pie?” He smirked and she realized she really shouldn’t be unfazed. “Um..I’m Deliah” she replied looking down at him, he was about below her waist in height.

“That’s a wonderful name for a wonderful woman, so from the looks of you, and this ol’ place much time has definitely passed since I last been here”.

He inspected her and she moved away “ok, please stop, this isn’t happening, did I hit my head or did I just inhale too much debris? Cause I’m not talking to a cartoon right now, I’m not talking to one, I’m finally going crazy”.

“Yeah keep telling yourself that, while I’m here and being very much real, anyway, I wonder how long I’ve been gone for..”.

“Ok, ok, look, what exactly are you?! I’m still confused! A living cartoon? God of light? Like what?!” Deliah yelled, she was feeling full on stressed from confusion at this point.

“Alright, I think you need to sit down for this” he gently took her hand and they walked down the stairs and he made her take a steady on the front row.

“Alright, I’ll spare you some details but long story short, I took on the form of this cartoon cause I had no physical form and then some Time Lord defeated me, I became one with all light in the universe, I was happy in the cosmos until I got bored, regained this form and came back to earth”.

Deliah just looked at him and was still a little more confused “you were bored? You were all light and you got bored?”. “Well what do your except when your all alone up there in the universe?”.

“Ok true, but what is a Time Lord?” She asked “that is another long story” he replied. “Anywho, so mind catching me up to date with everything? I’m sure I wasn’t gone for too long”.

“Um..how long do you think you were gone for?” Deliah asked “I don’t know, a couple of decades perhaps?”.

“Uh…when did you exactly leave? Like what year?” Deliah was feeling a bit more comfortable in the situation “it was 1952 to be exact!”.

“Ok uh..hang on” she pulled out her phone from her jacket pocket and Mr Ring a Ding looked confused “what is that?”. “It’s my phone, they’ve come a long way since your time”.

“That’s a phone?! It’s so small and thin!”, that’s made Deliah chuckle a bit “ok so apparently you’ve been gone for, 73 years”.

He went wide eyed “what? 73 years? That long? I really lost count” he looked over at her phone “and how did you figuer it out with your phone?”.

“I used the calculator app, so I guess 73 years being apart of the universe is enough to get a god bored” Mr Ring a Ding didn’t answer and still looked at the phone “light is emitting from this? Golly…”.

“Yeah…” Deliah got up and put her phone away “well, this has been a trippy experience to be honest, but I better go now so, nice meeting you?”. She awkwardly said and went up the stairs but Ring rolled her but that was tricky for his height “wait! You can’t leave! It’s been so long since I’ve talked with anyone!”.

She looked back at him and he had a desperate guilt tripping look on his face as he was trugglging to climb up the stairs “look I’m sorry but it’s not like I can stay here, I’m going home tomorrow and this is still unbelievable experience for me”.

“Then take me with you! I can make a good companion, or maybe more, I mean, you are a pretty woman” he winked and she got a bit embarrassed. “No! I just met you! And I’m not gonna take some so called light god with me, people will think I’m crazy or something”.

“Come on beautiful, have a heart” he managed to get up the stairs and look up at her “my answer is no”. He got a little frustrated “please, come on! You won’t regret it!” He bad a full on puppy dog look and some sad violin music started playing out of nowhere.

“Where is that music coming from?” She looked around and Ring kept this desperate act up “pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaasseeeeeee?????”.

“No, no, no, and still no, why me?” She was getting very annoyed “because I’ve been alone for so long and your the first person I’ve met so far so it must be a fate”.

“No, it’s just a coincidence, I’m sorry but I just can’t”. He let out a huff and the sad music stopped playing “look missy, not only do I want someone to talk to but also someone that can bring me light, this place will be nearly out of power and I can’t just be in the dark forever”.

“Can’t you just make your own light? You’re the god of light” Deliah said “I can control light, not necessarily make it” he replied.

“Then can’t you just go outside? There’s plenty of light out there” she insisted, “I can’t, that’s how I became one with the universe, just faded into everything and nothing, so if I take up too much that happens again”.

“Well uh..I’m sorry but I don’t know if there’s anything I can do then, I should really get going” she was about to make her leave but Mr Ring a Ding stood in her way “please don’t leave me here, your a good person I can tell, just think about it at least?”.

She sighed “I won’t make any promises” she went around him and went to leave and he let her “hey Deliah!” He called out “what?” She shouted back.

“Maybe put me in something to bring with you when you come back!” He replied “I’m not coming back!” She yelled and walked out of the theater.

Me Ring a Ding didn’t even go after her just stood there “she’ll be back” he said with smug look.

────────────────────

During that night, Deliah just lied down in bed in her hotel room and couldn’t sleep, not after what she just encountered, and his pleases of wanting to go with her didn’t leave her mind, I mean he was out of pocket but she kinda felt bad for him. She didn’t know what to do! “If I do bring him how am I gonna get him on an airplane?” She asked herself, took her a good few minutes to think of a plan that just might work.

As soon as morning came she got her stuff and checked out and went to a hardware store nearby and got a metal like box and goes back to the movie theater.

She walked into the same theater where Mr Ring a Ding was and no one was there “hello? Mr Ring a Ding? Or Lux? Whatever, I’m back”.

She kept looking around but no sign of him, did she really go crazy? Was he just not real from all that debris? She almost felt like giving up until he came from behind the curtain and up on stage “sunshine! You came back! I knew you would!”.

She has a small smile “I thought about it, and I guess I can take you with me”. He had a huge smile on his face “that’s amazing!”.

“Yep, and we have to go now, sooo” she opened the metal box “get in the box”. He looked inside “what? You expect me to get in that dark cramped thing?”.

“Well if you wanna come with me yes, it’s so no one sees you”.

“But there will be no light!”.

“There’s a key hole, and I’ll put in a flashlight if you want”.

“But it will still be cramped!”.

“You’re a toon, can’t you shrink your self or something?”.

“I’ll definitely shrink with the lack of light in there”.

Deliah sighed “you won’t, now come on I don’t have time for this”. He crossed his arms “nope, I’m sorry angel, I wanna go with you but I am NOT going in there”.

“I don’t have time for this, I’m sorry” she said Ang got up on the stage. “Sorry for wha-HEY!” Deliah put the box above him and forced him in there, she thought with cartoon logic it will work.

And it did, but Mr Ring a Ding struggled and Deliah held the box close to her and closed it with all her might then locked it. “There we go! You ok in there?”.

“What the heck was that?!” He yelled “you didn’t corroborate so I had to, now come on it won’t be so bad”.

────────────────────

After one five hour flight, somehow managing to get through security, Deliah managed to get home, it was an average apartment and it was pretty homey.

She unlocked the box and Mr Ring a Ding crawled out looking exhausted and layed on the floor “that was the most uncomfortable I’ve ever been, and I can go through small spaces but I still felt cramped”.

“But it was worth it right?” She put the box down and turned on the light “well this is my apartment”.

He stood up and looked around, this whole area was new to him, he’s only known the theater and all the universe. “Wow, this looks like a nice home”.

“Thanks, and you can probably sleep on the couch, that’s if you sleep”.

“What? On the couch? I thought we could share a bed~” he smirked and she looked at him with disgust “the hell? No!”.

“It’s either the couch or on the floor” she crossed her arms. “The floor? You’d really let poor little me sleep on the hard cold hard floor?”.

“Probably if you’re gonna be like this all the time”.

“Then our friendship is gonna be very interesting”.

Deliah sighed, she knew from this point on things in her life were gonna get intriguing.

[stationintern]

Hello my friends! I am late, but we won't mention it. April was a very busy month, but I managed to read way more than I've been able to the last few months, so I have a good selection for you. There's a couple rereads, a couple fics I put off reading for far too long, and a few that I found at the perfect time and devoured on sight.

Let's go!

Yours Truly by @skeptiquewrites for H/D Bodice Ripper Fest 2022 M, 14.8k

Every single one of Harry’s exes has gone on to marry the next person they date, and with the upcoming nuptials of numbers six and seven to each other, Harry’s feeling exhausted by it all. It doesn’t really matter if he lets people assume Draco Malfoy is his boyfriend for a moment of peace. In any case, Draco’s been away for five years and there’s no way he would find out, right?

I read this fic about a year ago, and I am so glad that I chose to revisit it this month. It is just so, so good. Endlessly hilarious, with a solid plot that is resolved neatly in 14 thousand words. I really love Harry here. His letters are so adorable. This aspect comes in later in this list as well, but I love when Draco is kind of a mysterious figure for a good chunk of a fic. The wondering, the anticipation. What kind of Draco will we meet this time? It's all very delicious.

Seeker's High by @corvuscrowned M, 40k

Harry Potter doesn’t expect to take up running years after the war ends; it just sort of happens. He also doesn’t expect that — as he fights tooth and nail to climb out of a post-war depression he didn’t realize he’d fallen into — he’ll end up running right into the arms of Draco Malfoy. A half angsty drama, half romcom of Harry working on himself, learning how to accept help from his friends, and falling in love with his childhood nemesis.

Another reread. This is one of those fics I've found myself periodically thinking about, mostly because it just feels so right. Harry's characterization in this is fascinating, and I really enjoyed watching his slow evolution as his relationships grow, both with running and with Draco. A unique premise that I really enjoyed and know I will revisit again.

Turn by Saras_Girl E, 306k

One good turn always deserves another. Apparently.

Okay, so, I'm not even gonna say anything. I put off reading this for way too long, and not knowing a single thing about this fic was probably the reason I devoured every chapter the way I did. Just know I was clawing at the walls.

Rookie Moves by peu_a_peu E, 75.3k

Aurors Potter and Malfoy crack the case.

Oh my fucking god. I have never in my life laughed out loud this many times while reading a fic. Truly, two dumb, horny assholes just trying to crack the case. But, behind all the side-splitting humor (and searingly hot sex) is a deep understanding of both characters that shines through and makes every moment hit so much harder. As in, they would fucking say that. Every single follow-up in the series is a banger, too. Thanks to @tackytigerfic for pointing those out to me!

Make This Leap by @oflights M, 118k

Harry owns a struggling restaurant which is running out of money, and his Head Chef has just handed in notice. He's at a bit of a loss as to what to do until Narcissa Malfoy presents an obvious solution: bring in Draco Malfoy as Chef and part owner. Harry does.

I relived four years of my life reading this fic. Both the good and the bad. Truly, a wonderful portrayal of the epic highs and lows of restaurant work. From personal drama to work-related catastrophes, this fic has it all. Like I said before, I love having to wait a bit to see Draco. I love hearing about him through the grapevine. I had so much fun reading this, and it was a treat to see these characters in an environment that I hadn't really envisioned them in before. Lovable (and punchable) side characters, a very stressed out Harry Potter, and a solid amount of health code infractions. Amazing.

See you at the end of May! xx, Moon.

[fictionbyari]

New Girl, Same Heartbeat

Chapter Two: Shifting Tides

Master list

Chapter 1, chapter 2, chapter 3 , chapter 4, Chapter 5

Your first week at Blackmore College has been a little stressful ,new faces, unfamiliar hallways, the overwhelming feeling of starting over. But you’ve managed to settle in faster than you expected, mostly thanks to the group you’ve fallen into. Mindy, Chad, Anika, Tara, Sam,and Ethan.

Ethan is the one you don’t quite understand yet.

He’s different from the others. While Chad is loud and full of jokes, Mindy is sharp and quick-witted, and Tara and Anika always seem to be in sync,and Sam always has her eye out, but Ethan is quiet. Not in a way that makes him invisible, but in a way that makes you notice him more.It draws you in more the way he listens rather than interrupts, laughs under his breath instead of loudly, and always seems a step removed from the chaos around him.

But what do you notice the most? The way he acts around you.

You’ve caught him looking at you a few times , lingering glances but the second your eyes meet, he looks away like he wasn’t staring at all. You’re not sure if it’s on purpose or if he just gets flustered easily, but there’s something about it that makes you curious.

Right now, the group is gathered at the student union, drinks in hand, stretched out across chairs and couches. The conversation naturally shifts to the weekend.

“There’s a party at the Frat House on Saturday,” Chad announces, leaning back in his chair. “We’re all going.”

“I wouldn’t call it a party,” Mindy adds. “More like the party. Everyone’s going.”

“Except him,” Chad says, nodding toward Ethan, who is stirring his drink, not even looking up.

“Pass,” Ethan mutters, not bothering to argue.

Chad sighs dramatically. “Dude, you never go out.”

“I go out,” Ethan counters, taking a sip of his drink.

Chad raises a brow. “Going to class doesn’t count.”

You chuckle at that, and Ethan stiffens slightly, like he wasn’t expecting you to react. His fingers tighten around his cup, but he still refuses to look up.

“Why don’t you want to go?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

Ethan shrugs. “Not really my thing.”

You can tell he means it he doesn’t sound annoyed, just uninterested. But for some reason, you’re not ready to drop it yet.

Before you can say anything else, Chad smirks. “What if she asks you to go?”

Your eyebrows raise slightly as the attention shifts to you. Ethan, on the other hand, goes completely still.

Mindy leans forward, clearly entertained. “Yeah, Ethan. If she wants you to come, does that change things?”

You expect him to brush it off, to roll his eyes or mutter some sarcastic remark, but instead, he hesitates.

The rest of the group waits, watching him expectantly.

Finally, in a voice barely above a murmur, Ethan says, “…I don’t know.”

It’s not a yes. But it’s not the automatic no you were expecting, either.

Chad grins like he just won a bet. “Oh, he’s thinking about it.”

“I’m not,” Ethan says quickly. Too quickly.

Mindy leans toward you. “You should test it. Ask him yourself.”

You glance at Ethan, who still refuses to look at you, his jaw tight. For some reason, the idea of pushing just a little further excites you.

So you do.

“Maybe you should come,” you say, keeping your voice light, watching for a reaction.

And there it is.

Ethan finally meets your gaze, and for a split second, you see something in his expression hesitation…something before he quickly looks away again.

Chad nudges Mindy. “Oh, she’s got him thinking now.”

Ethan sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You guys are annoying.”

“But are you going?” you press, enjoying this more than you probably should.

Silence stretches between you for a second too long. Then, finally, in the quietest, most reluctant voice, he mutters, “I mean I guess…”

Chad smirked and said “ I knew it”

“Thank you Ethan” you say happy you convinced him to the party

And for some reason, him saying yes makes your stomach flip.