#and we all worry bc she barely answers her phone and shit | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shurisneakers · 3 years

Text

harmless (ix)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, sex jokes, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety

Word count: 3.9k

A/N: a lot of requests came in last week, so cool and thank you for sending them in!! i’ll try my best to write them if they weren’t originally what i had planned for this series bc they’re so cute kfjdghdf. also hey shoutout to @i-reblog-fics-i-like for suggesting the backstory thing!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Additional Scene || Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Hot single in your area! 😈 Find your solemate!

Somehow it bypasses Bucky’s spam folder and is in his primary email. SHIELD tech is too advanced to let fake mails like this reach him and this doesn’t make sense. Unless it was one of the stupid dating websites he signed up for.

Leaving aside the obvious typo in the subject, he clicks on it, hoping it doesn’t unleash a virus onto his computer.

He’s instead greeted with a poorly Photoshopped picture of you at a bar with a martini in your hand. He doesn’t have to look too hard to see that the martini is, in fact, an emoji. Off to a terrible start already.

Right beside it is an even worse image, an imitation of an early Internet chat box.

Harbinger of Doom just sent you a message!

Come to the empty lot near lair. Bring goggles. 😩💦

Decline/Accept

He wants to strangle you.

______

“Why did you curse my eyes so early in the morning?” He spots you at the top of the lair, speaking loudly so that it hopefully reached you.

“What?” you yell back down instead. “If you’re saying something, I can’t hear you.”

He rolls his eyes. He pulls his phone from his pocket and presses on your contact.

He watches the look of confusion morph into one of slight surprise when you reach into your pocket and pull out your call.

“Don’t ever send an image like that to me again,” he says directly.

“If that one image is too much for you, how will we ever make our sex tape?”

His mouth opens and shuts like goddamn fish.

He can hear your laughter even without the phone.

“First of all- stop laughing- first of all, a sex tape is never going to happen. Second of all, I have a debriefing to go to, we need to make this quick.”

He holds up a finger when he sees you begin to say something. By the look of trouble painted all over your face, he knows it’s going to be a dumb innuendo.

“Thirdly, why are you standing there?”

“I watched The Last Airbender,” you say once your cackling dies down.

“I like that show.” He did. Peter sometimes watched it when he came over and Bucky more often than not joined in.

“I know, you told me.”

Oh.

“Okay, what now?”

“Put your goggles on.” You take one step towards the ledge.

“What are you doing?” The goggles don’t do anything to shield him from the sun, considering that they’re not tinted. Maybe he could invest in those.

You send him a smile, taking a step further. His walk towards the building turns into a jog, then a sprint when you’re basically standing on the edge.

You spread your arms out like Jesus Christ himself before flinging yourself off the building. His stomach drops.

His phone falls to the ground, discarded to the side as he sprints to break your landing.

It never comes.

Instead, a gust of wind smacks him in the face, forcing him a few steps backwards.

“I am now an air bender.” your eyes shone. “Kind of.”

Just like that, the show was ruined.

He wipes the dust on from his glasses that he now understands why you made him wear. Considerate, for a person who nearly just gave him a heart attack.

“Why.” It’s not even a question, just a statement.

“You know how the Tower has a giant ‘A’ on the side?”

He stares at you.

“I‘m gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of it.”

Pepper would not like that.

“That’s not even evil.”

“Yeah, but it’d annoy your super friends,” You do a flip midair, testing out the repulsors that were tied around your palms, “and I’m the voice of the people.”

You’re too high for him to reach. He doesn’t have his tools, or anything useful on him considering that he never had to use them before. He couldn’t even launch himself at you from the side of the building because you’d just move out of the way. He could jump really high but it would just have the same consequence.

He could talk and keep you distracted but that worked once, it wouldn’t again. At least not for long.

Fuck, he really had only one option.

He leaves you to do your somersaults and turns, walking over to where he dropped his phone. It’s an upgrade from the brick he was using a while ago, but not a high end Stark model. A smartphone, but barely.

He sighs, punching in the number and holding it up to his ear.

“Who are you calling?” you yell from above him.

“Go back to your shitty aerobics,” he yells back.

You pause for a second. “Was that a fucking pun, James Bar-”

The dial tone ends when someone picks up. He diverts his attention back to the call.

“Hey man, I-

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“It’s probably something stupid,” Sam doesn’t even sound annoyed, just uninterested.

“I need your wings.”

“I was right. Bye.”

It was a long shot anyway.

“Fuckin’ hold on a second.” He sees you disintegrate a concrete block by having it drop from the air. “You come here and fix this, then. She’s air bending now.”

“...like Avatar?” Sam unsurprisingly got the reference.

Peter’s interests were usually shared by everyone in the Tower, just because they had to compensate for the teasing he had to endure. It led to a lot of geeky documentaries and occasional musicals. Bucky wouldn’t be caught dead humming songs from Thoroughly Modern Millie under his breath.

“Yeah.”

“You want me to come and fight your girlfriend,” he says slowly.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Bucky urges, “and yes, I need help. Can’t exactly reach her when she’s twenty feet above me.”

“We have a briefing in 30 minutes. Why did you even go there today?”

He doesn’t know how to answer that. Just looks up at you smacking one of the repulsors against your thigh when it sputters for a second. It’s tradition.

“Well?” Bucky ignores his question.

“Fine,” Sam’s voice is distant for a second as he agrees. “Clint’s asking if he can come too.”

“Fuck no.” One of them was more than enough and Sam was way better at negotiation.

He hears a faint profanity from who he assumed was Clint before the call cuts.

He takes a seat on the ground and waits.

“You’re not going to make any effort to stop me?” You have your arms pressed to your side, palms pointed downwards to keep you afloat.

“I could just throw things at you again.” He makes a mention towards the small pebbles.

“I will fuck you up if you even try,” you warn. He lifts his arms in surrender. “So that’s it. You’re just going to sit there.”

“To be honest, I couldn’t care less if you painted the building,” he says with the least amount of interest he could muster, not that that was very hard.

“Do you not like your team?”

“I do.” He isn’t lying. “But they’re little shits.”

“I can draw a couple of dicks on their window, no problem,” you say offhandedly.

He looks up at you through his fingers. “That won’t be required.”

Although it was appreciated.

“Cool, so then I’m gonna go.” You make a mention of the utility belt on your waist. He looks at the many spray cans that decorate it.

“What colour are you going with?” he interrupts quickly. Fuckin’ Sam. What was the point of wings if he couldn’t get here in 2 minutes?

“Red, probably.” You look down. “I got purple and white just in case.”

“Building’s dark, red is good.”

“You really don’t care, do you?” You lower yourself down to the ground, a few feet ahead of him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” For fucks’ sake, Sam. “You really don’t like superheroes, do you?”

“I don’t have anything against them.”

“Then why do you do this every week?”

This was wading into personal territory and he did not like it.

“Well.” Your eyebrows knit together. “Because I want to. It’s fun.”

“No other reason?”

“Do I need to have another reason?” You push your palm downwards, sending you back up into the air. “Can’t I just be evil because I want to?”

“Sure,” he says. He’s heard worse reasons. “Why not?”

“Besides, if you think I don’t like superheroes then you should meet Jake.”

“Who’s Jake?” He hadn’t ever heard you mention him before because he’d remember if you had.

“My roommate.”

“I didn’t see him when I came over.”

“That’s because we’re not conjoined at the hip.” It takes you a second to stabilise. “Besides, he grabbed the water while I got the bracelet but he refused to come say hi.”

Bucky looked down at his wrist. It was still there. He found himself fidgeting with it more often than not.

“He hates superheroes?”

“He has a valid reason.” Your eyes widen in worry when your head suddenly dips.

“What is it?” He knows the height at which you’re at isn’t very dangerous but if need be, he’s close by.

“Come find out.” Your eyes shone mischievously. “But yeah, no reason for me to be evil.”

“Not even a tragic backstory?”

“None. But if you want it, I can give you one, Barnes.” You test the waters, seeing how long you can lie horizontally. “Can’t promise you’ll like it though.”

“Try me.” He has time to kill. He’s a good listener.

“Well, it all started with my family- a troop of gorillas.” You flip over to lie on your back. “They practically raised me, they did. Until my gorilla mother died and I was all but consumed by grief and-”

“Your mother was a gorilla?” He entertains the notion.

“Or was it my father?” you ask thoughtfully. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Anyway, I met a-”

“Just to clarify, none of this is real, right?” he interjects.

You stare at him. He stares at you.

“Bucky, that’s the plot of Tarzan,” you say slowly, “or at least whatever I remember of it... which I’m beginning to realise isn’t much.”

“Just clarifying.” He leans back again.

“Anyway so then when my mother, the deer-”

“Gorilla.”

“Whatever. Was killed, I escaped to some place-”

“Where?”

“Somewhere. And I stayed with these seven men-”

“Why seven?” He actually remembers watching this movie with his sister when it came out. An early memory, a bit faded. He remembers how long he saved up for the ticket.

“Because character development. And then I realised the reason my life was so weird was because there was a rat controlling me by pulling on my hair-”

“What the fuc-”

“If you ask any more questions, I’m going to stop.”

Bucky blinks at you. “So that’s your backstory.”

“Raw and uncut, baby.”

“Just to get this straight, your mother, the gorilla deer-”

“Witch.”

“Huh?”

“She was a witch who stole my hair.”

“Wha-”

He’s interrupted by the giant shadow cast by something that flies overhead.

Fucking finally.

He doesn’t even have to look up. Sam does a small glide to the ground, landing gracefully beside him.

Bucky finds you speechless but straightened up from your earlier posture.

“Buck,” Sam greets him.

“Sam,” he says in return, getting up from his place.

A grin spreads across your face. “Mr. Sam Wilson. No way.”

“You’re Y/N, I’m assuming?” Sam offers, posture relaxed. He clearly wasn’t here to fight.

“The one and only.” You tear your eyes away from Sam to glare at Bucky. “Barnes, if you had told me we were expecting guests, I would have dressed better.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows in suspicion at you. You’d dress up for Sam.

You dressed up like a suburban tourist dad for him. He was feeling the offence incoming.

“Can’t count on him to be useful in any situation.” Alright, he did not call Sam just to have the both of you team up against him.

“Normally I’d agree with you but he did just invite you here, so...” you trail off, looking at Sam expectantly.

What the shit.

Sam smirks. Bucky switches rapidly back and forth between the both of you.

“I see why Buck keeps coming back every week.” It doesn’t take long for him to catch on, enlisting a feeling of triumph from you.

“I can’t see why he doesn’t just stay at home everyday if this is the view.” You gesture to him.

This is not what Bucky wanted.

“Okay,” Bucky interrupts, “what is going on here?”

“Pure chemistry, I’d say.” You’re half tempted to bite your lip to seal the deal.

“I agree.” Sam just nods, completely and utterly serious.

You think that you’ll give him a gift basket just for playing along despite meeting you for the first time at that moment.

“Get a room.” Bucky rolls his eyes.

“Maybe we will.” You tap your finger against your lip in thought. “How do you feel about Indian food, Sam?”

“Very positively.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “If you’re not planning to spray paint the Tower, can you just hand over the repulsers so we can go home for the day?”

You let out a small tsk in disapproval. “See what I have to deal with?”

“Can’t imagine how you do it every weekend,” Sam says dryly, not wasting a second in replying.

“Hello?” Bucky waves his arm around. “She’s the villain here.”

“Your face is the villain here.” You tear your eyes away from Sam only to glare at him. “He won’t even wear a cape. Why am I the only one who brings their A-Game every week?”

“Sam just get the damn-”

“You should wear a cape, man.” Bucky’s absolutely sure that even Sam knows it’s a ridiculous idea.

“I’m not wearing a fuckin’ cape,” he grumbles.

“What are your thoughts on swords, then?” Your finger finds a place under your chin in deep contemplation. “You’d look great with a sword.”

Bucky buries his face in his palms. “Sam, for the love of God.”

“Okay, alright.” Sam finally gives in with a small chuckle. He runs a few steps to get a small head start before launching himself into the air, whizzing past your levitating figure. He does a neat little flip midair before matching your height.

Showoff.

“How difficult are you gonna make this, Wilson?” you ask, a smirk on your face.

“Jesus Christ.” Bucky exhales, looking at the both of you through his goggles.

“What’s your play here?” Sam calls out loudly.

“Was gonna spray paint ‘asshole’ on the side of the Tower.”

“After the ‘A’?”

“After the ‘A’,” you confirm.

“Now that’s too small,” Sam tutted. “You gotta think bigger. Paint the whole Tower.”

“Sam!” Bucky looks horrified.

“Hmm.” You look like you’re considering it. “Don’t have enough paint for that though.”

“You’re an evil genius, right?” Sam casts a small glance at Bucky. “At least that’s what he tells me.”

“You talk about me?” You grin at the disgruntled man on the ground.

“I don’t,” he mutters, shaking his head. A lie.

“Yeah, so build something,” Sam points out. “Get some more paint. I’ll even tell you the best vantage points to spill it.”

“No, he won’t,” Bucky shouts from below.

“He’s just cranky because he didn’t get his prune juice this morning, ignore him,” Sam dismisses him.

Prune juice? He was a young 100, not ancient.

“What’s your favourite colour, Falcon?”

“I like red.”

As annoyed as Bucky is right now, he stores that away in his memory for later. He also knows Sam loves seafood and a good pair of shoes.

“A couple of gallons of red paint it is, then.” You lower yourself to the ground, Sam slowly follows suit until he lands beside Bucky.

“You know we can’t let you go without taking those, right?” Bucky tilts his head towards your invention.

You narrow your eyes at him. He doesn’t budge.

“I’ll tell ya what,” Sam pipes in instead. “I’ll keep them until you finish getting the paint and once you’re done, we’ll make an evening out of vandalising the Tower.”

Bucky may not enjoy his company all that much but he admires Sam’s diplomacy. Of course, you would never make it this easy while reasoning with him.

“That a promise, Mr. Wilson?” You raise your eyebrow at him questioningly but are already in the process of removing the things from your hand.

“Wouldn’t ever lie to you, doll.” He holds up his hand in a mock swear.

You walk towards Bucky and him, rotating your wrists to get rid of the soreness. “Bold claim for a man who met me ten minutes ago.”

“Feels like it’s been longer.” He sends you a wink and you can’t stop the laugh the escapes from you finally.

Bucky holds his hand out for the gadgets. You shrink away from him with a click of your tongue.

“Technically, he takes this round.” You send a nod towards Sam, dropping off the repulsors into his hand. “So he gets it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“You gonna keep ‘em safe?” you ask Sam, this time a little more earnestly.

“Guard it with my life,” he says seriously, pressing his lips together in a line to avoid smiling.

“You’re both ridiculous,” Bucky cuts in.

“You’re going to be late.” Sam tucks the devices into his pocket safely. “You know how Steve gets when people walk in on his speeches. Do you even have a ride?”

“Got the motorcycle.”

“See you there.” Sam nods.

“Save me a place,” Bucky says to him.

“No.” He doesn’t even hesitate. “Y/N. It was a pleasure.”

“Still holding you to that evening, Sam.” You send him a smile.

“I’m countin’ on it.” He gives you a small three finger salute before taking off, leaving you staring after his retracting figure.

When the dust settles, Bucky awkwardly clears his throat. “Right. So that was that.”

“Dude,” you let out an exhale. “he’s so hot.”

He murmurs something unintelligible. It vaguely sounds like a series of threats but mostly a list of complaints.

“Don’t you have a meeting to get to?” You turn your attention back to him.

“Yeah.”

“Aren’t you going to be late?” You glance at the clock on your phone.

“I’ll just tell them I was on a mission.” Well, sort of. “Besides, what are they gonna do? Kick me out?”

“Fair enough.” You shrug. “Have a safe ride back.”

From what he knows of you and Sam, the both of you were kidding around. But he could never be too sure. He can’t even ask if you were serious about the entire thing because it’s none of his business.

Were the implications of having his mortal nemesis and other mortal nemesis date important enough to overrule that?

“Are you planning to skip your meeting, or?” you ask when he remains freezes in his spot, eyes glazed over like he’s thinking about something. “Because if you are, I know this great Thai place-”

“Don’t do that again,” he says instead, shaking his head to jolt him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“Flinging yourself off roofs like that.”

“Why?” Because it scared the hell out of him, for one.

“Just don’t.”

“Oh please, like you’ve never done dangerous shit like that before.” You narrow your eyes at him, reading his face. “Are you telling me you care about me?”

“No.” His nose twitches. “Just don’t throw yourself off buildings when I’m around.”

“What about when you’re not?”

“As long as I’m not there to witness it.” He shrugs, spinning on his heel to leave. Technically he preferred if you didn’t do things like that at all.

“Fine. I’ll just have my clone try out all the dangerous stuff for me.”

He stops in his tracks. “You have a clone?”

“Well,” You squint, “no. But I’m working on it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Bye Y/N.”

“You know, it sounds an awful lot like you’re saying we’re friends.” Your whole demeanour changes and he already knows what’s coming.

“I never said that,” he argues vehemently. “All I said was that I can’t have your murder on my hands.”

“Thus implying that we’re friends. In a fucked up, enemies kind of way.” You positively beam at him. “Aw, Barnes, that’s adorable.”

Adorable? Adorable?

“I hate you.”

“I love you, too, bestie,” you gush, dumb grin on your face. “I’ll make us friendship rings next time. What are your thoughts on matching tattoos?”

He wants to cry.

______

By the time Sam walks into the meeting room, the session’s already begun. He shoots an apologetic look to a monologuing Steve before taking his place at the nearest chair available.

Something sharp pokes his thigh. His wings are off and in the backpack beside him, but then he remembers your little inventions that were still in his pocket.

He tries not to make much of a noise while he pulls them out, giving them a look over to make sure they’re not broken.

“Watcha got there, Big Bird?” Tony asks lowly from beside him.

“Something that Barnes’ enemy made.” Sam holds it up slightly.

“The one he’s been rendezvousing around town with every weekend?”

“That’s her.” He’s about to put it in his backpack when Tony stops him.

“Pass that here for a second.” He recognises it immediately for what it is, interest piqued.

Sam hands one of them over while he puts the other back in the bag. It’s a metallic circle, not bigger than Tony’s palm, with a thick leather strap to tie it around your palm.

“She made this?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Sam mentions towards Bucky who silently slips into the conference room, standing in the corner near the potted plant since there were no more chairs left.

“The balance has gotta be off on this thing,” he mutters to himself, wholly ignoring the brooding man standing in the corner like a Christmas tree.

“She seemed to be manoeuvring it fine,” Sam catches the eye of a lower ranking agent who makes the mistake of glaring at him for talking while the meeting was going on. A few seconds later the agent hastily looks away and doesn’t turn around for the rest of the hour.

“Could be better.” He uses a much more intricate model for his suits, although this isn’t even half-bad for a homemade version. “Do you know how long she took to make this?”

“Buck says she comes up with a new one every week, so I’m guessing that long.”

It had a few glitches but it was incredibly refined for a week’s worth of work.

“Interesting.” He gives it a quick overlook before handing it back to Sam who drops it into the bag.

He casts a swift glance at Bucky, noting how he wasn’t even paying attention to the meeting but rather to whatever he had tied around his metal wrist, fidgeting with it with his thumb.

Tony has an idea.

And that was generally bad news.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

1K notes · View notes

dashielldeveron · 3 years

Text

and i’ve gotta crow | takami keigo

hawks x pro-hero! reader. quirk unspecified.

summary: “You’re suffering from amnesia,” says Hawks to you, in your hospital bed.

No, you are not.

“We’re engaged to be married.”

No, you are not.

After an accident that was that bastard Hawks’s fault, you decide to play along with your diagnosis of amnesia, among other things, because how far can you make your former bully bend over backwards for you?

fluff/trickery??? completely avoidable angst, bc reader is a little shit. hawks is a scumbag bully at first. reader is honestly kind of violent. dealing with acne in a scene.

When the first things you saw after groggily blinking your eyes open were multiple IVs in the back of your hand, you flipped over and snuggled farther into your hospital bed to deal with it later, but against your will you were forced to lie flat on your back to stare into the hospital fluorescents.

When the nurse fiddling with your IVs came into focus, he said, “You need to lie on your back. You have deep gashes on your lower abdomen, and tossing about too much could open the stitches.”

That sounded like bullshit, but you were too out of it to care. “Yeah, okay,” you said through a croak, “Oh, fuck.” You wrestled a hand to your throat, massaging it. “Am I waking up from a coma? Don’t let anyone see me until I’ve done my eyebrows.”

The nurse laughed through his nose. “No, don’t worry. You’ve barely been—” He cut himself off and frowned. “The news should probably be broken to you when you have emotional support. I’ll be back soon.”

He left.

Emotional support? Wouldn’t that fucking gash on your stomach be—ooh, ouch, don’t move.

Where’s your phone? Where’s your goddamn phone; where’s any of your personal belongings? If they got crushed, you’re killing Hawks on sight.

Hawks, oh, my God. Where is he? He’s dead. If he still has the audacity to bully you professionally—fuck.

He’d cornered you on patrol earlier—whenever that was—and cut into you in that casually, negging-type way that wasn’t enough to report but enough to make you stay up late and freak out about being good enough. It hurt your chest whenever you thought about it.

But this was the first time he’d gotten seriously physical.

He’d alit on the top of the warehouse next to you, landing what would have been haphazardly for anyone else (the arch of his feet against the edge, his toes barely touching roof) and had crouched next to you, his scarlet wings completely blowing your cover as they stretched and shuddered.

“What’s a little girl like you doing in this part of town?” Hawks had propped his chin on both his fists. “Thought shoplifters were more your calibre.”

“Hawks, this is actually really important to me, so please, please leave,” you’d said, keeping your eyes on the group you could barely make out through the skylight. They’d already been partially concealed by crates, so they were hard to see.

“Someone else give you a tip for their location?” He’d tapped your opposite shoulder with the end of his wing, but you hadn’t even flinched.

“Bruh, you know I’ve been on this for weeks,” you’d said, shifting away from him, “I even shared intel at your last briefing.”

“Is that what you were talking about?” Hawks had scratched his chin. “I zoned out. Usually the little cases female heroes present aren’t in my circle, and I like to unwind when brain power isn’t needed.”

You’d planned to rip his wings out feather by feather while you’d gritted your teeth. “You can’t talk to me like that, Hawks.”

He’d laughed, his eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “C’mon, babygirl, have a slice of chill, won’t you? I thought you were one of the cool girls. Relax. I don’t mean anything by it.”

“Leave me alone, Hawks. You’re not gonna bully me into joining your agency. You’re not gonna bully me into quitting being a hero,” you’d said, inwardly screaming, “I’d tell you to go talk to someone who’d fall for your shit, but then, she’d have to suffer, too. So, fuck off into a sewer, jackass.”

“Oof,” Hawks had said, placing a hand over his heart and shaking his head, “You don’t have to be such a bitch, sweetheart. I’m only looking for my better half. Didn’t think it could be you, but I’d thought I’d give you a chance to prove me wrong. Don’t take yourself too seriously; just be along for the ride like the rest of us.”

“Huh,” you had said, and you’d stood and strode to the edge of the warehouse to your harness and rope, and you rappelled down the side of it as stealthily as you came up.

“I’ve been watching you all these years, sweetness, and I know you by now; I know how you really feel,” Hawks had said a bit too loudly while he flew downwards at your speed (braggart). “Strip away all of your busy work, your so-called hero trappings, and we’d mesh together just fine. We may be rough around the edges, but we clean up really nicely, don’t we?”

You’d unclipped your carabiner and stepped out of your harness, stashing it in your pack. “Fuck off.”

You’d moved towards the back entrance, but Hawks had slammed a hand against the concrete wall in front of you. You’d ducked under it and carried on, and he’d grabbed the back of your shirt.

“C’mon, if we didn’t know each other, and our eyes met from across the room at some hero gala, you’d be all over me, wouldn’t you?”

You had swiped his hand away. “I’d be putting a lid on my drink.”

His arms behind his back, Hawks had followed you through the door and behind the exposed pipes and closer to your targets. “Saw you coming onto Todoroki at the last one. You looked fine in his colours, but you would’ve looked better in mine.”

Don’t grace him with an answer; don’t grace him with an ans— “I wasn’t coming onto Shoto,” you’d said, pulling yourself up a couple of pipes for a better view—and you’d hit him when he flapped his wings to hover the few feet you’d ascended, because the noise might alert them.

“Yeah, you just simp for him, right? Then you didn’t step outside your comfortable ice queen act?” Hawks had gripped onto a pipe just underneath your ass. “You’re too much of a natural tease for that.”

How can you report him when he’s the head of his own agency? You guess the commission might listen, but what can they do besides slap his wrist? There’s really no one who can stop him, is there?

You hadn’t replied but instead crawled onto the iron catwalk. If you could position yourself about three-quarters of the way across, you’d be able to effectively activate your quirk and get this over with—wait, why would you think like that? You’d been waiting for this for ages.

A hand spreading across the small of your back had reminded you.

You’d flipped over with fire in your eyes and kicked him away as quietly as you could, but all he’d done was sit back on his knees to grin down at you, army-crawling your way through a dirty warehouse.

Would he take credit for your work again?

You’d shaken yourself. Eat my entire ass, Hawks. And with that, you’d continued inching towards your targets. When you’d gotten into position to watch them, Hawks had merely watched you.

You had scowled. “I’m gonna tear you a—”

“You had a hard childhood, didn’t you?”

A chill had unfurled up your spine, simple as that. Hawks now not only had the annoying air of an arrogant pick-up artist but also gave you an intense sense of danger. You’d moved away from him, regrettably away from your target, but Hawks had followed you, getting closer until his body heat had seeped into yours, a self-satisfied smirk plastered across his dumb face.

“I could take suuuuch good care of you, little girl,” he’d said under his breath, “if only you’d let me. No one else is crazy enough to call me out or want more than the bare minimum.” His wings had folded in on his back, making themselves as small as possible to get closer to you. “If you give in, tell me yes, say please, you wouldn’t have to let any worries cross your pretty little mind. All you have to do is let me in.”

“Yikes,” you had said, sucking in through your teeth, “God, you’re a creep.”

Hawks had slammed you down onto the catwalk, iron reverberating through the warehouse as it struck your head, and your targets had looked up by the time the catwalk hinges had loosened and had come crashing down in the midst of their meeting.

You’re really not supposed to shoot guns inside. Don’t they know that’ll ruin their ears? No matter, really. You had fought them anyway, amidst crates splintering open from whatever they were shooting at you—fuck, that was a big hole. What’s oozing out of that? Gross, don’t step in it.

One with a normal revolver—his arm had given a woody crack when you’d bent it backwards—God, that was nice. Good sounds. If you could sample them into a rap track, you would.

You’d been planning a collab with a popular rapper while you’d hurled yourself at another villain, sawdust flying—just to keep your mind busy, really, but fucking—fucking Hawks had bested whoever he’d half-assed to the ground and had shouted your way.

“C’mere, you little shit—”

He’d scooped you up while you’d been taking care of it by yourself, and he had pinned you down behind a stack of crates that reached the remains of the catwalk, straddling you but keeping most of his weight off, his wings outstretched yet still hidden from the cloud of sawdust rising with deep gurgling on the far side.

“What the fuck is wrong with you,” he’d said over the chaos, spit flying, “You can’t handle this; you’re gonna get fucking killed. I can’t babysit you all the time.”

“Get fucked; I’m the number fourteen hero,” you’d said, deadly still, but twitching in fury, “I can handle anyth—”

“Aww, fourteen. And one day babygirl might reach the single digits.” Hawks had sneered in your face. “If she manages to fuck her way through them.”

Your jaw had dropped, and you pretended to cough on sawdust and kicked him off in the confusion. Hawks had grabbed a hold of your calf, grappling for your thigh, while you’d scrambled to climb over crates to the gurgling mess on the other side; you could handle it, and you would.

You’d slapped his hands away, wrestled out of his grasp again and again, and you’d launched yourself into the dust—

Yeah.

While the fluorescent lights flickered overhead, you picked at a hangnail. You hadn’t braced yourself for the explosion, so, you guessed you deserved whatever was wrong with you now. Big-ass gashes on your stomach. Probably broken ribs. Something felt off in your left leg, besides—oh, ho, what had the doctors thought when they’d seen Hawks’s scratches?

What an idiot.

When the door creaked open, the nurse returned with a mug of water for you, but—what? Who’s that bitch following him?

You blinked, twice. With his hands in his pockets and his nasty little wings tucked in behind him, Hawks meandered to your bedside, his gaze on your throat as you swallowed down water.

God, you’re too tired to deal with him. Let’s get this over with.

The nurse glanced over his clipboard. “I’ve already told your partner this, but I thought you would want him here.”

Maybe if you ignore Hawks, he’ll leave.

“You were very brave today,” said the nurse, “Your work as a hero is greatly appreciated. You’re on temporary leave to heal, though. Like I said, you’ve got three, major gashes on your stomach, and your leg’s broken—the fibula split, if you want to know. You’ll be on crutches for a while. You have four broken ribs, and—” The nurse bit his lip and softened his voice. “You hit your head pretty hard. Nothing’s broken, but you should have amnesia, with the trauma you’ve endured.”

Should have? They don’t know? You sure as hell don’t fucking have amnesia. It barely happens in real life, and it definitely hasn’t happened to you. You remembered every fucking infuriating thing Hawks did to ruin your mission, and if he doesn’t square up—

“I’m so sorry, baby,” said Hawks, grabbing your hand. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, and then he took his glove off to hold you skin-to-skin. “You remember who I am?”

You just stared at him.

“Your fiancé’s been a real presence in the waiting room,” said the nurse, “He hardly stopped pacing the entire time you were in surgery. He wouldn’t even talk to fans.”

Oh, my God.

Holy fucking shit.

“Oops, sorry,” said the nurse, covering his mouth, “I know you were keeping it a secret. Don’t blame him, please; he only told me to be able to see you immediately.”

Shutting your eyes, you took a deep, deep breath. You have been handed a golden opportunity on a fucking Hawks-shaped platter, holy fuck, and by God are you going to take advantage of it. Imagine how much you can fucking humiliate him, how far you can take it. How much you can make him pay for how he treated you, and now, if he says he’s your fiancé, then he’s gonna fucking worship you. You’re going to mould him into your little bitch, and he’s going to thank you for it. And you’ll get endless dirt on him just by seeing his place.

Don’t fuck this up.

Exhaling, you opened your eyes, blinking a bit. You curled your lips into your mouth, biting the lower one. “I remember you’re Hawks,” you said in a nervous voice, “and I remember, uh.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart.” Hawks squeezed your hand, his tone kind. “It’ll come back in time.”

You clutched Hawks’s hand while the nurse rattled off instructions and gave you your crutches, and Hawks squeezed your hand back, softly smiling at you.

When the nurse left, you turned to Hawks and said, “I’m so, so sorry, but I—I feel like there’s something big missing that I can’t remember.” You scratched your forehead with your free hand, dragging the IVs with you.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hawks tilted his head, still gazing decidedly down at you.

“Oh, God,” you said, “Oh, fuck. I don’t know. Um.” Take it back. Take it way back. That way he’ll dig himself into a deeper hole. The more lies he has to create, the funnier it’ll be. “Let’s see, I, hm.” You already weren’t speaking like yourself, but you looked upward as you faked combing through memories. “I don’t know how things work chronologically, but the most recent memory I have of you is—it’s after a press conference, and I’ve never been in the building before,” you said slowly, “And I can’t find the bathroom, but some press keeps following me, and I—I faceplant in between your shoulder blades, right between your wings. You—” You lowered your voice, shrinking a little in the hospital bed, “You got rid of them so easily, with just a gesture, and you put your arm around me. You were—” You shook your head, staring at both of your hands. “—so warm.”

Was that too thick? That was too thick, wasn’t it?

His free hand shot to his mouth, and he bit his knuckle. “But sweetheart, that’s,” said Hawks, his eyes watering, “That’s only around the third time we met.”

You know.

“Shit,” you said, widening your eyes, “How long ago was that?”

“Three years.” Hawks squeezed your hand and kept the pressure longer than was necessary. “Three fucking years. You don’t remember anything past that?”

You pretended to be scared to look at him. “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, you don’t have to be,” said Hawks, and he leant towards you to lift your chin, rubbing his thumb against it, “It’s not your fault.”

You had to hand it to him: Hawks was a good actor.

But so were you.

***

Hawks disappeared for a while after that, but he manifested the day you were loosed from the hospital, more than giddy to carry all of your shit all the way to your flat. He was probably getting some sick pleasure from watching you hobble on your crutches.

“I can help you, if you lean on me,” said Hawks, giving you an easy grin, “I don’t want you to be in any more pain than you have to.”

“This is something I should do myself,” you said in what was hopefully a tough-it-out voice, “I’d like to be able to walk without depending on anyone.”

“I honestly think you ought to be in a wheelchair.” His wings bristled. “But what do I know? I could fly us to your place, if you like.”

“I don’t like. I’ve gotta concentrate on limping. Stop talking, Hawks.”

You got to your flat, and Hawks had guessed which key opened the door on the first try. Drat! He was already doing a good job of acting like he’d been here before, like he’s not surprised that the number fourteen hero lives in a pretty shitty apartment (you started living here as a student and got too damn comfortable for your own good—plus, you didn’t want your cat to endure the trauma of moving).

Hawks plopped your keys in the bowl by the door with a clatter, and he shut the front door behind you, flipping one of the locks.

He set your stuff neatly on the kitchen table—your purse, your tactical pack, your ropes—and lay your dry-cleaned hero suit over the back of a kitchen chair, and his hands were on you the next moment to guide you to your tacky, sunflower couch. Removing one crutch, he put your arm over his shoulder instead, one hand planted on your lower back above your bandages, and he eased you down onto the cushions.

Hawks then stepped over your legs to sit on your opposite side, and he brought your legs to rest in his lap, his hand gripping your non-casted leg. “Gotta keep it elevated, chickadee.”

You let yourself giggle. Time to get this shitshow started. “Thank you so much for helping me, Hawks; I know I’ve been a real hassle these past few days, and you shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of stress. You’re already under so much. I don’t understand how the commission would let you date anyone, let alone propose.”

“Oh, I know,” said Hawks, spreading himself out on the couch. He shifted himself to face you in addition to accommodate his wings—he was now positioned so that they’d drape over the arm of the couch instead of being squished against the back cushions. That bitch, he probably wasn’t used to couches that weren’t custom made to his special body requirements. Spoiled fuck.

“The commission was really pissed when they found out. Do you remember how, sweetness? Right, I’ll tell you,” said Hawks, running an ungloved hand through his hair before shaking it loose. “You remember up to the press conference with the faceplant. Short version is that you hated me for a good year before something clicked. You started acting awkward whenever I was around, avoiding me, and stuff. Sometimes getting red. I thought it was cute.”

You ducked your head. Flustered. He probably likes easily flustered women.

Wait. That’s not who you are. And he’d like you for who you are, if you’re engaged.

But at the same time, if you’re (gag) in love with him, wouldn’t you be flustered by some of the things he says?

Easy, baby. Take it as it comes. Pick your battles. Go with your gut.

And gut says make Hawks eat shit.

“You think I’m cute?”

“I know you’re cute.”

You’re going to stuff his own feathers down his throat.

“We got together at that dinner Endeavor’s agency sponsored. Do you remember that at all? That place with the purple lights. You’d gotten nervous from the crowd and had gone to take some of your anxiety meds. I caught you in the hall back from the bathroom and talked you down before going back out there.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’d like to say I’m the one who kissed you, but you took initiative before I had the guts.”

Funny. Hilarious, in fact. That was the night Hawks had solidified himself as the Biggest Dick in the World, because yeah, he’d caught you in the purple-lit hallway, but he’d caught you on the way to take your meds, not on the way back. You were talking yourself down from a panic attack and couldn’t argue him away, so he’d followed you into the bathroom, running his mouth and acting like it was an accident when the tip of his wing had knocked your two capsules down the sink.

He’d told you that if you’re a big girl, you’d be able to handle the rest of the night. Or you could leave at any time with him, and he’d make excuses that everyone would have to accept.

Honestly, you’d love to let his fake memory be true, because then, you’d be able to wear purple again without feeling queasy.

Cocking your head, you smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do.”

Hawks let out a light laugh, craning his neck to rest his head on the back of the sofa. “That’s what you said that night, too. About how it felt out of character.”

“Was I good?”

Lifting his head, he raised an eyebrow at you: probably the first genuine emotion he’s shown you the whole time he’s been here. “Hm?”

“When I kissed you. Was it good,” you asked flatly.

“Oh,” Hawks said, his wings puffing out just barely, “Oh, sweetheart, you were amazing. Groundbreaking. Show-stopping.” His tongue flicked over his lower lip, and he shifted underneath your legs, leaning slightly towards you but holding eye contact before carrying on.

You shook your head. “I don’t have the energy to give you the makeout session you deserve,” you said, envisioning drowning him in the bathtub, “I’m exhausted. Forgive me.”

“Always,” said Hawks, “Want me to keep going?”

“You can hardly eat me out when we haven’t kissed yet.”

“I meant,” said Hawks, pausing to visibly swallow (was it real?), “about our relationship, but if you wanna eat—”

“Nah, keep going. So, I started the relationship? I must be crazy. Neither of us have fucking time to sleep, let alone be in a relationship.”

Hawks never shut up about how he was taking time out of his endlessly packed days to spend time with you, how time was precious to him, and if he’s spending time with you, why, then, you’d better pay up, bitch (always accompanied with his hands on his belt, subtly pointing his thumbs towards his cock).

Hawks shrugged with his wings instead of his shoulders. Interesting. Has he ever done that before? “The commission said that, but after I insisted we’d make time, they relented. Eventually,” said Hawks, jerking his head to the side, “Our quirks don’t exactly fit well, so we haven’t worked with each other professionally too often, and, of course, we’ve had to hide our relationship so that we can’t be a public weak spot to each other. Plus, we’re more marketable as eligible, young heroes.”

“Fuck the market,” you said, slumping into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” said Hawks, grinning with his tongue caught between his teeth, “There’s her spark. I know, baby. I feel the same way, but being made into libidinous body pillows pays the bills, y’know?”

Nodding, you brought one of the couch pillows around for you to hug, and you smushed your chin into it. “Hawks,” you said, so quietly you almost couldn’t be heard over the A/C kicking on, “How long have we been engaged?”

“Four months,” he said, his grin unconsciously fading until he was essentially baring his teeth, “Since the twentieth.”

Taking a moment, you said, “I can’t remember anything at all.”

“That’s okay. It’ll come back.”

“No, I can’t—” You slid your hands through your hair, pulling at it, and you heaved a sigh. “Goddammit, Hawks. I wish I could—fuck. I’m missing something huge. I know I am.” Make him nervous. Make him lie awake at night. “I’m sorry, Hawks. It’s probably something really important, and I—”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh, it’s all right,” said Hawks, and he stood to lean over you, his hands rising to cup your face, and holy shit, his hands cover so much of your skin; is that legal? He’s got hands. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ve had a big day. Turn your brain off. I’ll take care of you.”

Red flag! Big, red flag! Creep! He’s a creep!

Your gaze fell to his jacket pockets. Does he carry date rape drugs on his person?

“Hawks, I don’t wanna inconvenience you any more than I have.”

“I’m your fiancé,” said Hawks, actually looking you straight in the eyes and not breaking, “I want to take care of you.”

“Sure, in the way the mob takes care of people.”

Hawks’s mouth opened slightly, and his eyes narrowed.

Cover it up. “I’m not sorry. I don’t trust your cooking. You’ll poison my spaghetti!” You made a dumb gesture, pinching your fingers together. “Have you seen The Godfather? There’s actually a pretty legit spaghetti recipe in it; it’s not too bad, but it’s kind of watery—”

Hawks brought your hand to his mouth to kiss your knuckles and let his lips linger. “Watch it with me?”

You shook your head. “I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll join you.”

“No,” you said, “My bed’s not made with your wings in mind.” Fuck off to your own little sex next, Hawks. Get out of here. “If they got hurt, it’d be my fault. Go sleep in your own bed, all right?” Go home. Get mugged on the way.

Hawks sighed, blowing his hair out of his eyes. “If you insist. But you’ve gotta reach out to me for anything you have trouble with, yeah? Memories, opening jars, orgasms, you know.”

“I’m leaving,” you said, reaching for your crutches, “Ten minutes ago.”

***

“You didn’t tell me how you proposed.”

Hawks froze mid-bite of his ramen, but after a quick beat, he slurped the rest of the noodle up. “I was hoping you’d recall that on your own, baby. Get your own feelings about it, instead of me telling you how to feel.”

If you weren’t faking amnesia, you’d fucking break his nose for that. Bastard.

“I imagine once you tell me, the feelings will rush in,” you said, clicking your chopsticks twice for emphasis, “I want to remember everything, and if I don’t, well, I want to fall in love with you again.”

Hawks’s gaze glazed over for an infinitesimal moment. Score.

“It’ll sound goofy once I describe it.” With his wings cramped against the back of the booth, Hawks scratched the back of his neck—a classic move for pretending to be embarrassed. “I’m not exactly known for being romantic.”

Yeah, he’s known for fooling around with anyone who’s glittery, like a goddamn crow. If you’re paying attention.

“Aw, but Hawks, you’ve been nothing but so effortlessly romantic to me since I’ve been convalescing,” you said, rolling up the paper wrapper of your straw and soaking it in the ring your cup left on the table.

“Right, well. I flew us out to the countryside, to this overlook halfway up a mountain. You liked going rappelling there a lot. To practise for missions.” Hawks had some of your habits down, at least. Bet he gets the location wrong, though. “We watched the sunrise. We shared a thermos of tea. I asked you once the sun had risen, but you didn’t say yes right away,” said Hawks, “You jumped off the overlook without your gear, and I caught you. You were furious about it—you didn’t want me to see you overwhelmed. But you said yes.”

Ugh. That sounded about right. That sounded pretty realistic. Hawks was a fucking stalker.

“Fuck,” you said, burying your face in your hands, “That’s cute.” You stretched the skin of your cheeks before releasing, and you returned to your ramen. “Question: did we put the ring into storage, or something? I don’t have the little indent on my ring finger from wearing a ring too long, and I haven’t found anything at home.” Make him sweat. Make him stumble. Where’s the ring, Hawks?

With a flash of his eyebrows, Hawks maneuvered his straw to his mouth using only his lips, looking quite stupid, in your opinion. “Figured you’d ask that at some point. I’m so overjoyed to see you every time that I forget to bring it up. The ring’s been sent off to a high-level, government-backed, support company. I’ve pulled in a favour from the higher-ups. I wanted to turn your ring into something a little more personal and incorporate one of my feathers into it,” said Hawks, taking a moment to slurp his drink noisily, “Depending on how well it goes, I’d be able to help you if we’re separated and know where you are. At the very least—” Hawks ducked his head to give the illusion of staring up at you with wide eyes, his blond eyelashes light against his skin. “—I’d be able to feel your heartbeat. It would bring me great comfort.”

Great, so he’d have a GPS on you at all times, knowing whether or not you went somewhere he didn’t want you to. He’d be able to tell if you went somewhere your non-amnesia self would know about. Great. Phenomenal.

“Hawks, that’s very sweet,” you said, fiddling with the remnants of your straw wrapper, now fizzled out of its snake shape, “Wouldn’t the process hurt you, though? Since you can feel it.”

“Nothing more than a twinge, sweetheart,” said Hawks, holding up his hands, “And I’d bear any amount of pain for your sake.”

You fantasised about beating his head in with the back end of a rifle.

***

When you were told Hawks was waiting for you outside of the recording booth, you told the messenger that Hawks could wait until you were finished with five more takes. You could picture Hawks’s little pout at the news, his feathers bristling despite the closed space, and resigning himself to sit in one of those clangy, metal chairs out front, having to hunch forward so that he didn’t crush his wings.

The idol group adored the ingenuity of bone-crunching as percussion in a song, and along with that and some other combat foley, you were singing the bridge with the rapper of the group (the dance captain would sing your part for live shows). It’d be a good promo for the girl group and for you, and the song, “Spine,” was going to be released as a single as soon as it was polished.

Hawks perked up the moment you stepped through the secondary door to the booth, his eyes brightening and wings spreading to take up more space. “I didn’t think I’d catch you,” said Hawks, standing to take your hands (the cold leather gloves sucked the heat out of your hands), “I’ve got to fly, soon, but I wanted to tell you personally.”

“You’re not pregnant,” you said, fighting the urge to break his goggles/visor/hat thing.

His lopsided grin widened. “Not yet, baby. There’s gonna be a heroes’ gala held at the end of the month, and I wanted to let you know that I’m doing everything in my power to make it a positive experience for you. Here, I’ve got this woman’s phone number,” he said, fishing a slip of paper out of his jacket, “She’ll help accommodate the venue for your leg.”

Stupid fucking bastard man. He probably wanted to pick out your clothes himself, infantilise you and dress you up like a goddamn doll. Deny you your personhood. “I’ll be out of the cast by then.” You slid the paper into your back pocket.

“I know,” Hawks said in a way that was a fucking lie, “I just don’t want there to be any accidents. I can’t have my babygirl any more hurt than she is.” Hawks placed his cold, gloved hand against your cheek, and you, shutting your eyes, made yourself lean into it. “But contact her. She’ll make it the safest place it can be for you, even when I have to leave your side.”

God, galas were great. Big events for villains to ruin. You licked your lips thinking about using a new move you’ve learnt to take a villain down (involving clamping your legs around the villain’s neck to choke him as he crumpled to the floor—your combat coach had banned you from the move after you made her pass out). “Are we announcing our engagement, then? If we’re going together?”

“I’d love to,” said Hawks, “but only if you want to. The ring could be ready by then, if I ask them to rush it—”

“Let’s do it.” If you plunged the ring into icy water, would he start to shiver? Ooh, your ring’s going to act as a fucking bay leaf in your soups for a while.

“Oh,” said Hawks, sighing lightly with his eyes fluttering shut. He pressed his forehead to yours and rubbed his thumb over your cheek. “You have no idea how much that means to me, sweetheart. You are so dear to me, and I want everyone to know it. The best damn thing in my life. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, placing your hand on his face to push him away, “Don’t you have work to do, screw boy?”

***

“Did we have a date?” you asked from the edge of the bathtub.

Hawks dipped the razor in the water, washing off the hair and shaving cream. “We’ve gone on so many, darling; you’ll have to specify.”

“No, I meant for the wedding.” Let’s once again play: Can Hawks Cover His Own Ass?

Hawks dragged the razor down your freshly exfoliated, freshly-un-casted, freshly not-broken leg, starting at your knee. “Nope!”

“No explanation?”

“You wanna get married tomorrow? A six-month engagement is rather short, don’t you think?” His nose twitched. He’d said the scent of your shaving cream irritated his nose. Good.

“I don’t. Why didn’t we have a date for the wedding?” You eyed the actual and literal pile of your dead skin on the towel. Maybe you should make Hawks snort it.

“We were too busy working; you’d said you didn’t mind having a long engagement, so long as I was yours. Then, uh, you know. The accident,” Hawks said with a shrug—with his shoulders this time, because if he moved his wings while he was crouched in your bathtub, he’d soak them, and they were a bitch to dry, apparently. Suffer, you rat bastard.

“The commission isn’t involved in that decision?”

“I thought that was implied,” said Hawks, gripping your ankle to turn your calf to the side, “They don’t want it to be a huge spectacle, so even I don’t know how much of a wedding wedding they’d let us have.”

He’s too damn good at this. If he weren’t a pro-hero, he’d fit right along in a theatre troupe.

You’re going to wring his neck.

You caught him staring at the crotch of your underwear (bone-dry, you might add) while he shaved your thighs, and he spent more time rubbing lotion into your inner thighs than anywhere else. He tossed your dead skin before you could make him eat it, and he scooped you up against your protestations about your weight and capability, humming while he carried you to your bed.

The fucker tucked you in and rounded up your cat to place in your arms (your cat disagreed with him and promptly leapt off the bed).

“Let me stay with you,” said Hawks, kissing each of your fingertips. It’s an order.

Yet you shook your head.

***

“The doctors said you shouldn’t drink,” Hawks said under his breath, taking the champagne flute gently from your grasp.

“But I want to,” you said, sticking out your lower lip, “I’m wearing goddamn heels and a fucking dress. I’ve got on makeup, for Christ’s sake. I’ve done my time; let me drink.”

“Baby, you’ve got to stay safe,” he said, and he set the glass next to some 40s-level hero’s place at the long, white tablecloth. “There’s already press paying more attention to us than usual. You wanna make a fool of yourself?”

“Yes,” you said, lifting another champagne flute from a passing gala waiter, “Who gives a shit about the press.”

Hawks laughed too loudly to be natural before lowering his voice. “Baby, you are gonna be the death of me.”

“Promise?”

***

When “Spine” was released on a cool, spring morning to an excitable audience, you were lurking in alleyways by the docks, searching for a fight. When the music video dropped, you were smashing some guy’s face into a concrete wall. While more and more citizens recognised you and your talent, your work for the community, your connections, your popularity—with your rank steadily rising—you were rappelling down a port sewer to pummel a slime villain into dust.

You wiped his blood off on your pants, hands devoid of anything that could taint. You’d left the ring at home.

***

“You tricked me,” you said, scowling as Hawks pushed you forward, “This isn’t the rock climbing park.”

Once you deliberately smashed your face into the glass door and crossed your arms, Hawks held the door open for you. “Would you have dressed up so nicely for rock climbing?”

“A meta-game challenge,” you said, “to rock-climb in a long skirt.”

You glowered about the restaurant while you and Hawks stood in the lobby, his hand low on your back, suspiciously respectfully. You made no effort to hide your distaste: it was the place with the purple lights.

Over there at the absurdly long bar, Endeavor had drunk flat whisky without so much of a growl at anyone, despite it being his event. Hexagonal tables with lilac tablecloths dotted the floor—you’d hidden in one of the few booths, up against the exposed brick wall—but your hiding place had been ruined once a violet disco ball had emerged from the ceiling. Shiny, wooden floor that had reflected your post-panic attack face right back at you and let every shoe strike it with a clatter. No silence allowed.

The whole restaurant had lavender LED lights running around the walls, swathing the place in a distorted sort of purple haze, and any candles lit on the centre tables had indigo flames—you’d focused on how those might have been made in the process of coming down from your panic attack.

God. You’re going to throw up.

The hostess escorted you and Hawks to a farther back room, this one with booths separated by small, brick walls that didn’t reach the ceiling yet concealed the booths’ occupants from each other—unless you were passing directly in front of one.

Hawks made you sit in the booth first, trapping you in as he settled. He had to be on the edge, anyway, he told you, because of his wings. You’re going to rip them off and boil them in the soup.

The two of you ordered. You don’t remember what. You can only channel so much of your nerves into jostling your leg. This is not cool. This place is not cool. You need to get out.

“Hey, let me through,” you said, nudging Hawks, “Bathroom.”

Once there, you lightly slapped your cheeks a couple of times, trying to ground yourself through physical sensation. No use. Can’t they fucking use normal lights in this place?

You didn’t have your panic meds, because you’ve never needed them rock climbing. You can do it. You’re fine. You’re fine. Your tongue is too big for your mouth.

You took your time meandering back to the booth, coming to a halt at the end of the narrow hallway and ducking behind the corner.

Endeavor stood by your booth, his arms crossed over a flaming chest. You caught your breath at the sight of his orange fire, a comforting contrast to all the damn purple, but still—Endeavor. Talking to your (gag) fiancé.

Without the courage to interact with Endeavor, you listened at the corner for his departure.

“Nah, she can handle her bladder just fine. It’s her nerves,” Hawks was saying, hidden by the bricks, “She likes hiding. She doesn’t necessarily like being in the spotlight.”

“Yet she hasn’t completely withdrawn as Eraserhead has. You’ve picked a strange one to marry.”

From the angle Endeavor glared at him, Hawks must be slumping in his seat. “But that’s what so great about her. And it’s hard to process, y’know, like, she’s finally mine. You follow?”

“Regrettably,” said Endeavor, “Regardless, I offer my congratulations that your courtship finally worked out in your favour. You should have told me sooner.”

Courtship. That’s a funny way to pronounce bullying.

“Eh, I’ve gotta have some secrets, don’t I? Can’t betray my otherwise cool exterior.” Hawks laughed. “I can’t believe I’ve been allowed such happiness. The woman I’ve loved for years is gonna be waking up to me every day soon, y’know?”

Hawks has got to know you can hear him, otherwise he wouldn’t be saying those things. Endeavor must be in on Hawks’s ruse, since Endeavor is Hawks’s closest—actually, Endeavor isn’t the type to revel in romantic shit. Endeavor straight-up isn’t the type to revel. To the best of your knowledge, Endeavor doesn’t genuinely like Hawks as so much as tolerates him; when did they get so close? It must have taken a long time—

Time.

You could feel your IQ dropping as you actually considered: had you been in a legitimate coma? Had you (fuck) genuinely had amnesia?

No, no. You don’t live in Crazytown. Your eyebrows hadn’t been overgrown when you’d woken up in the hospital. You’d only been there a day.

Of course, Hawks is a vain piece of shit and does his own eyebrows, so he might have considered that yours were a piece of pride/insecurity for you and may have done them while you were—did Hawks do his own eyebrows? That spoiled fuck probably had someone else to do them for him. If they were naturally like that, you were going to throttle his ass.

You didn’t fucking have amnesia. Hawks is and always has been a stupid, clammy birdbrain. He’s always been cruel to you. He didn’t fucking like you.

He sure as hell wasn’t in fucking love with you.

Oh, my fuck, what if your memories of Hawks have been fabricated by a coma-addled mind and that—

“Hey, there,” said—said someone, some pale-ass, sleep-deprived freak who startled you out of your head, “Are you all right? You look—I mean, do you need some water? A chair?”

You blinked, yet he wouldn’t come into focus—you were taking in details about him, ones that didn’t fucking matter (chain on his wallet, three rings all on the left hand, a button-down missing the last button, a cloud of axe body spray), but he didn’t register as a human person. He couldn’t; you hadn’t grounded yourself yet. You yourself still had a frazzled, cartoon scribble buzzing inside of your chest, and until you vomited it up, a panic attack may yet still happen.

You can’t deal with anyone new right now.

A spark of recognition crossed the new guy’s face, and he, through a smirk, asked if you were your hero name.

Oh god oh fuck not now

“Sweetheart,” came Hawks’s melodious drawl (registering first his voice, then bodily warmth, then the wingtip covering your ass), “You were taking so long that I came to check on you.” He pulled you by the waist towards him, blocking the guy from seeing your face by pressing it into his chest. “Who’s this?”

Who cares. All you could focus on (sharp and overwhelming, nothing else but) was how fucking incredible Hawks smelled, and at this point, you’d use anything to bring yourself back down to earth. A small voice in the back of your head told you that freaking out to this degree in this particular situation was leaning towards pathetic, since basically nothing happened, besides being in an uncomfortable environment and being accosted by a fan at the wrong time, but you? You did not control the rate at which your brain panicked.

And really, no rhyme or reason played into why your grabby little hands itched for human contact once safe in the booth again, why Hawks’s scent lay on your tongue more heavily than your soup, why the overwhelming sensation of being so fucking spaced out of it threw its entire weight upon your shoulders—you couldn’t find yourself. You were lost.

And in this horrible, purple place, the only thing that’s familiar was Hawks.

When you scooted as closely as you could to him in the booth, keeping your glare towards your lap while you looped your arm under his to snuggle into it, Hawks cleared his throat to say, “What’s this?”

You scowled into his jacket, both hands gripping his forearm.

He set his chopsticks down. “How can I help, darling?”

Growling, you bonked your forehead against his shoulder, dragging your hands down to his.

“Hey,” said Hawks, and he guided your face towards his and stroked your cheek with his thumb, “Did that guy bother you too much before I got there?”

Turning your mouth towards the hand cupping your cheek, you kissed his palm, bit the leather, and kissed it again before burying yourself in his shoulder again.

He rested his hand on the crown of your head. “What’s the matter? Can you tell me?”

“Not sure I can put it into words,” you said, “I think I wanna go home.” You bit the fabric of his jacket and gnashed it between your teeth.

“I can handle that,” said Hawks, “Gimme a moment to get takeaway boxes, yeah? Then we’ll leave, and you’ll be safe. Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately, you were still clutching onto his arm by the time he unlocked his darkened penthouse (because you’re not gonna hold his hand. God), but you slapped his hand away from the light switches.

“Turning them on would be too much stimulation,” you said, “Please don’t.”

Hawks hummed against the top of your head, placing keys and both of your phones on the kitchen counter. “Bed or couch?”

“Window,” you said.

“Window?”

“I’m assuming you’ve got one.”

“I do,” said Hawks, guiding you through his dark apartment, probably past scarily expensive, posh shit. He led you to what was most likely his living room, with the cool, dim light of the night sky through a vast, single-frame, wall-to-floor window illuminating furniture custom built for his wings, but he eased you down onto the carpet, tugging your shirt upwards so that the window would be touching your bare skin on the small of your back.

Hawks yanked his boots off, late, instead of at the door, and he tossed them over his shoulder. He took yours off, too, and once he’d set them aside, he sat next to you against the window, a hand on your thigh.

“Better?”

“Probably,” you said, staring at the triangle of light beige carpet between your crossed legs.

“Need me to talk? You need to talk?”

“Not right now.”

Hawks was a dumbass. He’s such a fucking dumbass. But he’s a dumbass who’s here right now, and he’s interested (?) in you, interested in helping you. And good golly, you have to be touched. Hawks’s offering warmth, freely, potentially lovingly, and all you had to do was reach out to take it, even if you didn’t reciprocate whatever sentiment was motivating him yourself.

Do you really want to take what you have no feelings for?

Hawks lies a lot to Endeavor. To everyone. He might not have been lying earlier. What reason had he to lie?

Guess it didn’t matter, because you were lying.

But good God, you haven’t been kissed in a long time. Haven’t felt safe or loved. You could…you could indulge for a few hours in order to calm down. You could pretend.

The last ten months had proved that.

“Hey,” you said idly, reaching out to grab the inner fleece lining of his jacket to rub it between your fingers, “Hawks, I’m gonna—I’m gonna put my mouth on your mouth. Okay?”

Hawks’s wings ruffled and constricted themselves so that he could move closer to you, and his hand has migrated from your thigh to grip your hip—how could anyone’s hands encompass that much of you? Your fucking hands couldn’t, not in the way his does.

(Bird man big and safe.)

([No, fuck you, don’t think that.])

(BIRD MAN SAFE—)

Shoved is how you’d describe the first few seconds of the kiss, followed closely by wet and you’d think his teeth would be sharper. Your lips didn’t line up with his completely until he adjusted your chin with two of his fingers, guiding it open just barely, as well, so that his tongue could graze your teeth—it took you a moment of processing before parting them, with a final don’t think! shouted to your neocortex.

Birds have a higher body temperature than other animals, on average having a body temperature of 105 degrees Fahrenheit (40 degrees Celsius). The colour of their feathers, of course, affects how much light and heat they absorb, with the lighter coloured feathers—say, red—reflecting more, rejecting outside heat sources.

Yet Hawks gripped you like he’d fucking freeze if he weren’t clutching you, if he weren’t straddling your legs, one palm flat against the cool of the window by your head. The other snaked around you, his forearm lying almost vertically up your back to press down between your shoulder blades, keeping you as near to his chest (he probably didn’t realise it, but his fingers ran across the curve of your shoulder blades where his wings were on his own body.

For some reason, the thought crossed your mind that you weren’t enough for him, because you were too dissimilar.)

Don’t think!

When he massaged your tongue with his, applying pressure sporadically, you returned the action—have you ever seen a bird tongue up close? They’re fucking nasty little things, looking more like a grub than anything else. Thank God Hawks had a normal, human tongue that performed particularly delightful, normal things, like drag across the roof of your mouth and aid in sucking phenomenal hickeys onto your jawline, licking over where he’s bitten and kissed.

Stop thinking about bird anatomy. Hawks has no discernible bird traits except for his fucking wings. He’s not a fucking bird man. He’s just some dude with wings. And not all birds have functional wings; for example, the ostrich and the penguin do not have wings to be used in flight—

Oh, my fuck. Turn your brain off.

Your stomach lurched. That had been something Hawks had told you too often, back before your accident.

It’s what he wants.

Hawks fucking whimpered when you pulled the shorter hairs at the back of his neck, prying him away from your skin with great difficulty—he kept trying to touch you with his mouth and tongue in the process.

“Let me have more,” he said, panting, his breath heavy and just below your ear, “Please.” He pressed his lips to the spot in front of your ear in a weak kiss, having spent himself for the most part. “I’ve missed you so much, baby. I’ve been waiting for you to come back to me for so long.”

“I don’t—” You fake-stuttered, but it turned out you needed the time to put your thoughts into words. “I don’t think I’m back yet. I’m,” you said, taking as deep a breath as you could with Hawks smushed against your chest, “Something’s missing. Something big.” That’s right. Steer it back in his direction. Make the bird man sweat. “I don’t—something doesn’t feel right.”

It took a moment, but Hawks nodded fervently, shutting his eyes. “Of course. Yeah. Yeah, I get it, sweetheart. Can’t do anything when your heart’s not in it.”

Your heart’s not the problem. “Thank you for being so understanding, Hawks,” you said, untangling yourself from underneath him, “Would you just, uh, hold me for a while?”

His wings wrapped around the both of you on his enormous bed, still fluttering with each slow breath he took. Hawks almost looked genuine while he slept, and probably for the best—at least he was getting rest; at least his guard might be down.

You couldn’t sleep. Your mind was racing.

***

“Rank speculation is out,” you said, scrubbing the pumice stone over a patch of dry skin on Hawks’s back and scrolling through the twitter with your other hand, “Take a look.”

He opened the link you sent once he’d safely removed a dead feather that had been lodged in an odd spot in a wing. “Huh. Think I could truly take on Endeavor?”

“Well, he’s got that abusive-to-his-family thing, while you’re rocking the preparing-for-my-wedding look, and he can’t network non-aggressively to save his life.”

“Nor can you.” Hawks shot you a smirk over his shoulder.

“Zoom in on my speculated nine, baby,” you said, flicking away some dead skin with a satisfied/disgusted sneer, “And I didn’t have to sleep my way there.”

“Ah, ha, ha,” said Hawks, “Knew you could do it. Whoever’s told you that is gonna have to deal with my foot up their ass. You’re more than capable of getting there on your own.”

“Which I did. I have.” Wait. Hawks told you that. No, it’s fine. It’s fine. It’s a commonly said, misogynistic comment towards women heroes. Hawks isn’t special. “But having your foot up someone’s ass wouldn’t be good for PR, unless you wanted to advertise that you’re a kinky son of a bitch who’s cheating on his fiancée.”

“I would never,” said Hawks, and, contorting his arm, he grabbed your hand with the pumice stone to kiss the back of it, “But my PR is solid, regardless.”

“If the public knew how much time you had to spend preening these fucking wings, they’d probably appreciate you more. Or call you conceited.”

Hawks hummed. “It’s a necessary evil,” he said, returning to his wingtip to search for dead feathers. “Thank you for helping.”

“No problem. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t get to see how—Hawks, holy fuck. Do you feel that?” You ran a finger near the base of a wing.

“It’s your finger?”

“No, this,” you said, tapping the spot.

“No?”

“My God. It’s a dilated pore of a winer,” you said, already reaching for the tweezers, “Right at the base of your wing. It’s basically an enormous fucking blackhead. I’m popping it. Oh, my God. I’ve never seen one in real life.”

“You’re popping it?”

“You didn’t have a problem with my getting the ones where your costume sits.”

“No,” said Hawks, rolling back his shoulders, his wings spreading with them, “Gotcha. Get on with it.”

“Can I film it?”

“What? No,” said Hawks, “No one can see me preening, let alone dealing with acne.”

“There’s sure to be another hero out there with a wing quirk, right? I don’t know how you can’t feel it.”

“Yeah,” Hawks said slowly, “Since my feathers can feel—I suppose where the wings merge with my skin is pretty numb. I haven’t ever had to think about it.” He licked his lips. “Funny.”

He continued to scroll through his feed and tend to his feathers while you worked at his back. “Bad news: the tabloids got a hold of our grocery list from the last time we went to the shops. I must have dropped it at some point in the store.”

“Oh, so do they know what kind of ice cream we prefer? The horror.”

“No, but they’ve brought in some hack handwriting analyst. Talking about our annotations for each other on the list. Something about how you’re logical and I’m a romantic. The writer of the article is practically swooning.” Hawks pulled out a clot of feathers with his teeth and spat them aside. “With good reason, though. The trashy pictures they snapped of us are hot.”

“Describe them to me.”

“I can show you—”

“No,” you said, concentrating on your work, “I don’t want the image imprinted on my brain. Describe them in your own words.”

“All right,” said Hawks, crossing his legs and placing his phone on the coffee table in front of him, “To start, the flash is on.”

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. We’ve got that distantly surprised look going on. It looks like we’re near the eggs and cheese. You’re not looking at the camera, but I believe it’s in the moment I caught it.” Hawks flicked away a feather and let it fall to the carpet. “My hand’s on your waist. The other’s on the cart. You’ve scrunched your face up in concentration; it’s really cute.”

“Aw, we should get it framed,” you said, wiping away the gunk with a tissue and wadding it up so that no one will ever have to see or touch it ever again.

“Never,” said Hawks, “The first picture of us I wanna get framed should be on our wedding day.”

“It’s coming along quickly,” you said, setting aside the tweezers, “Bit more quickly than I’d thought it would.”

“Yeah, I can’t wait,” said Hawks with a light laugh, and you ducked to rest your head against his shoulder, straining your neck to reach him over his wing.

Hawks clicked his non-nasty, non-bird tongue. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Sighing, you said, “Turn your head this way.”

He did you one better, since he anticipated your plan. He twisted around, keeping his legs crossed as he pulled you into his lap. His wings initially bristled but wrapped around you when his arms did, and Hawks kissed your cheek, once, twice, until he arrived at your mouth, where he barely grazed your lips, rather letting his hot breath spread over your face—and he grinned up at you with half-lidded eyes (he’d left off his eyeliner today, but the natural marks below his waterline kept his eyes sharp, anyway).

“Kiss me, you fucking idiot,” you said, overriding whatever he was about to do by kissing him yourself, hard and open-mouthed, almost violent in its fervent. Yet Hawks held you lightly, delicately, but still close enough to freeze.

You ran your cold, cold hands over his bare abdomen, pressing your thumb down with considerable force to trace his muscles (he grunted at that, and that’s it; that’s right—make him squirm; make him sweat; make him yours). His finger only toyed with the hem of his shirt that you were wearing, as if waiting for you, which didn’t line up with what you had garnered about Hawks at all, but c’mon, man, come on; didn’t you want this all those months ago? Almost a year, now? Years, if what he said to Endeavor is true? But when he flinched away with a shaky breath once your cold fingers circled his nipple, you knew this was where you were supposed to be: right here, in Hawks’s lap, completely destroying him with hardly anything at all. Nothing but light touches and a strategic flick of your tongue. Idiot man. He must really like you if this is doing it for him.

You slowed and opened your eyes at that thought, frowning, and you pulled away. With the back of his hand, Hawks wiped saliva off of both of your mouths, yours first.

He waited for you.

“If you can’t take all of me, then what’s the point?”

He tilted his head. “I’ll take whatever part of you you’re willing to share.”

“I’m missing something.”

“I know.”

“I want to find it before we get married.” You laid your palm flat on his chest, and he grinned at the cold.

“You can find it,” he said, “I know you can.”

“I don’t know what I’m blocking out,” you said, lying—or maybe you weren’t? Fuck it. “Whatever I’m repressing is really fucking with me.”

“Take your time,” said Hawks, running his tongue over his lower lip. “I’m here for—”

“Hawks,” you said, faking the light of realisation in your eyes, accompanied with a sharp inhale, “I can’t remember your name.”

Hawks’s mouth snapped shut.

“You told me once. I know you did,” you said, moving to cup his cheek after tapping the mark underneath his eye, “but the memory—there’s a blur where you spoke. I—” You cut yourself off, biting your lip. “That, that might be it. I don’t know. Everything else about the scene is in perfect detail. I remember what fucking socks I was wearing, for Christ’s sake. But you. What you said. Maybe it’s something so personal, so intimate, that I’ve repressed it. Maybe it was too much for me to handle.” You cupped his face with both hands now, forcing him to look at you. If you hadn’t been scrutinising him for some evidence of breaking character, you wouldn’t’ve seen the minute quivering of his upper lip. Hardly there, but it was there. “It’s a part of you that I want. Even if I couldn’t handle it before, I want to try now.”

Hawks averted his gaze, even though he couldn’t move his head. And bang, you’ve got him. Hawks’s name was still strictly secret, hidden by the commission, but if he’s genuinely in this dumbass situation for the long haul, if he’s truly in it for you, then he would have told you. Even if he wanted you to continue to call him Hawks, your own fiancé would have told you his damn name.

So, this is it. The way out.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out you’ve been faking all this time. Good. Let each feather burn.

“Keigo,” he said, staring into your eyes with a newfound determination, “My name is Takami Keigo.”

Oh, shit—you clapped a hand over your heart, your eyes widening. Maybe you could play this off as memory recovery instead of absolute shock? But you hadn’t any memories to recover, probably. Holy fuck.

Where do you go from here?

You tried to say his name but ended up simply mouthing it, and after clearing your throat and coughing a bit, you managed to say it aloud. “Keigo,” you said softly, reaching for his hand, “Keigo, I fucking love you.”

You’d only been kissing him for a few moments before his wings shuddered in a muscle spasm and flung you off to the side.

***

Only a commission higher-up witnessed your wedding. She stood silently to the side the entire ceremony in the courthouse and only shook Hawks’s hand afterwards.

You and your cat essentially moved into his penthouse and adjusted. Your mostly empty apartment stayed leased under your name.

Sometimes, you’d note that you turned your brain off and instantly be hit with a lightning strike of self-loathing—but you didn’t have to consciously decide to be affectionate with Hawks. Being with him came naturally and easily. Probably for the best, since if you had to think about it, you’d screw it up.

You stayed together. Supported each other. Sneaked out to see the other on patrol. Took care, listened to each other. Defended each other. Worked it out.

And now, you stared up at the ceiling fan whirling in your darkened bedroom, Keigo lying on his stomach next to you in the bed as he slept. Your cat catloafed between his wings and nestled into them, rising and falling with each breath he took. Hawks was perfect, always saving the day, working up a routine to mesh with your fighting style and quirk, always charming and easygoing with the people he rescued, indulging you in your ferocity, and Keigo, Keigo whispered sweet and dirty things into your ear when he spotted you in public, made you laugh, worked wonders with his cock, helped you clean up before he even thought of preening himself, held you, and made you feel held. He’s got it bad.

And maybe you do, too.

Hawks was going to feel so stupid when he found out.

#bnha #mha #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #hawks x reader #hawks/reader #hawks imagine #hawks fic #hawks headcanons #hawks fanfic #hawks fanfiction #takami keigo x reader #takami keigo/reader #takami keigo imagine #takami keigo fic #takami keigo headcanons #takami keigo fanfiction #takami keigo fanfic

328 notes · View notes

ncssian · 3 years

Text

A Favor: Part Seventeen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: 70% of this fic is written on my phone lying on my side in bed while using swipe typing bc im too lazy to type out words and it shows

TW: discussion of SA

***

Nesta has an easier time adjusting to a third person in the cabin than she thought she would. Maybe it’s because Azriel indeed minds his business, and half the time Nesta isn’t aware he’s there at all.

Cassian seems to be more irritated by it than anyone else—not his brother, of course, but the fact that he and Nesta no longer exist in their own little bubble. Which is how he ends up at Nesta’s apartment with an overnight bag, sprawled out stomach-down on her mattress while she gets ready for bed.

“TV show or movie?” he asks, clicking through her laptop. Shows are Nesta’s thing and movies are Cassian’s; she feels generous enough tonight to say, “Movie.”

“Thank god,” he mutters, typing something on the laptop. “There’s a Turkish horror flick that I was saving for you.”

“Where do you even find these films?” Grabbing her hairbrush, she flops onto the bed beside him and starts brushing out her brassy locks. Before he can answer, Nesta’s phone buzzes from the stool she uses as a bedside table. Feyre’s name flashes on the screen.

Nesta frowns, but picks up without a second thought. “What is it?”

“Nothing serious,” her sister replies. “Just checking in.”

Before Cassian, Nesta didn’t very much understand the purpose of “checking in” without reason. Now she empathizes with Feyre a little. “I’m fine,” she says.

Deciding she can do better than that, she adds, “Cassian and I are about to start a movie.”

“Is it his choice? I’m so sorry for you.”

Nesta peeks over to where Cassian is still intently searching for his obscure movie and smiles a little. “I like Turkish horror,” she replies.

Cassian overhears and grins approvingly.

“Well, I’m looking at wedding dresses with Rhys so he can prepare for when he inevitably proposes,” Feyre says. “In case you wanted to know.”

Nesta did not particularly want to know, but she doesn’t say this. “Sounds fun. Is that it?”

“For what?”

“This conversation.”

Feyre sighs over the line. “Yes, I’ll let you go now. Thanks for picking up.”

The bar is in hell, Nesta thinks. Mostly because she put it there, but she still feels embarrassed to be congratulated over such small things. “Thanks for keeping it short.”

She’s about to hang up when she hears a male voice speak up in the background, and Feyre interrupts, “Wait—before you go, can you tell Cassian to call Rhys back? He wants Cass’s help picking a new team leader for the Italy project.”

Nesta has no idea what that is, but she says, “Sure, fine.” They say their goodbyes and hang up.

“What’d she want?” Cassian says without looking over at her.

“She said Rhys wants you to call him about the Italy project.”

Cassian turns toward her, half sitting up. “Really? What for?”

“Something about picking a team leader.” She returns to brushing her hair. “Why? What’s the Italy project?”

“Something I thought we put aside for good,” he grumbles. “It’s a year-long overseas project in Milan. Rhys thinks it’s gonna bring in a shit ton of money.”

“Sounds big. What do you have to do with it, though?” She’s never heard of Cassian being involved in Night Court’s international operations, even though he takes on more work than the usual employee.

Cassian shrugs, going back to movie searching. “He wanted me to be the one leading the team, and I guess he still feels petty about me turning him down. Honestly, choosing team leaders outside of my department isn’t even part of my jurisdiction.”

Nesta hesitates. “He offered you the job? When?” She didn’t know this.

“On New Year’s.”

“And you turned it down?”

“Yeah.” Cassian clicks on a link that looks like it’ll plant fifteen different viruses in Nesta’s laptop. “Found the movie,” he says.

“Why would you do that?” Nesta demands.

“The movie?”

“The job offer! Why would you turn down such a big opportunity without even telling me?”

Cassian laughs in confusion. “Are you angry right now?”

She’s astonished at his nonchalance. “Cassian,” she says. “It’s Italy.”

Italy with the art and history and seaside beauty—it’s on their top five places to see before they die.

“It’s Milan,” he says like there’s a difference, “and it’s an entire year away from you.” He shakes his head, sitting up to face her. “Are you out of your mind?”

She goes still. “Don’t tell me you said no because of me.”

“Of course I said no because of you.”

“It’s your dream job!” she bursts. “Traveling, exploring, being on your own—”

“Those are our dreams. I made those plans with you. The hell am I supposed to do all the way in Italy without you?”

“You sound codependent,” she retorts.

He narrows his brows. “Like you wouldn’t do the same thing in my position?”

He’s right, of course. Nesta would do the exact same thing for him. But Nesta and Cassian are not the same, and they both know it. “You can’t make that comparison,” she sighs.

“Why not?” he demands.

“Because—” She struggles to put it into words. “I would give up a long distance job for you because it would be worth it. You’re worth it. It doesn’t work the other way around.”

“Again: why the fuck not?”

So he’s really going to make her spell it out. “Because you’re a good boyfriend. You’re affectionate and caring, you always go the extra mile for those you love, and you come with all these free perks. It’s a great deal. And I’m not anything terrible, but I’m the bare minimum compared to you. Why would you give up Italy for the bare minimum?”

Cassian looks at her in disbelief. “I don’t even know how you can say so many wrong things in a row.”

“He’s blinded by love,” Nesta mutters to herself.

“First of all,” he holds up a finger, “I don’t know where you learned to compare yourself to me, but I don’t like it. You make it sound like I need to be paid back for every half-decent thing I do, and that is not the case at all.”

“Of course you think that,” she says. “You wouldn’t be a good person if you didn’t.”

“Then let me be a blunt person.” He puts a hand on her knee and looks her in the eye. “You will never be like me. Very few people are; you can’t take it personally.”

“Oh my god.” Her eyes might roll out of her head.

“But you’re not the bare minimum. Not even close.” He states it like an undeniable fact.

“How so?” she challenges.

“Like how Elain told me about this boy who broke her heart in her high school, and how the next day he walked into class in a leg cast. And how she just knew you had something to do with it, and you two had a huge fight about it that lasted a week.”

Nesta does not enjoy that memory being brought up. Elain called her a psychopath for the incident, and to save her feelings, Nesta (rather unconvincingly) said it had been an accident.

“I didn’t push anybody into a creek,” she maintains the lie. “Sometimes people just fall down there.”

“To be fair, you’re a lot more stable now than you were then. Now when people hurt those you care about, you find sneakier ways to hurt them back. Don’t you?”

“I do not,” Nesta defends.

“Really? Because Eris texted me earlier saying you’ve been ignoring him since New Year’s, and he’s starting to get worried that you have something heinous planned for him. I asked him why he would ever think such a thing of you.” Cassian leans forward and rests his chin on her shoulder. “Why would he think such a thing of you, Nesta?”

Cassian looks pretty well off from here, doesn’t he? She remembers Eris’s smug face. Did you know Rhysand’s parents found him sleeping in the streets?

“Because he said a bad thing,” Nesta says, looking down at her fingernails. “And I have an unfortunate reputation at school for getting back at people who say bad things.” Like the time Brian O’Connell made jokes about a rape trial the class was studying, and then couldn’t find an internship at a single firm the following summer.

“And what did he say? Because I can’t imagine he would directly insult you. He actually likes you, ass that he is.” His face is warm so close to her neck.

She looks away. “I won’t repeat it.”

That seems to be all Cassian needs to get an idea of what Eris said. “And how long are you planning on holding it against him?”

“Forever.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Nesta meets the eyes that haven’t left her face this entire time and snorts. “What’s your point?” Seriously, she’s starting to redden at how close he is.

He buries his face in her neck, his stubble rasping against the sensitive skin there. “The point is that you also do a lot for the people you love. Just in a different way.” He pulls away to look her in the eye. “Don’t do anything to Eris, though,” he says. “Not that I care for him or his shit opinions, but whatever you have planned isn’t worth it.”

Nesta wants to scoff in disbelief at the sincerity on Cassian’s face. He’s always choosing kindness, even at the worst moments. “So that’s your argument?” she says. “You won’t go to Italy because your girlfriend has a bad temper and a taste for revenge?”

“That’s my final argument, Your Honor.” He takes her hand. “Forget Milan, will you? One day I’ll take you to Portofino.”

The longer Nesta knows Cassian, the more she finds it useless to hide from him. Which is why she lets him watch the thoughts flit across her face as she considers his words, deciding whether she believes him. Deciding whether he’s right to give her so much devotion.

“Fine,” she finally says. “You’re right.”

A slow smile spreads across his face as he realizes he won. Wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and legs, he hauls her into his lap and shifts around until they’re both comfortable. The movie is forgotten for now.

“Out of curiosity…” He noses at the nape of her neck. “What did Eris say about me to make you so angry?”

When Nesta doesn’t answer, he says, “I’ve already heard everything that could possibly be said. The shit that used to get me when I was eighteen doesn’t have the same hold on me a decade later.”

She lets herself relax into his hold. “It was about the time you spent as an orphan.” Technically, he’s still an orphan, but it was different back then. “I didn’t like the tone of his voice.”

Cassian’s answering hum is a low rumble against her shirt. “Did you know my biological father was from Italy?”

Nesta perks up at that. “No.” She assumed he was entirely Algerian, even though he and Azriel probably look ethnically ambiguous to most. “Isn’t that all the more reason to see Italy someday?”

“Not at all,” he says. “If I could pretend that half of me didn’t exist, I would.”

She can’t think of a response that doesn’t involve a question, so she doesn’t reply. She waits for Cassian to speak on his own terms.

“I went to Italy once,” he admits. “For less than a day while my brothers were partying in Monte Carlo. I was young and stupid, and thought I would never be complete if I didn’t know who my father was.”

“Who was he?” She doesn’t know why she’s whispering.

“No one worth remembering,” Cassian says, his arms unconsciously tightening around her. “I put some dots together and realized how he and my mother must have met, how he must’ve—forced himself on her, and I decided that I didn’t care about bloodlines at all. I never returned to Italy after that.”

Nesta’s hands want to reach out and touch him, soothe him. But her muscles are suddenly very cold, and she can only stiffen. “And what about now? Do you… not want to go back?”

“It’s just a place to me,” he says. “Nothing special, nothing terrible. But I like the way it sounds when you talk about it.” His eyes sparkle. “I’d like to pretend it’s my first time going with you.”

“Alright, then.” She nods. “One day, we’ll go together. It’ll be our first time.”

***

Cassian refuses to let Nesta leave bed the next morning, dragging his heavy mouth across her body whenever she tries to get up. She’s about to surrender to him altogether when her phone starts vibrating loudly, insistently.

Breaking away from Cassian’s attempt at cuddling, she answers without checking the caller ID. “Yes?” she croaks sleepily.

“Where the hell have you been?” Emerie demands.

Nesta shoves Cassian away despite his protests, untangling her legs from the sheets. “At home,” she says, getting out of bed and heading for the bathroom. “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“We haven’t seen you in two weeks,” Emerie says. “Gwyn thought your boyfriend’s weird family killed you.”

“That’s not what happened,” Nesta assures, pulling her shorts down and sitting on the toilet. “I just needed some alone time.” People are all around her these days, it seems. Her body still can’t quite adjust to it.

“Well, have you had enough—are you peeing?”

“Yeah.” She wipes and flushes the toilet.

“Well, clear your day and kick your sorry boyfriend out of your place. I can’t remember the last time I went out.”

“Why does everybody always want to go out?” Nesta says as she washes her hands. “What’s wrong with staying in, being safe, never leaving the house?” She dries her hands on a towel and returns to the bedroom, where Cassian is now sitting up and checking his emails.

“You’re preaching to the choir, but this actually wasn’t my idea,” Emerie says.

Nesta and Cassian alert at the sound of a knock from the front door. Nesta never has uninvited guests.

“Hold on a second, Em,” she says, jogging up the short set of steps to the door. She opens it to the sight of an exasperated-looking Gwyn.

“Jeez, next time send a text that you’re alive, will you?” Gwyn says, shoving past Nesta to enter the apartment. “Do you know how worried I’ve been—” She halts midsentence, one foot hovering above a step as she realizes that Nesta isn’t alone. As she sees Cassian in her bed, bare-chested and highly amused.

“Hey.” He raises a hand in greeting.

Gwyn pales.

“Hello?” Emerie calls over the line.

“You girls both share the same brain,” Nesta sighs. “Let me call you back, Emerie.”

Gwyn whirls around just as Nesta hangs up. “That won’t be necessary,” she says quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’ll be outside. I’m sorry.”

She hurries out of the apartment even faster than she came in, ducking her head to hide her face.

Nesta tosses her arms up in the air. “Great,” she says to Cassian. “Your abs scared her away.”

“But I didn’t do anything—”

She shuts the door behind her as she follows Gwyn outside, barefoot and all. She barely notices the freezing cold air or the awful press of damp grass beneath her feet as she catches up to Gwyn and grabs her elbow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Gwyn jerks suddenly, yanking out of Nesta’s hold. Her breathing seems a little shallow, and she looks even more embarrassed for it. “It’s nothing. I just didn’t know you had someone over.”

“Cassian? He’s cool, you don’t need to be weird about him,” she tries to reassure Gwyn. “Though I did use to tell him that not everybody wants to see him shirtless all the time.”

“It’s not that,” Gwyn says, waving her off.

Nesta gestures to the apartment. “Do you want to come back inside, then? I’m sure he has clothes on by now.”

Gwyn clears her throat uncomfortably and looks down. “I’d rather not. I’m—I don’t like being around men.”

Nesta pauses, not sure if she heard right. “Like, in a ‘check the backseat of your car before getting in’ way, or…?”

“No, like I can’t be alone in a room with a man without feeling sick. It activates my fight or flight, it’s weird.” She’s carefully stiff, like she’s ready to be met with humiliation.

Nesta remembers that Gwyn has never told her about her therapy sessions before, but she knows they’re more intensive than her own weekly conversations with Lana.

“Not that I think your boyfriend is a bad person,” Gwyn adds when Nesta doesn’t respond. “He looks really nice. He sounds nice, too.”

But Nesta doesn’t care about any of that. Unsure of what to do next, she reaches out and awkwardly pats Gwyn on the arm. “Good thing you’ve never been to the cabin, then. Cassian’s brother is staying…” She trails off when she realizes none of this is relevant. “Why are you here so early?” she asks instead.

Gwyn eases up a little at the change in subject. “I missed you. We’ve barely talked since Christmas.”

Nesta didn’t realize people would take such notice to her absence. “Yeah.” She flushes. “I do that sometimes. I’ll send a message next time I go into hibernation, though.”

“You’re freezing,” Gwyn suddenly scolds, noticing how Nesta’s goosebumped arms are wrapped tightly around herself. She unzips her red hoodie and shrugs it off. “Go back inside and get dressed.” She flings the hoodie around Nesta’s shoulders before Nesta can protest. “Meet me at my car. We’re hanging out.”

Nesta knows that a last minute change of events is not the end of the world, even if it sometimes feels like it. For Gwyn and Emerie, she can bear the discomfort of unexpected plans, same as she does for Cassian. But she at least has to know: “How long will we be out?”

“You can come home after lunch.” At Nesta’s face, Gwyn adds, “Lunch will be at two and shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

Looking her friend up and down, someone who has such an easy time understanding her, Nesta nods in satisfaction. She turns around to go back inside.

***

They end up at the library where Gwyn works, in the stacks of the long-abandoned encyclopedia section.

Emerie takes a loud sip from the huge McDonald’s soda she snuck in. “So all this show was because Gwyn didn’t want to work her shift alone?”

“I just have some last minute cleanup to do,” she hisses for the third time, shoving an old book back where it belongs. “Go to the porn section if you’re so bored here.”

“Oh, I definitely will,” Emerie says. “But I’m glad that we’re congregating now, even if it’s in the most depressing part of the library. I have a present for you girls.” She hands Nesta her drink so she can dig around in her purse.

Nesta personally has no complaints. The library is quiet, it smells of paper and old ink, and it holds all her favorite books. It’s almost better than staying in.

Emerie successfully pulls out a handful of folded and wrinkled papers from her bag, smoothing them out as best she can. “One for each of us,” she says, passing the papers around.

Nesta takes her paper and stares at the header. Gwyn is the first to speak. “Pole dancing classes?”

“Why?” Nesta says.

“Well, I originally offered them to Justinian and Isaac but they said no—”

“It’s really not for me,” Gwyn interrupts, trying to pass the registration form back to Emerie. “Sorry.”

Nesta doesn’t give her form back.

“Look,” Emerie says. “I get the hesitation. We’re a handful of boring bitches who hate having fun. But don’t you think that has to change at some point?”

“I’ve known you guys a month,” Gwyn retorts. “We’ve only been boring bitches for a month. This is too much.” She turns to Nesta for help.

Nesta is still staring at the paper. Dancing—on a pole, yes, but it’s still dancing. “I’ll do it,” she says.

Gwyn looks betrayed and Emerie looks elated. “Really?” She hops up and down. “That’s two against one, Gwyn. You have to do it, too.”

Gwyn’s cheeks are turning red in frustration. “You can’t just force this on me—”

“Gwyneth,” a sharp voice interrupts their conversation. Nesta spins around to find a young woman with dark skin and bleached white curls heading in their direction, a stack of books in her arms.

She halts before Nesta and glares. “No food or drink in the library.” She looks pointedly at the 32-ounce in her hand.

“It’s not mine.” Nesta shoves the drink back to Emerie.

But the librarian has turned to Gwyn, who hides the dance class form behind her back. “And what are you doing here?” she demands.

“Just putting up a few books, Merrill,” Gwyn answers quickly.

“While socializing?” the woman named Merrill sneers.

“We were just asking for help finding the romance section. Is that a problem?” Emerie crosses her arms and steps forward, letting a little of her beautiful deadliness slip into her stance. It’s the deadliness of someone at the top of her law class, someone who will graduate in a few months with all the power she could want in the palm of her hand. Nesta gets a rush from playing the lawyer game, too, but she’s never had the kind of ambition that Emerie has. Emerie is a shark sitting around in a small pond.

Merrill is not impressed. She snatches the styrofoam cup dangling from Emerie’s hand and tosses it in the nearby trash can. She turns back to Gwyn. “Hand your badge over and clock out.”

“But I’m not done yet—”

“Now.”

“Okay,” she squeaks. She pulls her ID badge off her neck and hands it to Merrill.

Nesta gapes in disbelief. Before she can speak up, Merrill says, “No loitering in the library. If you don’t have anything you need to check out, leave.” With one final judgmental look, she turns down an aisle of dusty books and disappears.

Gwyn makes a face at her back.

“That woman is not old enough to be acting that misanthropic,” Emerie says after Merrill is gone.

“Whatever,” Gwyn mutters. The registration form is still in her hand. She crumples it into a ball and throws it into the trash. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nesta stares at the trash as Gwyn turns to leave. “Coward,” she says.

Gwyn’s head snaps toward Nesta, her auburn hair swinging. “Excuse me?”

She shrugs. “You heard me.” Emerie’s eyes bounce back and forth between the girls.

“I did,” Gwyn says. “I was just making sure this wasn’t coming from the woman who would sooner bite someone’s head off than do something she doesn’t want to.”

“Girls,” Emerie snaps before Nesta can bite back. “It’s just a stupid dance class. I thought it would be fun to do together, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” Taking Gwyn by one arm and Nesta by the other, she starts steering them out of the stacks like a stern mother. “Now let’s go eat. I’m fucking hungry.”

Gwyn’s mood from the library doesn’t recover, even as they sit down for lunch at the local diner. Nesta thinks Gwyn might actually be sick when the male waiter winks at her while taking her order, and it’s not until long after he’s gone that color returns to her face. When their food arrives, Gwyn only picks at her plate.

“What’s wrong?” Nesta finally has to ask bluntly. “You look pukey.” Did the coward comment affect Gwyn more than she let on, or was it Merrill’s attitude that threw her off?

At Nesta’s words, Gwyn becomes even more pallid. “I just don’t feel great today,” she murmurs, looking around like she’s seeking a way out of the diner. “Sorry guys, I didn’t mean to be such a buzzkill. Maybe I should go home early.”

“Absolutely not,” Emerie says. “If you’re going home, we’re going home with you.”

Gwyn bites her lip, trying to decide if she wants that or not. But something about her antsy demeanor is too familiar to Nesta, because she says, “If you really want to be alone, do you mind driving me home first? Emerie’s car is a mess.”

“You just need to move around a few papers,” Emerie protests.

But Gwyn nods distractedly, already gathering her things. “Sure, no problem.” They pay the bill and go their separate ways.

During the ride home, the sky that’s been gray all day finally breaks open, unleashing a spattering of rain over the town. Nesta watches it sprinkle while Gwyn drives in silence.

“Why are you scared of Merrill?” she eventually asks. “She doesn’t look much older than you.”

Gwyn snorts, but there isn’t much heart to it. “Merrill is my superior, but I can handle her on most days.”

“Just not today?”

Gwyn eyes Nesta warily from the corner of her eye. “No, not today. Or this week.”

Nesta chooses not to push. The dull metal of the cars surrounding them glints under the rain, and they arrive at a red light.

After a minute, she takes a breath and blurts, “I’m not always like that around guys, you know.”

Nesta watches her closely, remembering how ghostly she seemed around Cassian, then the waiter. “Keep going.”

Gwyn stares straight at the traffic ahead, her fingers turning bone white on the steering wheel. “I’m just going through a hard period. Everything upsets me and I don’t know how to think straight. It’s like my brain accidentally traveled to the past and now it’s stuck there.” She sounds shaky, breathless, and it makes Nesta wonder what exactly her mind is experiencing.

Nesta knows what it’s like to be unable to move on. Her own brain has only recently started looking toward the future. “Where are you stuck, specifically?” she asks hesitantly. Maybe she can help Gwyn navigate her way out.

Gwyn’s chin quivers. “In a dark room.” Her lips form a tight line. “Being held down. I’m outnumbered.”

Nesta’s stomach turns. “How far back is it?”

“Two years,” Gwyn whispers. “Lately I can’t even look at anything without—remembering it. Thinking about it. Every time I feel like I’m moving past it, I end up being wrong.”

The light turns green, and Nesta puts a hand on Gwyn’s knee in an attempt to ground her. “Drive,” she commands softly.

Gwyn presses down on the accelerator, but Nesta can feel her leg trembling beneath her hand. She squeezes her knee hard. Even with the dark parts of her own past, Nesta has never felt what Gwyn is feeling right now. So she tries to stick to what she knows.

“It’s like you said,” she says carefully. “You’re going through a period where your brain isn’t being friendly to you. It’s horrible, but you can live with the knowledge that it’ll be over eventually.”

Gwyn shakes her head, holding back tears. “It doesn’t work like that. Once it goes away, it’ll just come back again. And it’ll be like that for the rest of my life.”

“You’re right.” Nesta doesn’t have a solution for that, and she hates it. “You’ll never forget. You can be at the peak of your life and still remember all of it. But,” she says slowly, “whether you reach a point where it barely fazes you, or if you keep crippling under the weight of it decades later, you’ll still be normal. You’ll be a perfectly normal human.”

Gwyn lets out a tearful laugh at that. “What does that even mean?”

Shit. “It means…” Nesta tries to explain herself better. “In case you’re worried that there’s something very wrong with you, I’m here telling you that there’s not. There will never be anything wrong with you.”

Gwyn eyes her skeptically as they turn onto a residential road. “Even if I never get past one nightmare I lived years ago? Even if that nightmare defines me until the day I die?”

“That won’t happen.” Nesta’s tone is simple, factual. “But yes, even then.”

“Really? You’re not gonna tell me to live for the better days or whatever?”

“Does that sound like something that would help you? Because I can say it if it does.”

Gwyn snorts. “No.” But her limbs are steady and her eyes are clear on the road. She clears her throat. “Thank you for listening. I think I might feel a little better now.”

“Was it because of what I said?” Nesta tries not to be too hopeful.

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit,” Gwyn says, crushing her hope. “But I’m glad I told you. It makes things…a lot easier for me.” She exhales deeply.

“You know my plate is mostly empty these days.” Nesta pats her knee. “That means I’ll always have room to help carry your shit.”

They pull up to Nesta’s apartment, and Gwyn parks at the curb. “Give me your dance class thing,” she says suddenly.

Frowning, Nesta pulls the wrinkled paper out of her purse and hands it to Gwyn.

Gwyn smooths it out on the steering wheel and grabs a pen from a cupholder, clicking it. “If you’re going to help carry my shit, I guess I have time for pole dancing now.”

“But that’s mine,” Nesta protests as Gwyn starts filling out the form.

“It can be both of ours,” she says, writing Nesta’s name under hers.

“Really?” Nesta grins with an excitement that she doesn’t easily feel. “You’re going to do it with us?”

“Why would I let you do it without me? So I can become the third wheel in our girl group?” She gives Nesta a look that says No way in hell.

Nesta rolls her eyes. “That would never happen to you.”

“Sure,” Gwyn drawls. She finishes the form and folds it in half before pocketing it. “I’ll give this to Emerie as a gift.” She leans over to peck Nesta on the cheek. “Now get home. Love you.”

Nesta turns red at the words and coughs. “Thanks for the ride,” she responds, getting out of the car.

“Say it back!” Gwyn calls after her. But Nesta shuts the door in her face and waves, pretending she can’t hear her. Gwyn mock-scowls at her through the window, but lets her off easy and drives away.

That’s enough feelings for today, Nesta decides. Even if her chest is swelling with emotion for her friend. It’s a sweet hurt that lingers long after she returns to her empty apartment.

***

a/n: i’m back in my no plot, just vibes era

taglist: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian fic #nessian au

242 notes · View notes

yourmcu · 4 years

Text

Emotional Support Mode

Pairings: Tony Stark x daughter!reader

Summary:

in which the reader is the loner, antisocial daughter of Tony Stark and the other Avengers including her father never acknowledge her presence (they thought some sort of interaction made you uncomfortable) so she becomes friends with Friday instead - Tony probs finds out and it’s gonna be all cute n fluffie once he realizes -

Word count: 2,243

a/n: hi just wanted to write fluffy tony :)) also I used they/them for friday’s pronouns

Warnings: angst n fluff, friday’s a bit more advanced (not like they aren’t already but) bc they could almost act like a literal human here.

read it on ao3!

You arrive back at the Avengers facility, shoulders slumped and just tired in general since you have a lot of homework and projects to do from school, most of them due by the end of the week. You also have exams later in the week.

“Hey, Fri,” you huff as you make your way to the elevator.

“Welcome home, Y/N. Where do you want to go?”

Yes, you're very close with the A.I that they started calling you by your first name. “To my room - and uh, will you remind me to read two chapters in my history book after I’m done with all my homework? I also have this project, I just need some measurements later, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure thing.”

“Thank you.”

It’s going to be a long night, you sigh heavily just thinking about it. Now you’re probably wondering, ‘you live with the Avengers! Why don’t you ask Tony and Bruce for help? Maybe Steve and Bucky for your History test?’

Yeah, well... you barely talk to any real person you live with. Maybe it’s you, you always thought you're making the team uncomfortable. You don’t even talk to your own father often which is kind of depressing on your part.

You love them, they’re like your extended family, but it just isn’t working out. Maybe they just don’t like you. Up to this day you still wonder why Tony took you in when you were just a baby (you were a mistake from one of his one night stands) - he had the choice not to.

“I’m assuming you zoned out again. You have arrived to your room five minutes ago.” Friday announces.

“Y-yeah sorry,” you shuffle out of the elevator and swiftly head to your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

“I also asked if I should inform Mr. Stark that you have arrived home.”

“No, no thanks. He’s busy and... probably wouldn’t care anyway,” You mutter the last part as you pile the books you need on your desk. “Can you put my study playlist on, please?”

----

“What time is it, Friday?”

“7PM. I was about to remind you to take a break.”

You get up from your chair and stretch, halfway through the last of your homework which is a two page essay. “You’re too kind, thanks pal,” when you walk out your room to head to the kitchen and grab a snack, the lounge is empty, kitchen empty,

“The team’s on a mission? I thought they had the whole week off,” you say before gulping down a water bottle.

“I checked the security footage: they left about an hour ago. Captain Rogers was talking about getting dinner.”

You put the bottle down. “Oh,” you try to mask your disappointment. This isn’t your first time being alone, they always left you here when they had a mission of course but... well, it’s not like they want you around them. “I’ll - I’ll just make myself something later, then. Not a big deal. I have to study anyway.”

Another hour later, the Avengers are back. They're all conversing happily as they pile in the lounge. Peter's rambling about upgrades for the Spiderman suit while Tony's typing away in his phone, nodding at everything he says. Everyone else is arguing about the TV channels and talking about the new restaurant they ate at.

Rhodey shifts, looking around. “Why do I feel like we forgot something?”

Natasha looks at him, waiting for him to go on.

“I assure you, I brought Mjolnir with me this time.” Thor butts in.

“No not that, what time does Y/N get home from school?” No one answers. It’s not like any of them know. It's natural that Rhodey would be worried about his goddaughter (even if they rarely talk). He turns his head to his best friend who’s now walking away with Peter, an arm around his shoulder. “Tony, where’s Y/N?”

He doesn’t hear since he has his full attention on his protégé.

“I’ll start making this tomorrow, I guess. I still have to buy materials.” You mumble to yourself, but you hope Friday's listening to everything you say just to make you feel less lonely. You swipe the hologram of the blueprint away and place the thick books in front of you.

“I would like to recommend a suitable study plan.” they state.

You rub your eyes, sighing, “I’m already halfway, I would’ve considered it earlier though.”

“This is only a recommendation, feel free to ignore it.”

You push yourself away from the desk and mutter a “go on,”, fiddling with your pen.

“Asking Mr. Rogers and Mr. Barnes would give you more details for your History examination, since the pair were originally from that time period. The same goes for Mr. Banner for your Science examination, I believe he has seven Ph.D’s, you may also approach Vision for the same topic. Mr. Stark has all the necessary materials for your project in his lab. Would you like me to-”

If only it were that easy. It should be easy, the thought alone makes you really nervous. “No, I - I appreciate the recommendation, Friday, but - I think I can do this on my own.”

“But you’re tired and it is almost midnight. I would help you myself but you specifically told me not to.”

They’re not wrong. Your eyes are starting to droop and you barely understand anything you're reading. You're also fighting back tears - why is talking to your family so hard?

“I can sense sadness. Would you like me to activate emotional support mode?”

“Yeah, okay. That sounds great right about now.”

----

“Crap. Guess we lost track of time again, kid,” Tony wipes his hands with a rag while he looks at the time on his computer. “You better get home. I’ll send May a text for keeping you this late.”

“Okay, thank you Mr. Stark. I’m just gonna use my suit-”

“No. Happy will drive you.”

Peter knew better than to argue and insist so he just nods and smiles sheepishly. A minute later Happy came ‘round to take him home.

Tony turns back around. “Friday, make a new project for me please, I’m adding minor upgrades to the Spiderman suit.”

“Not now, boss.”

Oh. He did not expect that. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N is currently opening up. I would like to give her my full, undivided attention. Please come back after fifteen minutes or so.”

Tony doesn’t exactly know how to feel about that. He never sees her outside her room anymore that he kinda forgot she existed tonight - oh fuck, they didn’t bring her to dinner with them.

“Well,” he exhales. “What is she saying?”

“That would be an invasion of privacy.”

“I’m her father-”

“Are you, sir?” Friday’s clever remark makes him stop abruptly.

It’s pretty clear that he’s been a shit father. Not only does he ignore you all the time but he treats Peter way better than his own flesh and blood. The Avengers on the other hand, they were nice people, but just didn’t understand so they try their best to get out of your way.

You were afraid of rejection, afraid to interact, because you had no idea what everyone thought of you. Did they like you? Did you make them uncomfortable? Did they want you around? What about Tony, did he really want a daughter in his life? Because you noticed he’d be better off with a son, yeah, like Peter goddamn Parker.

Tony sighs, walking out of his lab and heads to the mini bar to grab a drink. He needs to think: there's absolutely nothing wrong about you, he just didn’t do his job right, you thought he didn’t care, you thought nobody did. Even Friday is turning against him, doing a better job of comforting and being there for you.

“God, I’m such an asshole,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead. He drinks his last shot and heads to the kitchen. “She still awake?” He calls out.

“She is.” Friday has a bitter tone.

He's hesitant to ask again, feeling really bad for not knowing this simple question - “what’s her favorite beverage?”

----

“How do you feel?”

You sniffle. “Well y’know, better than before. I should probably go to sleep. Thanks, Fri.”

“You’re welcome. Also, Mr. Stark is outside your door.”

“W-what?” You put away your books and straighten up, rubbing your damp eyes. “You’re serious? Okay, uh, let him in?” It's more of a question.

“Alright.”

You turn to face your desk as Tony enters the room, holding two steaming mugs. He sits at the end of your bed, just right next to the chair you're sitting on. “Hi,” he gives you a small smile and hands you a mug.

What’s the occasion?

“What’s this?” You ask quietly before taking the mug from his hands. Tony's being gentle and soft, it's odd but you’re not complaining.

“Green tea with honey. I... I thought I saw you make that stuff once.” He says, not mentioning the fact that Friday told him that.

“Oh, well, yeah,” you take a small sip. He added a bit too much honey but other than that it was good. “I thought you preferred coffee, though,”

Tony shrugs, his eyes glistening when he looks at you. “Wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

“Did - did you want something, Dad?” You always found yourself awkward, couldn’t even make conversation with someone for long, always wanted to get straight to the point so it could be over with.

He looks like he wants to say something but he just averts his gaze to you, his hands, the floor, then suddenly he leans in and hugs you. Your feel your heart swell and body warm up, it’s a new sensation for you after all, you rarely get hugs from people. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “For everything. I’m such a bad dad, I don’t deserve you. I even forgot you when we went out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I had loads of stuff to do earlier anyway, so, but yeah I was just - I just overreact, I’m sensitive. I don’t blame you and the others for not liking me, I know there’s nothing like-able about me, I’m not like Peter-” You ramble, tears now leaving your eyes again.

“Sweetheart, don’t say that,” Tony says as he pulls you closer to him, head resting against his chest while he rubs your back comfortably. “Y/N Stark, you are smart, brilliant - I was just an ass for not acknowledging that.”

“I know you’re just saying that to-”

“Oh, but I’m not,” he now places his hands on your shoulders, getting you to look at him. “Tell me who built their first engine when they were eight?”

You blush, “Dad-”

“No, come on, I wanna hear it.”

“I did.”

“Yes you did. And who made a completely functioning robot at their middle school science fair that blew all the teacher’s minds?”

You’re trying to hide a smile, recalling the memory, “I did.”

“And who,” Tony gets up and walks to the bulky looking thing that you covered with a sheet, pulling it off, “is currently building a computer from scratch?”

“Dad! That’s still a work in progress,” he messily places the sheet back and chuckles.

“My point is, you’re a clever and talented girl, Y/N. Don’t bring yourself down. And you don’t have to be shy around your family, those idiots have been dying to get to know you but since you don’t talk much... they don’t want to force it. We love you,” he says. “I hope you forgive me ‘cause I really wanna make it up to you. I’m not calling Peter in for a few weeks.” Tony sits down beside you again.

You couldn’t believe he’d do that for you. “You don’t have to, if you need him for something then-”

“-then you could help me instead, if you’re up for it.”

“I’m really sorry for being such a lonely freak,” you yawn, getting back into Tony’s open arms. “I love you.”

Tony tucks you in and lies down beside you, “I love you tons, kiddo.”

You snuggle into his chest, feeling his steady breathing while he rests his chin above your head.

----

It's morning. The Avengers are gathered at your open bedroom door.

“Are you getting all of this, Friday?”

“Yes, Ms. Romanoff.”

“Steve turn that shuttering sound down!” Natasha hisses at the super soldier who's doing his task, taking pictures.

Steve almost drops the phone and has Bruce fix the volume for him.

They’re all watching you and Tony cuddle together, still fast asleep.

“Do we have to stay here until they wake up?”

“Unless you have a great way of waking them up, yes. Now shut up.”

“If you think about it we definitely look creepy right now.” Sam comments.

“It’s their fault for having the door wide open all night!” Clint says.

Tony's actually awake the whole time, listening to them bickering. “You have three seconds to get the hell out of here before I make all of you polish my suits.” With that, the team races down the hall, pushing each other to get away first like literal children.

2K notes · View notes

sxfik · 3 years

Note

I have an idea!

Ok so we all know that Hanseo is abused by his big brother, and if i remember correctly, the jipuragi trio found out about it from the guillotine file for the first time.

Now hear me out, what if the jipuragi trio found out about the abuse from Hanseo himself, not from the guillotine file??

After failing to burn down geumga plaza, Hanseok threw that object at Hanseo, telling him not to dodge it, and it left a scar on his forehead. When Hanseo visited jipuragi, he seemed proud of that scar, right?? Because thats what he got from saving geumga plaza, and he hoped that the scar would show them that he wants to be on their side.

BUT lets forget about all those stuff for a moment.

Hanseok loves to strangle, threaten, and hit Hanseo with the hockey stick. It certainly happens more than once, so i figured that there must be a bunch of scars and bruises on his body right?? What if the jipuragi trio noticed one of his scars/bruises?? I know Hanseo always wear long-sleeved stuff, so its not exactly visible, but what if someone caught a glimpse of it??? Perhaps the scar/bruise was on his arm???

Maybe when Hanseo visits jipuragi, Vincenzo asks him to wash some coffee mugs, and as Hanseo is rolling up his sleeves...

"yo whats that on your arm??"

And maybe Hanseo is like "thats a bruise..? Do you not know what a bruise is??"

Okay, idk. I have no idea how he's gonna react if that happens. I just feel like Hanseo wouldnt be proud of his scars if he didnt get them from trying to save geumga/jipuragi people.

And now im just wondering, what do you think? How would Hanseo react, in your opinion? If the jipuragi trio really did find out about the abuse from Hanseo himself, how would that affect their relationship? Im really curious about what you think

Hhhhhhhh sorry if its too long. I just thought that this might be a good way for Hanseo and jipuragi to kinda get closer with each other...

han seo headcanons (part one)

helloooo, thank you for sending an ask in :D

SORRY this answer is super long and for some reason my phone isn't allowing me to add a keep reading cut thingy, apologies in advance to the amount scrolling you have to do

tw: abuse

i've been thinking so much about this ask and just how han-seo would react to them finding out, and honestly i never really took note of how many long sleeved shirts he wears. i believe han-seok has switched a lot more into emotional manipulation and abuse than physical abuse but he has a lot of anger issues. i'd honestly imagine him using han seo as a punching bag for any and every inconvinence that happens to him, even as an intern.

i also agree with you, han seo is someone who is a very bright personality who tends to hide his hurt and emotions, and he's very very good at it as he has been living under a psychopath his whole life. he's good at hiding his anger (although it definetly bubbles over in smaller outbursts) and especially his hurt (i.e. the scene that han seok throws that candle holder at him and he just smiles back). han seo has a lot of anger at himself for not speaking back or being able to act like himself. like in that scene in the office, you can tell as he curls his fist that he wanted to speak back so badly. even when he finally snaps against han seok, he said "i'm getting tired of being afraid of you." i feel like he'd be embarrassed that even after years, he hasn't been able to escape his abuse

next>

(you can also read the following on ao3)

i feel like this scene and their dynamic would play out something similar to this:

han seo joined the team and has been working with vincenzo and cha-young for around a month. at this point han seo isn't walking on eggshells with both of them, he's a lot more comfortable and visiting their office regularly without choi/han/han seok finding out.

sometimes it's vincenzo and cha-young providing him books to study economics from, maybe even giving some brotherly/sisterly advice to him. every couple weeks, vin and cha-young give him quizzes and slowly, he's getting better and better

over time, he even got closer to the plaza residents (even though the residents were definetly cold to him in the beginning, miri scaring the shit out of him by doing her ghost thing, the lady with the lipstick from bye bye balloon staring him down, snack bar lady refusing to serve him, larry also scaring the shit out of him by doing his zombie routine)

but despite this, they adopt him into their family, han seo doing small errands for the residents, him buying the best coffee, food and getting camera equipment for the snack bar lady's son. han seo gifting the pawnshop couple with cute baby items etc.

(obviously he buys the most expensive shit bc he's still a rich boy, but they dont have to know)

(side note: he'd be fucking adorable with a baby, imagine him being the babies "uncle han seo" who gets them the best gifts !!)

even though he was comfortable with all of them, every once in a while his facade would slip.

every once in a while, someone would make a sharp movement towards him and he'd flinch. or if someone makes a quick step towards him, he'd back up and stiffen up on instinct

even if it was someone patting his back or just making a quick movement, he'd react on instinct from the years of abuse from han seok. but no one ever said anything about it if they noticed.

one afternoon after lunch, they were washing dishes, han seo on washing duty and cha-young drying and placing them back. and han seo was in his full sleeves and cha-young notices his sleeves getting wet

"yah, roll your sleeves back, by the end of this your whole sleeve will be wet! you know how uncomfortable those sleeves would be?"

"ahaha, it's alright noona, i'll be fine"

han seo tries to laugh it off, grining at her with one of his wide grins but there's something off about this one. but cha-young gives one of her patented glares and he rolls them up carefully, shielding his arms from her view, and continues washing the rest.

cha-young doesn't take note of his bruises at first, but noted the care he went through to shield his arms from her. his arms were posed almost awkwardly and he was on high alert

it wasn't until after they both finished and he was drying his hands that cha-young saw the massive bruises he had, climbing up his forearms and under the sleeves

he stiffens when he sees her stare, and quickly tries to cover them but she grabs them before he could hide it

she's completely quiet while she stares at his arms. after a moment, he speaks up

"oh i accidentally banged these against my doorway, they're just small bruises. it's go away in a couple days" he smiles at her again but she could tell from the way his shoulders were frozen and the wavering of his voice that it wasn't the truth

"did he do these?" she asked him, her face completely neutral and her voice barely a whisper. she's still looking at his forearms, her fingers ghosting over the bruises.

han seo just looks down and the silence is enough of an answer for cha-young. he walks away, embarrassed that she found out about it, even though his years of therapy told him that it wasn't never his fault, he still felt the shame and anger of not being able to break free.

he's quiet for the rest of the time, feigning tiredness and finding an excuse to leave the plaza

that night, it was just vincenzo and her working at the office late, in preparation for babel. cha-young's mind was still on what she saw that afternoon. abruptly, she stands up, her hand gripping the pen in her hand as she turned to vincenzo sitting at the other desk.

"did you know that bastard hurt him? he's been abusing han seo this whole time?" she asked vincenzo, her voice seething with anger

"i know."

"you know??? why didn't you ever say anything?"

vincenzo looks up at her from his stack of papers, setting his pen down.

"it wasn't my place. i picked up on it when he flinched when mr. tak reached toward him to place a hand on his shoulder."

cha-young sat back down then, her lips pressed together, and vin went back to his paperwork

"we should get him out of there. who knows what han seok would do in one of his rages?"

"couple nights ago, we went to drink makgeolli and i offered him a way out. i told him if he ever needs to leave, and if he's ready to leave, he has a place at the plaza."

"and is he? leaving that is?"

"no. he thanked me, but said that he needed to stay until his brother and his group crumbles to the ground."

cha-young let out a sigh, biting her lip, the worry on her face all too evident

"hong cha-young byeonosa-nim, we shouldn't baby him. jang han seo deserves revenge against his brother just like we do and the choice is ultimately up to him."

"i know. i just worry."

they stayed quiet for the rest of the night, working late but the topic never leaves cha-young or vincenzo's minds

the next day, han seo avoided her like the plague, not wanting to talk about what she saw yesterday

but while he was studying, she approached him, a glass of juice and a snack in hand, setting it next to him. she checked over his work quietly as he took a break and glanced at his arms, doing a once over just to make sure he didn't get any new ones.

"well done, han seo, you're doing well" she smiled at him and ruffled his hair and han seo let out a breath of relief and gratefulness that she hadn't treated him any different

from then, cha-young and vin only got fonder of han seo and han seo was pretty much adopted by them. after the battle and han seok is in jail permanently, he moves out of his apartment, and gets one closer to the plaza.

mr. nam would show him how the organization worked at jipuragi and put him to work, the paralegal grateful to have an extra hand around the office

eventually, even han seo grows an affection to the instant coffee and buys more for himself and his apartment

vin would take him shopping for suits, both rich boys obsessed with their sleek looks. they take cha-young with them once but she manages to sleep off at every shop they go to.

vincenzo also plays hockey with him regularly and the plaza invites him to plaza game nights. they get up to all kinds of mischief,

han seo loves spicy food, just like cha-young so they make it their mission to go to try every restaurant and compete to see just how much spice they can handle. obviously vincenzo doesn't even make it past the first round of the spice competitions but cha-young and han seo have the same competitive streak that keeps them going

han seo is also dropping hints to both of cha-young and vincenzo that they should get married. constantly teasing vincenzo about cha-young in the way only younger brothers do

obviously on one of cha-young and han seo’s days out, han seo drops hints CONSTANTLY, trying to get her to admit cha young likes vincenzo

and OBVIOUSLY she slips up, and han seo doesn’t let go of it

he does the whole younger brother teasing every single time he catches cha-young glancing at vincenzo at the firm

“cha-young noona and vin hyung, sitting in a tree. K I S S I N—” “HAN SEO!!!”

obviously chayenzo eventually get together but decide to keep it a secret (and of course, they were awful at it)

eventually when they reveal it to the office, mr. nam and han seo react like that one scene in suspicious partner (“quick, act surprised” “*gasp* you guys are together??????? we had no idea!!”)

han seo is basically adopted as a younger brother to both cha-young and vincenzo and even the plaza loves his presence and he gets to have a peaceful existence for the rest of his life

anyways han seo deserves a happy ending with a good family. he deserves a second chance with a family that LOVES AND CARES FOR HIM AND GIVES HIM CHOICES AND ALLOWS HIM TO BE HIMSELF. (and yes this covered more than just one scene but I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS ON HIM) as always feel free to add on :D

#yes han seo calls her noona #they’re attached at the hip okay #both of them are chaos machines #literally vin cha young and han seo are the definetion of *too much energy* *too much energy* *calm*#mine #vincenzo #vincenzo cassano #chayenzo #hong cha young #song joong ki #tvn vincenzo #jeon yeo been #vincenzo x cha young #jang han seo #jang han seok #kwak dong yeon #ok taecyeon

248 notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 5 years

Text

late night devils | b.b.

summary: bucky gets revenge on his ex with you, the girl he never got over no matter how much he thought he did.

WARNINGS: smut (18+, oral - m receiving), daddy kink, sub/dom elements, y’all out here being nasty and vindictive, drinking, swearing, mentions of cheating pairing: modern!bucky x fem!reader word count: 5.0k

a/n: smut with very little plot bc i have no brain for it. enjoy heheheh ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) bucky is PUSSYWHIPPED ngl

Bucky doesn’t expect to get a call asking for him to come over when he’s sitting at the bar counter, but he gets it and if he could, he’d break his phone in his fist.

“I told you, Dot, it’s fucking over.” The music is blasting in the club, bright with life, as Bucky tips back another shot. It’s a busy Thursday night. The dance floor is nearly completely occupied and the bass thrums through the floor as he tries to let his ex down gently as he has been for the past ten minutes.

“You can’t be serious. You think you can just walk out after three years—”

Alright. That’s enough.

“And do you think you can just call me like I’m some fucking booty call three days before your wedding after you dropped me like I was fucking nothing? No. Goodnight.”

Tapping his screen to hang up, Bucky sets down his phone with a hard sigh and gestures to Sam for another line of shots. His hand was burning from how long he held the stupid phone for, and he cools it down by cradling his vodka glass, pushing it back and forth between his hands.

“Dot, again?”

“Yeah.”

“Tough, man. I’ll get you some shots when I get Romanoff off her little blondie’s lap” His friend taps the bar counter in a show of support before heading to the end where Natasha was flirting with one certain blond man. Steve. AKA their resident bouncer currently off duty. Bucky rolls his eyes, smiling for a moment as Natasha turns around. The two give a talk before Natasha ducks underneath the countertop door and slips into the crowd, Steve in hand.

“Hey, Sam!” A sharp, too-sober voice catches Bucky’s hearing and he turns to see a woman wrapped in a leather jacket and tight fucking jeans burst through the crowd. Rain is still glistening along your shoulders and you pull your hair out from underneath your jacket. You wear a hoodie beneath the leather and as you lean against the bar beside him, he catches the words printed onto the chest.

Yes, I’m single. It reads, bright white against the black of your hoodie. Now’s your chance.

His eyebrows rise as you catch Sam’s attention. His friend glances at you but Bucky merely shrugs, looks at you, and thinks, A regular? Fine. I’ll bite.

“What’s the strongest you’ve got?” You tap your fingers impatiently and he watches the strobe lights glint on your black nails as you lean forward on your arms. He shifts back and you send him a glance, eyebrow arched as your eyes rake visibly over his form. Damn, you’re confident, and when you grin, he decides maybe you’ll be an apt distraction from his fucking problems.

“Not the usual?”

“Need something stronger tonight, Sammy,” you sing and he grins.

“I’ll make you something special. Let’s work up to Everclear, yeah?” Sam turns to Bucky, leaning onto his elbows. “Whaddya say, boss? Break out the Everclear for a pretty girl?”

“Now, hold up,” Bucky says, putting up a hand to catch your attention and he smirks as Sam brings out ten shot glasses pinched between his fingers.

“Hey.” Your eyes flicker over his body visibly and he smirks, twisting slightly to look at you fully. His knees part widely and maybe it’s the alcohol he’s already had, but it looks like you glance right between his legs.

“Hey.” The red lights swing their way, blinding him for a moment before it’s gone again. Sam lines up the shot glasses and Bucky watches as he pours them overflowing before glancing at you again. “Wanna? On the house.”

“Are we working up to body shots?” you ask slyly, sliding into the empty stool as he shrugs, grabbing the first one on his end. You take one from the other and throw it back as he does the same. It burns all the way down.

“If you wanna,” he says with a shrug and you laugh. “Hold on the Everclear, Sam. Let’s get to know the pretty lady first.” You snort into your second shot as Sam shakes his head when someone flags him down.

“Well, I’ve gotta get to work,” he says pointedly. “But you kids have fun.”

“Fine by me.” Bucky shrugs. “That just means I get all your attention.”

“Don’t like sharing?”

He half-laughs, pushing down shot three and four in rapid succession before slamming the glasses down on the wood. “Nope. I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Consider me charmed.”

“No name?”

“I’m not looking for names tonight,” you say before you order another line of shots.

Something about you is undeniably charming. You give the air that he’s known you his whole life as you talk and listen and laugh. He gravitates towards you as you speak and talks about everything when you listen because he has this feeling you won’t judge him. It’s something about the confidence, the way you don’t give a fuck about what he thinks of you. It’s so different from Dot.

Dot, who worried about what that girl was thinking about Bucky or what that guy thought about her. And there was nothing wrong with caring, but Bucky couldn’t bear to give a shit about anything anymore.

“So you’re here because of a broken heart?” you point out after he explained his phone call prior to their meeting and he chuckles, the vodka making his head pulse with the beat in the club. The red and blue lights flash and blur in his vision but your face is still clear.

“Nah. I don’t love her,” he says, turning to the mojitos he ordered for the both of them. Yours is half gone, his gone completely. “Just… sick of being some stupid second fucking choice. She leaves me for a millionaire then comes crawling back for one last fuck. Fucking ridiculous,” he spits, grabbing your mojito and sucking it down.

“You’re preaching to a damn choir,” you say scathingly.

“Husband?” he pries and you eye him for a moment knowingly.

“Boyfriend. Left me for some kid in high school. We’re fucking third year college, man. That shit’s so gross and I’m ready to beat the shit out of him. Might as well do it drunk.”

“Hah, I did that once.”

“Get with a highschooler?” you ask, voice tinging with something judgmental and he laughs because it’s such an outrageous notion and he can’t help but agree. Fucking nasty.

“Fuck, no. I had a best friend I was fucking in love with,” he begins, the mint cool against his tongue. “High school. Got creeped on by some older dude and I beat the fuck out of him when he got too close for her liking. Got expelled, never saw her again after her grad when I realized she was probably going to head to uni and go big, but damn if it was worth it, even if it meant she went with someone else to fucking prom. Fucking Brock Rumlow.” His eyes drift to yours as you stare at him and he chews on his straw, explaining in the briefest of sentences. “Resident asshole of our year.”

There’s a quiet where he sets down the mojito again, and his head is swimming with memories. At the last time he saw the girl of his dreams, graduation cap pinned to hair and a sunset burnishing their street gold.

“No fucking way. Bucky?” you say and he looks at you from his—your—drink. “As in James Buchanan Barnes?” you ask with a scoff evident in your voice and he arches an eyebrow. “Oh, you can’t be serious.”

“What—” His insides are on fire, and his eyes fall to your lips as you press them into a frown. “Who?”

“You fucker!” You slug him in the arm and he yelps, clutching the offended bicep as you take him by the shoulders. “You fucking left me!” He is forced to look at you as your eyes search his. They’re dark with something he thinks is bitter love, and his eyebrows knit together. What is his luck with women lately?

“Who the fuck are you?” he yells over the thundering music, but his answer is swallowed up by a pair of searing lips. Fists in the lapel of his suit jacket, he groans into your mouth as his hand darts to your hips. He drags you flush against him and you crash into his body. Hitching a leg over his, he feels up your hoodie and you open up beneath his mouth. Your hips dip against his as you jump into his lap and he holds you there by the thighs, squeezing the flesh through your jeans.

“Fuck, James,” you whisper and he feels it all again in a heartbeat. That intense, selfish love that seized him as he walked away from you. The way he fucked you in the bathroom before the ceremony, gown bunched at your waist, pants barely shoved past his hips. The curious disgust every time he got with someone that wasn’t the girl from the stall. It’s you. “God, don’t you recognize me?”

These past few years dating Dot, feeling like he’d move past a tiny infatuation, obliterated to nothing as your voice tears down his defenses. Tears down everything he’s built, every lie that you’re nothing more than the past.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs against your desperate lips and you sink into his lap deeper, arms wrapped around his neck. “Fuck. Yes.” He tilts his chin up when you run your teeth along his neck and his eyes close shut. Heat is surging to his cock at the thought of tearing you apart here and his jeans tighten as your hips grind down against his. “Could never fucking forget you. Grown ass woman, now, huh?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pulling off of him though it’s more of an order and he nods, standing up with a stagger. Your hand is insistent on his wrist, hand melting through his skin.

“I live five minutes away,” he mumbles, drunk off his ass. When he looks at you, he doesn’t see smokey eyes or mulberry painted lips. You weren’t always so dark, direct, rough around the edges.

No, you were bright eyes and strawberry lip gloss once. Straight A’s, straighter laces. By the books and popular and pretty and innocent until he got you on his bed and ate it out of you.

Maybe he fucked the good girl out of you.

He doesn’t mind. He already knows he likes it when you’re bad.

“Fuck.”

His nails scratch down your back pleasantly and you purr, pressing him deeper into his couch. You’ve managed to slip out of all your clothes on the walk up and his hand digs into your hip, his other hand working against your slick heat. The heel of his hand rubs against your clit as you lift and sink into three fingers. Your walls clench around him and he groans at the tight suction as his phone rings.

“Ignore it,” you mumble, kissing him sloppily and his tongue glides against yours, burning with vodka. His hand runs up your back to grab your hair and he yanks your head back, licking down your neck. “James—”

“Fucking missed this, sweetheart. Fuck. Missed this pussy more than anything else,” he groans. Your pants whisper against his ear as your hands roll into fists against his head. Your arms wrapped around his neck, you rock your hips against his hand desperately. “Come on.”

You moan right into his ear when his wrist flicks up and his fingers plunge deeper into you, wet with the first orgasm he’s wrenched from you just like this. It breaks and your whole body shudders. Your walls tightens around his digits and he increases the speed of his fingers. Your legs trembling, you let out a hoarse cry.

Your voice breaks and your nails dig into the nape of his neck as you come on his fingers. Your thighs clench around him as he bends his finger inside you and you choke out a moan. A pulse travels through your body as he lazily plays with your engorged clit and you twitch with every gentle stroke as he pulls you through your high.

His phone lights up. Ding. Ding. Ding. And then, his ringtone blaring in the thick heat of his room.

You’re sweating against him, resting your whole body on him as you kiss along the cord of his neck and he bites his lip, groaning. You nip along his collarbone before soothing it with your tongue, tasting the alcohol he’s beginning to sweat.

Lazy love.

“She’s not gonna stop fucking calling,” Bucky whispers in defeat, hand stalling inside you and you groan in frustration, hips grinding against his heel. Prompting yourself up, you frown. “Fuck. I have to pick up.” He bites into your breast, licking your nipple in passing before leaning over to grab his phone. Your legs widen, and you lower yourself deeper into his lap as he keeps a hand firmly on your ass.

“For fuck’s sake,” you growl, slipping your hand down his cock and he lets out a groan against your shoulder. His cheek pressed against your joint, he stares at the Caller ID in dread. “She treated you like dirt and you’re still picking up her calls? I think you should just put her in her place.” The venom in your tongue makes something inside him twitch, makes him want to just pin you down and put you in your place because you don’t know shit and Dot isn’t worth my time anyway but instead, he slaps your ass and shifts his legs apart.

“Alright, that’s enough. I’m picking up that call no matter what, sweetheart.”

“Are you serious?”

“Get on your knees.” You pause and he turns to you, a thrill boiling through his blood as he slaps your ass. “Let’s put that mouth to use.” Your eyes go black with lust as you swallow, sinking to the floor between his legs, and he chuckles, spreading his legs farther apart. Your fingers trail along the line of his hips, lips whispering along his thighs as he clears his throat. The phone is still ringing in his hands as he looks down at you and arches an eyebrow. You’re smirking and he grabs one of your curious hands and wraps it firmly around his dick. “Get to work.”

As soon as he’s in your mouth, he picks up. You run your palm down the base of him as you take him in deeper and he lets out a sigh. You’re warm, wet, and he tilts his head back when you swallow. Eyes closing, he lets out a hoarse breath and tries not to give himself away too quickly.

“Bucky?”

“Who is this?” he asks, toying with her, weaving his free hand in your hair. He ups the volume, just enough so you can catch a hint of a word or two over the wet sounds of your mouth.

“It’s your Dotty, Buck.”

Pressing down on his thighs, you angle your head to take him further as if you’re displeased he’s even talking to her at the moment, jealous, even, but he simply grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs you back right, keeping himself just as deep down your throat. You gag, swallowing again.

“Yeah. What do you want?” His words come out breathless. He raises his head just enough to watch you work, eyes glued to the way your fingers, wrapped around him, move up and down. Your eyes are blown out with lust, already on his face and you smile against his thigh as you seem to take him down further. Wet lips wrapped around his cock, hair a mess around your face, it paints a pretty sight. Your tongue flattens against the underside of his length, and he groans when you slowly pull off. It’s an agonizing ecstasy, the way you seem to swallow him deeper despite drawing away. “Oh, fuck. Just like that, sweetheart. That was good, baby, That was good.”

“‘M I being good, daddy?” you ask, voice muffled, and his hips thrust into your mouth just as his hand forces you down, and he closes his eyes at the heat searing his blood. You’re so fucking good.

“Yeah, sweetheart. Don’t worry ‘bout a thing.” He cradles the phone closer to his face. “Fuck. Dot, what do you want again?” he asks. The line is nearly dead and a flash of satisfaction hits him as you moan quietly against his cock. The vibration shoots up to his stomach and he hisses out a breath. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” You bob your head between his thighs, the hand not around him digging into his hip. You hollow out your cheeks, the suction sending his head into the stars as the slick sound of your mouth ceases when you simply keep him in your cheek, blown pupils wide and innocent. Your hips twitch against his foot, seeking friction and he smirks. His needy little girl.

Bucky lets go of your hair, patting your cheek before wiping away the trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. He leans forward, dragging you off his dick with a slight pop and a chill brushes against his length as Bucky pinches your chin between his thumb and index finger.

Pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your panting lips, he doesn’t care if Dot can hear every single fucking sound.

He pulls away before you have a chance to reciprocate and your whine follows him as he sinks back into the couch. His hand finds your hair again, guiding you back down his length and you seem to sink back onto your knees. He plunges endlessly down your throat as he clears his own, nearly forgetting he really is on the phone.

“Sorry, Dot. I’m a little distracted right now,” he says nonchalantly, the smile working onto his face.

“If you’re busy—”

“Nah.” You purr at the lie and he tugs your hair as he stifles a moan—a warning with no merit. He keeps you still despite your impatient wiggle and he opens his eyes, simply admiring your face full of his cock. Your eyes are at half mast as you rest your head against his thigh, and his finger traces down your cheek, along your jawbone, as he adds, “You’ve been blowing up my phone all night. You’ve got my attention now, darling.”

“Bucky,” Dot intones, sounding a bit tense and Bucky can’t help but wonder why, “seriously. It’s fine. You clearly have other company.”

“Oh, don’t worry. My girl over here’s just keeping me warm. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He moves the phone from his ear to your mouth where he taps your cheek and you let out a soft, garbled moan, eyes fluttering shut. Bringing the phone back to his ear, he chuckles. “You tired, baby? You getting tired?” His tone is mocking and you’re subdued by the way he commands the air as you nod. Your jaw must be aching as you hold onto his thighs and lean against his leg. You’re a sprawled mess against him. “She’s getting tired, Dotty. Make it quick so I can take care of her.”

“Bucky, this isn’t you. What are you doing?” Dot exclaims but he doesn’t care as he lets out a long, guttural groan at your tongue running along his length in your mouth. Still trying to earn his graces.

“Finally getting the time of my life after you left me high and dry for a fucking year. I’m moving on just like how you did during our relationship. How’s the wedding planning? Feeling nervous?” he asks tightly as you swallow, teeth grazing along his skin and he looks down at you. Warning you for real this time. “Watch it, sweetheart.”

“It’s going… okay. Bucky, I… I didn’t want you to be doing this while I talked to you, but please, listen to me. I’m still in love with you.”

You pull off his dick with a long stroke of your tongue and he groans, hand tugging at your hair as you climb up his body. You nip at his skin along the way, your whole body stretching languidly against his as you brace a knee on either side of his hips and sit down in his lap.

“Seriously?” You press kiss after kiss around his face, long fingers wrapped around his cock and rubbing it slowly. Your purr rumbles in your chest as you dip your head to suck a mark into the underside of his jaw and he runs a hand down your back, cupping your ass. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too late right now?”

“You're not giving me any attention, daddy,” you whine with a pout, his dick against your abdomen, just there and he knows you must be aching for it to speak up. Leaning in close, you place your mouth along the cheek where the phone is, trailing tiny little teasing kisses along his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. He tries to snag your lips but you merely pull away and bounce in his lap impatiently. His cock brushes against your stomach, painfully hard, and a groan rips through his throat as you gently settle a hand on his chest.

“I know, baby. Just give daddy a moment, alright?” Bucky murmurs and you pout, your hand pulling at his dick. His hips twitch, jerking into your fist as you lay your head on his chest, slouching against him, kissing his jaw fleetingly. “Be a good girl.”

“Okay,” you mumble as you lazily pump him. Your thumb presses softly against the tip, spreading precum down his shaft and he groans, tipping his head back and closing his eyes again. You smile against his collarbone as you speed up the pace of your hand. A tight-lipped groan in his chest, he runs a hand up and down the curve of your back.

“It’s a mistake. This wedding’s a mistake,” Dot pleads as you watch his expression. He can feel your stare burning into his neck as you press quiet kisses against his chest. A knot tightens in his navel. “I know the way I treated you was shitty, and I know you must’ve moved on, but—”

“Dot, you left me, cheated on me, lied to me about everything.” Bucky bites down on his lower lip. “Fuck. You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” You hum against his chest. The crash is so close and your palm slows down. Growling, he looks up and pins you with a glare, but you merely look at him innocently and he sighs, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I have moved on. It’s been a year since we broke up and I think it’s time you did, too.” You raise your head off his chest, shifting in his lap as you straddle his hips upright. His eyes follow you like a wolf as he tries to calm down from the high that never came. His hips twitch against your legs and he lets out a growl when you move your hand away.

“Bucky, wait—”

The phone is plucked from his hand and a protest builds up in his throat as you rest your other hand on his shoulder. He looks up at you, lips parted and you smile, sickly sweet. In the dim light of his room, he sees the way the shadows play dangerously on your face. His hand on your back slides to your hip, and his lips find your left nipple as he sinks his other hand into the flesh of your ass.

“Dot?” you ask sweetly as if you’ve no awareness at all, but by the way your eyes flutter, you’re well aware of his mischief. “Hey. Jamie’s a bit busy at the moment. Can you call him tomorrow?” Your smile sits on your face as it turns smug. “Great. Bye!” You hang up and toss the phone onto the coffee stand before cupping his face and kissing him fiercely. It bruises his mouth, sloppy open-mouthed kisses, and he groans as you raise your hips and slide him right in like their bodies were made for each other. His vision explodes in stars as you sink, his cock buried deep inside you.

“Fuck was that?” he mumbles when you part from him for a moment to breathe. Your hips slowly swing against his, taking him in deeper with every move as your hands, still cradling his face, burn through his cheeks. His hands run up and down your sides, your front, and you sigh at the rough palms against your sensitive nipples before he hoists you up more comfortably on his lap. “Jamie? I’m not fucking five.” He thrusts up with his question and your breath hitches.

“Fuck. Fuck, I’m sorry..” Your lip caught between your teeth, you rock against him faster and his hips lift to meet your thrusts as you tilt your head back. You arch against him, eyes squeezed shut and he pushes your body forward, teeth running over your breasts. “Fuck, James.”

“Bad girl, hm.” His eyes close and your fingers run through his hair, hug his head to your chest. Your moans are a symphony in his ear and you bounce in his lap, knees digging into the cushions.

“Yes, daddy,” you whine into his ear, gasping and the way your every word becomes high-pitched makes him want to fuck you through the couch. You're complete putty in his hands, warm like fire and malleable to his touch, and he kisses the valley of your breasts, his hands tracing the curve of your spine. “I’ve been so, so bad.”

He digs his fingers into your skin and twists, letting you fall onto the couch as he slides his palms down to grab your legs. Everything he touches is wet, burning, and the squelch of your pussy around his cock sends him into overdrive as he puts your legs up on his shoulders. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your mouth is open in a silent moan when he thrusts deeply into you at this new angle. Your hands find his and fingers interlace as he pins your wrists to the armrests above your head.

Smirking, he pushes deeper into you with no grace or rhythm and you thrash against him, mewling at his slowing pace, begging to go faster with the way your wriggle your hips back against him. “Daddy, I—”

“Shh, sweetheart. Now that I’m not busy anymore, I think daddy’s gonna have to teach you a lesson.” Your eyes barely open at his words and he smirks, making sure your attention doesn’t stray for a moment. “Keep those eyes on me, sweetheart.” You bite down on your lip, trying to stem desperate gasps but he growls a warning as he speeds up to a punishing pace. You’re overstimulated, exhausted, but still you try to push back against him, try to get him as deep as he can get.

You’re so eager to please with those plush, pink lips. “Yes, daddy. I’m sorry, I’ve been bad.”

“Sorry for what?” he wonders aloud just as your eyes squeeze shut and he feels your peak in the way your abdomen goes taut. Slowing down again, he nearly laughs at your disappointed whines. He pulls out completely, waiting for an answer and you cry out at the loss of fulfillment. Your legs lock around his neck. “I’m waiting.”

“Daddy, please... please, I was so close.”

“Give me an answer.” His tip brushes against your heat and you shove your hips forward. “How’re you gonna apologize when you don’t even know what for? How’m I gonna fix it?”

“Please...”

“I’m waiting, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen, daddy.”

He slowly pushes in again and your mouth drops open in an oh as you welcome him easily. You’re so damn wet that he slides in all the way he can with no problem. You lift your hips, heels digging into his back, and he slowly begins to thrust into you again. The sound of his hips meeting yours punishingly, the wet slap of skin against skin is the only sound in the room besides your panting breaths.

Bucky smiles.

“I’m gonna teach you a lesson not to talk out of turn tonight, understood? G’na teach you that when daddy’s on the phone, when daddy’s busy with other things, you behave if you wanna stay around,” he whispers, voice darkening with every word and your breasts heave as he runs a hand down your body. Fingers sneaking between their bodies, he presses a thumb against your clit and you fall apart with a shameless moan that bursts from your heaving chest.

Bucky wonders how he ever moved past you. You with makeup streaking down your pretty pouty face.

He didn’t. He never did.

“Oh, god,” you groan, dreadfully broken, still trying to recover but Bucky’s not finished with you yet. No, he’s going to make up for lost time for the rest of his life he can. “Fuck… James. Oh, god.” Your walls clench around him, dragging at his cock as he pauses inside you and he lets go of your wrists. Your legs slip off his shoulders.

“You miss me, sweetheart?” he murmurs, nuzzling your cheek and you pant, nodding weakly. He turns to ensnare you into a heavy, tongue-filled kiss as he sucks on your bottom lip. “Miss me a lot?”

“Yes, daddy,” you mumble, voice warped by his incessant kisses and he smiles, ravishing your mouth with his teeth and tongue. He gives you this small moment because it’s going to be a rough night and he wants to savour every last bit of it. By morning, he won’t hear a single peep out of you with how much your throat burns from screaming his name.

That’s three for him, zero for you, and Bucky’s not sure if it’ll end when morning comes.

He wants to ask if you’ll stay and he has a lot of furniture he needs to break in.

The kitchen counter looks like a wonderful place to start to do both.

2K notes · View notes

simonsrosebud · 3 years

Note

what is kevin and betsy like? does he take therapy seriously or act more like neil?

(idk how therapy actually works since ive never gone so idk how accurate his sessions w betsy are okay bye)

kevin takes his therapy seriously, yes.

at first he doesn’t, when he first comes to psu. he’s too scared to tell betsy anything bc if she tells anyone then kevin is doomed.

but when riko is killed, he starts taking it seriously. it’s the main reason why his anxiety is amplified and his panic attacks and nightmares become more frequent. betsy is working through his trauma with him and bringing much of it back to the surface.

when kevin first meets dalton he knows he likes him. but he still isn’t ready to tell anyone, not even betsy.

unfortunately for him, she’s really good at her job.

“i want to bring the conversation back to this boy, dalton, that you said you’ve been hanging out with. he’s your friend?”

something like that.

“yeah, he’s a friend.”

“that’s good, that you’ve made friends outside the team. how did you meet him? i notice you’ve been bringing him up a lot lately.”

kevin kneads his hands in his lap. of course he’d make that mistake. “i was doing homework at starbucks, and he helped me with math and then asked for my number.” she nods. “now we hang out a lot. mainly at his place. i don’t want andrew and neil to scare him off.”

she nods again. “what exactly do you think they’d do?”

kevin shrugs. “i-i don’t know. but they’d get in my business and probably tell nicky or matt who would tell the whole team, and then they’d be all in my business,” he keeps going when betsy’s face changes an inch. just contemplating his words, but he reads into it. “-and i don’t need that right now. dalton doesn’t even really know that i’m famous. it’s too soon, and i can’t be outed to the public, it’ll ruin me.”

he only seems to realize what he’s said when betsy starts talking. “can’t be outed in what way, kevin?” he stammers. “i have a feeling you didn’t mean to tell me that, but is dalton really just a friend?”

kevin’s heart is beating out of his chest. he digs his fingers into his leg. “no.”

but betsy hasn’t batted an eye. “that’s okay. do you want to talk about it? you’re clamming up. take some deep breaths, you know i wouldn’t tell a soul if that’s what you’re worried about.”

he pulls his knees to his chest and drops his head. fuck. no one was supposed to know, not anytime soon, anyhow.

he composes himself, but doesn’t move. “i… like guys.” he lifts his head. “and girls, but…” he looks away. “i’ve been seeing dalton, more than just friends.”

betsy is smiling, softly. “that’s good, kevin. i know aren’t ready to tell the others, but you shouldn’t be embarrassed. not with me, anyhow.” he shrugs. “would you like to talk more about dalton or move along?”

he shrugs again. after a minute, wraps his arms around his knees. “he’s twenty-four, he’s a grad student... he didn’t have any clue who i was when he met me, i still haven’t really told him a lot.”

“that’s alright. things take time. i know you have trouble lettings new people in, and sometimes with physical touch, are there any problems there that you’d like to discuss?”

kevin glares at her, “i’m not talking about our relationship.”

she backs off with an easy nod. she does a lot of that. maybe that’s why she works.

somehow, betsy eventually cracks kevin on talking in depth about his relationship with dalton. she hears all about it when andrew finds out, then when allison finds out, then when nicky finds out.

when the foxes play never have i ever with dalton. that was a fun one.

“i’m not taking their side, i’m just asking, but do you think perhaps they could have been trying to get to know him and see if he’s all clear?”

he scoffs. “if they were they’ve got a fucked way of doing that. they got him plastered.”

“he didn’t have to keep drinking. from what i’m hearing.”

“he wanted to impress them, he’d never met them before.” he crosses his arms.

“did you try to tell him to stop drinking? was it the drinking that really upset you or that your friends were trying to get answers out of him.”

he frowns. “second one- but it wasn’t just answers. they went further than just never have i ever dated kevin, they brought up things like wymack and me having to get blacked out to get my tattoo covered, and… i don’t know, sensitive stuff.” the yakuza. “it wasn’t okay.”

“did you express this to them?” he nods. “you weren’t ready for dalton to know those kinda of things about you, yet.” he nods and looks away.

“stop reading my brain,” he mumbles. betsy takes it with a smile, but he’d be lying if he weren’t a tad annoyed about it. he didn’t think he was this transparent.

or again, maybe she’s just that good at her job.

contrary to popular belief, saying i love you for the first time didn’t mean that saying it again became easy all of a sudden. not for kevin. not for maybe two weeks, until he can get used to dalton saying it more and more.

he talks to betsy about it, just barely. despite everything he’s told her already, there’s something about this that he’s too embarrassed by.

the only reason he tells dalton is because he wakes up in his bed, sweating and panting in the middle of the night. the first thing he does is squint his eyes and look for dalton in the dark, and takes a breath when he sees him stir. he’s still here. he didn’t leave you. stop being delusional.

his hands are fists in the sheets, and he presses himself back against the headboard. you’re fine.

but he still jumps a little when dalton sits up. “hey,” his voice is groggy, and he rubs his eyes. he almost reaches for kevin, too, but stops. “hey, kev. it’s d, baby, you’re okay.��

“i know,” he whispers. “i’ll be right back.”

he steps out of bed, hands shaking, and zips across the room to the bathroom. it’s dark, okay?

he braces himself against the sink. “get yourself together.” he splashes water onto his face. it doesn’t help. he’s just wet, now.

he leans back against the wall and slides to the floor. here’s his dilemma. there’s a part of him that loves dalton more than life itself, he thinks. and by a part of him he means all of him.

so why is he so scared of it? of saying it freely, or without a second thought? he’s never done this before. he doesn’t know how it’s supposed to be, he just doesn’t understand why he so scared that he’ll get used to saying it and one day be reject-

oh.

dalton is up on his phone when he leaves the bathroom, and turns it off when he crawls back into the bed. “are you okay?”

“i’m fine,” he says.

“kev”

kevin tucks his hands into the comforter and balls his fists. “um, i had a dream that you left,” he mumbles. “i know it’s stupid, i just had a moment, it’s whatever-“

“no, it’s not stupid. i’ve had the same dream before… s’why i said i love you the first time, actually.”

kevin purses his lips. he can just barely see dalton’s frown. “um, don’t judge, but i think… i have a hard time saying i love you,” he mumbles. “so you just have to let me get used to it.”

“okay,” dalton says. “do you wanna talk about it at all?”

kevin shrugs. “i don’t know.” but betsy’s advice swirls in his head. the only way to know how he feels is talking to him, even if you’d rather not.

“you’re the first person i’ve had a real relationship with. i think i’m scared i’ll get used to saying i love you and then one day you just won’t say it back. reject me, or whatever.” he lies back and feels dalton following.

dalton is lying on his stomach with an arm over kevin and his chin on his chest. “you’re not crazy for being scared of that,” he mumbles. “but i can tell you that i don’t see it happening.” he brushes kevin’s hair from his forehead. “i’m not leaving anytime soon.” he kisses his chest since he can’t reach his face without moving.

“okay,” and kevin swallows his fear, or pride, he’s still not sure. “i love you.”

the next week at his appointment with betsy he tells her of the late night realization, and how dalton reacted to it when he told him.

“the thing to remember about dalton is that we know he’s not going to reject you out of the blue, yes? from what i see here and there, he’s not just a fling or a short time boyfriend, and he’s now made it clear to you.”

kevin holds his hot chocolate close to his face. he hasn’t drank any of it, but it’s warm in his hands and the steam is nice on his face. “yeah,” he murmurs, and without thinking, “i’m pretty sure he’s my soulmate.”

oh? “i thought you didn’t believe in that kind of thing?”

he shrugs in attempt to hide his shock from saying it, and then tries to hold back a shit eating grin. “yeah, well… it’s dalton.”

#kevin day #kevin #the one where someone doesn’t know who kevin day is #dalton miller #OC: dalton miller #kevin day x dalton miller #bisexual kevin day #exy #aftg #all for the game #the foxes #the foxhole court #neil josten #andrew minyard #betsy dobson #david wymack #Allison Reynolds #nicky hemmick #therapy

71 notes · View notes

footballxwrites · 3 years

Note

PLEASE I LOVE YOUR WRITING!! A TAA one but being hendos little sister and finding out about dads cancer, so you cling to Jordan and it starts to bug Trent and you argue bc you still haven't told him? Then maybe hendo tells him?

This doesn’t really mention cancer as such because I know it’s a sensitive topic that many people are/have been affected by in some sort of way, including me x

“Alright don’t bite my head off” he sighed, taken aback by your sudden spark of sharpness for the third time already this week, “well you shouldn’t be so bloody nosy and in my business” you snapped as he just stared in disbelief not really knowing a reply to that. “Christ sorry I care about you, how rude of me” he flashed a smile in a sarky manner, making you get more annoyed by the minute, “oh just fuck off will you Trent, I can’t be arsed for this tonight” you whined, running a stressed hand through your hair before leaving the room. “Seriously what is your problem and why are you having a go at me because I’m pretty sure I’ve done nothing to get in your bad books” he quickly followed behind, not holding up an easy fight to which tears were pricking your eyes at this point, “look I’m not having a go, I’m just tired and don’t want to argue with you yet again. I don’t understand why you won’t listen to me when I keep saying there is NO such thing the matter” you challenged in a slight raised voice.

“So tell me why you’re never here these days and always at Jord’s where you “stay over for a night” which ends up turning into four? Then every time I phone just to check up on you I’m apparently the clingy, needy boyfriend who can’t give you any space and so you don’t answer my calls or simple texts...you really expect me to believe you’re fine?” he said, his tone softening as he crept closer to you, moving to pull you in for hug to which you shrugged off. “I can’t do this right now Trent, think what you want but I’m absolutely fine ok” you shifted away from his touch and shoved on your coat and trainers before heading for the door, “where are you going now, oh let me guess your brother’s” he joked, feeling hurt to see you just walk out on him like that, “I’ll be back soon” you sighed, walking out and letting the door edge closed behind, leaving your boyfriend confused and broken as ever.

————————————

“So how’s she holding up then, my sis” Hendo’s thick accent came from the near distance as he strolled out onto the training pitch with T, who was still a moody arse, “funny you should ask that because I wouldn’t know mate, she’s never home anymore” he sighed, Ox pulling the most confused expression, “sounds like you’d are going through a rough patch eh” he interrupted.

“Guess so, it’s just so fucking annoying because I don’t know why she’s being like this. Honestly we argue every time we meet one another’s gaze at the minute and gods know what the reason is” Trent replied, frustrated with the pair of yous. “Oh shit she hasn’t told you...She promised she would the day we found out” Hendo sadly smiled, leaving the other two lads in a worry. “What are you talking about?” your fella hastily asked, “I was going to let her tell you for herself, it’s probably better coming from her...but nonetheless. Dad’s quite ill and it’s just taken us by surprise to be honest, it’s nothing we could’ve prepared for and it’s taken it out of the family, massively” he began, T clicking into sudden realisation.

“Please just bare with her she’s a stubborn one at times, but as much as she says she needs her space, she needs all the support she can get from all of us right now” he sniffled, “I’m so sorry bro, god I feel like such a shit person. How didn’t I fucking realise of course it had to be something big, she’s never been like this before” Trent’s heart was being ripped apart at the through of his girl alone suffering by herself.

——————————

“Is it safe to come in” your boyfriend whispered, gently peaking his head into the room as you sobbed a ‘yes’ before he crept into the silent room where you were lying in bed in a pool full of tissues, “I am sorry for walking out again” you sobbed, turning to face him in bed, the fresh tear stains evidently dripping down your cheek. “Don’t apologise you have nothing to be sorry about baby” he lightly kissed the top of your head before engulfing your figure into his bare arms, “Jordan told me” he whispered into your hair as you voice went all trembly, “I was going to tell you I swear, I just didn’t know how to tell something like that...don’t think I want to say it out loud, gets the tears going when I mention it” you tired to joke, presenting him a soft grin as you gazed into his hazel eyes. “Hey it’s ok, we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but I need you to know I’m here for you and all the family and that I want to help in any way I can alright” he promised as you nodded before letting out a sleepy nod and drifting off to sleep on his chest 🤍

#football #footballer #football blurb #footballer imagine #trent alexander arnold #liverpool fc

36 notes · View notes

trashinaglass-archive · 4 years

Text

Sensitive

Y/n is worried their night was ruined

A/n: I was reading a Bucky fic that I cannot find again of course that kind of inspired this? It was about Bucky taking reader to dinner and then getting upset bc she flirted with the waiter so he revenge flirted with a waitress. Idk it was messy but somewhere along the way came this.

Family was the top priority in Chris’s life. But as much as he wanted to be, he wasn’t around his family near as much as he wished he could be. Filming kept him busy, and even when he could be home, it was difficult to find time where everyone could come together. It made you feel bad, whenever he couldn’t see his family, or they were there with some missing pieces.

Over the fall break, you wanted to have everyone show up, surprise Chris, and have a fun family reunion- something that has been long overdue. You spent months planning and prepping, and tonight was finally the night. The afternoon was spent making calls, positive that everyone was ready and at the restaurant when you showed up.

“What kind of restaurant is this?” Chris asked as he walked into the master bathroom. You were finishing up your makeup when he walked in, still in your favorite pajamas, waiting until right before you left to change. “I mean are we talking formal, casual? You going in that?”

You look up, making eye contact with him though the mirror, and roll your eyes as a small smile rose on your face. “I’ll wear mine if you wear yours,” you tease before changing to a more serious answer. “I’d say it’s a bit in between? I don’t think a suit is expected, but if you wore one, it wouldn’t be questioned.”

Chris looked thoughtful for a second before nodding his head. “I think I got it,” he said before turning and walking into the closet. You finished your makeup and made your way to the closet as well, moving to your side knowing exactly what you wanted to wear for the evening. It was your absolute favorite outfit that didn’t get worn often, but each time it was, you couldn’t get enough of it. “You look gorgeous,” Chris said, watching as you stand in front of the mirror.

You smile, moving to where he stood as his arms wrapped around your waist. “Thank you,” you whisper as you look down, you hands moving up his clothed chest. “This was a good choice, I like it.”

“Gotta keep up you somehow,” he joked. “Let’s go.” He held his hand out, allowing you to walk ahead of him. You checked your phone, noticing a text notification.

Scottie: If you’re not here in 3, I’m ordering without you❤️

You couldn’t help but laugh causing Chris to ask who text.

“My brother,” you told him, shaking your head. “He’s just an idiot.”

. . .

The drive to the restaurant was short, Chris ironically talking about something his sister said that was really funny. It made the excitement build even more, knowing how happy he would be once he saw everyone.

“Reservation for Evans,” he told the hostess once you were inside. She nodded, talking into her head piece before instructing you to follow her. Chris’s hand was on your back as the girl lead you to a private dining room.

“Surprise,” you whisper to him right before you get to the door. You heard Chris mutter a confused what as you quickly enter the private room, smiling to the Evans family before moving out of the way for Chris to enter.

“Surprise!” They all shout in unison, Chris jumping slightly before yelling back holy shit in excitement, immediately moving to hug his mom first. You smile, accepting hugs from everyone as well before finally getting seated. The waiter brought the menus out, now that everyone was finally present, and took drink orders. You sat back, watching as Chris and his dad spoke of some football stats they were obviously pumped for. The waiter came back shortly with trays full of drinks. You weren’t paying attention as he made his way to you, but you felt the cold liquid as it fell down your front. You saw the five or six empty cups on the floor after the waiter tripped over the rug. Chris immediately handed you his napkin, trying to help as best he could.

“I am so sorry!” The waitor exclaimed immediately, looking at you with concern. You were so shocked, you didn’t know what to say.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about,” you tell him, almost as if it were scripted. You felt as if you couldn’t look up from your top. “I’m gonna go to the restroom,” you announce standing from the chair.

“I’ll go with you,” his sister offered, beginning to stand as well.

“No,” you declined. “Don’t worry about. It’s fine, I’ll be right back.” You turn, asking where the restroom was before walking out the door, out of sight.

“There’s a sweater in the car,” Chris told them. “I’ll go get that for her.” He stood and walked out as well, moving as fast as he could without causing a scene to unknowing guests.

“I feel so bad for her,” Scott said, looking at his mother.

“I’m gonna go check on her, see if I can help,” Carly stood up. She maneuvered her way through the restaurant to the bathroom. She found you standing in front of the sink, using paper towels to get as much of the moister out of the fabric as possible. A single sniff grabbed her attention. “You okay?” She asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Yeah,” you answered, but you couldn’t help the subtle shake to your voice. “I’m fine.” The presence of another person strangely making the tears come faster.

“Why are you crying? It’s okay.”

“I just.. I really just need a second to myself,” you tell her honestly. “I don’t want to be rude, but-“

“No, I get it. I’ll go,” she reassured you. “But I just wanted to let you know Chris went to grab you something else to change into.”

She turned, leaving you behind the door but bumping into Chris soon after. “Hey, can you take this to y/n?” He asked, not wanting to barge into the ladies room.

“No,” she answered honestly. Chris was taken aback, never expecting to hear it. She looked back at the door before speaking again. “She’s crying. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or what happened, but she said she wanted to be by herself. You should probably be the one.”

“She’s crying?” He repeated, as if he didn’t hear his sister correctly. She nodded her head. “Ok, give us a second.” Without waiting for a reply, Chris walked past her, moving to the bathroom door. He gently knocked before peaking his head in.

“What’s up, buttercup?” He asked as he entered, knowing the cheesy lines always make you laugh. Usually. You didn’t even look up. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, not even wanting to talk about it. Chris placed a hand on your waist, waiting for you to say anything. “I feel like I ruined it,” you admitted to him, your voice barely over a whisper.

“Baby,” he sighed, completely shocked by your answer. “You didn’t ruin anything. None of this was your fault, it was just an accident. You could never have predicted something like that.”

You sniffle, catching your breathe. “I just wanted you to have a fun night with them, and not worry about me getting in the way.”

“Y/n, you are the absolute best women in the world. Doing this was incredible in itself, but this is a family. Mistakes happen all the time, especially when we’re all together. It easily could’ve been me or Scott. Preferably Scott, actually, that would’ve been a great laugh.” You finally turn your head to look at him, silently agreeing with his subtle joke. “The night was not ruined. One day we’re all going to look back; we’ll remember the fond memories, we’ll laugh about that clumsy waiter, and then we’ll smile thinking of how you made this all possible. You made this night, baby. Not the other way around.”

He reached up, gently wiping a tear from your face. He pressed gentle kisses all over your face, making you scrunch your nose, before capturing your lips with his. “I love you,” you declare, finding your voice.

“And I love you,” he repeated, placing one last kiss before turning his attention to the sweater slung over his shoulder. “Here- I grabbed this. Can’t have you uncomfortable at your own dinner party.” You tossed your top to the side, letting Chris help slide the bigger one over your torso. The warmth so inviting after being in a wet one for so long. “We can head back whenever you’re ready.”

You sighed, almost not wanting to face your in-laws again after being so dramatic, but you knew you had to. Grabbing one last paper towel, you clean yourself up. No traces of smeared makeup left on your face. You threw it away, and immediately walked into Chris’s arms for a hug. “Thank you.”

He smiled, wrapping his arms around you, rubbing your back soothingly. “It’s what I’m here for.” You pulled away, turning to grab your shirt only for Chris to take it from you, silently offering to carry it. You got back to the table, noticing two small glasses filled with clear liquid in front of your seat.

“Shots on me,” Scott announced when he saw you. “Figured you could use some alcohol after that.”

You laughed, appreciating his humor in the moment. “You know me too well,” you reply as you sit down. Picking up the first glass, you all cheers before downing the liquor, one right after the other. You notice the same waiter walk back in, this time with food. He made sure to be extra careful of where he was stepping this time. He stopped to let you know that he would bring you any dessert you wanted, on the house, for his mistake. You thanked him and watched as he exited the room, his right side bumping into the doorframe slightly, making him stumble.

“What a klutz.”

. . .

we’re leaving that last comment up for debate on who said it.

#Chris Evans #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans oneshot

163 notes · View notes

pawjamas · 3 years

Text

hey..i’ve been back from my stay at the residential facility for several days now and A lot happened, which i’m putting under a a readmore bc it’s potentially triggering (warning for mentions of s*xual abuse/gasl*ghting/etc) my life is basically being uprooted, so much happened in the month of June and is currently still happening, which i’ll explain below

i was admitted to the residential facility on June 9th, it seemed super promising, there was an abundance of 4-5 star reviews from patients online. my friend who currently is working in the mental health field researched about the facility and also confirmed that it seemed a lot better than most places are. the first day was kind of rough and i knew getting adjusted would be difficult but could never have expected what happened the following several days to happen. i made friends pretty quickly, my roommate on the first day there was very kind to me, she told me if i ever needed someone to talk to that she’d be there for me, we also shared the fact we were both nonbinary/just a lot of things we had in common so it was comforting to know her on the first day there.

i spoke to my psychiatrist the next day who told me i could get off “close observations” which is why i was in the room i was, the label is basically something you get put on if you’re at risk for s*lf h*rm/etc and need a staff member w/ you at all times. so since i was taken off of that i was switched to a different room with a different roommate. she was a 60 yr old woman who was in the other program offered at the facility (mine was mental health related and hers was for substance abuse/addiction) i didn’t feel too comfortable around her the first night, she complained about every single thing, she never participated in the groups offered at the facility, she told me over and over again how much she hated being here. the next few days were a blur and are still very fuzzy, my mind is still keeping all the memories locked away which has happened to me many times before w/ trauma where everything’s vague and not fully there.

basically, over the course i was roommates w/ this woman she groomed me and manipulated me into doing anything she wanted me to do for her, she physically/s*xually assaulted me multiple times, and caused my mental health to plummet even further than i thought was possible. i eventually did get to switch rooms, and i only recalled (again, vaguely) what happened those nights about a week later and reported it to the staff where half of them treated it like a joke. i went to the hospital the night i reported everything to get examined and ended up calling my mom on my friend’s phone (she drove to the hospital and stayed w/ me the whole time) and my mom was probably the worse to take my trauma/situation out of anyone. she told me i should’ve spoken up sooner, asked why i didn’t defend myself from this woman, basically the whole phone call was her blaming me for not doing anything about my assault. when i hung up my friend even told me that what she said wasn’t okay, and was victim-blaming.

i left the hospital and got back to the facility around 1:00 am, and the following days i spent there i was continuously getting worse because being in the environment my trauma had happened was preventing me from healing, plus i literally had to be in the same rooms as the person who had assaulted me and seeing her was extremely triggering. she continuously would call me crazy and delusional and that i made the entire thing up, i had difficulty telling what was real and what was not because of how bad i was treated by her and the staff. i’m thankful i met some really kind patients there that became my friends, they helped me the most out of anyone there. at one point a nurse had pulled me into a room and told me how i should never have spoken up about my abuse, how i should consider how it makes my abuser feel, and stop talking to the friends i made about it. but i’m glad i had people who would actually listen.

i mentioned it once but again, my mom was probably the worst person to talk to when all this was happening, at one point one evening when phones were available i called her and told her i needed to leave, i wanted to come home because this all of this was affecting me so badly, and she screamed over and over that i can’t come home and i have to stay, that it’s too bad that happened but continuing to do the program was more important. at that point i broke down and cried, begging her to let me come home and she screamed repeatedly for me to shut up and then hung up on me.

after that evening i knew that i wouldn’t be taking any shit from her any longer, i called my friend who lived nearby about her the following day or so, asked if i could stay with her at her apartment, which didn’t end up happening because we both worried my mom being as spiteful as she is would take legal action if i did leave w/ my friend instead of my mom. i ended up talking to a couple of the friends i made there that i was having bad intrusive thoughts, and that evening i was baker acted (involuntarily hospitalized) and transferred to another facility, which could’ve been because of the staff or me being reported for the thoughts i was having, but regardless i was away from my abuser and didn’t have to see her again.

the hospital i stayed at was...a lot worse than the other place, i barely got to speak to the psychiatrist/therapist during my entire time there, people would joke about how little time you got w/ them. they ended up keeping me there longer than the required 72 hrs, which i asked multiple people why and never got an answer, at one point my mom wanted to make sure i was sent back to the residential facility of which i had to explain would be detrimental to me and my health, but as usual when she had her mind set on something she won’t listen to reason or anyone who explains other (more beneficial) options.

i ended up calling my friend that lived back in the town i live in, told her the whole story and what’s been going on, and ultimately asked if i could move in with her because her and her family had already offered to let me. she was more than happy to have me move in, so that’s what i ended up planning on doing when i got discharged, was have her pick me up instead of my mom. and i called my mom to tell her that i’d be moving out, all the reasons why it’d be beneficial to us both, she took it horribly and told me if my friend picks me up i can never ever come home again and that i’m kicked out. i told her that’s fine, even though it hurt so badly when she said it.

finally, the following monday i was discharged, my friend from back home picked me up along w/ her husband, and we made sure to get all my things from the residential facility (my clothes/shampoo/makeup/etc) before heading back to her house, which was about an hour and a half drive home.

so now i’m staying w/ her, i still feel out of place and disoriented and uncomfortable but her and her family have been very welcoming. i’m trying to get all my stuff from my mom’s but it’s been a huge struggle to get anything from her because she loves to overcomplicate anything and then make it seem as if it’s all your doing and she’s the biggest, kindest saint ever to grace your life. my friends and i all think she has undiagnosed/untreated bipolar, and i definitely think she at least needs therapy and meds too but she doesn’t believe in either for herself. i just want my stuff back, and i do miss my room a lot and jazzy but there’s no way i’m getting either back, i’m also worried how my mom is treating jazzy because she hates him and i’ve witnessed first-hand what she’s done to him before.

i might post my p*ypal / v*nmo (censoring bc i think tumblr is weird abt posts that have these keywords or smth) because i don’t have any income rn...thank you if you read all this lmao i still didn’t even cover half of the other stuff i went through at the place i was baker acted but essentially my life has been turned upside down and i’m having to figure out how to keep going despite it all

#diary 📖#please read if u can #i want to get my tablet back so i can open commissions #idk why my mom wouldn’t let me have it but she’s Super spiteful so who knows #i want my switch too/laptop i especially need my computer ughhh #genuinely when i thought things couldn’t get any worse there was an extra layer of hell for me to fall into

20 notes · View notes

desiraypark · 4 years

Text

Take What You Want

Characters: !CEO Ben Solo x Plus Size Female Reader Setting: Alternate/Modern Universe Summary/Content Warning: Fuckin’. On a boat. Unprotected PIV sex (assume you’re on BC, or don’t!), oral sex (female receiving). Reader is a bit insecure about her appearance but I worked to avoid the whole “woman doesn’t like how she looks, a MANLY MAN-MAN says HE likes it, therefore a lifetime of hurt disappears in seconds YAY!” trope lol. Ben just wants to fuck you in front of the ocean, okay?

*Use of “Ben Solo” is more so to establish his legacy/bloodline, not necessarily his character/personality or anything like that. BEN’S YACHT (Video: 00:15 is where you’re sitting) - I don’t know if I got the terminology right but who cares, let’s get to the bangin’.

The past five months had been...Interesting. Different. Thrilling. Perfect. Almost, too perfect--but you didn’t fight it.

It was during the second week of January when you strolled through the cool, bland, and dull-lit spaces of Dice6, LLC.--all the way to the conference room where its young CEO, Ben Solo, sat at the head of the table. The receptionist led you inside. You shook his hand and sat two seats to his right. He asked very few questions and listened intently to your answers. Or so you assumed.

Barely five minutes into the interview, he closed your folder, leaned back in his seat, and looked you over.

“I’m not hiring you,” he said.

“Oh...okay...” you’d responded, confused and disappointed.

“I’m going to take you on a date.”

“...excuse me?”

“Why did you apply for this job?” he asked.

“Um, because this is a reputable com--”

“What do you need money for? Do you have a new place? New to the city?”

“I just...I want a well-paying job to survive, Sir...”

He leaned back in his chair and smiled.

“I’ve got a feeling about you,” he said. He crossed his leg over the other. “I always listen to my instincts. How would you like to survive and thrive on my bank account?”

You freaked out and excused yourself from the interview. Of course, he gave you a call that you ignored. The next day, you got an email reminder about your soon-to-be due student loan payment, and well...you went on and called him back.

____________________

“I’ve never been on a yacht before,” you’d told him over the phone.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

“What do I wear?”

“Dresses, shorts, bathing suits. Lingerie. Preferably nothing.”

“I’ll have to go shopping, I guess.”

“I’d like to see you in jewel tones. And bright reds. I never see you in red.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You’d sent him pictures of the clothing you’d bought with his money. In his calm abrasiveness, he’d called you and told you that he hated your swimsuits and lingerie. Later, he sent you photos of things he wanted you to wear--lots of things you’d never felt comfortable wearing. Or rather, things other people would make you feel ashamed for wearing. But you took another shopping trip and did your best.

____________________

Ben stood at the door to the outer deck waiting for you. You smiled as he took your hand and led you into the open space for dessert and champagne. The two of you sat close on the plush sofa as you ate a fluffy, strawberry cake and stared out at the sparkling waters.

“Are you enjoying everything?” he asked, breaking the serene silence. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and planted a kiss on his jaw.

“I’m loving it. Thank you for this.”

His eyes didn’t leave you when you pulled away. The pupils were dilated and he was chewing on his lip. You were familiar with that look. Past loves had also signaled their desire to fuck with darkened and narrowed eyes, and working jaws.

Ben traced the outline of your red lips with the tip of his index finger. You parted your lips, signaling for him to place the tip into the small hole that had formed. He smirked and pressed his finger inside and you licked it. He pushed it further, making you suck.

“My dirty girl,” he purred. “Where else do you want my fingers?”

You smiled, took his free hand, and guided it to between your legs. He hummed and grabbed your fleshy mound. Then, he removed his finger from your mouth and replaced it with his lips and hot tongue. When he was satisfied with the amount of your saliva he’d collected, he pushed the small dining table back, knelt to the floor, and lifted your emerald green sundress.

You froze and clamped your thighs shut.

“Shouldn’t we go inside, Ben?”

His hungry eyes met yours. He squeezed the soft fabric between his fingers and proceeded to lift your dress until it stopped at your knees.

“No.”

He placed a hand between your knees to space them apart but you kept them clamped shut.

“What if somebody sees us, Honey?”

“I don’t give a fuck,” he said with shortness. “I’m not waiting another second to taste you.”

You exhaled. Your clit perked up, but Ben was still. His eyes still on you and the skirt of your dress still scrunched between his fingers.

“I don’t care about your size, Y/N. You know that,” he said.

“I know you don’t,” you started. “But, sometimes, I do.”

Ben released your dress and rubbed your clothed legs. “May I ask a favor of you?”

“Sure, Baby,” you responded, running your fingers through this hair.

“For me--just this one time--let me fuck you right here,” he requested. You swallowed, but before you could speak, he continued. “I want to see your pussy clench when the cool air hits it, then feel it melt when I wrap my lips around your clit...”

He tugged at the skirt of your dress again. “I want to see the sky behind you when I hold your legs in the air.”

Your knees weakened and your ass began to sink into the sofa. Ben pushed your skirt to your thighs and pulled your panties down.

“No more underwear this weekend,” he demanded. He balled your panties up, stood up, leaned over you, and threw them out in the ocean. Then, he fell back to his knees and pushed your heavy legs back.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you fell back on the sofa. You jumped at the feeling of cool air on your moistening pussy and bare thighs. Ben rubbed his fingers up and down your ass and reached up to pull the sandals off your feet.

“I want to see how your skin glows under a sunset when I’m making you come...”

Ben gripped the back of your right knee with his left hand and rubbed circles over your ever-spreading labia with the pads of his right fingers. You moaned for him--moaned for yourself. Your mind relaxed as your nipples awakened.

“Is your pussy as juicy as it looks?” he asked.

You threw your head back, now a complete goner. Suddenly, you felt a quick sting on your pussy lips, making you gasp. Your head shot up and you looked beyond your belly and into Ben’s fierce eyes.

“Answer me.”

You nodded profusely. “Yes, Baby. It is. Get a taste, Baby. Please.”

“Mmm...” he said, his index and middle fingers retreating from the others to rub deep into your slit--the crevice keeping your plush pussy lips together slowly drifted apart as your clit poked through them. He slid the two fingers over your wet clit--the insides of his digits stroking the soft bud, and the outsides stroking the warm inner flesh of your labia. Finally, he turned his palm up, pushed his middle finger inside of your welcoming hole, and trailed the very tip of his tongue from your opening to the pointed end of your edible rose.

“Oh, God...” you whispered.

Ben took his time--licking every centimeter of your delicious pussy--slurping, sucking, smelling--burying his nose inside to get it sticky. You were helpless under him--pussy melting, ass cheeks sticking together with sweat and arousal. Ben would look up to see your contorted face--your breasts jiggling every time you moaned or groaned. He glanced at the orange sun setting behind you, smiled, and returned his focus to his task. When you grabbed his hair, he pulled away.

“I want your first orgasm from me to be on my dick,” he said, unbuttoning his pants. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as you watched him. Once Ben’s pants and boxers were on the floor, he sat on the sofa and gestured for you to come toward him. “Get on top.”

You froze again.

“Ben, I don’t--”

Suddenly, his long arm reached out and his hand was around your wrist. He yanked you close--your face nearly falling into his lap.

“Don’t be disobedient, Princess,” he said. You exhaled, and as fast as you could, climbed onto your knees, hiked up your skirt, and threw your leg over Ben’s lap to straddle him. He alleviated some of your worry by holding your left ass cheek in his hand, and his dick with the other. With his help, you slowly sank on his length. He stared at you the entire way down--patient, but hungry. He seemed to have an aversion to showing too much emotion, but you saw his eyebrows scrunch when your hot walls stretched for him--when he felt just how slick you were.

“That’s it, Gorgeous,” he mumbled. He bit his lip and smacked your ass. “Now, bounce on it. That’s your dick...”

You lifted your hips and fell back down with a pained-but-pleasured moan.

“Give that tight pussy what it needs.”

“Fuck!” you shouted, picking up your pace.

Ben’s hands rested on the bottom of your ass as it jiggled and bounced in the salty, aqueous air. “Shit! Yes! God! Fuck! Ahh!” a chorus of obscenities you sang out to the sky--so loud, so free that the few remaining clouds parted so that the praise of your own pleasure could be heard by the naughty sector of angels.

You covered him in your juices. Your flesh clapped against his. He’d ripped the bust of your dress and licked the sweat off your breasts. You pulled his hair. You called him Baby, he called you Princess. You screamed “yes!” he grabbed your throat to momentarily trap the sound. The heavens couldn’t have all of your “yeses”--your body needed to absorb some of your beautiful sounds, too.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimpered--your fingers falling to your clit. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” you shouted as your clit turned to mush under your fingers--gushing and clenching around Ben’s girth. Your head flew back and your eyes crossed as you rode out your wave. When you came to, you recognized Ben’s grazes against your flesh.

After a quick, hot kiss, you climbed off his lap and he bent you over the sofa. He sucked at your juice and swallowed sticky cream. And as you observed the waters part for the heavy boat, you felt your walls part once more. Ben buried himself deep inside of your sensitive pussy and leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

“You feel so good,” he said. He dragged out of you and slipped back inside. You turned your head in his direction and he found your lips and kissed you with passion--with fire. Then, he slammed into you repeatedly, chasing his own orgasm. He reached around to rub your clit, hoping to bring you to your second.

“No!” you squealed--squirming away from his touch, but he pressed down harder.

“Yes,” he retorted. “I know you’ve got some more in you. Give me another one.”

Feeling the pressure building inside of you again, you bounced back against Ben’s crotch.

“There you go,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s it. Take what you want, Princess...take what you want...”

Just seconds after you exploded on his fingers and around his rock-hard dick, you felt him pulse inside of you. After a few more strokes, he stilled his movement--and you felt his warm cum spreading around inside of you--filling you up.

Ben collapsed on your back but quickly crashed onto the sofa--as did you. The two of you caught your breath, then you finished your dessert and champagne. When the sky was completely dark, you’d gone back inside of the boat, washed, and changed into warmer clothes. Then, you went back out onto the deck, cuddled on your christened sofa to look at the stars. “I saw you in a dream,” he said out of nowhere.

“Hmm?”

He ran his fingers up and down your arm. “I dreamed about you before I met you. That’s how I knew you were my girl.”

You smiled and felt the urge to break up the sappiness before you started to tear up. “A genius and a psychic. Are you strong with The Force, too?”

Ben smiled--something he rarely did. “Don’t tease me when I’m being sentimental, Princess.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. You gazed into each other’s eyes, then Ben gave you another kiss and pulled you closer to him. ______________________ Thank you to @bluestarego @ellelaconi @xxcatrenxx @millenialcatlady @mariesackler and @clydes-hole for helping me out with this one!

137 notes · View notes

impala-dreamer · 4 years

Text

Ecstasy

SPN FanFic

~Sam's major headache leads to a major oops on Dean's part and some major fun for Sam.~

Sam x Reader, Dean

3,969 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Accidental Drug Use. Smut. Hair Pulling. Stoned!Sex

A/N: This will stand as my Free Square for @spnkinkbingo 2020. I'm doing "Hair Pulling Kink" bc Sam totally likes to have his hair pulled. ;) Hope you all enjoy!

2020 KinkBingo Masterlist ~ My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

Sam pressed his forehead deeper into the ledge of his knuckles, hoping the pressure would distract his ears from the beeping and ease the headache pounding behind his eyes.

It did not.

“Shit.” Dean was across the way, kicked back in his chair, ankles cross on the tabletop, phone in hand. In between alternating whispered curses and victory cheers, his phone was making the most irritating bleeping noises. “Yeah, baby!”

A devastated and annoyed sigh filled the air and Sam let his hand fall to the table with a thud. “What are you doing?” he snapped, eyes wide, head shaking at Dean.

Green eyes popped up innocently. “Playing Tetris, what are you doing?”

Sam tossed his hands up and sat back. “I’m trying to work! Why is it so loud?”

“I don’t know, Tetris is loud.” Dean shrugged and hiss disappointedly as he put a cube in the wrong spot. “You’re distracting me, shut up.”

“I’m distracting you- I- what!”

A melodic whistle from the next room caught their ears and both boys looked up to see Y/N dancing about, shaking her ass as she cleaned up last night’s messy dinner. Headphones snug in her ears, she whistled along to the music as she picked up empty beer bottles and a few scattered napkins.

Dean leaned over the table to get a better view, humming in approval at the curves on display. “Nice.”

“Dean!” Sam scolded in a low voice, quickly looking away and back to his book.

“What? She’s got a nice-”

“Just stop it.”

Dean laughed and licked his chapped lips as he settled back in place. “I know you like her, it’s cool, man. She’s all yours.”

Sam’s spine straightened in defense even as a blush filled his cheeks. “She’s not- mine. What? I don’t-”

“Sammy,” Dean grinned, dropping his chin as his eyebrows rose knowingly. “You can’t hide this stuff from me. I see all.”

Sam cleared his throat and tried to end the conversation, ducking his gaze back to his text. “You don’t see anything. There’s nothing to see.”

“Lucky for you,” Dean went on, ignoring him, “she likes you too.”

“H-how do you know?” Sam refused to look up, but lifted his eyes slightly.

Dean sighed happily and puckered his lips. “Because she turned me down.”

That lifted Sam’s entire frame. “What!”

“I know, shocking, right? I mean…” Dean waved a hand down the length of himself Vanna White style. “How could she say no? But she did.”

“When?”

“Few months ago. We were working that case in Ossining- remember? And… we got a little buzzed and I made a move and…”

“Wow.”

“I know. It was a pretty good move.”

“No, not- I just- wow.”

Dean laughed and dropped his feet so he could lean over the table and lower his voice. “Look, she likes you. You like her. It’s cool.”

The tip of Sam’s tongue snuck out to hang on his lower lip as he looked a little to the left, contemplating Dean’s confession. “Huh.”

“Yup.” Satisfied that his point was made, Dean sat back and started the game again, bleeping away without a thought.

Sam soon turned back to his research, trying to forget what Dean had said about Y/N. If it was meant to be, it would be; there was no use dwelling on it, especially when there was work to be done.

Very time consuming, tedious work that involved translating handwritten Romanian from a faded text while listening to Dean's Tetris antics.

Thoughts of Y/N were soon drowned out by a sharp pounding in his left temple, and Sam gave up, throwing his pencil down like a gavel and leaning back. He clutched his skull and groaned.

“Dude, go take something,” Dean suggested after slipping a bar into place and clearing three lines at once.

Sam sighed and rubbed at his eyes. “Yeah. You want anything?”

“Nah. Awe, damnit! Freaking cube again!”

The farther from Dean he walked, the calmer Sam felt, but his head was still pulsing.

The kitchen was practically bare and no meds were to be found. Sam growled lowly as he shuffled back to the library and paused in the archway.

“There's an empty bottle of Excedrin in the pantry,” he said cooly.

Dean looked up from his phone with a lingering smile. “OK. Did you take some?”

“Empty. Bottle.” Sam enunciated each letter and Dean's smile fell.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Dean closed one eye as he thought up both an excuse and solution at once. “Uh, I think there's some Tylenol in my room.”

Sam grit his teeth and nodded curtly. “Thanks.”

A handful of little white pills later, Sam was back in his seat, head in hand, waiting for relief to find him. He cradled his head in his hands, fingers splayed across his forehead, eyes glazing over the words set before him. It was slow going.

“Hey, bros,” Y/N greeted, taking the seat next to Sam as she set down three beers on the table. “Whatcha doin’?”

Dean happily reached for a beer. “Beating my high score.”

Sam sighed. “Working. Or trying to.” He looked up to find Y/N watching him intently and it made his heart race. “What’re y-you up to?” He could feel his cheeks flush and Y/N smiled.

“Oh, big day for me,” she said, sitting back with a beer. “I cleaned the bathroom- gross by the way,” she said, casting an eye at Dean. “You know you can rinse out the sink after you shave. It’s not hard.”

Dean waved a dismissive hand and failed to flip a Z piece in time. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Exactly.” She sighed and turned back to Sam who’s eyes had never left her face. “Then I did two loads of laundry,” she continued, ticking her chore list off on one hand. “Found my lost Blues Traveler tee- under the bed,” she added in a whisper, cupping her hand to her cheek as if it were a secret, “and just finished reorganizing 6A. Did you know we have jars full of random animal bones? Because...ew.”

Sam managed a daze laugh, but found it hard to look away from her perfect lips as they frowned in disgust. “Yeah. Bones.”

“So whatcha working on?” Y/N smiled and leaned over to look at his book, and Sam’s breath nearly stopped.

His eyes zoomed in on the delicate lines on her lips, the hint of teeth just between as she spoke, the way she bit the tip of her tongue just slightly when she smiled. His mouth was watering, his pulse pounding, so focused on her mouth as she came closer.

“Sam?”

Y/N laughed at his awkward stare and he nearly jumped out of his skin, startled back into himself.

“Yeah. Yes. Working.” He swallowed hard and shivered, prying his eyes from Y/N to the book. “Um… It’s-er- lore. From the- Romania on things.”

“OK…” Y/N shook her head at his ramblings and sat back, lifting the beer bottle to her lips. She puckered her mouth and took a delicate sip as her head tipped back, and Sam made a noise that turned all their heads, even his own.

“Dude,” Dean gasped across the table at the audible moan that pushed up from the back of Sam’s throat, and Sam quickly coughed, hoping to cover his mishap.

Y/N politely ignored the noise, turning her face away as an embarrassingly pleased smile tickled her lips. She took another drink, slower this time, and Sam could not stop himself.

His pupils went wide as he watched the muscles in her throat contract, as he saw her mouth move around the thick bottle neck. He groaned again and shifted in his seat, his pants growing tighter with unsolicited lust.

Dean sat forward and slapped a hand on the table to get Sam’s attention. “You OK, man?”

Sam startled and twisted in his chair, rubbing his damp palms over his thighs to dry them. “What? Yes. What? Why?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed in concern. “You’re all… shaky.”

Y/N, too, was watching Sam carefully. “And you’re sweating.” She put the beer down and leaned over, gently placing her wrist on Sam’s forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

Her touch felt like lightning, his entire body sparking with the feeling of her skin upon his. His heart skipped too many beats and when it came back, it was frantic and loud, banging against his ribs. He closed his eyes, wishing it all away, but Y/N’s sweet voice tickled his ear.

“Sam, are you feeling alright?”

His stomach tightened and his cock jumped, painfully swelling against the roughness of his jeans. “Uh…” He shuddered and took a deep breath, holding it until his shoulders stopped shaking. “W-will you excuse me, please?”

Sam jumped up before she could answer, dragging the old Romanian book on gypsies with him, holding it over his crotch as camouflage. He ran from the room, and Y/N looked at Dean with worried eyes.

“Something I said?”

Dean chewed his lip, pondering the situation, and excused himself as well after finishing his beer in two long pulls. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam was in the mouth of the hallway, filling up the cavernous passageway with not only his height but his frantic movements. He paced back and forth across the seven foot wide tiled expanse, his teeth gnawing at the middle nail of his left hand.

Dean approached quickly but gently. “Dude, what the fuck?”

Sam skidded to a halt and turned on his heel, eyes wide, sweat glistening on his forehead. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I can’t calm down. I’m like, my- with- and she- there was- I couldn’t sit there anymore. Do you know how soft her skin is?”

“Whoa.” Dean raised his hands carefully, trying to get Sam to calm down. “Reel it in, man.”

“I can’t. I can’t. It’s like my brain is jumping. And my heart is like- boom boom boom. Did you see Y/N’s lips on that bottle? Oh my god- it was like- wow.” Sam’s stomach flipped again and he bit his lip to keep in a moan. “What is happening!”

Dean shook his head, dumbfounded. “What the hell did you take?”

“Tylenol!” Sam snapped back. “You told me to take the tylenol in your room! Because somebody finished the Exce-”

“Oh...fuck.” Dean exhaled slowly and sought sanctuary on the ceiling, but found none.

“Dean…”

“Which bottle?”

Sam’s shoulders rose up to his ears. “Which bottle! The one in your nightstand. You said to take the Tylenol. I took the Tylenol. You said the one in your room. That’s the one I took. Why the fuck? What!”

Dean tread carefully. “Ya know, it’s no big deal,” he said with a fake laugh. “You’ll be fine.”

“What did you do!”

“I did nothing!” Dean defended, backing away slightly as Sam lurched forward. “You… may have taken some-”

“Some what, Dean?”

Dean let out a breath that rumbled his pursed lips. “Ecstasy?”

Sam’s explosion was instant and a little bit terrifying. The book dropped to the floor as both his massive hands rose to strangle the air in front of Dean’s face, inching ever closer to his actual neck. “What is ecstasy doing in the Tylenol, Dean!”

“You remember Chloe, right?” Dean said quickly, hoping to weasel out of danger with a memory. “The waitress from Lincoln with the sister who had the big…” He smirked, hands out and curved around his chest. “You remember. Anyway- I didn’t want to just leave it laying around so…”

Sam’s jaw was near to breaking with how tightly he gnashed his teeth together. “So you put it in the Tylenol?” His voice echoed down the hall and Dean shushed him quickly, lest Y/N come running.

“I forgot, OK? I was drunk. Anyway, it’s old. That was like three years ago. You’ll be fine. Just...go lay down. You’re freaking vibrating.”

Sam spun around three times, tugging at his hair as his muscles twitched. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Go lay down and sleep it off,” Dean ordered, clamping a firm hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You’re fine.”

“Remind me to kill you tomorrow.”

“Will do, buddy.” Dean patted his back and gave him a push, sending Sam off to bed. “Goodnight.”

The sheets were so soft, Sam couldn’t stop touching them. He ran his hands down across the mattress, feeling every single thread in the woven fabric, wondering if he could count them all if he concentrated really hard.

The pillow was cool against his cheek. It rubbed against his face, so soft and cool, wicking away the heat from his skin until it was warm and he frowned, quickly flipping it over to feel the cold again. It was amazing.

He was burning up, sweating and prickling with energy. He could feel every hair on his body, every cell was alive and moving. It was maddening and incredible, and he wanted… something. He needed...something.

Y/N knocked, but Sam was too lost in his own frantically dancing thoughts to acknowledge her. She opened the door a crack, peeking in just to make sure he was decent.

“Sam?”

He jumped at the sound of her sweet voice and turned over quickly, sitting up to face her. “Hey, Y/N/N.”

She stepped inside and kicked the door shut with a tap of her heel. “I just wanted to check on you,” she said cheerfully, tossing a water bottle at him. “Feeling any better?”

He missed the catch and the bottle landed by his side on the bed. “Uh, yeah. Good. Why? How are you? Are you ok?” He rambled while trying to pick up the bottle, immediately distracted by the weight of the water and the way it felt moving in his hands. He stared into the clear plastic and Y/N raised her brows in worry.

“What is going on with you?”

“It's like holding an ocean,” he mused, entranced by a bubble near the cap.

“Right.” Cautiously, she came close and touched his hand, moving it and the bottle away from his eyes. “Sam…”

The touch of her fingers on his made Sam's blood sing. His focus zoomed in on her delicate hand, the supple, soft skin, the dimples of her knuckles. He couldn't breathe for what seemed like forever, his lungs frozen, body void of all function except the nerve endings that sizzled with her touch.

“Want…”

She cocked her head at his faint whisper and moved her hands to his cheeks, looking him over with concerned eyes. “Sam, what's wrong? Tell me what you need.”

He took a quick breath and looked up into her eyes, losing himself in the heat of her hands. “I need…”

She leaned closer, wanting to help, scared of the wild look in his eyes. “Tell me. Anything you need, Sam. I'm here.”

His pulse was pounding, loud in his ears; his skin was on fire, stomach churning with nerves. He breathed deep, trying to calm himself but finding no point. She was what he needed. Always had been. “I need...you.”

Her breath caught and Y/N shook her head gently, in confusion not disapproval. “What?”

“You,” he said again, eyes looking deep into hers. “I need you, Y/N.”

“Are you-”

Sam laid his hands on top of hers, his eyes rolling a bit at the softness of her skin. “High? A little. Yeah. Dean and the- it's a long story there was a waitress with- it doesn't matter.” She let him ramble, amazed by the strange lightness of his voice. Sam stumbled over his own tongue, words spilling out before he could think them through. “The point isn't about the waitress. I had a headache and- Y/N… can I?”

She laughed gently. “Can you what, Sam?”

“I wanna kiss you. Can I- um...may I kiss you?”

Heart in her throat, unable to answer, Y/N simply nodded and chewed nervously at her lip, waiting for the kiss she'd wanted since the moment they'd met.

Sam's face lit up with a smile. “Really?” He moved his hands from hers to hover over her cheeks, unsure if he should let them land. He could feel the space between them, their auras touching, atoms ricocheting off each other in the tiny gap.

“Yes, Sam,” she sputtered in a whisper. “Kiss me.”

It wasn't a kiss, it was an explosion. Sam let go of every nervous doubt, every worry, every self conscious thought that had ever passed behind his hazel eyes and finally took a leap two and a half years in the making.

His fingertips landed on the apples of her cheeks and he pushed upwards, taking her lips without a second thought. The feeling was maddening and Sam sealed his eyes shut tight, enjoying the sensations sparking against his mouth. She breathed against him, parting her lips to snake her tongue across his mouth and Sam moaned loudly, his hands moving to grab hold of her neck and shoulders, pulling her down.

They fell onto the bed; sheet billowing around them as their bodies tangled. Sam kissed her again and again, unable to decide which kiss felt better: the quick press of warm lips, or a lingering, soft pull. When her tongue touched his again, he gave up trying to analyze and licked into her mouth like a starving man.

Y/N tried to roll off of his chest, but Sam followed her, turning onto his side so that as much of him was touching as much of her as he could manage. The very thought of moving his hands away from her body was sheer panic, and he clung to her with all he had.

“God, you feel so good,” he panted in between kisses, holding her close. He ran his hand up and down her side, marveling at the dip at her waist and the softness of her hips. “I never knew it could feel so good. Fuck. I…” His voice was cracking, nervousness creeping back into his mind. What if she didn't want more, what if she was just here because he was a wreck? His fingertips paused at the hem of her shirt, twitching as he debated reaching under the cotton. “Can I- I need to- feel you.”

Y/N kissed him hard and grabbed his hand, guiding it up underneath her shirt. Sam stiffened as she pressed his palm against her breast and he let loose a husky growl.

“Touch me, Sam,” she urged, squeezing his hand so that his fingers curled around her. “I want you to.”

He sighed against her lips and the animal inside took over. Sam lifted her with him as he sat up, quickly pulling her shirt off. He stared for a moment, stunned by the dip between her breasts and the soft mounds caged and held high by her bra. When Y/N unhooked the clasp and pulled the fabric away, Sam dove down, locking his mouth around her nipple, and feeling the flesh harden against his tongue. He hummed, feeling every dimple like a spark of fire on his lips, and he sucked hard, drawing a husky moan from Y/N.

“Fuck, Sam!” She pushed her fingers through his hair, nails scraping his scalp. When he bit down on her, she yanked a fistful of hair and Sam let her tit fall from his mouth as his head flew backwards, eyes rolling as tortured pleasure spread through him like icy fingers down his spine.

“Do it again,” he breathed, chest heaving, lips wet and parted.

Y/N pulled his hair again and he let out a wail of desperation and sank back onto the bed.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, reaching for her hips to pull her close. “Everything feels so good.”

She wiggled her arm out from beneath his head and tossed a leg over him, straddling his trim hips. Sam looked up with dark eyes that struggled to focus, his lips trembling as she plucked his shirt buttons open. His hands traveled slowly up her thighs, massaging with unmappable touches as he tried to feel all of her at once. By the time his hands cupped her breasts again, Y/N had his flannel open and she bent down to lick at his chest while pushing the cotton further from his broad shoulders.

“Oh-my-god.” He was near to hysteria, every atom in his body craving more. “Please.”

The tip of her tongue flickered, hot, over his left nipple and Sam nearly roared as the sensation zapped through him. Y/N sat back then and rubbed her ass over his jeans, making his eyes roll back hard.

“I-I-fuck, please...” His jaw dropped as she rocked forward again, denim on denim, rough yet gentle; friction heating the air between them and making his cock swell even harder.

Y/N tugged her hand through his long hair once more, loving the silkiness between her fingers, the pathetic cry it pulled from his throat. “You need something else, baby?”

“Need-”

She yanked the chestnut strands, winding her fingers around the soft locks until her knuckles grazed his scalp.

“Tell me.”

Sam opened his eyes, struggling to focus on her, panting as the pain spread like delicious fire across his skull. “Need to fuck you. Please.”

Another firm tug lifted his chin and Y/N kissed him hard, plunging her tongue into his dazed mouth, lapping at the stale taste of beer and mint that lingered on his tongue. “You sure?”

His head lolled to the side when her hand disappeared. “Yes. Please. Please.”

Zippers were ripped, buttons snapped and belts opened, drawers discarded. Sam could barely stand it. The slide of his own hands as he undressed drove him insane; the sight of Y/N stripping for him made his heart beat dangerously fast.

Finally, she came back to him, hopping back into his lap, taking his lips again as she slid down, slowly impaling herself on his enormous erection. She inched down as gently as she could, holding her breath against his mouth as her cunt stretched for him.

Sam held on, wrapping his arms tight around her back, holding her close so neither would fall. His head was spinning, his blood rushing too fast, pounding in his ears.

“Please…”

“It’s OK, Sam,” Y/N whispered, kissing his cheek sweetly, “I got this…”

Dean tripped over his bootlace in the hallway but caught himself and laughed it off, thankful that no one was around to see his balancing ballet. Realizing he was putting himself in mortal danger, he finally shut down his game and stashed the phone in his back pocket, sighing as he said adieu to his high score.

“I could go professional,” he mused as he passed Sam’s room. “Do they do tournaments for Tetris?” He paused, scrunching up his nose as he thought about the ridiculousness of such an idea.

“Hey, Sam?” Dean spun on his heel and headed back to Sam’s bedroom, lifting a closed fist to knock on the door. “Do they do Tetris- oh...”

Just as quickly as he had before, Dean spun around again, this time smirking as the unmistakable sounds of fevered lovemaking made their way through the ancient door. Shaking his head, Dean made a mental note to ask Sam about his new money-making idea in the morning. That, and what he and Y/N had gotten up to thanks to his accidental drugging.

Dean laughed to himself. “Poor kid needs to be stoned to make a move.”

From behind the door, Y/N let out a wail, screaming Sam’s name without care.

Dean paused for a moment to listen, nodding proudly before heading off to bed. “That’s my boy.”

2020 Forever Tags: @67-chevy-baby @akshi8278 @akhuna01 @amanda-teaches @because-imma-lady-assface @blondemarvelchick @blushingjared @broiderie @burningcoffeetimetravel @classic-rock-angel @cosicas-cuquis @covered-byroses @crashdevlin @deansgirl215 @deans-baby-momma @deangirl7695 @deanwanddamons @deanwinchesterswitch @defenderrosetyler @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @edge-oftonight @emoryhemsworth @fandom-princess-forevermore @feelmyroarrrr @flamencodiva @focusonspn @herbologystudent252 @heycasbutt @hornyandsmol @ilovefanfic86 @i-love-superhero @ilsawasanacrobat @imjustadrummer @ivvitm1109 @joseyrw @justagirlinafandomworld @justcallmeasmodeus @katymacsupernatural @laxe-from-outer-space @leatherandfrackles @lessons-of-red @letsby @letsdisneythings @lonewolf471 @maddiepants @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @missjenniferb @mrswhozeewhatsis @mummybear @onethirstyunicorn @our-jensen-ackles-love @screechingartisancashbailiff @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @starboycas @stephaniecanfield96us @stoneyggirl @squirrelnotsam @thebookisbtr @thehardcoveraddict @thevelvetseries @veevm @winchestersister55 @wendibird @winecatsandpizza @winterpoohbear

#sam x reader #dean #smut #spnkinkbingo 2020

369 notes · View notes

cross-d-a · 4 years

Text

fic tag game

aaahhh @vishcount thank you for tagging me!!! These are so fun and I adored reading about your fic journey~! ೖ(⑅σ̑ᴗσ̑)ೖ ❤

OH as a note!! For the ppl I tag at the end I don’t expect you to read all of this bc it’s A Lot!!! but I figured you might want to do this game yourself? haha :)

Name: cross-d-a shortened version of my first ever username. unfortunately stuck with it now haha but i’m fond of it :p wish it was cuter tho!!

Posting the rest of this under the cut so it doesn’t eat up people’s dashes!!

(｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

Fandoms:

oKAY YIKES there are....honestly too many too name. I’ve got a short and obsessive attention span so it’s either all or nothing with me usually. When I can stay in a fandom for a long period of time it’s a miracle. I’ll name the bigger ones that I’ve all written fic for! Even if I’ve never posted them haha

Right now I’m very firmly into Daomu Biji (dmbj). It feels like it’s both got a crap ton of content and yet barely anything at all haha. Maybe because the English fandom is so small. But at least there are a bunch of dramas and books!!! I really, really, really adore dmbj so much!! And a large part of that is the fandom!!! It's been a really cool and unique experience! Everyone in it is truly so kind and wonderful, and I’ve made some really incredible friends because of it (looking at you vish!! ❤). I’ve got a bunch of wips, but I’ve only posted two fics for dmbj!

Before this I was very into Guardian and mdzs. MDZS was my first foray into cdramas and Guardian’s Zhu Yilong really suckered me into watching more haha I also have fics for both these fandoms!

My very first fandoms were Fullmetal Alchemist, D. Gray-Man and Naruto. My very old ffnet account has fics for these and I’ve got a bunch of newer wips on my tablet. Then Star Trek, Twilight, BBC Merlin, Sherlock, Death Note, Harry Potter, How to Train Your Dragon, Battlestar Galactica, Avatar the Last Airbender and Marvel were a few of my main ones in high school. Plus a bunch of anime (like Fruits Basket! and Kuroshitsuji and Natsume Yuujinchou).

Then college hit and I renewed my childhood love of Tolkien (mainly lotr and the Hobbit), and Star Wars. I also found Teen Wolf! Then after college it was Stranger Things.

I find myself in a cycle of mild fondness and complete obsession with these fandoms haha I go back to Star Wars at least once a year!! Then I’m in the gffa hole for a few months. Marvel also reoccurs, depending on how interested I am in new content! Star Trek I always always always go back to. TOS is my comfort show and it will never fade from my heart ❤

But for now I’m stuck in cdrama hell and I love it

Tropes:

Time travel, found family, whump+hurt/comfort, fairytale-like elements, resurrective immortality (thanks to a “Nine Lives” Hobbit fic), CROSSOVERS

I’m a slut for all these things so they often worm their way into my plots haha

I also just- love weird premises. I think that’s the anime influencing me haha

Fic I spent most time on:

My series he leaves sand and stardust in my wake (main fic is hurricane on the edge of oblivion), I have...spent five years on now. I have done so much research for this fic it’s insane.

The premise is force ghost!Obi-Wan getting shunted back into his tiny 10 year old self. I incorporate a shit ton of legends and I try to stay as canon as possible. I basically want this au to feel like it’s 1000% plausible while still getting all my gay shit. It’s chock full of whump, redemption, found family, minor characters turning into major characters, and I’ve got slavery uprising on the mind, too. It’s just- everything I could ever want to explore in the Star Wars universe basically.

It’s my first big project. I started doodling and scribbling ideas in the margins of my notebook in my Scottish History class. I adore it so so so much. But, because of my hyperfixation and fleeting intense obsession with things it makes it- really difficult to consistently update. I leave it for months at a time and I am constantly guilt-ridden about it. Because it’s my baby and I have a lot of wonderful readers. I fear I’ll never be able to finish it. Especially since I’ve written so much and I’m still only in the beginning of it. ( ; A ; )

Also, I’ve spent so much time with Xanatos, Feemor and Bruck that they just feel like mine now. I can’t read any fics that involve them, it’s too strange. Which is a damn shame because I love them so much haha OH ALSO!! I think it’s the first really big fic to include those three?? So I’m very proud about that haha (I’ve had so many ppl comment about how they actually Give A Shit about these three and are Invested bc of me haha)

Favorite fic(s) you’ve written:

hurricane on the edge of oblivion (with nowhere to go) (Star Wars)

My long-term passion project. My love-letter to Star Wars, I suppose. Reading it now I feel like a lot of it is clunky or long-winded, but I think it really shows the foundation of my writing today :) Main characters are Obi-Wan, Xanatos Du Crion, Qui-Gon Jinn, Bruck Chun and Feemor. Eventually we’ll get to Maul, Savage, Feral, Shmi Skywalker, (more!) Ahsoka, Anakin and a shit ton of clones ❤

things we hunger for (Guardian)

My Ye Zun self-indulgent fic. It’s a time travel amnesia Weilanzun! Honestly has some of my fav writing I’ve ever done. It’s so soft and really indulges in the hurt/comfort. It gives Ye Zun the friends and family I think he deserves. Also, he gets to grow into a (mostly!) functional person and I adore him.

the beast that slumbers within your soul (mdzs)

Jiang Cheng centric fic!! I feel like all my favourite fics I’ve written are love letters haha. This is one def my love letter to Jiang Cheng. This fic possessed me for two whole days. I wrote 16k in almost one sitting. I went to sleep at 6 in the morning bc I couldn’t stop writing. And when I drifted off I kept thinking of new ideas so I’d whip out my phone and write down lines and notes. I- have never ever ever felt that way about anything. It was- insane. It felt insane. It was so amazing. I’m still riding the memory of that high.

Basically Jiang Cheng actually finds Baoshan Sanren and it turns out she’s a fox demon and Jiang Cheng is descended from wolves. It’s- okay I said the fic above this had my favourite writing?? That was a lie. This has my favourite writing I’ve ever done. It’s unfinished bc I am in dmbj hell but I am still excited about the next chapter which features Wei Wuxian’s pov!!

the whispers of spirits (dmbj)

My current passion project. In a way it kinda feels similar to hurricane? Bc multiple povs, incorporating different aspects of canon (we’ll get there!! I promise!), shit ton of research, etc. etc. I really really really love it for so many reasons. I’m basically taking all the things I was unsatisfied with in Reboot and Sha Hai and running with it. Found family and whump galore! It’s also a love letter to the women of dmbj who really deserve so so so much better.

Honourable mention to:

One Day (you’ll have given more of yourself than is meant to be taken) (Marvel)

This fic also kinda possessed me. I just- couldn’t get rid of the idea of a trans!Thor. And I mean a mtf Thor! It’s just? So many people look at Thor and go “that’s a Real Man.” Full stop. They never think there could be anything more, and it really really really bothered me. So I wrote out my feelings. I’m not trans. I don’t have that experience at all. I’ve had issues and confusion about my gender but nothing like this. I just wanted to do justice to this idea of Thor in my head. And I still feel a bit nervous having posted it. But I've gotten so many comments from people who really connected with what I’ve written? So I’m very very thankful I wrote it and it has a very special place in my heart. It’s a very cathartic fic.

Fic I spent least time on:

Probably we rise (Star Wars) and I think it shows haha. I wrote it in response to Dave Filoni posting a drawing of Ahsoka and Gandalf telling her “People thought I was dead, too, and look how that turned out...” So I incorporated Ahsoka (and Din and Grogu and Ezra!!!) into the ending of Rise of Skywalker, kinda explaining how I think they could all still be alive. :)

Longest fic:

hurricane is my longest fic (159k) but I’m kinda worried whispers will eclipse that.....

Shortest fic:

Of my posted ones it’s The Five Moments it Took Tony and Scott to Admit They Were Best Friends (and the first time they ever did), currently clocks at 1.6k. It’s unfinished tho so maybe that doesn’t count.... otherwise it’s we rise which is completed and 2k.

Most hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks:

hurricane overall has the most of all these. Though I don’t think hits counts as much bc it’s multi-chapter. If you discount multi-chapter stuff, most hits goes to my obikin smutfic Homecoming, bc people are horny af haha

Fic you want to rewrite/expand on:

If I had energy I’d like to rewrite the beginning of hurricane bc it feels so so wordy. I’d want to expand on One Day bc I really would like to write a whole series with trans!Thor. And like- I’d really like the focus to finish any of my WIPs.

Share a bit of a WIP: I really wanna share my Guardian/dmbj crossover that I started back in August. Bc I adore the idea of wu xie&shen wei&ye zun triplets! Plus time travel!!! I dunno if I’ll ever finish it tho ( ; A ; ) It just feels like a lot to deal with right now.

This scene takes place during the Mountain Awl arc. Guardian crew and desperado fam run across each other at the village! Wu Xie has recently found out that he’s adopted and he’s searching for answers in the area Sanshu originally found amnesiac!toddler!Wu Xie in :) Gonna pull two snippets bc I’m v excited and this might be the only time anyone else sees this fic haha:

“Oh?” Pangzi focuses on Yunlan now, lips twisting. “You think I’ve ‘got the wrong guy,’ huh?” He laughs, but it’s not a nice sound. “That’s rich! Are you that cocky or are you just stupid?”

Bristling, Yunlan drops his hands and scowls. “Excuse me?”

“Sir,” Shen Wei tries. “I think—”

Pangzi’s eyes snap back to Shen Wei, sharp and blazing. “How dare you fucking steal his face!”

What?

Automatically, Zhao Yunlan turns to Shen Wei, but the professor looks just as shell-shocked as Zhao Yunlan feels which- is seriously something. Since everything about Shen Wei is so carefully controlled, kept to the minimum. Except for those delightful little smiles that bloom across his lovely face, or the startled little bursts of laughter that fall from his lips. Or even when anger and frustration spark across his features, cracking his calm veneer open enough that he can see a glimmer of what lies beneath, the fire in those eyes. Zhao Yunlan delights in those moments, makes a game of making Shen Wei’s control slip.

He tells himself it’s nothing more than a game. Nothing more than trying to find out what makes Shen Wei tick.

Zhao Yunlan’s always been very bad at lying to himself. Or very good. Depending on who you’re asking.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Yunlan splutters.

But before anyone can say anything else, a very familiar voice calls:

“Pangzi? What’s wrong?”

Yunlan can feel Shen Wei stiffen, and Yunlan himself is pulled to that voice like a planet in orbit, like the inevitable plummet to the ground.

Another shadow wavers in the doorway before it steps out onto the dirt. Light illuminates shaggy hair, limning it gold, sharply casting everything else in shadow. But as the figure nears, the contrast softens until Yunlan can see the newcomer’s face properly and- and—

“Wu Xie!” Pangzi growls. “We’ve got ourselves an impostor!”

The man wearing Shen Wei’s face steps up to them, brows furrowed and mouth pulled down into a sharp frown. He glances between them, eyes landing on Shen Wei. His scowl deepens. He opens his mouth, but then—

“Wu Xie?” Shen Wei breathes, all trembly and lost and hopeless.

Heart in his throat, Yunlan turns to Shen Wei again. Turns and flinches at that stricken look upon Shen Wei’s pale pinched face.

“A-Xie?” Shen Wei chokes. “Didi?”

and

Pangzi snorts. “Professor?”

“I-it’s true!”

Startled Yunlan swings his attention over to Jiajia who clenches her backpack to her chest, face screwed up in admirable determination. “P-professor Shen took me and Xiao Quan on a field trip to investigate an archeological site around here!”

“Oh?” Wu Xie drawls all slow and amused. “Well, what a coincidence. We’re archeologists, too.”

“With guns?” Yunlan bites out.

Wu Xie raises a brow, grin full of teeth. “Well, you can never be too prepared.”

“Right,” Yunlan drawls right back. “Are you a professor, too, then? You come here with your students?”

Wu Xie outright grins. “You could say that, I suppose.”

Out of the corner of his eye, one of the men rolls his eyes. He’s the one with sharp features, glasses and looped earbuds. Does he think it’s appropriate to listen to music at a time like this? Yunlan admires the man’s gall.

aahhhh vish thanks so much again for tagging me!! This was so fun to relive my fic memories!! I’m gonna tag @alwaysaslutforshakespeare @jockvillagersonly @tehfanglyfish @lichelleme @undyingsunshine @humanlighthouse @thewindsofsong I’m curious about your guys’ writing and fandom journey!! As always, no pressure to actually complete this!! I just thought it was fun ❤

Wow if you read all of this I am very humbled and impressed, thank you!!

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

#cross talks #my fic #fanfiction #uhhh what else do i tag this as i dunno #about me #cross posts #wip fic

14 notes · View notes