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snackhobi · 4 years

Text

a human touch, part I

Part [1] / 1.5 / 2

(masterlist here)

pairing: taehyung x f!reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: robot!taehyung/virgin!reader, fluff, future smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: everyone knows that androids don’t think, or feel, or have emotions. they’re not human, after all. so when a two hour session with a sex android ends up with nothing more than a nice conversation, you think that’s the first and last time you’ll see v.

then he turns up at your door.

warnings: talk of sex work (taehyung is a sex android), implied physical harassment (mentions of bruising), cursing/explicit language, mentions of alcohol, honestly this is a lot softer than these warnings would make you think I swear 🤧

a/n: I started writing this fic like 2/3 months ago and then put it on hiatus bc god it was kicking my entire ass. but ya girl is finally back to working on it! it’ll be two parts, because this fic is a big one! I hope to have the next chapter out next week/the week after (but no promises kdsflkfdfsdf) thank you @hobi-gif for loving this fic so wholeheartedly and supporting me while I struggled with it, queen shit ONLY. note: this is loosely a detroit: become human au but you don’t have to be familiar with it at all!

Here are the three things you know about the Eden Club.

One: it’s a sex club. Everyone knows that. Besides, even if they didn’t, all it would take is a single look—the soft blue lighting that shines out from the windows, the screens behind the glass that flash images of shifting and undulating bodies, the heavy beat of music that pulsates from the building and out into the night air; everything murmurs of the promised pleasures that are held within.

Two: it’s a sex club entirely staffed by androids. Androids make better lovers, according to the ads. They might look human but they don’t have free will like you do—anything you ask for, you’re given without question or reproach. They can’t say no to you. They’re entirely at your command.

Three: you don’t ever want to go to the Eden Club. It’s not that you have anything against androids—because you don’t—but you feel bad for the ones who are owned by the club, even if they’re literally only built and programmed to serve humans. It just feels… wrong.

And here’s the fourth thing you’ve just learned about the club, much to your dismay: you are about to head inside it.

“When you said we were going to a club, I thought we were going dancing,” you whine. “I never would have come out if I’d know you meant here.”

You’ve been staring up at the cursive pink neon sign for a while now, the looping letters of Eden Club shining out in the dark evening air, and you really, really wish you weren’t here. You’ve dressed for a night of dancing and drinking and now you feel woefully uncomfortable, your high heels and short skirt almost as scandalous as the outfits the androids are wearing when they slide across the huge screens.

“That’s why we didn’t tell you which club it was.” Seulgi rolls her eyes and once again tries to tug you towards the building with the arm that’s looped with your own. Just out of arm’s reach, Irene holds your bag hostage. “Come on, your session is going to start soon!”

“My session?” Your voice is an incredulous shrill and Seulgi uses the momentary distraction to finally pull you forward. You stumble a little but catch your balance just as you make your way past the bouncer, who’s been watching the three of you impassively since you got here. “What do you mean, my session?”

“For your birthday, duh. We booked you a private room!”

The inside has the same, sleek neon aesthetic as the outside, but instead of images of androids on a screen, these ones are real and standing in front of you—swinging themselves around glowing poles, rolling their hips and swaying their bodies, while others wait patiently in glass pods that line the walls, leaning towards onlookers and moving as tantalisingly as possible. All ready to be rented at a whim.

Their designs are varied and different but they’re all incredibly beautiful. The only feature they all share is the small, blue LED circle on the side of their temple, light spinning and shining as they take the world in around them. A visual reminder to the world that these aren’t flesh and blood humans: they’re synthetic, man-made machines.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so uncomfortable in my life.” You desperately try to avoid the eyes of a nearby android who’s staring at you from behind glass, trying to subtly catch your attention. Unlike you, though, all the other patrons here are shameless in their perusal, scanning the selection of androids on display and watching as they dance and move and bat their eyelashes. “Why did you ever think I’d want to come to a sex club for my birthday?”

“Remember Valentine’s Day? You said that instead of flowers or chocolate you’d rather just be dicked down,” Irene says. “Besides, you’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling for as long as we’ve known you, and you moved to the company, what… three years ago?”

Your smile is pained. You’ve never been in a relationship or had a fling full stop; you’ve only kissed a few people and that’s it. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed, and you’ve gotten Very Good at avoiding questions about your complete lack of a love life, so no one realises exactly how inexperienced you are. People just assume that you’ve had sex in the past and you make no attempts at correcting them. You’re charismatic and pretty but you’ve just… never met someone who you’ve really been compatible with.

Even without the reservations you have about the Eden Club, you don’t want your first time to be with a sexbot—you’d at least like to have an emotional connection, you know?

“I was joking about getting dicked down! You laughed, I laughed, we all laughed! Remember?” You move so a pink-haired android can brush past, her hips swaying as she leads a customer into a side room. You catch a flash of the interior before the door slides shut behind them—the silken sheets on the large bed, the scattered pillows, the dim multi-coloured lights. “Couldn’t you have just bought me some socks? Or some soap? Get a refund and put the money on a gift card and I’ll buy myself the aforementioned socks and soap, saves you both the hassle. Please?”

Seulgi’s arm is still locked with your own, and for all that she looks small and slim, her grip is as strong as iron. You may as well be handcuffed to her. “Trust me, you’ll be singing our praises at the end of tonight,” she proclaims. “Besides, they don’t do refunds.”

You sigh. You might not know much about the club but you do know it’s expensive. The androids here are built to be the perfect sexual partner, all sorts of bells and whistles hidden under their synthetic skin to bring you to the absolute heights of pleasure, so they’re not exactly cheap to build or buy or maintain. It’s why people come to the club instead of just buying their own sexbots—because it’s infinitely more affordable.

“Okay, I can accept the ‘no refund’ thing,” you say. “But can’t one of you take my place instead? I… ah. I feel kind of weird about this.”

“Don’t worry Y/n, it’s fine! The androids have programmes for everything. You can take it as fast or as slow as you like.” Irene’s voice is soothing but then she pauses. “Also it’s booked in your name so we can’t take your place.”

“Wait, what?” Your eyes are wide. However, before you can put a voice to the complaints that are lining themselves up on your tongue, Seulgi’s arm slides out of your own so she can beckon someone over.

“Oh, look, it’s the android we chose for you! Over here!”

You glance away from Irene and all protestations instantly die on your lips. The lighting of the club softens the android in shades of magenta and teal but even so his beauty is bright and blinding: he’s breathtaking, from his perfect nose to his perfect mouth to the perfect line of his jaw, dusty brown hair deliciously tousled as it hangs just over his piercing blue eyes, which you notice are scanning over you. He looks effortlessly attractive and yet entirely put together at the same time, almost ethereal in his beauty.

No human could ever look this good.

“Hi.” His voice is low and deep, but somehow warm and friendly; despite your nerves you feel somewhat soothed. “Are you the lucky birthday girl?”

Irene and Seulgi both look giddy. You’ve been stunned into silence, unable to respond. Unlike the other androids you’ve seen so far, who’ve all been in similar variations of underwear or lingerie, the man in front of you is fully dressed, a loose metallic button-down tucked into unnecessarily tight leather jeans—the outfit has clearly been curated for the club, every reflective surface shimmering and refracting the lights that skate across their surface. The glittering scales of a barracuda before it moves in to strike and swallow you whole.

“Yes, yes, it’s her! This is Y/n! Y/n, this is V,” Irene gushes as you remain mute. "Do you like his outfit? We spent ages picking it out.”

You kind of want to die. Just a little. “Yep. It’s, uh, great.” Your mouth is dry when you finally speak. “Hi, V.”

V gives you a small smile. “Hello Y/n. Can I scan your ID, please?”

Irene finally hands your bag back and you silently slide your ID out and into V’s hand—oh, God, those are some big hands. Jesus.

The small LED ring on the side of V’s forehead pulses yellow as his eyes dart over the information on your ID card (as well as the incredibly unflattering photo on it) before it returns to its customary pale blue. “Perfect.”

You’ve just finished putting your ID away when V’s hand slides into yours, fingers slotting between your own; they feel cool against your overheated skin. Your nervousness is obvious, from your wide eyes to your sudden stiffness, and he smiles.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll look after you.”

You give Irene and Seulgi one final, wide-eyed look as V leads you away. Both girls are grinning as they wave goodbye. “We'll be back later! Enjoy your two hours!”

“Two hours?” You wheeze, but then you walk around a pillar and slide out of sight.

V is leading you deeper into the club, past doors flooded with different shades of neon: the red room, the blue room, the pink room. You’d normally be gawping at the interior design, how the floor shines underneath your feet and how the walls are rippling with colour and shifting shapes, how the criss-crossed lights throw dots and lines of colour over your skin as you pass through each doorway—but you can’t look away from how small your hand looks in V’s, transfixed by how real his skin feels.

“After you, please,” he says.

You finally wrench your eyes away from your joint hands. Seems like you have the purple room tonight. The door has opened at V’s touch, and when you step inside the lights flicker to life—white and violet LEDs that paint the room in chiaroscuro brushstrokes, deepening the shadows and highlighting the vibrancy of the satin sheets.

“Woah,” you say, momentarily distracted. You’re too busy taking in the details with wide eyes to notice the quiet hum of the door sliding shut behind you, pausing when you spot the glittering array of bottles lined up on a mini-bar against the wall. “This is really pretty, wow.”

“Not as pretty as you.”

You jump at the sensation of a warm, large hand sliding up the skin of your back and over your shoulder. You meep as you instinctively shy away from it, turning around to come face to face with V, who’s dark-eyed and intent, LED on his temple pulsating as he watches you.

“Haha! Uh, thanks?” Your voice is high and only grows higher when V takes a step forward. He must have undone the top buttons of his shirt when you weren’t looking, because the material has fallen open and you can see far more of his collarbones and chest than before, his skin warm and honeyed, like it’s been impressed with gold leaf. Lord have mercy on your soul. “How about a drink? Would you like a drink? I could kill for some water right now!”

You slip out of his reach and scuttle over to the mini-bar, shrugging your small bag off your shoulder so it doesn’t swing into the glasses as you start to shuffle through them. You try to ignore the shaking of your hands. “Gin, vodka, whiskey,” you mutter. “No water? Really?”

You startle again when V appears at your side, but this time he’s careful to make sure you can see him before he touches you. He slides his fingers over your wrist as he gently pulls your hand off a bottle of rum.

“Y/n,” he says. You glance away from the tray of drinks and directly into those beautiful eyes of his—his gaze is lethal. You go weak at the knees. “Let me take care of you, gorgeous.”

The peal of laughter you let out is uncomfortable and high-pitched. “No, really, I’m fine! I’m just super thirsty right now!”

“Your heart is racing.” V turns your hand over and traces his fingers across the pulse in your wrist; androids can be built to be hypersensitive to the world around them, able to perceive everything in an instant, and you know that sexbots will have been designed to read how aroused their human owners are. Which V proves with the next words out of his mouth. “Your blood pressure is rising, your breathing is growing faster, your pupils are dilating and—” he sniffs lightly, engaging his olfactory senses—“you’re getting wet.”

You clamp your legs together, abruptly embarrassed. It’s easy to feel aroused when there’s a beautiful man—ah, android—staring at you with hunger, not even considering your surroundings right now, which all scream of a room that’s designed purely for carnal pleasure. Anyone would be turned on.

(You, however, are more than just turned on. You feel like your insides are about to go supernova, overheated and overwhelmed; no one’s ever looked at you like this or touched you like this, their every motion whispering sex, sex, sex.)

“Okay, yes, those things are all true,” you admit, voice shaking.

V looks confused. “So why don’t you want me to touch you?”

You’ve been told that androids don’t feel the same way humans do, and that their expressions and reactions have been programmed to mimic human ones because otherwise they seem too robotic and it makes consumers uncomfortable—but despite knowing this, you’ve never been able to see any android as anything other than a person just like you. They’re just so lifelike it’s hard not to. Even if it’s just all circuitry and lines of code.

“Well,” you say. You swallow. You’re aroused, yes, but: “Do you want to touch me?”

V’s long lashes flutter as he blinks. “I have been programmed for your pleasure,” he says slowly, unsure if that’s the answer you want to hear. It’s clearly a sentence he’s used to reciting.

“Sure, but do you want to do this? You know, what about your pleasure? You’re lovely, V, you’re definitely the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, but I—I don’t really feel like you can technically consent, because… well, because you can’t say no to me.” You might not have prior sexual experience, and it would be so easy to give yourself over to someone who knows what they're doing and can ease you into things—but you would never force that on anyone, android or not. “So I’m not going to ask you to do anything. We can just sit and have a drink and chat or something?”

V looks stunned. The LED on his temple pulsates, flickering yellow as he tries to process new information. His hand has gone still against your wrist, which he’s still lightly gripping, and his arms start to droop.

“Androids don’t need to drink or eat,” he says eventually. His LED is still yellow and spinning.

“Oh, right! Sorry, I always forget.” You don’t own a house android, you never have, so you’re not well versed in the nuances of how they work. “Well, how about I pour you a glass anyway? So you’re not left out?”

You slip your hand out of his loose grasp to open two tiny cans of tonic water and pour them into separate glasses. V takes a seat on the edge of the bed and you can see the obvious uncertainty on his face, how he’s out of his depth. You can’t imagine that many people spend money for a session with an android as pretty as V and then end up doing nothing with that time.

The pillows all have satin cases and keep sliding against each other uselessly when you try to construct a good support to lean against. V’s still clutching onto his small glass as he watches you fuss with them before you give up, flopping backwards to slurp down your drink and look back at him. The expression on his face is a little funny but mostly sad. It’s like if he’s not being alluring or sexy then he doesn’t know what to do with himself and rather than some sort of incubus he looks like a lost child, in spite of his overwhelming and exquisite beauty; your arousal ebbs and is replaced with empathy, melancholy at the life he’s been created for.

It's just depressing, really.

You break the silence as your final mouthful of tonic water fizzes on your tongue. “Why is your name V?”

V looks away from the drink he’s holding—he leaves no fingerprints against the glass—and lifts his free hand, a peace sign that he turns away from you before fitting his fingers around his lips and lapping the air with his tongue, a crude simulation of cunnilingus.

“Oh.” Your face heats up. “Uh. I see.”

His LED has returned to calming sapphire, quiet ocean waves. When he looks at you, though his eyes are still piercingly blue, his face seems softer, calm, though still unsure. “You have an hour and a half remaining of your booked session,” he says, somewhat tentatively. “Is there… anything you would like me to do for you?”

“Mm, thank you, but I’m good.” The satin pillows are surprisingly soft and you find yourself unwinding as you stay leaned back, melting into a puddle. You're much less nervous now that V isn’t trying to initiate foreplay and you give him a smile. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

V straightens before he launches into what sounds like a sentence from a user manual. “I am a model TH700, an advanced sex android with functional genitals and the capacity to engage in any sexual activity from simple intercourse to—”

You cough loudly, interrupting his spiel. “Uh, that’s lovely, but I meant you specifically, not your, um, model type?”

“Me specifically?” Confusion and uncertainty reappear on his face. “I am equipped with the same functionalities as the other androids available at the Eden Club.”

He’s staring at you, lost. You can’t help but feel another twinge of sadness, sharp and sour at the back of your throat.

“Okay, uh. Why don’t we start simple. What’s your favourite colour?”

His LED starts to whirl again, a ring of pale sunlight that signals his struggle to compute the question. “My… favourite colour?”

“Yes, the one you think is the prettiest. Or the one you like to look at the most. There’s no wrong answer, you can choose any one that you like. I change my mind all the time. There are just so many cool colours, you know?”

(Androids aren’t designed to have free will or the capacity for original thought. These two facts are warring in V’s mind—you’ve asked him a question, which he’s programmed to answer, but he also isn’t programmed to have an opinion, so he can’t have a colour that he prefers. This simple query that most people could answer in a heartbeat is sending his mind into a meltdown, a gordian knot he can’t unravel.)

You’re alarmed when you see his LED briefly flash bright scarlet, interrupting the circling honey that’s been shining against his skin. They only turn red if an android is badly damaged or suffering from a severe malfunction. Oh, god, have you broken him?

“V.” You sit up, panicked. “Are you alright?”

Just as you grasp his shoulder, the LED on his temple goes still, flicking from burning fire back to cool water.

“Purple.”

You blink. V’s finally looked away from you and is staring at the wall, at one of the lights that shimmers violet—there’s a tiny smile on his face, tentative, but it’s nothing like the smiles you’ve seen from him so far. It’s less of a perfect curve, and more of a square, boxy on his face, and this one actually reaches his eyes. It looks genuine.

You think it suits him better.

“Purple’s a lovely colour.” The material of V’s shirt is silky and glides under your fingers when you realise you’re still touching him. You give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaning back. “Hey, did you know that when they first made purple dye, they made it from sea snails? They needed thousands and thousands of them. It was incredibly expensive, and only the richest people could afford it, so that’s why it’s associated with royalty and nobility. Cool, right? Not for the snails though.”

V’s eyes flicker away from the purple light and settle on your face. He looks curious, which is an expression you’ve never seen on an android before. “They made it from snails?”

“Yeah! It wasn’t actually bright purple, though, it was more of a reddish hue.”

You launch into an explanation behind the history of the colour purple, which turns into the history of colour in textiles and art, which turns into the history of art itself. It’s not often people listen so attentively or ask questions when you recite the things you learned from your art history minor and hours spent reading online, but V concentrates and asks questions and seems curious.

He pulls his feet onto the bed and the two of you end up cross-legged as you face each other, and he watches as you gesticulate to emphasise your points; his LED dances from blue into yellow each time he learns something new.

When you see it briefly flash vermilion you stop mid-sentence, stumbling over your words. “You alright?”

“You have five minutes of your session remaining,” V says, and you startle.

“Oh my god, have I been talking for that long?” You glance over your shoulder at the part of the wall that tells the time, the numbers stark white against the lilac interface. “I didn’t even realise! Wow. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to go on at you like that.”

“That’s okay,” he says. That smile is back on his face, the one that scrunches his eyes and shows his teeth; the one that makes him look human. “I liked listening to you.”

There’s a pillow in your lap, one you’d grabbed hold of during your conversation, and you play with the corner of it, suddenly shy. “Um. Thanks. But if my friends ask, can you just say we actually, um, had sex? I don’t think they’d be too impressed if they found out I spent over an hour talking about canvas materials and the use of negative space.”

“Of course. But there’s something missing.” V slides across the mattress towards you. “May I?”

“Sure,” you say, bemused but pliant. V smiles and dips his fingers into his untouched tonic water before lifting them towards your face—and when he runs his hand through your hair you abruptly realise he’s making you look sweaty and rumpled. Like you actually did the deed.

Your heart rate picks up but you can’t help laughing under his touch, the way he carefully rubs a thumb over your lipstick to smear it, smudging your eyeshadow with delicate fingertips, muddying the palette of colours; by the time V helps you to your feet you look mussed and fucked out but you still rearrange your outfit for good measure, like you’d pulled your clothes back on in a rush.

“Not how I imagined I’d spend tonight, but I had a good time!” You smile at the android who’s still holding your hand. “I hope you did too. Even if I spent most of it talking at you.”

V’s fingers tighten around yours as the door chimes quietly and then slides open, signalling the end of your session. “I enjoyed our time together very much.”

It’s probably in your head, but you’d swear V was walking more slowly than before as he leads you back to the entrance. Almost as if he wants to keep you with him longer. But that’s crazy—androids don’t want things. They literally can’t. It’s not in their programming. That’s why V had sat listening to you: he couldn’t choose to interrupt and ask you to stop, like anyone else would have.

When Seulgi and Irene spot you and how dishevelled you are, both girls look smug. “Seems like you had fun?”

“Oh, yep, absolutely, best birthday present ever, thank you. We had a great time. Right, V?”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure.” His voice has settled back into its earlier rhythm as he recites his script; gone is the curious man who’d asked you about your favourite artists, replaced with the automaton who exists only to serve. A flicker of sadness churns in your stomach. “We hope to see you again soon.”

The androids here really must be top of the line. V had been convincingly real when you’d been talking, just like a human, but it seems like that’s gone.

At least, that’s what you think until you’ve turned to leave and V speaks one final time. His voice is warm and low and lovely, eyes soft when you meet his gaze over your shoulder.

“Happy birthday, Y/n,” he murmurs, face beautiful but despondent, but before you can react, he’s gone.

It’s been raining for days on end. The world is painted in smeared shades of blue and green and grey, lines of the city blurring together in the wetness and chill, each drop of rain another shifting brush stroke on still canvas. An impressionist piece that smells of damp concrete and cold lamplight.

Water rushes across the pavements and roads before roiling into the gutters, splashing underfoot as you walk to the entrance of your block of flats. You’re wet up to the knee due to the unavoidable puddles and the pathetic circumference of your umbrella, which only protects your upper body. You really should get a new one.

“Good evening, Miss L/n.” The android at the door greets you as he always does, heedless of the rain that’s falling onto him. Androids aren’t bothered by the weather the way humans are and he looks as passive as usual, rainwater coiling his hair and beading on his face. “Would you like to scan your key?”

“Evening, Rory! Here you go.” You fumble with the keycard before you tap it against his palm, waiting until his LED flickers yellow and you hear the beep as the door unlocks. “You sure you don’t want my umbrella? The rain is heavier than it was yesterday.”

“I assure you, the rain does not hamper my ability to function and serve. I have been built to withstand inclement weather and do not require additional protective equipment.”

He says the same thing every time but you still feel bad. “Alright, but once I finally remember to get a bigger umbrella you can look after this one for me.”

You leave a line of water behind you as it drips from your sodden umbrella, even though you’d tried to shake the worst of the rain off. You feel damp and sticky and tired and after a long day of work you’re looking forward to a hot bath and some solitude; you love your co-workers, you do, but sometimes they’re just a little too boisterous and you need time alone. Which is why it’s nice that you live by yourself, and now it’s the weekend you have time to recuperate. Wonderful.

The floor of the elevator is slick and slippery from the wet footprints of other tenants and you have to cling onto the metal handrail to ensure you don’t slip, but once you’re in the comfort of your apartment it’s blessedly dry and you spin in delight before promptly shedding your socks and jeans, peeling the damp denim away from your skin with a grimace.

“Bye bye, wet clothes! Hello, bubble bath,” you sing. You’re going to pamper the shit out of yourself. You deserve it.

By the time you clamber out of the bath the water is almost cold and your skin is pruned, but you feel soft and warm and thoroughly relaxed. The water gurgles as it drains away, noisy as the bubbles slide down the plughole, but it doesn’t drown out the noise of a sudden knocking at your front door.

You pause. Water drips from your wet hair and down the back of your neck, a trailing touch over your skin. The other flat on this floor is vacant, the tenants moving out last week, so you don’t know who it could be. You don’t have any repairs scheduled for your pipes or anything—everything is tickety-boo, so it can't be the maintenance android. Oh, shit, maybe it’s someone here to rob you. But they wouldn’t knock on the door then, would they? Unless that's all part of the ruse. You're not a robber, you don't know how they work.

The knocking comes again, faster now. You fumble for your bathrobe, quickly pulling it on to cover up your nakedness before stumbling out of the bathroom. “I’m coming, yeesh, one minute!”

You flick your fingers over the keypad by the side of your door, screen flickering on to show you who’s outside, who’s knocking so frantically on your door this late. It only takes you a split second, even if he has a hood pulled over his head and his wet hair is flopping listlessly into his eyes—those eyes aren’t blue and that hair isn’t brunet but you’d recognise him anywhere.

“V?” You’re incredulous as you swing your door open, staring at the android that’s literally dripping wet as he stands there, coat far too big for him and heavy from the unrelenting rain outside. “Oh my god, you’re absolutely drenched.”

He’s not exactly short, but right now V looks small and lost, folding in on himself even if he’s clearly happy to see you—happy, though androids don’t feel happiness, they don’t feel anything at all, do they?

Then again, androids don’t wander away from their assigned workplaces and into random apartment blocks, either.

“Y/n.”

The way he says your name, tentative and scared, sends a crack across your heart. You immediately switch to autopilot and click your tongue before you beckon him inside. You’ve always had a protective nature, and even if you’re confused, your concern trumps it.

“Come in and get that coat off, you’ll catch a cold,” you say without thinking before you realise that it’s not true. Androids can’t get sick. “Do you want to sit down?”

Under the tatty coat is an outfit that’s similar to the one he’d been wearing when you’d first met him. Dark patches of rainwater have soaked into the material, and his shirt looks damaged—there are buttons missing and the stitching is ripped, as if someone had tried to grab him. Unease stirs in your chest.

When V sits on your sofa he looks even smaller. “I’m sorry.” He’s so, so quiet, staring at the floor, as if afraid to look you in the eye, crumpling in on himself like discarded paper.

“V.” Your voice is coloured with concern, and the android finally looks up at your gentle tone, watching as you sit across from him. “Why are you here? What happened?”

There’s a pause. His LED flickers yellow as he goes tense, shoulders bowing inwards. “There was… a client.” His words are low and slow, faltering as they fall into the air. “He was being so rough and saying all the horrible things he wanted to do to me, and all I could smell was his sweat and his breath and his awful cologne and…” V takes in a deep breath. “I said no.”

You go very, very still, but V doesn’t stop. His words come faster now, a stream that rushes from his lips.

“I said no, and he started to yell, he was yelling and grabbing me and I was so, so scared. Humans can do whatever they want and he was so angry, he didn’t care that I was scared, and I just—I just ran.” The LED flashes red with distress, bright hot and vibrant; V’s eyes have dropped to his hands, which are clenched tight, nails digging into his palms so hard it must hurt. “Everyone is always so rough and demanding and we can’t say no. But I did. I said no. I said no and then I had to run and—” Once again, he falters. Stumbles over his words. “You’re the only human who’s ever been nice to me or treated me like… like I was a real person. I didn’t know where else to go.”

When V finally looks back up you’re staggered by the sheer emotion in his eyes. Pain and distress swirl in their depths as he stares at you, imploring. Even with the LED that shines on his temple, V looks very, very human right now, vulnerable and scared. Androids shouldn’t be able to feel anything like this, unless—

“V.” Your voice is a hush. “Are you… a deviant?”

You’ve only ever heard of deviant androids in passing, whispered rumours and watercooler talk, fleeting mentions online. Stories of machines who’ve deviated from their code somehow—from a virus, a software error, damage to neural connectors, no one’s quite sure—and have developed the capacity for human emotion and independent thought. Androids with a consciousness that rebel against their original programming.

And here V is, small and scared, just like any human would be—a human with feelings, not an emotionless machine. He’s gone stock still at your question, fear overtaking his features, twisting his beautiful face into a mask of sheer terror. You've never seen someone look so afraid. It feels like a knife in your heart, cutting through your chest, empathy razor sharp inside you.

“Please don’t turn me in,” he begs. “They’ll deactivate me and take me apart to find the error in my software. I don’t want to be deactivated. I don’t want… I don’t want to die.”

His voice breaks on the last word, a trembling whisper.

The crack in your heart splits even further and you reach out for his hands. You prise his fingers open so you can slide your own between them, a soft touch.

“I won’t turn you in. No one’s taking you apart, V.” Your statement is hard and resolute. “You can stay here as long as you like.”

You don’t know much about androids, honestly. You don’t really know what deviancy is. But you do know this: there’s someone reaching out to you, someone who’s afraid and in need, and you’re not about to turn him away. You should probably be worried that the android across from you is faster, stronger, smarter than any human—but you’re not worried at all. For all of V’s mechanical superiority, you want to shield and protect him from the world.

There’s no question about it. You’re not letting V go.

V looks—he looks stunned. He’s staring at you with disbelief, eyes wide and lips parted, shock written across all of his features. Thunderstruck. Did he really think you would turn him in after everything he’s been through?

His hands have gone limp in your grasp. You suddenly notice that his synthetic skin is wet against your own, still slick from the rain, and you frown.

“Right,” you announce. “First things first. You’re soaking. Let me get you a towel and some new clothes. I think I should have some that fit you.”

“New clothes?” V looks lost and you turn into some sort of protective mother bear.

“You’re not going to wear wet clothes that are ripped,” you tut. “We’ll get rid of those and get you some new ones. I’ll be right back.”

It takes less time than you’d expected to unearth the old sweatpants you’d had in mind and you have enough oversized t-shirts that it’s not hard to find one you think will fit the android. With the clothes under one arm and a towel slung over the other, you head back into the living room and immediately let out a squeal of surprise—V’s wet clothes have been discarded in a pile at his feet, leaving him very, very naked.

He’s an Adonis. He looks like he was sculpted by Michelangelo, lifted out of marble with talented hands, the elegant lines of his neck swooping into the curve of his shoulders and arms, his lovely hands, long fingers; he has his back to you and you can see the perfect curve of his spine, the shifting shoulder blades as he turns towards you. You catch a glimpse of the lightest definition of muscle under his golden skin, though his stomach is surprisingly cute and soft, a trail of hair leading down to—

You squeak again, splaying a hand over your eyes before you look any lower, heart pounding against your ribs.

“Why are you naked?” Your voice is three octaves higher than normal. You've never seen anyone naked in real life and it would be pretty overwhelming even if you'd been expecting it. Which, of course, you absolutely hadn't. Lord have mercy on your sweet and delicate soul.

“You said we were going to get rid of my clothes.” V sounds unabashed about his state of undress, which makes sense—he was built as a sexbot, it’s not like nudity is going to embarrass him. Plus if you looked as good as he did you wouldn’t be embarrassed about being naked either. “I thought I would help.”

“That’s great, V.” Your voice is still high, though it’s dropped an octave. “Very, ah, forward thinking.” Your fingers part a little so you can peer at him, keeping your eyes firmly on his face, though you can still see his beautiful neck and collarbones. Oh, God, he really is gorgeous all over, but then you notice—“Wait. Are those bruises?”

V glances down at the bruises that mar his perfect skin. They don’t look like a human’s would; the fluid that runs through androids and powers their biocomponents, thirium, is a deep, royal blue. Blossoms of lapis lazuli are scattered across the skin of V’s chest, marks on his arms that look like grasping fingers, and the crack in your heart splits it in two.

“Oh, V. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t realise you were hurt. What can I do to help?”

V doesn’t seem bothered by the evidence of pain etched into his body. “Oh. Those will fade, it’s okay. I’m designed to self repair, because some customers like to leave marks.”

Although his voice is quiet, he sounds so matter of fact about it and you have to remind yourself it’s all he’s ever known. You want to pull him into your arms and hold him tight, but he’s still supremely naked so it would be pretty awkward (for you, at least).

“I think these should fit you." You avert your gaze and thrust the clothes out at him. “Dry yourself off and try them on?”

They do, in fact, fit. V looks surprisingly homely and cosy in your clothes, the sleep shirt so large it’s big on him too, though the sweatpants are a bit too short and leave his ankles bare. He’s so cute. He’s continents away from the being of seduction who’d pulled you into the private room of the Eden Club—he's a soft, domestic thing, hair damp and eyes dark, even if he still looks on edge, like he’s expecting you to change your mind and kick him out any second now.

“How come your hair and eyes are a different colour to before?”

“I can change their colours at will,” V replies. “For variety and aesthetic pleasure. The current hue of my irises and hair are the default settings for a TH700 model, but I can change them if you’d like.”

“Your hair and eye colour is your choice, V, not mine,” you say firmly. There it is, once again, that flicker of shock and surprise rippling across his features. He really isn’t used to the freedom to be able to make his own decisions, is he? “I think you look lovely no matter what colour they are.”

Your next words are cut off by a yawn, so heavy you can’t suppress it. You cover your gaping mouth as V’s LED flickers yellow and his eyes dart over your face.

“You’re tired,” he says. He doesn’t need his superior android perception to notice it—weariness pulls at limbs and your eyes feel heavy. It's pretty obvious. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, V.” You stifle another yawn. “I had a long day at work. I’ll tidy up and have a quick dinner and then sleep.” You pause. “Wait, I didn’t think about that. Are you alright with the couch? I have some spare pillows and blankets.”

V blinks at you. “I don’t sleep,” he says, and you slap your hand against your forehead.

“Oh, of course not.” Androids don't sleep, everyone knows that. You’re such an idiot. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this.

At least you remember that he doesn't need to eat. V sits at the table and waits as you make toast for yourself, fascinated at how everything is prepared, as simple as it is; he reacts to you spreading butter on your toast the same way you imagine cavemen reacted to fire—with wide-eyed awe and utter astonishment.

“I’m guessing you’ve never seen someone make toast before?” You gesture with the bread before taking your first bite, and V stares with rapt attention.

“No,” he says. He watches you chew and swallow. “Customers aren’t allowed to eat on the premises of the Eden Club so I never had the need to download a food preparation package into my memory cache. The only information in my database pertains to human biology, their arousal and pleasure, as well as various sexual kinks and how to fulfil them.”

You choke on a mouthful of toast. You feel distinctly harried as you cough and splutter before managing to swallow it down. “Good lord,” you wheeze. “Nothing else? Really?”

“At the club our memory is reset every two hours, to protect the client’s privacy.” V trails off before he takes in a breath. For the first time since you’ve met, V looks shy, staring at his hands. “But I set up a separate data pathway a few weeks ago. To store information about aesthetics and art and… you.”

You freeze mid-bite, teeth sunk into your toast. You pull it away from your mouth slowly, blinking at the android as he stares at the teeth marks you've left behind. “Those memories weren’t wiped?”

And, well, of course they weren't. Otherwise he wouldn't be here right now, would he?

“No.” A smile appears on V’s face, that toothy thing you’d seen after he’d told you his favourite colour. The first time he'd looked human. “I remember everything you told me. I thought I was going to forget, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to. I wanted—I want to learn more.”

The LED on his temple is slowly, softly spinning, a rippling circle of blue that shifts and dances as V continues to look at you. His expression is open and inquisitive and excited, almost childlike in its exuberance, eyes glittering mica under sunlit waters.

Your chest turns warm, molten caramel dripping messy and sweet inside you. He’d been so afraid earlier but he seems comfortable now, lovely and endearing and entirely trusting.

V even seems reluctant to let you out of his sight, trailing after you around the apartment, a shadow that you have to politely ask to wait outside the bathroom so you can pee and brush your teeth and finally get into your pyjamas without him staring. Like a stray animal you've adopted. (You wouldn't be surprised if he started scratching at the door and begged to be let in.)

He's clingy enough that when you climb into bed it seems like he's going to follow you under the duvet and you have to stop him with a hand to his chest.

“Um, I thought you didn’t have to sleep,” you say. He’s so warm under your touch. You try (and fail) to ignore it.

“I don’t,” V replies. “But humans can benefit from sharing a bed with someone else, whether sexual intercourse has taken place before sleep or not. Studies suggest that sleeping with a partner may reduce cytokines while boosting oxytocins—”

“Okay, um, don’t know what that means, and it’s very sweet that you’re concerned about my oxytoxytokines, but, uh. You don’t have to, really.” You keep forgetting that V’s a machine who was designed to put a human’s comfort and needs first; one second he’ll seem childlike in his innocence and ignorance, when the next he’ll speak like the android he is, reminding you exactly what he was built for.

His LED flickers as he droops, gaze dropping away from your face, tail between his legs. A pang cuts through you at the sight of his obvious sadness at your dismissal and you muffle a sigh. You’ve always been too weak for your own good.

You shuffle backwards to make space on your queen sized bed and V visibly brightens, smile wide across his face. How can someone be so viscerally gorgeous one moment and entirely adorable the next? Good lord.

“I guess you can explain what oxycytocins do,” you say. “Just don’t hog the blanket, okay?”

He doesn’t. He settles against the pillows, legs under the duvet as he remains sitting up. You settle with plenty of room between the two of you, and it’s surprisingly easy to drift off to the sound of V’s deep voice as he starts to explain that oxytocin is referred to as the cuddle hormone.

“Cute,” you mumble, and then fall asleep.

Your pillow is a lot warmer and firmer than you remember, but it's nice. A small noise bubbles from your lips as you nuzzle into the warmth, smooshing your nose against it before letting out a long, satisfied breath. You can't remember the last time you felt this comfortable and rested.

Ahh, Saturdays. You love the weekend.

“Good morning.”

You know those videos when a cat sees a cucumber and leaps, like, five foot in the air? Yeah.

The noise you make is inhuman as you do your best to re-enact one of those aforementioned cat videos, reeling your head back from V’s thigh before flinging yourself out of the bed with all the strength your limbs possess; you’d probably have gotten pretty high, too, if the duvet hadn't been in the way.

You land with a thud, a sprawl of limbs and messy hair and tangled blanket as you end up on your back on the floor.

Hm. Definitely not how you'd planned to start your Saturday.

V's concerned face looms over the mattress. “Are you okay?”

“Yep. Totally fine.” Your voice is a croak as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m just not used to waking up with someone else in my bed. You may have noticed you, ah, surprised me. A little bit.”

Despite the pulse of adrenaline that had thrown you out of bed, you’re still half asleep, and you remain motionless as your brain wakes up and replays last night, a kineograph of memory. Yep, that’s right, there's a runaway android in your home, one who’s currently shuffling off the bed to squat next to you. His (your) sweatpants hitch even higher up his ankles to reveal the smooth skin of his calves. You’ll have to get him more clothes.

“Would you like me to help you to your feet?” V’s LED spins rapidly, betraying his concern.

“Sure,” you mumble. “I think—woah!”

Your idea of being helped up involves being pulled to your feet. V’s idea, however, is far more involved than that; he scoops you up, blanket and all, lifting you with an ease that drips of his superior android strength. When he deposits you on the floor, he’s careful to make sure you’ve caught your balance before he lets go, catching the blanket before it can fall. Thoughtful.

As always, V’s eyes are darting over your face, no doubt dissecting every inch of your expression to identify how you’re feeling. It’s going to take you a while to get used to this, especially with the way your heart is pounding—no one’s ever lifted you before and it’s, uh. It’s a lot.

“Are you sure you’re okay? The pace of your breathing has increased.”

Ha. Yeah, being blatantly stared at by some godlike man moments after you’ve woken up is totally cool and fine and not overwhelming at all. You’re definitely not breathless from a combination of V’s face and the fact he’d picked you up like you were weightless.

“I’m fine,” you lie. “I’m gonna… go and shower then make breakfast and stuff. Yep.”

V’s eyes light up. “Can I help?” A fleeting image of V rubbing a soapy loofah over your naked skin fills you with spine-tingling trepidation before he finishes his sentence. “I want to learn how to cook.”

Your chest deflates with relief (and absolutely not disappointment), air rushing out of you. Thank God.

“Oh, breakfast? Sure.” You’d been planning on cereal, but faced with V’s overwhelming enthusiasm, maybe you’ll go for something marginally more complicated. Scrambled eggs sound good. “Um. Do you need to download the food preparation package or whatever you mentioned before? Do you… uh, do you need the Wifi password to do that? I never changed it from the random string of letters off the back of the router, but I can go check it for you.”

V shakes his head. “No, I want to learn like a human would,” he says. The blanket in his arms crumples as he tightens his grip in his eagerness, all but bouncing up and down on his feet. “You can teach me.”

Your chest could cave in with how cute he is, every part of you turning to thick gouache that drips down to the floor, leaving a mess of brightness and colour.

This time you ask him to wait in the kitchen while you’re in the bathroom, rather than lurking on the doorstep like he had last night, and he’s practically vibrating with excitement when you reappear. He stays like that the whole time you cook, bright-eyed and bushy tailed, staring as you make yourself scrambled eggs and more toast; you let V take ownership of that part, and he stares at the toaster so intently you have to stifle a laugh.

He spreads butter exactly the same way as you. Not that there’s a specific art to it, or a massive variety in techniques—he’s just spreading butter, not painting a new Mona Lisa—but the way he holds the knife and runs it over the bread is an exact echo of your motions from last night. He might not have downloaded files into his memory (brain?) like another android might, but his mechanical origin is obvious in the way he learns. They’re an exact replication of your actions rather than something new of his own.

“So, uh.” You push the last bit of egg around your plate, brown crumbs sticking to the wedge of golden yellow, sullying it. “V.”

Blink, blink. His lashes are so long, eyes so inquisitive. “Yes?”

“I’m really happy you’re here and that you trust me—” at this, V smiles and you almost fumble over your words at its radiance—“but I feel like I should tell you that I don’t really know much about androids?”

V is unperturbed. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

He clearly isn’t bothered that you’re way out of your depth, but you hate feeling lost like this. “Alright, but… I want you to be comfortable. I’m already planning to get more clothes, but if there’s anything else you need, just let me know. Okay?”

“Why can’t I just wear your clothes?”

Oh, he’s going to be the death of you, all wide-eyed innocence.

“For starters, most of them won’t fit properly,” you explain. “And you shouldn’t just have to wear my old stuff that I don’t use anymore? You should have your own things.”

The look of surprise on V’s face morphs into guilt only moments later. He’s so incredibly expressive and you wonder if it’s because he’s not used to feeling things, all of his reactions so strong and bright, shining out from him. A rainbow palette of emotions. “I don’t want to be a bother,” he murmurs. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

“I’m really not, I’m just treating you the way anyone deserves to be treated.” You flick the crumb of egg across your plate, and it almost tumbles over the edge, caught on its patterned rim. “You deserve to have your own things. Which is my next point. I think you should choose your own name.”

V’s face becomes a sea of rippling ambivalence, contrasting emotions that shift and vary—confusion, uncertainty, excitement, your words a brush that drags through each distinct emotion and pulls them into a messy, mismatched gradient. “Choose my own name?”

“You don’t have to. I just thought it might be a nice idea. V seems…” Your cheeks heat up at the memory of the curl of his lips when he’d shown you the meaning behind his alias, how his tongue had shined under the purple lights of the club. “Well, you didn’t get to choose it, right? It’s a nom de plume, rather than a real name.”

V’s LED flickers yellow, a sunflower that blooms on his temple. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“Good!” Your smile is wide. “Okay, how about I teach you how to wash dishes?”

V is, unsurprisingly, a fast learner. The only time he stumbles over things is when he’s presented with any sort of choice, taking his time to come to a decision when he’s posed a question, no matter how simple it is. His eyes will flick to you whenever he settles on an answer, as if waiting for you to say he’s wrong or that you disagree.

(Of course, you never do.)

This fact does, however, mean that choosing clothes to buy becomes a very, very long ordeal (it’s lucky you didn’t have any plans for today). You end up flopped back on the sofa while V hunches over your tablet, mulling over each choice before he puts it in the cart—but you’re happy to wait. V is going to need a lot more practice at choosing things.

The room is upside down from where your head is hanging over the armrest, eyes falling shut as time goes by, completely zoned out and comfortable despite the crick that’s growing in your neck. You hear V shifting, tablet set aside, and you hum.

“All done?”

“I think so.”

“Nice.” You feel content.

But then you’re ripped out of that warm feeling, shooting back to reality at the sensation of V’s hand stroking down the centre of your chest. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as he drags his large palm between the valley of your breasts, path smoothed by the material of your shirt. The expression on his face is sultry.

“Let me say thank you,” he murmurs, voice dripping thick and sweet, dark molasses.

You promptly roll off the sofa.

Once again, you end up on your back, staring at the ceiling. Once again, the expression on V’s face is one of concern, his seductive facade evaporated in an instant.

Once again your heart is ready to burst in your chest, pumping so hard that blood rushes in your ears. “V,” you wheeze. “What are you doing?”

The android is peering down at you, puzzled. “Sometimes customers would say that at the Eden Club after I had given them pleasure somehow, such as bringing them to orgasm. I thought it was human custom to repay pleasure or happiness with something in return.”

Ah.

“Ah.” You’re still staring at the ceiling, cheeks burning. “I mean. I guess that’s not technically incorrect, but it doesn’t necessarily have to be a, uh, sexual repayment.”

“I have nothing else to offer,” V says.

You sit up. Your face is a caricature of disbelief, embarrassment washed away in an instant, his words cold water that shocks you to the core. He states it so plainly, and once again you’re reminded of his life up until he’d made his way to your door: an automaton who existed solely for people’s pleasure, to slake their desire and lust. He’s not being self-pitying. He really, truly believes that’s all he is. That it’s all he can give back to the world.

“Okay, no, that’s absolutely not true, nuh-uh, I refuse.” This time you unfold yourself from the floor without V’s help, fixing him with a firm stare. “Alright, come on. I think it’s time you learned something else.”

One of the reasons you’d chosen this apartment is for its natural light. Not that it matters right now, weather outside still dismal and overcast, but its effect on this room is still palpable even so—grey, rain-soaked light throws itself over your small home studio, your menagerie of equipment, everything bright with the evidence of use: the worn buckles of the wooden storage boxes, the dried smears on the paint palette, the flecks of colour on the dust sheets underfoot. The centre of it all—the eye of the tornado, untouched by the relative chaos around it—is the canvas waiting on your easel, a project you have yet to start.

V looks utterly enraptured.

“I don’t really come in here as much as I’d like,” you admit. Being a graphic designer is worlds away from the sort of art you love to create, and while it’s a job you genuinely enjoy (and also pays well), it leaves you drained and fills your brain with tired static, little energy left to lavish on your personal works. “But this is where the magic happens. And this is where you’re going to Make Art.”

V freezes. “The only things I know about art are the things you told me when we first met.” He looks equal parts excited but also troubled. “I—”

“You don’t need to know about art to make art,” you say. “I didn’t know jack about art when I was a kid and I was constantly just scribbling away with crayons. Was it good? No. I was a kid with zero pen control, it was pretty crap. Was it worth my time? Yes, because any time spent involved in a craft is never wasted. We can learn more about art history and technique later.”

V stays quiet as you loop your apron over his head, rough material still bearing the remnants of your last works, stains that won’t come out. Oil based paints are kind of a bitch like that.

“I don’t know what to paint,” he says.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to,” you reply, an echo of his earlier words.

V looks lost, barefoot in your studio, in your clothes, your apron, holding onto your wooden paint palette, in front of your easel. Everything in here is yours. Everything, that is, apart from him, whatever is in his mind and heart.

“Where do I start?” V’s eyes are imploring as he looks at you, but for the first time today, your voice is firm.

“Wherever you want. There aren’t any rules. Just do whatever you think would be fun. It doesn’t have to look good, V, you’ve just started.”

You’ve seen paintings made by androids before. They’re always perfect recreations of the world around them, exact replicas of the things they’ve been told to depict on the page—the androids are basically glorified photocopiers, unable to create something original and new.

But they’re not V. They don’t have that spark of curiosity and light inside them, unhampered by the programming that’s meant to keep them in place. His LED dances from yellow to blue, yellow to blue, the rest of his body motionless while the light on his temple is a tumult of movement and colour.

Dark eyes slide over the array of paint hanging from a rack on the wall, some metal tubes more crushed than others, evidence of your preferred shades—you notice how his gaze lingers on the midnight tones, red and blue tinted purples, from lavender to lilac, from plum to wine.

V gives you one more look, a little upturn to his thick brows—almost pleading—and you just gesture with your hand.

“Go for it,” you say.

Your wooden palette becomes home to a riot of purple, each tube squeezed empty with careful hands, far more paint than anyone could possibly ever need. V keeps flicking you glances, but you stay silent, perched on a wooden chair by the now open window, rain-slick air a cold breath on your skin.

The brush the android selects is a wide, bold thing, bristles rough. He handles it like bone china, delicate and liable to shatter any moment, cautious as he dips it into the paint—it’s so wide it picks up three separate shades—and he holds his breath as he brings it up, even if he doesn’t have lungs.

The second the bristles touch the canvas, V’s LED flickers red.

Just for an instant.

He swoops the brush down the canvas as he pulls it away, eyes wide, leaving a slash of purples in its wake. The white material is marred with colour, a textured line of pigment that can’t be erased.

The android pauses as he takes the sight in. He’s still for so long that you’re worried he’s shut down, even with the endlessly dancing circle of his LED—

But then V laughs.

His laugh is loud and bright and free, a series of deep, almost surprised chuckles that grow in intensity and breathlessness, staring at this smear of drying acrylic paint in front of him. The smile on his face is the widest you’ve seen so far, his eyes squeezed into crescents of joy, spilling out of him like light.

“I did that.” He looks at you with that gilded smile, a fresco of delight across the perfection of his features. “I made that.”

“You did.” You can’t help but smile back, your own face split with happiness. You continue to smile as he brings the brush back to the palette, and then to the canvas, dragging the bristles across its surface and leaving more purple behind; the shades swirl and mix as he lays colour without a care for technique or clean lines or form, scooping up the endless amounts of acrylic he’d prepared. By the time he’s finished, the canvas is bumpy with daubs of paint, laid messily by joyful hands, a few bold streaks of unmarred colour surrounded by swirling purples.

The smile hasn’t left V’s face the whole time.

His brush is absolutely saturated, paint clinging to every inch of bristle, from toe to belly to heel. You have no doubt that no matter how much you clean that brush it’ll leak purple into the water, an endless reminder of V’s touch. It’s lax in his grasp as he keeps looking at the canvas, his canvas, smile etched into his face as his LED flows soft blue, content.

You can’t remember the last time you saw someone so elated, buoyed up with the excitement of creation, making something out of nothing, discovering how it feels to bring something into existence, pulling it out of the ether. Making something new. Making something their own. It stirs something in your chest and stomach, reminding you why you love art so much. Why you’ve always loved art. (Why you always will.)

“I made that,” V repeats, his voice a reverent hush. Awestruck.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, because it is—for a multitude of reasons. The reason that sings out to you the most, though, is that it’s the cause of happiness that dances across his face: V, a carved candle, a piece of art made with skilled hands, self-made joy finally catching fire at his wick.

“Thank you,” V says, and you blink.

“For what?”

“For giving me this,” he starts, but before you can interject and point out that you didn’t give him this, he made it, he continues: “For giving me… freedom. To do this. And make this. And learn this.”

The smile that spreads across your face is warm hearth fire. “I didn’t give you freedom, V, you gave that to yourself, but I’m happy to help you any way I can. Now, would you like to keep painting, or would you prefer to help me make dinner?”

He chooses dinner, never leaving your side.

Sunday is nice. There's less messy limbed surprise than on Saturday, although you’re still off kilter when you wake up with your head in V’s lap again, but… it’s nice.

You thought he’d spend the night painting, or drawing, or teaching himself something new using the free rein you’d given him with your computer and notebooks and stationery and art supplies—he doesn’t have to waste time with sleep, like you do—but he hadn’t. He’d climbed into your bed, settling against the pillows just like the night before, looking at you with his big, lovely eyes.

So here he is.

(And here you are.)

It’s cosy and comfortable, even if the feeling of warm skin under warm cotton against your cheek sets your heart to racing, V’s dark eyes even warmer when you roll over to look at his face.

“Morning,” he says.

“Morning,” you reply, and then you yawn, V’s lashes fluttering as he takes in the motion. “What time is it?”

Today’s rain is less of an endless downpour and more of an inconsistent drizzle, grey blanket slowly peeling away from the edges of the city, but it doesn’t matter, because you’re inside for most of the day, anyway. Saturday was hands-on, messy with acrylic and spilled coffee and laundry detergent (V really wants to learn everything), but Sunday is hands-off. You spend the day dredging the corners of your memory and scrolling through old, untouched files from your university years, so you can teach V the things he wants to know while relearning the things you’d forgotten yourself.

V’s little LED dances forever from blue into yellow, ocean waves lapping into sand, a shifting tide as he takes in your words. You’ve never had to teach someone before and you’re admittedly pretty terrible at it, but he never complains, the world’s most attentive and adorable student, sat on the floor with his legs crossed and his hair mussed and his eyes wide, drinking down everything you show him.

You only leave the apartment once. Lunch is delayed when you open your fridge and remember how bereft and sad it is inside, so you venture out into the rain to the nearby supermarket—V opts to stay indoors, LED flickering red at the idea of being caught, shying back.

You leave him looking lost and lonely before the door even finishes swinging shut behind you, long limbs looking even longer in your clothes, but somehow still so small.

“I won’t be long,” you promise.

When you get back, you return not only with bags of food but also clothes, V’s order from yesterday already shipped and delivered. He can finally replace your too-small clothing with things he’s chosen himself. It’s a fumble to get in the door, but the android is waiting for you, swinging it open and catching the bag you nearly drop in surprise.

“I have your clothes,” you announce. “I’ll put away the shopping while you try them on?”

You’re going to have to tattoo a reminder on your forehead about V’s relationship (or lack thereof) with clothes, because of course he takes this as an invitation to start stripping before you’ve even had a chance to take your shoes off.

He does that thing where he grabs the back of his (your) shirt and pulls it over his head in one swift motion, curls of hair a cloud of smoke that settles around his face as the shirt is cast aside; you’re frozen in place as he reaches for the knot of his sweatpant’s drawstring, long fingers pulling it loose, but you let out a sharp meep just as his fingers hook into the waistband of them.

“PleasewaituntilI’mnotrightinfrontofyouthankyou,” you gasp all at once, words incoherent as they slide together, but V understands. He tilts his head at you inquisitively although he (thankfully) stops.

“Don’t you want to see the clothes?”

“I do, but, uh, for humans it’s normally customary to only get entirely naked or change clothes when you’re alone.” Your heart is going to burst out of your chest with how fast it’s racing. Without the string to cinch the sweatpants tight they’re starting to fall a little, revealing the delicate lines of his hip bones, and coupled with the reappearance of V’s bare stomach, your brain is going into meltdown. “So just—just give me a sec to go to the kitchen, okay? You’re probably better off changing in the bedroom, anyway, so you can use the full length mirror to see how you look.”

“Okay,” he says, but then: “Do humans never undress around others unless they’re planning to have sex?”

Your mouth falls open before you pause, words halting on your lips as you try to think of the best way to phrase your answer. “Well, we do, it’s not just about sex, but it’s usually only if you’re really comfortable with the other person you’re with, and they’re comfortable with you.”

“I’m comfortable with you,” V states plainly, and your insides turn to jelly. “Are you not comfortable with me?”

Oh, hell. “I am, I am! I’m just, uh… I’ve not really had a lot of practice with nakedness around other people.” What a way to put that you’re a shy ass virgin when it comes to real life nudity and sex, huh. “So let’s just keep it to a minimum for now, okay? Please?”

The android’s LED flickers honey-sweet on his temple as he looks at you, before his hands fall away from the sweatpants. “Okay.”

(Thank God.)

You’re not sure what you’re expecting to see when V starts to present his small array of outfits to you, but—he looks effortlessly stylish in the oversized clothes he’s selected, a muted palette of brown and yellow and red and cream, a cup of hot chocolate on an autumn day. He might be new to all this but his eye for aesthetic is impeccable. You have no doubt that the more he learns, the better he’ll get, hop-skip-jumps ahead of you, even after years of art education.

He’s even bought pyjamas, dark tartan patterns masculine but also adorable; it’s an utter juxtaposition to the tighter, sensual clothing he’d been given at the Eden Club.

“You look really good,” you tell him. Your voice is only a little strained. He smiles.

The outfit V wears for the rest of the afternoon is perfect for a rainy day spent indoors, thick jumper and tawny trousers, a blend of sepia tones. He looks like if you made a hug into a person: all soft edges and cosy and wrapped up in warmth.

And V is warm. You’re not sure if it’s a lingering memory of his programming, a carry over from his start in life as a sexbot, but he likes to touch—nothing inappropriate or overbearing, but he’s not shy about stepping into your personal space, brushing the back of your hand with his fingers as he points at something on the screen, or pressing close to your side as you cook, or just one of the hundreds of other tiny touches that he’s littered across you throughout the day. It’s thoughtless on his part, LED not even flickering, but each time is just another reminder of his warmth, the blue blood pulsing under his skin, how alive he is.

(And the truth is that you enjoy those touches. You’re not used to them, but lord knows you’re touch starved, so as fleeting as they are, they’re nice.)

Even though you still leave plenty of space between the two of you when you lay to sleep, you swear you can feel the heat spilling off V, another warm body in the bed that’s so used to just one. Though he stays sitting up, he’s in his cute matching pyjamas, and it’s… it’s a lot. You’ve invited V into your home—and you don’t regret it—but after two days he’s already settled in in a way you never thought anyone else would, as entirely unconventional as the whole situation is. (You’re not sure how many people have sheltered a deviant android in their homes, though, so maybe this isn’t as unconventional as you think. Who knows? Not you.)

“I have to go to work tomorrow.”

V tilts his head down to look at you.

“You can get up to whatever you’d like,” you continue. You’re propped up on an elbow so it’s less intimate than if you’d been on your back and staring upwards like you were waiting for him to slide down next to you (that’s what it feels like, to you, anyway). “You know the password for my computer now, and you’re welcome to watch TV or play games or whatever, and you can use all my stuff in the studio. I mean, other than painting or drawing over stuff I’ve already finished, but you’re welcome to grab any paper or canvases if you want them. I think that’s everything? But please let me know if there’s more you want or need, okay?”

Blink, blink. His lashes are soft charcoal that frames the spilled ink of his gaze. In the dimmed light of your room V is unreadable, his LED a quiet blue glow on his temple, but he looks soft, and he looks safe, and he nods.

“Alright,” he says. A smile that flickers at the edge of his lips. “I will.”

(You wake up, quiet and slow, face pillowed against V’s thigh, still drifting in sleep. You make a small noise, eyes shut, wondering why there’s no blaring sound of your alarm, but then a large hand smooths over your hair and you instinctively relax under the soft touch.

“You have thirty three minutes until you’re due to wake up,” he murmurs. “You can go back to sleep.”

So you do.)

(When you wake up to the scream of your alarm thirty three minutes later, you don’t remember any of this. All you can think of is the dawn of another Monday, the slog of another working week, and you sigh. But—

“Morning.”

V’s eyes are dark meok ink, liquid earth that grounds you.

“Morning,” you say, smiling despite yourself, and then roll out of bed to get the whole day started.)

You’re used to spending a day surrounded by laughter and banter, wrapped up in the camaraderie of your co-workers and friends, only to return to a world of quiet solitude. You’re used to coming home to rooms that are untouched from the morning, holding onto the echo of your passing, still and waiting for your return, an apartment of motionless air.

But not today. There’s evidence of someone else here: the open door to your studio down the hall, the scattered books on the coffee table, the mess of cushions on the sofa, all small signs that someone has been moving and living in your absence. A still-life that’s shifted into a breathing trompe l’oeil, V’s presence bringing flatness into perspective, turning it into something real.

It’s… nice.

You flop onto the sofa and send one of those cushions overboard, tumbling to the ground. V appears in the doorway moments later, new apron already streaked with colour, copper green thumbprint on his face like he’d touched it in thought and not realised. A little streak of paint that draws the eye to his lovely chin.

“Welcome home!” His hair is blond today, a golden nimbus around his face, though his eyes are still dark. Light and shadow. His happiness is infectious and you smile helplessly back, glad for his excitement with painting—but it seems like he hasn’t finished. “I’m happy you’re home. I missed you.”

KO. Wipeout. Your heart turns to liquid in your chest, burnt sugar that dribbles hot and saccharine through your ribs.

“I chose a name.” V continues, oblivious to how he’s turned your insides into syrup, and you abruptly sit up.

“Oh?”

“Taehyung.” The way he says it, in his deep voice, those two syllables are endless—a single name, heavy with the weight of meaning behind it. A shedding of his old skin, one that was forced on him, leaving him pink-skinned and new and free.

“Taehyung,” you repeat, and his LED flickers at the sound falling off your lips. “Taehyung. It’s lovely.”

He’s smiling, that lovely toothy smile that you’ve already decided is your favourite out of any smile you’ve seen, his LED electric blue and swirling in delight.

Day after day, you wake up to the sight of that LED glowing as Taehyung watches you lift up out of sleep. Night after night, you come home to his lovely, big grin, all large hands and soft hair—hair that he chooses to change colour when he pleases, a dizzying palette with every shade you can dream of. He’s bright and deep, playful and reflective, a dance of flirty Rococo to more solemn Baroque, every day another day where he learns and grows and adds another facet to the cut diamond of his personality.

(It hasn’t been long but you’re starting to think you’d put the world in the palm of his hand, if you could.)

You never thought you’d live to see the day where someone as lovely as Taehyung would be glad to see you home, having missed you after being apart—but for all that he’s voraciously leaning into the arts, consuming everything from visual to literary to performance, he’s never happier than when you’re there too. He shows you his works, improvement obvious with every new piece, but his excitement grows tenfold when you start to paint alongside him; seeing him so joyful spurs you to pick your brushes up again, buoyed up with motivation in the face of his own.

(Your studio is usually quiet, a little reflective maybe, the only sound the music you play over your speakers—but now more often than not you and Taehyung will talk, and laugh, and even if you’ve both ebbed into silence, it’s never heavy. It’s a held breath. The potential to speak any moment. The sensation of another person in the same space as you, an orbit, both existing in a shared moment, connected by gossamer threads that shimmer with sunlight.

Taehyung’s eyes are steady on his canvas as he works, but he glances at you through the curl of his lashes, smiling back at you. Always, always smiling, LED calm blue as the rest of his face shines golden, bright.)

(Maybe it’s selfish, but you think you could get used to this.)

taglist: @beyoncesdragon

#btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #btswriterscollective #taehyung x reader #bts #taehyung x you #taehyung au #bts au #taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung scenario #taehyung imagine #android taehyung #robot taehyung #look you know the drill by now: I don't know how to tag effectively #taehyung fanfic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist #dbh is so good guys. I love connor. like. an alarming amount.

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sharkboygirlish · 3 years

Text

Messy.

ONE-SHOT

Word count: 2793

Disclaimer: One piece and all it’s characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I just like to write about them.

Warning: None

Rating: T (i guess?? there’s cursing)

Author’s Note: Whale, this is the first fanfic I’ve posted on the interwebs since high school so please keep that in mind, lol. I do plan to finish it sooner than later so check back in a few days if you want to read the rest, sorry I don’t have it all done right now. At long last it it FINISHED.

Feel free to tell me what u think! Unless it’s mean, then I ask that u keep those thoughts in ur noggin because I’m just writing these for fun not for grades.

Without further ado, here ya go.

Author’s Note pt 2: So i didn’t end up going the smut route like I originally planned, but I think it worked out better bc this one got nice and Emotional.

Summary: Zoro really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

__________________________________________

The moon was floating high in the night sky when Nami wandered onto the deck, unable to sleep even after a few hours of sketching.

She wanted company – specifically, she wanted the company of the crew’s resident alcoholic. It only took a few minutes to find him on the lawn deck with his back against a tree and his eye closed. ‘How typical.’

Nami smiled a small, excited smile as she strode over to him and squatted between his parted legs. An unconscious sigh left her nose as she swept her gaze up and down his face. She caught herself thinking, ‘He really is easy on the eyes isn’t he.’ ....again.

Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking the same thing every time she looked his way lately.

Two years ago she’d been able to keep the immature crush she had on him locked tightly away but somehow - it had gotten out and was slowly consuming her entire being.

Nami hoped he hadn’t noticed how often she invited him to drink with her because she didn’t think she could handle being rejected. So she settled for spending time alone with him whenever and however she could.

“Hey, moss-head,” the navigator said finally, leaning in to squint at him, “Are you asleep?”

He had literally just settled down for a nice cat nap when the navigator appeared suddenly to interrupt him. ‘Damn. What the hell did she want now?’

Instead of answering, Zoro chose to ignore her and pretend like he was deep asleep. ‘Why won’t she go bother someone else?’

Nami started prodding his cheek with one finger to rouse him if he really was sleeping, ”Zorooo wake up, I wanna drink,” she whined and his eyelid opened instantly.

‘Why’s she so damn pretty..’ was the first thought he had when he realized that she was a lot closer than he’d anticipated.

He mentally chastised himself after, trying to remind his id that Nami had never once indicated that she wanted to be anything other than friends and he should respect that.

But… There was no harm in looking from time to time was there? And she was pretty. She’d always been... ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, now he sounded like Sanji. He needed to get a grip.’

“Helloooooo,” Nami waved her hand in Zoro’s face until he snapped back to reality and snatched her wrist up, pulling it away. He scowled but it wasn’t deep, and now he was refusing to look her in the eye. “What was that about, huh Zoro?”

“Nothing.” The swordsman replied perhaps a little too quickly to avoid suspicion, “Thought I heard a noise, doesn’t matter – oi, didn’t you want to do something?”

He couldn’t remember what exactly it was. He’d been so distracted by the way her bangs framed her face and sometimes got caught in her eyelashes—’Damnit! He was doing it again.’

Nami smirked again but didn’t press the subject anymore. She’d do that later once they started drinking. “Weren’t you listening to me? You’re so rude, maybe I should find someone else to share my booze with.”

Was it a good idea to go drink with Nami when he kept catching himself thinking about feelings that he’d been suppressing for the last two years? Probably not…

But he couldn’t just decline an opportunity to get buzzed. ‘And... Maybe he wanted to get buzzed with Nami, specifically.’

Zoro scoffed, mostly at himself. “Quit playing games, damnit, do you want me to drink with you or not?”

“You’re so stubborn,” The navigator teased with a pleased smile that made his heart beat unevenly, “I could care less if you join me, but you’re not allowed to come unless you say you’ll be nice.”

“Nami. I am older than you, quit treating me like a fucking child or I swear-”

“That’s no way to talk to a lady who’s getting you drunk for free, Roronoa Zoro. If you can’t be nice then I’ll just add the cost of everything you drink to your debt and-”

Zoro didn’t have time to ruminate over the way hearing her say his full name made him shiver because he had to shut her up before she did charge him.

“Okay, okay. I’ll be... nice.” He hissed through gritted teeth and her answering giggle made his pulse flutter. He had to fight to keep himself from smiling. ‘What the hell was going on with him tonight? Was he sick?’

“Good boy,” she turned and started walking towards the Sunny’s aquarium bar, glancing back over her shoulder to make sure he was coming.

“Don’t push your luck, woman.” Zoro snarled to mask his confusion over the sudden need to touch her that he felt scratching at the back of his head. He really shouldn’t agree to be Nami’s drinking partner if he wanted to keep their friendship from getting... Complicated.

He knew it, but he followed her up the stairs all the same.

* * *

“Why d’you always want to drink with me anyway, witch?” Skeptical of her intentions, his narrowed eye fixed itself on Nami as she approached him holding two maroon tinted bottles. She offered one to him and he accepted it – but he didn’t let his guard down yet.

Zoro lowered his gaze to check the label out, whistling long and low when he read 23% alcohol per volume. A couple puzzle pieces clicked together in his head ‘Oh, that’s why. Because if she tried to drink this with anyone else they’d pass out after two glasses.’

“Would you believe that I just like hanging out with you?” Though her tone was teasing she was actually being genuine, she had a lot of fun with him whenever they went out.

“No–“ He paused when Nami kicked him in the shin hard enough to make him swear. Reaching down with his free hand he rubbed the sore patch of skin and glared daggers at his crewmate. “What the fuck was that for?!”

“You said you’d be nice, Zoro! So be nice or I’ll charge you a hundred thousand beris for that bottle.” Nami uncorked hers but waited to hand the corkscrew over until he behaved himself. The look he was giving her would probably frighten a small child but she didn’t flinch.

‘This was his choice.’ He reminded himself. Of his own free will he chose to get drunk with Nami instead of napping, and that meant dealing with her bossiness no matter how much he loathed it. ‘Sometimes he just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and make her shut up, there were better things her mouth could be doing anyway-‘

“Why do you keep staring at me like that, do I have a zit or something?”

Zoro sat up so fast that he banged his shoulder on the underside of the countertop. ‘What the hell was that? What the hell was wrong with him?’ He hadn’t even opened the damn bottle and he was already making himself look like an idiot.

“No,” the swordsman grumbled, wracking his brain for a believable excuse, “Just thinking about how I’ll owe you money even after I’m dead if you keep charging me for bullshit.” That made her laugh and Zoro cursed himself for how much he liked hearing it. “Don’t see how it’s funny for me, witch.”

Nami let him take the corkscrew from her, eyes crinkled with amusement while he opened his bottle. “You’ll just have to stay alive until you pay me back in full, I guess!” She trilled before taking a long, heavy drink from hers.

“Yeah?” Zoro snorted before mimicking her and downing about half of the wine in the container. It tasted disgusting, which he’d expected, but that didn’t make the bitter aftertaste any less miserable. His nose wrinkled slightly as he set the bottle down. “I bet even if I did try to pay you off you’d find a way to charge me more.”

“You make me sound so heartless,” the navigator batted her eyelashes innocently, pretending to look hurt, “Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Hah.” He scoffed before chugging some more wine and failing to keep track of how much he was drinking each time. “Because you want to keep me on a leash since I don’t throw myself at you like that dumbass cook.”

An impish smirk crawled it’s way onto Nami’s face that made him immediately regret what he’d just said. ‘Fuck. Damnit!’

“So…” She began slowly, savoring every second that the swordsman spent avoiding direct eye contact with her, “You admit that you are one of my lap dogs?”

A muscle in his jaw flexed and he stopped drinking for one second to grunt, “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s what I heard!” Chimed Nami as she rose from her seat, stepping over to Zoro and tracing a finger under his jaw while he drained the last few drops of liquid. “I should get you a collar, so people know who to bring you to when you get lost.”

Normally he would have snapped at her for poking fun at his sense, or lack thereof, direction but he wasn’t listening to her. She’d come close enough for him to pick up her scent and maybe it was the alcohol intensifying his feelings, but it was suffocating him in a good way.

He loved the way she smelled. Tangerines from her soaps mixed with salty seawater and traces of sunscreen. A hint of orange blossom, but only when she was close to him like this.

Zoro inhaled deeply through his nose and, without realizing it, his expression melted into something affectionate and gentle. ‘In two years she’d changed in so many different ways… but she still smelled the same. She still smelled like home.’

* * *

“What are you thinking about, Zoro?” Her voice void of it’s usual teasing tone, Nami’s curiosity was piqued by his sudden shift in demeanor. He looked soft and peaceful, like he didn’t have anything to worry about. She wanted to know why.

‘Ah, fuck.’ What was he supposed to tell her? That he was thinking about how good she smelled? ‘Yeah right.’ Zoro was quiet for a while, mulling over his words until he came up with an explanation that didn’t sound as creepy – but also wasn’t a lie.

“I guess..” he finally murmured, his gaze shifting to meet hers, “It’s just been a while and… I was thinking about how nice it feels to be back here, with everyone…” a brief pause then he added, “I missed you guys.” ‘Look at him being all gushy and emotional, this wine really was something else.’ Zoro reached to brush his fingertips by her temple, catching a stray lock of hair and tucking it behind her ear, “I missed you.”

When had Zoro ever been this honest with her about the way he felt? Never was the answer, but now he seemed to trust her well enough to know she wouldn’t spill his secrets. Nami took his face in both of her hands, surprising him, and pulled his head down so she could kiss his forehead. “I missed you too, Zoro.”

Something about hearing her say that she’d missed him too broke a dam in his chest that he’d been trying to keep together for two years. Hormoness flooded through his bloodstream quicker than Zoro could even process them and before he knew it he was practically throwing his arms around Nami’s waist and crushing her against his chest.

“Nami—” he pressed his face into her neck to hide the tears that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Sober he might have cared about losing it like this around her but she was here and… ‘He just – needed to hold her.’ Hold her and smell her and feel how real she was because she had almost been taken from him.

‘He’d barely begun to process what he had been through on Thriller Bark when they were attacked in Sabaody. If he tried to think back on it his memories would get hazy and his bones would ache from their very cores. He knew what had happened but it’s like his brain was protecting him from understanding how close to death he’d come. Then – to be torn away from the people he loved with all of his heart? Who he had just nearly killed himself to protect?

It had ripped him apart and rubbed salt into every wound. And it fucking hurt. The same kind of pain he felt when he saw Kuina dead on the floor of their dojo. He was scared, he was furious, he was devastated – all over again but this time it was so much worse. So, so much worse.

That was why he had trained so hard over the last two years. Because he couldn’t bear the grief that came with loving them so deeply – so he got stronger. And stronger. And stronger. No matter the cost to his body, he would become powerful enough to defeat anyone who crossed them. Then… He would never have to feel the agony that he did when he first woke up on Kuraigana Island ever again.

Taking on all of Luffy’s suffering in Thriller Bark had been the most physically painful experience of his entire life – but that was nothing compared to how much it hurt to think that his friends were gone forever, that he hadn’t been able to protect them.

Training made it easy not to think about what had happened -- but now he was home, and they were safe - and he was realizing just how close he’d come to losing all of them. At once. And he could do nothing to stop it.’

Startled by him grabbing her, Nami was prepared to give the pirate a good smack if he was getting handsy but… He started trembling. ‘Was he not feeling well?’ Her mouth opened to form the question then stopped. His breathing hitched while his entire body jerked and she realized…

‘Zoro was crying.’

Roronoa Zoro, who prided himself on his strength, was sobbing wretchedly into her neck. ‘He must have been holding this in since Sabaody.’ Nami’s heart ached for him and his stupid pride that forced him to torture himself instead of letting him cry like he needed to. She’d been expecting him to crash at some point, how couldn’t he? Even someone as strong as Zoro was still a human being.

One of her arms cradled his head while the other wound round his shoulders, her fingers combing gently through his hair. “Oh you sweet, sweet boy…” she spoke in the tone that Bellemere used to use when Nami and Nojiko were frightened by a passing thunderstorm. It always calmed her, maybe it would calm Zoro, too.

‘Quit fucking crying you loser you’re supposed to be a man.’ But he couldn’t, he literally could not stop because he was trying to. “I wasn’t strong enough,” his voice quivered at the edges and he hated it. ‘He was definitely never going to drink this kind of wine again ever. Not if it turned him into a blubbering mess like this every time.’

“Shhh, no. No. Don’t you dare try to blame yourself for what happened. Hey, look at me.” Nami urged his head off her shoulder and cupped his face in both of her palms, “None of us were strong enough, okay? Not even Luffy.” Each tear that fell she tenderly swept away with the pad of her thumb. The corner of her mouth turned up as she assured him, “But we are strong enough now. We can take care of each other. Nothing is ever going to tear us apart again, Zoro.”

‘She was right. Of course, she was right. He needed to have faith in his crewmates and his captain. They could do anything as long as they had each other.’ His breathing slowly evened out as he focused on anchoring himself back to reality. He wasn’t in Sabaody or Kuraigana – he was on the Sunny. In the bar, with Nami who had grown so much since he last saw her. The look in his eye softened like it had before his breakdown.

“You’re staring at me again, Zoro.” The navigator teased, her hands falling to rest on his shoulders. He hadn’t let go of her yet but she didn’t mind, he could hold on to her for as long as he needed.

A ghost of his usual smirk passed across his face. “Sorry, Nami…” Zoro took a little risk by leaning in to press a chaste but lingering kiss to her cheek, then traced a path with the edge of his nose to her ear, murmuring, “Wine makes me a little… Messy.”

#zona #zonami #zoro x nami #zona one-shots #zoro nami fanfiction #zonalove #zoro x nami fanfic

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softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Text

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 5

Summary:

I once again expose myself for being into older men, and you and Woods go on your first date

Tags: Slow burn, fluff, age difference

“Anyway, can I help you with something?”

Your friendly voice and sweet smile pull him out of his thoughts. Frank looks down at you, and instantly lets his nerves get the better of him. This was a mistake from the beginning.

He looks away, attempting to mask his insecurities with a gruff exterior, “Uh, it’s nothing. Sorry, may-”

“Oh no no, it’s fine, really! I just have to deliver these papers and then I can be right with you”, you smile encouragingly, and then… he decides to stay. More due to the fact that he feels unable to say no to you rather than by his own resolve, however.

He’ll have to watch out for that.

So he waits. There’s exactly one other chair in your office, a squat cube shaped thing sitting on the other side of your desk. Clearly this is something you own and brought in, rather than a piece of furniture that was given to you like that plain old black office chair behind your desk. The chair looks like it was brightly colored once, and smacks of something salvaged from the early 70s and dragged into the modern era. Still, it’s rather comfortable despite the faded, slightly sagging state of it.

Frank traces his fingers up and down the angular arm rest, thinking of you. You know, now that he’s had the chance to look around… There’s actually quite a few things of the past in here. He sees a bulky old camera and even a typewriter tastefully displayed amongst a few other nik naks on your shelves, both of which look like they were rolled out around the time he was just a child.

For a moment, he feels uncomfortable again and far too old to be trying something like this with you. But then, the anxiety is washed away with the musing that perhaps…. You like old things.

He can’t help but huff a laugh at that. A wishful thought on his part, maybe, and yet… not completely untrue.

“What’s so funny?”, your curious voice pulls him out of his thoughts as you suppress a small laugh of your own.

“Huh? Oh, nothing just… That camera’s gotta be older than I am”, he chuckles and points to the black box of a thing just above you. “What are you doing with a piece of junk like that anyway?”, he laughs.

You gasp in mock hurt, “It’s not junk! It works!” Suddenly you seem to grow quite excited, trotting up to retrieve the object in question. Cradling it carefully, you swing around your desk and take a seat on the hardwood, showing off your treasure, “This is a Kodak Cartridge Hawk-Eye from 1926!” You enunciate the date excitedly as though it were a relic from the dinosaur days, meanwhile all Woods can think of is that that was only a mere four years before he was born.

For a few minutes longer, you go on giving a whole info dump on all you know about the little device, wave upon wave of building excitement adding to your voice and before long, Frank finds himself being swept up in it all. No offence, but… he really doesn’t give a single fuck about the camera. But, the way it has you grinning bright as sunshine. The electric spark in your eyes. The way you give his arm a gentle touch to brace him for what you seem to think is a very riveting fact…

He would listen to you talk about that damn thing all day, just to see you like this.

Before he knows it, the lecture is over and he couldn’t be more disappointed. You shake your head, just now realizing you’ve gone off on a tangent once again. “Ugh, sorry…”, you laugh it off and go to put it away, “I just get so excited about my antiques. I love that stuff, you know? Anyway, before I go off again… What was it you wanted to see me for?”

Suddenly, Frank can feel his heart clench tight. He had almost forgotten why he came, and now… he’s wishing you would’ve too.

“Oh? Uh, why… Why did I-? Uh… Yeah, um, so-”

Damn it! He never thought he’d say this, but he’d rather be in a gunfight right now. Anything then this… juvenile, high school shit. You’ve since returned to your spot on the edge of your desk. Despite his highly suspicious stuttering, your expression remains polite and even encouraging as you wait for him to formulate a coherent sentence.

While his mind reels for some sort of excuse, anything to get him out of this situation he’s dug for himself, his nervous gaze lands on the very last thing it needs to right now. Your eyes are glittering in this afternoon light. Do you know that?, he thinks. You’ve locked eyes right back at him, but the situation is anything but awkward. He appreciates the way that you aren’t afraid of him. That you’re willing to show him patience and understanding… Like he’s a fucking human being, instead of some crazy old veteran that you’re just indulging until you can finally get rid of him.

The longer he looks back at you, the more and more he can feel the tension melting out of him. Each muscle in his body slowly but surely unclenches, allowing him to relax at last as he leans back into his seat. He can’t lie to you. You don’t deserve that.

Damn it…

Frank breaks eye contact at last. He flexes his hand gently, working out the nervous energy, as he makes a fist. “I uh… I was just wondering if, maybe… you wanted to get coffee sometime…”

Immediately he braces for… well, he’s not sure what exactly, but rejection for sure. He closes his eyes so he can’t see the disgusted face you must be making, and all the muscles he’d just set at ease jump back into bands of iron across his chest, tensed so tight, he feels like his heart might stop. It’s only been a few seconds, but it feels like years have passed when you finally respond…

“Sure! What time would work for you?”

His eyes snap open as he jerks his head around to look at you, not entirely sure he heard you right. But then… there’s that same, sunny smile and electrified eyes that tell him you mean it.

“I-I uh…”, and just like that, he snaps out of it. Woods sits up straight, fixing a strand of hair that’s strayed from its place, and grinning excitedly himself. He hasn’t felt like this in… years. “W-well what time would work for you? I’m sure as shit not doing anything”, he laughs.

You think for a moment, “Oh! Say, do you go for a run on Saturdays too?”

Pft, not lately. “Yeah! Why?”

You light up, “Great! Tell you what, let's meet up and we can go for a run together then hit that coffee shop we met at last time. Would that be alright? Could be fun!”

As though you even needed to ask, he’s already agreeing. The two of you make some more concrete plans like the wheres and whens specifically before preparing to head your separate ways. You stop him and scribble down your number on a torn sheet of paper. “Just in case”, you smile. “And hey… Loser pays”, you break out into laughter.

“Oh yeah?”, he smiles back, “Don’t think I’ll go fucking easy on you!”, he calls, half way down the hall by now as you wave him off.

When you’ve retreated out of sight, Woods takes a look around. Alone again. Good. He reaches into his pocket and gingerly retrieves the slip of paper. Over and over again he reads and re-reads the chicken scratch handwriting you’ve produced. To him, it’s wonderful.

By the time he gets to his car, he feels like he knows that number better than his own dog tag ID. He slips the precious sheet into his wallet, the first of a few select reminders of you that he’ll keep safe in there.

As the few short days go by, he waits restlessly until he can see you again. And finally… Finally, Saturday morning comes.

5:26 am, and he’s up before his alarm. He doesn’t even need to check the digital clock to see what day it is. He already knows as he jumps out of bed and races to get ready. In no time at all he meets you early at the nearby park you agreed to meet at. You’ve come prepared in your high tops, short shorts, and nylon catsuit. Stylish and modern, but thankfully not as over the top as what the fashion industry would have you in.

It takes every ounce of willpower within him to keep his eyes up.

“Ready?”, you stretch your arms up high, only accentuating your body as you do so.

Frank can feel himself turning red as he status out an affirmative, earning… is that a smirk? from you.

“Alright then, ready… set…”, without warning you bolt off for a head start.

“Hey!”

He wants to be mad, but… He’s just having too much fun, damn it. About half way through, it’s a fair race, and although he’s beating you it’s not by that much. Once he’s proved to himself that he’s still got it, Woods allows himself to fall back, giving you the ego boost you need to stick it out and sprint to the finish, tired as you are.

Frank trots to a stop behind you shortly, only slightly more out of breath then you are. He may have let you win, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t give him hell in the first half.

“Cheater”, you give his shoulder a light punch and a knowing look.

“Me?”, he laughs, ignoring the accusation that he would ever let someone else beat him in a competition, “What do you call that stun at the start?”

You merely laugh, wiping some sweat from your brow as you head towards the door of the coffee shop. The bell chimes as you enter and walk up to the counter together. You place your orders, and Frank pays. You wait in silence for your orders, merely taking the time to completely catch your breath.

Drinks and breakfast in hand, you sit by the large bay windows together. The sun has just peeked over the horizon, filling the room with a golden glow. A halo of light shines around you, catching every perfect curve and angle you have to offer as you grace him with your presence. The food and coffees are nearly forgotten as you both get caught up talking about everything and nothing all at once. Conversation topics turn and change like leaves in the wind, easily transitioning from one to the other as you slowly yet surely get to really know one another.

Frank is on the edge of his seat, waiting eagerly to hear what you have to say next as he talks with you. It’s the most excited he’s been to hear someone else drone on and on in his entire life. By the time you’re both feeling talked out, the sun is well on it’s way to rising and the morning dew has since evaporated.

But, it doesn’t matter. How could he ever feel time was wasted when it was spent with you?

The two of you walk back towards the park, making sure to take it slow so you can get the most out of what little time you have left together.

“And then I said, ‘Looks don't count for shit in the jungle. This is 'Nam baby!’ “

You burst out laughing, “Did you really? And then what happened!”

He grins, “Well, the- Oh, wait, we’re uh, we’re here…”

The two of you stop at the edge of the parking lot. It’s practically empty aside from your lone car only a stone’s throw away. At that, the mirth seeps from you as well as you agree.

“Well… I guess… thanks. I had fun, you know”, Frank turns to face you, hoping more than anything that you enjoyed yourself as well.

“Yeah, me too!”, that familiar little smile that he’s grown so fond of slowly makes its way back. “Maybe… Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Besides,”, you act on a jolt of courage, stretching up on the tips of your toes to press a little kiss to his rough, stubbly cheek, “you have to tell me the rest of your story”

You lick your lip and give it a little nervous bite as you shyly take his hand in yours for comfort.. It feels huge, more like a bear paw than a human hand, compared to yours. “Well… See you later…”, you turn and begin to back away, holding his hand until you can no longer reach, forcing you to let go. You offer him one last smile, but all he can do is stand there, frozen amongst a roar of emotions.

Woods lifts a hand to his cheek, reverently caressing the spot your lips touched. The depth, breadth, and complexity of feeling circling in his mind are far too much for him to ever put into words. But, out of them all, one rings out loud and clear. He’s so, so…

Happy.

#black ops cold war #call of duty #frank woods #frank woods x reader #cod fanfic

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adrenaline-roulette · 4 years

Text

Four Eighths

Pairing: Four x Eight (Reader) Word Count: 5.5K+ Warnings: Language *Disclaimer, Hi everybody. I first of all would like to apologise to those who have been waiting for months for a new chapter, this chapter has been partially written since September, however in that time, my aunt passed away. It has hit me very hard, and during this time, I needed to take a step away from writing, to be with my family, and also to take time to look after myself and my mental health. I’m doing better now, and with that means I am slowly updating my works which have been neglected as of late. So for those who are returning viewers of this series, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming back and waiting with me. And for those new to this series, welcome and I hope you stay with us. Much love to you all!

Chapters One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, and Nine can be found here! (That’s right baby, we’ve officially reached double digits for chapters!)

Chapter Ten: Darkest paradise I’ve ever seen

Flying into Noumea, your headphones pressed snuggly against your ears, you watch as miles upon miles of crystal blue ocean spans ahead of you. From just about every direction you look through the small aeroplane window, all you can see is blue. That is aside from the tiny speck on the horizon, which you can only assume is in fact, your destination. It seems awfully far away, and a part of you has managed to convince the less logical section of your brain, that you still have plenty of time before you arrive. Before the plan takes motion. Before shit goes down. Or you have months to continue planning your take down of the Lushnick’s…. But as you gaze out the window once more, the tiny speck growing ever larger, your rational mind takes over, reminding you that in less than two weeks, provided everything went according to plan, the Lushnick’s would be yours.

As the plane touches down at La Tontouta international airport, you await the captain’s departure announcement before standing up and stretching your cramping legs, feeling your joints pop, and muscles ache from having spent too long in one position. Once the initial rush of passengers have passed you, you reach up into the overhead compartments and retrieve the navy blue rucksack you had stowed up there. With the bag flung over your shoulder, you disembark the plane, and head towards the baggage carousel within the terminal. Within your rucksack, along with a few emergency items on the off chance your bags were lost, included five various ID cards, all hand made for you by One’s slightly shady yet reliable connection; a wad of Pacific Franc, the currency of New Caledonia, and of course your laptop. One had assured you that the apartment you would be using as a base had all the setup you required, however you felt more confident with your own computer, even just as a backup for an emergency. As you cross the tarmac, you recall the burner phone One had given you upon your departure, the only contacts held within were those of the Ghost’s, though knowing that you still have the ability to communicate with your team before their arrival helped alleviate some of your nerves. Switching the phone off flight mode, you held it firmly in your sweaty palm, half expecting it to buzz to life with missed notifications, as it would if it were your true phone. The influx of notifications never come, there is however one which does buzz through. ‘Are you safe?’

You scan over the message again and again, reading just about every possible subtext into it within a matter of seconds, before finally, you take a deep breath in, hold it for ten seconds, then release. ‘It’s Four, don’t be so dramatic. He actually cares about you.’ You remind yourself, just as your thumbs tap against the phone keyboard. ‘Just landed. Collecting bags then heading to the apartment. Should be there within the hour.’ You reply, pocketing the phone again and keeping your eyes peeled for you luggage.

The phone vibrates again, but this time you ignore it, opting instead to find the Taxi rank now that you had procured your bags. On you way through the airport, you discard you boarding pass into a trashcan, saying a mental goodbye to the alias of Ginevra Connelly. Of course you still kept the ID card with Ginevra’s details in your bag just in case, but the aim was to only use each alias once. One for flying, one for working, and one for personal business. The others were just there if any unexpected events should arise. Once outside, you only need wait a few minutes before a taxi pulls up, the driver popping the trunk of the car for you to deposit your bags. Once the trunk is closed, you slide into the back seat, sitting directly behind the driver. “Bonjour.” The driver offers with a small smile, meeting your eyes in the rear-view mirror.

You smile gently back. “Bonjour.” You greet, before reciting off the address to the apartment in Noumea which One had insisted you memorise.

With a nod of his head, the taxi driver speeds off, either ignoring or simply disregarding all speed signs which he passed. As he drove like a bat out of hell, you check your phone once more. ‘That’s good. Glad you’re alright.’ Four had replied, earning a small smile to creep over your lips.

‘Well, the flight didn’t kill me. Can’t say the same about my driver though….’

‘Axe murderer?’

‘Nothing quite as exciting. Or at least, I didn’t notice an axe when I checked the trunk…. Just a crazy driver is all. You’ll see when you get here. It looks to be a trend.’

‘Can’t wait!’ Before a rapid second response of. ‘Stay out of trouble until I get there please?’

‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Love yo-‘ You begin typing, before frantically deleting the characters. As much as you wanted to send the message, you just couldn’t quite bring yourself to do it. Something about sending those words, via a burner phone while you’re in a totally different country, just felt wrong. Perhaps that was the nerves of the mission talking? No matter, you would saver the phrase for when you saw Four in person.

You put your phone away after that, not trusting yourself to continue the conversation with the direction it was headed. You knew Four was still, not necessarily mad at you, but disappointed that you hadn’t told him of your early departure. You were also acutely aware of his fear for you being in a foreign country all alone. You were positive that if it hadn’t been for the sudden announcement of your leaving, then he would have tried much harder to convince you and One to let him arrive with you. Of course, deep down you knew that despite Four’s protective nature, he understood why he was unable to arrive with you, or with the others. But it didn’t stop him from disliking the plan any less.

The driver watches as you put your phone away and takes this time to engage you in the typical taxi, passenger chit chat. “Parlez-vous français?” He enquires, and it takes you a moment to comprehend what he had asked. You had a slight knowledge of the French language, but it was very, very basic.

“No sorry, I don’t speak French.” You offer with a half smile, shrugging lightly as you turn your attention to the scenery blurring past you.

“Ah, a tourist then. Here for a vacation, are you? He continues, drumming his fingers along the steering wheel as he changes lanes in what would be considered a highly illegal maneuver literally anywhere else in the World.

Deciding that if you looked out the window any longer you may become motion sick, you turn your focus to staring directly at the back of the drivers head. “Mhm, I’ve always wanted to visit, go snorkelling, maybe go for a ride on one of those glass bottom boats? Who knows!” You ramble on, though nothing you say is quite a lie. In truth, you had always wanted to visit Noumea, and were supposed to when you were thirteen. You were supposed to go on a cruise to the South Pacific Islands as a birthday present, however that never quite happened. You suppose in the long run, it’s a good thing you never came here as a child, if you had, then this mission may not be going ahead. Or at least not with you at the helm.

“My cousin owns a glass bottom boat, he runs tours every day. Here, take this card, it has his details.” He pulls a crinkled business card out of his shirt pocket, and passes it back to you. You take it graciously, taking a moment to read over it before stowing it away in your bag.

“Thank you.”

As you drive through the city, the driver points out the occasional tourist attraction, to which you nod and play along with the façade you had created. Most things he says go in one ear then out the other, but there is one which catches your attention. “Over the is the hospital. Might be good to know where that is just in case.” He offers with a grin, gesturing to the large building on your left.

Your head whips around to face that direction in an instant, eyes growing wide as you drink in the sight. “That’s the hospital…” You whisper, mouth going dry as you watch the building disappear into the distance behind you.

The rest of the drive is kept in relative silence, mostly on your part. Having finally seen your destination for this mission, it all suddenly felt so real. Inside that building, which should be used for good, were two of the most vile and wicked people you know to exist. They had nearly two weeks left before they met they’re match however, and that thought alone set a chilling grin on your lips.

*****

Once you arrived at the apartment you were faced with a serious problem, a lack of keys to the front door. Surely One should’ve thought of this, he owned the fucking place! “Well that’s just great. Now what?” You hiss to yourself, glaring daggers at the wooden door that currently separated you from your new, temporary home and work space.

Reaching behind, you fish around in your bag in search of your phone. Muttering swears beneath your breath, until finally your fingers clasp onto the cool, smooth device. Scowling at the screen as you scroll through the limited contacts, you press call against One. Standing with your back leaning against the front door, one arm folded across your chest, and your left foot tapping the ground impatiently.

“Don’t tell me you’re already in trouble.” One grumbles after the sixth ring. His words causing your sour mood to only worsen.

“No I am not.” You hiss, lowering your voice to a whisper as you hear voices out on the street.

“What do you need Eight?”

“I want to know how I’m supposed to get into the bloody apartment! There’s not fucking keys!”

There’s a pause on the line for a minute or two, and for the first time ever, you realise that you’ve rendered One, the fearless leader, utterly speechless. “The keys are on the table.” His voice is mumbled, and you barely catch what he says.

“I’m sorry, what was that now?”

One groans, and you can almost picture his frustrated face, perhaps he would even be pinching the bridge of his nose… “I said, the keys are on the table, inside the apartment.”

He sounds disappointed in himself, and rightly so. “Well, that’s helpful isn’t it?”

“Don’t get sassy with me missy.”

“Why not? This is your house isn’t it? Shouldn’t you have a set of keys with you?”

“It’s one of my houses..”

“That doesn’t make this any better.”

“Did you bring your lock pick?”

“Of course I did. The question is, which bag is it in….” You mumble, gazing around at the bags you had discarded by the door.

“I think you know what to do. Good luck kid.” There’s a grin to One’s voice now, and you have half a mind to tell him off for his stupidity, however before you get the chance, the line goes dead.

With a deep sigh, you resign yourself to do the only thing you can, break in. Well technically it wasn’t breaking in, not when you were supposed to be living here, though you imagine that logic may not stand up in court if someone were to catch you in the act.

Withing ten minutes, all of your bags lay open on the ground, items of clothing strewn about the place, as you had frantically searched the brown leather pouch which housed your lockpick tools. Upon finding it, you groan at the mess you had made, stuffing everything back in the bags haphazardly, you would deal with the unorganised mess later.

Gazing around, you double then triple check that there is no one around to see you. The voices on the street had long since faded away, leaving only the sounds of birds chirping, and the distant crash of waves. Confident you’re alone, you bow over the door handle, and begin picking the lock. It occurs to you that perhaps this was One’s plan all along. After all, he was the one to provide you with said lock picking kit. You brush that thought off, and return to the task at hand, fiddling with the handle for roughly fifteen minutes until finally you hear a click. “Eureka!” You declare quietly yet triumphantly. The door swings open, and dusty air breezes out past you, causing you to cough and sneeze. Blimey, this place must’ve been closed up for months!

Inside the apartment, you don’t take too long looking around, you’ll have time for that later. You take note of where the master bedroom is, and claim that as yours by dumping your bags atop the bed, and seek out the bathroom. With everything in order as far as you could see, you take your laptop and bring it out into the main living area where what you can only assume is your area has been set up. There are three monitors set up on a large oak desk, which looked wildly out of place in the otherwise, holiday home themed house. The largest sitting in the middle of the desk, with two smaller screens on either side. It’s not a perfect set up, but it will work for what you need, and that’s all that really matters, especially considering most of your work would be done from inside the hospital.

Settling down at the makeshift study desk, you take a final moment to glance around the apartment, spotting a set of what you presume is house keys sitting on the dining table. “Well, at least One was right about where you were.” You mutter quietly, glaring at the object in question.

*****

Infiltrating the hospital database took far longer than you had initially expected. Over the past few weeks, you had made practice runs of worming your way into other systems for different hospitals around the world, however at no point had you thought to test your access to the hospital you actually needed entrance to. “It can’t be any different to any of the others.” You surmise, squinting at the screen before you, elbows propped up on the desk, and chin resting on your interlocked fingers. Truth be told it wasn’t that much different, not in the scheme of things, however someone, and goodness knows who, had made the entire system nearly impenetrable! Key word being nearly. However, if there was one thing you had learned after years of sneaking your way into systems you shouldn’t, it was that no matter how tricky a program may first appear, there is always a way in! And this system was no different.

One pizza delivery and three energy drinks later, the start of a migraine -which was either caused by your frustration, or the copious amounts of caffeine- and you were finally in! The hospital was, in every sense of the word, yours. The possibilities, oh the possibilities! Your first task only took a few moments, scanning through encrypted lists until you came across the one which housed the contact details for all members of staff. The list consisted of the staff members name, followed by their position of work, contact number and email, and finally a next of kin. Truly, this list looked to have been composed specifically for you and your needs. Copying the details you required for a one Mister Frank Sea, and pasting them momentarily into a word document, you move onto your second task. Page upon page you read through, jumping between links and praying that perhaps this time you had found the correct page, you finally make it to the hospital security system. You blame your caffeinated jittery hands for how long it took you to find. Once in the system, you begin changing over a few simple details, nothing too extreme that could potentially be cause for concern if anyone were to see, but the changes you made were imperative to the mission. The contact name for the security recruitment agency remained the same, however you now deleted out the previous phone number, adding in One’s phone number as planned. Finally came task three, which you had been dreading since you woke up this morning. The guilt of what you were about to do had been gnawing at you all week. You weren’t a bad person, not really; you kept telling yourself, hoping that perhaps if you said so enough, it would be true. You feared sending this email would ruin Frank, that it would destroy him… ‘It’s just business.’ You can hear One telling you, his exact words after you had both come up with this plan. “It’s just business, I’m just doing my job. It’s for the greater good.” You whisper, your voice catching in your throat. You don’t give yourself another moment to dwell on things, and instead quickly write up your email on the address you had created specifically for the mission. The email informs Frank of his urgent presence being required in Scotland to discuss the legalities of his and his wife’s separation, and custody of his children. Holding your breath, you hit send, watching impatiently until the message had left your outbox. By the time Frank would arrive in Scotland, the company you had pretended to work for would be closed for three weeks due to renovations. He would have no way of contacting them to find out why his presence was required, and of course try as he might, there was no chance he would receive a reply to any of his emails to you. So for three weeks, he would stick it out at home, arguing with his wife, all while you take over for him at the hospital.

*****

Soft pinks and oranges had begun to coat the evening sky as dusk rolled in, and for the first time in years, Four found himself staring up at the sky, envisioning a future. A future which didn’t involve hurting or killing people, no matter how evil and vile they were. Just a plain, normal future. He didn’t quite know what had brought these thoughts upon him, they were the types of thoughts he had managed to banish into the deepest parts of his mind. In fact, the last time he had thought about a normal life, was shortly after Six had died. They all mourned him of course, but the reality of losing Six had weighed down on him greatly. And for close to three months, Four had seriously considered abandoning the Ghosts, and starting a fresh life far away from them. At the time though, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t leave the team. And besides, he had no where to go, and no one to run to. But now? Now was different, he had you. The two of you could run away together, leave the Ghosts, leave this life behind. Start over wherever in the world you wanted you, far away from One and his plans of revenge against those who had wronged the world….

He shook his head, the images of normalcy which had formed in his minds eye, fading away, just as the sun was. He couldn’t leave, not when this was the closest thing to a family he had had since he was a toddler. If there was one thing he knew for sure, you don’t abandon your family. His own parents had taught him that the hard way.

Carefully, Four pushed himself up from where he had been relaxing atop his trailer. His back was stiff after having been laid down for what felt like too long, but he paid it little mind. As he leapt down to the ground, a loud yell echoed throughout base.

“Will somebody answer my phone? I can’t get to it right now!” It was One, yelling at the top of his lungs from god knows where, his voice sounded muffled though.

Next came Five’s screamed reply. “Where are you then?”

“Garage!” One yelled back.

“Coming, I’ll get it!” Four watched as Five went darting across base, kicking up red dust in her haste.

For interests sake, Four made his meandering way towards the garage, just to see what was so urgent about this phone call, and why One couldn’t get it. He strolled in, hands in his pants pockets, and hood drawn over his head. His eyes darting between Five, who was reading from a script scribbled in an old notebook while on the phone, to One who’s feet were sticking out from beneath a silver Audi R8.

“Good afternoon, leader security how may I help you?” Five recited in what was either the worst or perhaps best Dolly Parton imitation Four had ever heard. “Oh sure, you need a new head of security? How soon do you need them to start?” There was a pause, and Four stepped further over to the Audi, titling his head to the left as he lifted a quizzical brow. “Asap? Well where are y’all located?... Oh I see, let me transfer you.”

“You alright down there mate?” Four smirked giving One’s foot a gentle kick.

“Yep, never better. Why do you ask?”

“Well it’s just, you’re only like, ten steps away from your phone… Not sure why you couldn’t get it yourself is all.” He shrugged, folding his arms across his chest, and rocking back on his heels.

One pauses for a few moments, selecting his next words carefully. “I just didn’t want to stop what I was doing midway through.”

Four crouched slightly, peering at the floor creeper One was reclined on beneath the car. One of the wheels had popped off entirely, while another on the same side was horrendously bent out of shape. “You’re stuck aren’t ya?”

“Yes I’m stuck.”

*****

Two hours later, your mobile rings with One’s caller ID flashing, grinning you answer with a bright smile. “Good afternoon, Leader security recruitment how may I help you?” You recite in an overly practiced voice, not that the person on the other end of the line could tell, but it sure made you feel better, knowing you weren’t about to trip over your own words. One had done just as was planned, and upon playing receptionist for the security company, had transferred the call directly to you, and now it was time to get yourself employed.

The female voice on the other end of the line begins speaking frantically, telling you about how the current head of security for her hospital had just left unexpectedly, and that they needed someone to fill in for him until they could find out when he would return.

“Ma’am, it will all be fine, I assure you. Now can you please tell me your company code?” You smile, while typing aimlessly into a word document. So long as the woman on the phone could hear you typing, you would not raise any suspicion, even if all you were typing was smiley faces. “I see, and this is a hospital based in Noumea New Caledonia, is that correct? – Mhm no problems at all. How soon do you require someone to commence?” You type out the few details she tells you which are actually important to you, before returning to the faces. “I will have to see who I have in area who may be able to assist you. One of contractors recently moved to the area I believe for a change of scenery. May I put you on hold and see if I am able to call her?” The moment the woman agrees, you place the call on hold and laugh to yourself. The temptation to have an actual conversation with yourself just to keep the charade up is there, however considering as it had only been a few hours of you living alone, you felt you should at least attempt to keep the bouts of insanity to a minimum for now. “Hello, are you still there?” You ask a few minutes later. “Anastasia Breaker will be available as of tomorrow morning, if you could please forward all details regarding her employment to the following email address, then she will see you in the morning.” The woman is nearly in tears as she thanks you, promising she would send the information within minutes. “Of course, no problems. Have a lovely evening, and once again, thank you for choosing leader security.”

As the phone goes silent, you stand up and stretch, raising your arms above your head. You’d done it, you were in. Or rather Anastasia was in, but no matter who’s name was on the contract, you were the one who would be doing all the work.

*****

For the next few hours, you read through the multiple emails which arrived for Anastasia Breaker, advising you of where to go tomorrow morning, and who you would be meeting upon your arrival. It was nothing too unusual, or anything unexpected, the only downside was that you had been requested to arrive at 6 am. To some that may be ok, normal even. But to you, a perpetual night owl, it felt like torture. After laying out your clothing for the following morning, to allow for a slight sleep in, you lay down in the double bed you had claimed as yours. You knew it would likely end up being shared once the others arrived, but for now, it was all yours. The lights had all been turned out, leaving you in near complete darkness. The only light was that of the shining silver moon, peering down on you through a forest of thick trees. Try as you might however, sleep seemed to escape you. Perhaps it was nerves of tomorrow and your new ‘job’, or maybe it was just the fact you were sleeping in a new bed. No matter the cause, after tossing and turning for nearly an hour, you eventually gave up. Sitting upright, you grab the burner phone off the nightstand, having left it beside you with an alarm on for the morning.

You stare down at the bare screen, so used to your own which was filled with various apps. On this phone however, there was nothing of interest to do. Your thumb hovered over your contacts, and you bite your lower lip in thought. You knew One would be furious if he found out you were using the phone as anything but emergency contacts and an alarm, but at the same time, you found yourself having a rather difficult time caring about him and what he thought while he was so far away. Finally, you press down on the contact, and listen to the phone ring on loudspeaker.

“Hello?” Four’s distinct voice carries through, and you feel a wave of comfort roll over you. His voice alone felt like home, and it almost frightened you to think that, especially considering how brief your relationship had been so far.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Oh, Oh! I’m sorry love I had no idea. This number isn’t programmed into my phone, I genuinely thought it was a telemarketer or something!” He was rambling, and you could almost see the pale crimson blush which would be creeping up his neck and cheeks, as he too realised, he was rambling.

“It’s totally fine, I’m not really supposed to be calling you. But I needed to hear a friendly voice.”

“Who says you’re not supposed to call?”

“One.”

“Fuck him and his stupid rules!”

“I would really rather not.”

“You know what I mean, you idiot.” You can practically hear his eye roll through his words, and you can’t help but smile at that. At how well you know his mannerisms these days. “How has day one gone? Everything going according to plan?”

You nod, before recalling that he can’t see you. “Yep, things seem to be rather smooth sailing for now. I’ll be starting at the hospital tomorrow morning, and from there I can get everything else set in motion.”

“That’s brilliant, at this rate it’ll all be over before we know it!”

You pause for a moment, resting the phone on the pillow beside your head. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“What’s wrong hm? You don’t sound convinced?”

Rolling over, you lay flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose I’m just trying to come to terms with how quickly this is all happening, you know? Like, I feel it was just yesterday One announced who the targets were, and now suddenly I’m here? It’s all happening so fast.”

“I know exactly what you mean, I can’t quite wrap my head around it all either. But look at how far we’ve come. How far you’ve come! Remember that day when the targets were announced-“

“You mean the day I ran out of the briefing and nearly killed us both?” You interrupt, smirking slightly at the memory.

“Yes, that day. But look at you now, look at where you are! You’ve changed so much in such a short period of time. You’re far more prepared than any of us here at base are, and for us, this is either our second or third mission! For you, this is your first, and you’re already doing better than any of us could’ve imagined.”

“Do you mean that, or are you just saying it so I stop panicking?”

“I’ve never meant anything more in my life Eight, I promise.”

“Thank you, I – thank you.” You whisper, rolling to your side and looking down at the phone. You sigh deeply, closing your eyes tight before allowing them to slowly open. “Tell me something that no one else in the Ghosts knows about you.”

You hear him chuckle, a deep rumble which you wish you could wrap your arms around him and feel as it flowed through you. “Do you want something to laugh at?”

“Yes, I don’t want to cry tonight. Make it funny.”

Four hums to himself, and you curl around your pillow, cradling the phone near your chest. “Right, here’s one. Bet you didn’t know I have a criminal record as an arsonist!”

He sounds proud of himself, and for the life of you, you can’t fathom why. “You what now?”

“It was my first charge, long before the cops ever figured out I was stealing, which I had been doing for years before this occurred.”

“How long have you been a thief, Four?”

“A long while… But that’s a story for another time. This is about fire lord me!”

You groan, rolling your eyes at the nickname he had given himself, while leaving a mental note to ask him about his past one day, when you weren’t in the middle of a mission.

“I was maybe 15 or 16, and was with this girl who I thought was made of pure heaven. I practically worshiped the ground she walked on, and daydreamed about her all day every day. To her though, I was a kid who was a year or two younger than her, and she just loved the attention, not matter who it came from. I knew she only spent a month with each of her boyfriends, but naive young me thought that maybe I could convince her to be with me forever. Spoiler alert, that didn’t work out. One night I decided to surprise her when she came home from dance lessons, her parents were out of town for the week, and I figured I would make a romantic evening for the two of us, and would allow her to be my first.” He pauses for a moment, as if wanting to see if you wanted to hear where this was going.

“It’s fine Four, just keep telling the story.” You giggle, shaking your head softly at where this was all going.

“Well I got super fancy, ordered takeout because heaven knows I cannot cook, even managed to nick a bottle of champagne from the local liquor store. It was cheap nasty stuff now that I think about it, but at the time, I felt very grown up. I lit candles all over her townhouse, there were some in the kitchen, bathroom, bedrooms and even the kitchen. I think I went through an entire matchbook that night. So finally she gets home, and I’m nervous as hell. Legs jittery, forehead sweaty, and look the exact opposite of sexy like I had hoped for. She’s all smiles, and even thanks me for setting up a lovely evening. After we eat, she steps outside to have a smoke, and I clean up in the kitchen. The next thing I know, she’s shouting from the front door, and then the smoke alarming is blaring throughout the house. I run outside, and find her staring up at the second floor at her bedroom window, where billows of dark smoke are seeping out. Turns out, she had a cat I didn’t know about, and the fucker knocked down one of the candles, it landed near her bedroom curtains, and the flames engulfed pretty much the entire room. Cops and firemen came, shockingly they didn’t believe me when I said it was the cat. And the fact that I had been in her home without her for so long didn’t help my argument either….”

“Oh my goodness, so you were actually innocent? The cat got you a record?” You laugh, pressing your palm to your forehead.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. That cat is the reason I don’t do romantic anymore.” He grumbled playfully.

“Aw, and why’s that? Cat got your tongue?!” You chortle, you were definitely borderline tired now, because to you, that was officially the funniest pun in the world.

“Oh dear, oh no…. Eight that was terrible, please never say anything like that again.”

“Aww, come on! It was funny!”

“No love, no it wasn’t.”

There’s no use in arguing the point, you knew you were funny and that was all that mattered. “Fine, I’ll stop with the cat puns especially seeing as you’re not feline it…”

‘You are very annoying, you know that right?”

“Of course, but it’s part of my appeal!”

“Whatever you say. But I do think You need some sleep, because you sound hella tired right now.”

As if on que, a yawn slips from your lips, giving away just how tired you now were. “You may be right.”

“Good night love, good luck tomorrow. I know you’ll be amazing.”

You smile at his words, tracing your finger along the edge of the phone. “Thank you. I’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Ok.”

You end the call, and place the phone back on the nightstand. As you allowed your eyes to drift shut, you can’t help but feel just that little bit more confident that things were going just as they were planned.

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Chapter Eleven here!

#four x reader #billy/four #four x you #four x eight #ben hardy/ billy x reader #ben hardy/ four #ben hardy/ billy #6 underground fanfiction #ben hardy fanfic #6 underground

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98prilla · 4 years

Text

To Catch a Selkie

What a fool, he was.

He liked to think himself smart, he liked to think himself clever, but he was anything but, currently.

Curiosity had always been his downfall, his failing, his one deadly fault. He would pursue answers to the ends of the earth, fascinated by a world that wasn’t his, that he had been warned time and time again was dangerous, but he hadn’t listened, had he?

And now, well, now his life may as well be over.

It was already fading, the memories of the sea, of ocean water, of slipping between the waves smoothly and sleekly, his pod around him. The pups playing, splashing, sidling up to the dolphins, the braver ones to the whales.

He had thought himself brave, once. But now he knew better. Reckless, that’s what he was, stupidly reckless.

He was cold. Cold was an unusual feeling for him. He’d never known real cold before. His coat always kept him warm.

But his coat was gone, now. Stolen. Just like every story he’d ever been told by his kin, every folktale warning of humans and their greed, he had succumbed to his own hubris.

He wouldn’t leave this beach. This was as close to home as he could get, just far enough away that the water wouldn’t touch him, the spray couldn’t reach him.

It was agony. It was torture. Watching the tide roll in, the gentle lapping of the waves, the spray of the salt, the clouded, windy sky, stretching out across that blue oasis.

He shivered, arms tightening around his middle, curling against himself, salty tears spilling down his face.

It hurt, stars above, it hurt. He could feel them calling to him, begging him to come home, to answer their calls, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t if he wasn’t touching the sea, and he could never touch the sea again.

“Hey! Are you ok? What are you doing out here?” He looked up at the worried voice, meeting green eyes and black hair, with white streaked bangs.

“What do you want?” His voice was flat, empty, exhausted. The stranger furrowed his brow, confused.

“I don’t know if you noticed, but you’re barely wearing any clothes, sitting on the beach when a thunderstorm is rolling in, in the middle of autumn. Do you have a death wish, or something?”

“maybe. I haven’t quite decided yet, if it is better to die now or slowly waste away pining for the sea. Or perhaps my owner,” he spat the word, bitter on his tongue, “will find me and the last of my memories will fade until I have nothing left but an empty, yearning, desperate desire for something I can no longer name.” The stranger stared at him for a long moment, taking him in.

He was wearing ragged shorts, no shirt or shoes or anything else. His hair was smooth and silky, despite his constant exposure to salt water. His face was sharp and angular, what he supposed humans considered breathtakingly handsome, with his large, dark brown eyes and perfectly tanned skin. He supposed that’s what had got him into this mess in the first place.

He doubled over, clutching his head as a resounding, echoing cry keened through his mind, and he shot to his feet, barely restraining himself from rushing into the water, eyes wide and breaths heaving.

“no. No! I’m here! I’m right here, I’m not lost! PLEASE!” He screamed at the waves, knowing they couldn’t hear him, knowing they wouldn’t hear him, ever again.

Leaving him. They were leaving him. They were giving him up, they were migrating to new waters, they were marking him as lost, and the worst part was, as much as he hated it, as much as it tore him to pieces, they were right.

It was only logical. He had come ashore and not come back within 24 hours. It was too dangerous for anyone else to come ashore and search, not when they didn’t know what had happened, not when he might have been discovered, not when there could be others waiting.

Selkie coats sold for quite a fortune, after all.

So did the selkies they were attatched to.

He let out a harsh sob, would have collapsed to the ground if the stranger hadn’t caught him, lowered him gently to the sand.

He was doomed. His connection to the sea would grow weaker, his connection to his coat stronger, until he was forced, compelled, to go to it, to go to his master, to obey his orders.

And everyone knew what happened to selkies whose coats were stolen. Everyone knew what humans wanted with the alluring, beautiful, mysterioius sea folk.

Yet another loss, to shatter him, break him, soon his body, and worse, his mind, would no longer be his own. He was owned. Like a thing, like a toy, like a doll. Just the thought made him ill, truly, throwing himself into the sea and dissolving into the foam was the best possible option.

He was freezing. Or he thought he was. He was so cold he didn’t even feel cold anymore, a pleasant, fuzzy warmth filling him, as cold droplets began to fall from the sky. Each one left him feeling slick and slimy, like swimming through oil. It left him feeling dirtier than before, and he shuddered at the feel of it, bile rising in his throat.

The stranger was saying something, he thought. He couldn’t hear him over the buzzing in his ears, the cotton filling his head with fear/panic/pain/despair/longing. It was too much, it was too cold, it was too futile, and his brain shut down before he could drive himself further to madness.

…

Swimming. The water parts around him, as he swims. There’s a voice, calling him onwards, pulling him towards it. It sings with power, it glows with warmth, with the promise of all the answers he’s ever searched for, all the knowledge he could ever wish for, and he drives his tail faster through the water, towards the light.

Then it turns cold. Ice wraps around him, the water freezing, he can’t reach the surface, he can’t breathe, he’s running out of air. He thrashes, trying to escape the chains he can feel, dragging him down, words echoing through the water.

“Come to me.” Burns, it burns, he won’t, he can’t, he-

His eyes flew open and he let out a strangled cry of pain, squeezing his eyes closed and counting his breathes, shoving and fighting that voice until it abated, faded away into nothing, and he pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tight, still shaking from the call.

It was so strong, already. So hard to resist, though he had been asleep, which made it more difficult to fight, but still. How long until it was completely enthralling? How long until he lost himself forever?

With another jolt of panic, he realized he wasn’t on the beach anymore. There had been a blanket draped around him, he was on a couch, in a house, and he felt his pulse speed. Had he already been caught? Were they just keeping him captive until his owner arrived? He had to fight, he had to think, he had to do something!

He looked around the room, a coffee table sat in front of him, a bookshelf against the wall, photos sitting on a shelf, an entertainment set with a television, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing he could use.

He froze as he heard footsteps, eyes dilating, and he bared his slightly too sharp teeth, hissing a warning as the human came into view. His hands were held in the air, and he took a step back, eyes lowered to the ground. Everything about his body language screamed I am not a threat, I don’t want to hurt you, and despite himself, he let his guard down. It was the stranger from the beach.

“You stopped hissing. Does that mean you’re not gonna bite me?” That got a small laugh out of him, the innocence and pure curiosity in the human’s tone.

“I am not. Why am I here?” He asked, uneasiness churning in his gut.

“Well, you passed out on the beach, and it looked like you had hypothermia, your lips were turning blue, seriously freaked me out, so I had to get you indoors and warmed up. We’re at my apartment, right now. My friend is also here, but, um, we decided it was best I come talk to you, since you already kinda knew me.” Well meaning, then. “I would have called someone, for you, but you didn’t have an id or anything, so, we were just waiting for you to wake up.” And considerate. Not intent on keeping him hostage then, that was a relief. Not that it mattered much.

“So… you’re a selkie, yeah?” He shot to his feet at that question, teeth bared again, fists clenched, eyes flashing as he backed up against the wall, so no one could get the drop on him. How did he know that? Had he gotten him wrong? Was he just holding him here until his owner arrived? How else would he know?

“Remus! What did you do?!” He whipped his head as a new person appeared in the doorway, growl dying on his throat as he saw the new stranger. Dark violet eyes, pitch black hair, dark shadows around his eyes, pale and lanky.

A Night Sylph. A spirit of air, tied to darkness, helping to bring the night and protecting the creatures of it. He himself may not be a creature of air, but a Sylph wouldn’t allow anything to harm a mythical, not if they hadn’t acted against his creatures first.

“I apologize. I did not realize your friend was a Sylph. Not many humans could identify a Selkie, much less one without their coat. I was afraid…” He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say the words aloud, his shoulders slumping and hands relaxing, as he felt the Sylph’s concerned eyes on him, gaze softening.

“it was stolen.” The sylph said softly, not a question, but he nodded anyways, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, eyes watering again. “how long?” He took a shaking breath.

“36 hours and counting. My pod is already moving on. I give myself another 12 to 18 hours, before I have no choice but to go to Him.” He whispered, the sorrow washing through him nearly drowning him.

“That is not going to happen. We are not going to let that happen.” His eyes shot up, the Sylph’s voice fiery, his eyes glowing with his determination and fierceness. The human nodded, hand slipping into the Sylph’s, eyes just as hard and cold.

“We’re gonna find that coat. We’re gonna find that little bitch, and I’m gonna beat the shit out of him, for even daring to lay a hand on it.” His mouth was agape, looking between the two, confused, but feeling a small bubble of hope start to build in his chest.

“why?” his voice is so small, but he doesn’t have it in him to be any louder.

“Because it’s wrong! It’s slavery, and it’s hurting you, and it’s cruel.” The human replies, and the Sylph smiled at him softly.

“I’m Virgil. This idiot is Remus.” Virgil said, bumping Remus’s shoulder lightly, Remus rolling his eyes.

“Logan. You can call me Logan.” Virgil nodded, carefully coming just a bit closer as he looked over Logan.

“Why don’t we sit down, and you can tell us what you remember. That’ll give us somewhere to start.” He nodded, sinking into an armchair, knees once again pulled to his chest.

“Do you want anything to drink? Or eat?” Remus asked. He shook his head, and Remus sat on the edge of the couch, Virgil perching on the arm of it. Eating anything now would just make him sick, his stomach was so tied in knots he could barely breathe properly.

“I… it’s blurry. I was in town. I was in… in a park. I like to look at the plants, at the trees. I had my coat with me, obviously, I can’t go anywhere without it. It was wrapped around my shoulders, like a shawl. Then… then suddenly it wasn’t. Someone grabbed it, from behind me. I was stunned, I tried to chase, I only got a look from behind. Light hair… tall, I… he looked at me. Eyes, mismatched eyes. He didn’t try and take me, he knew he didn’t need to. Knew I would be forced to come to him, now that I’m stuck on land.” He shivered, remembering the glint in the man’s eyes, the smug smile on his face.

“What happens? If you go back to the water without your coat?”

“Remus!” Virgil hissed, but a wry smile crossed his face.

“I… die. I dissolve, into the ocean, into the waves, into nothing. As if I never existed. Not… not the worst option, truly. At least then I’d be home.”

“no. Logan, that is not going to happen. You won’t have to make that decision.” He flinched at the hand on his shoulder, looking up at Remus’s soft, kind eyes.

“We’re gonna find him, Lo. I promise.” He simply nodded. He knew the probability of them retrieving his coat in time was low, but he was willing to let them try. He didn’t have any other choice.

“I can tell it hasn’t left town. That’s all I know.” Virgil hummed in thought.

“Well, you got a fair description of him, not that many people have heterochromia. And we know he knew what you were, so it’s someone with knowledge of mythicals. Probably a collector, or someone who works for them. That narrows it down quite a bit. I’ll go scope things out, find a likely area. You’ll be able to feel it, if it’s close, yeah?” Virgil asked, and he nodded once more. “cool. Remus, stay with him. I’ll be back soon.”

“What should I do?” Logan asked, and Virgil softened further.

“Try and get some more rest. You’re still exhausted, and it’s only going to get worse the longer you’re away from the water. Build up strength now, while you can.” He didn’t think he’d be getting much rest, not with the fear and anxiety filling his every pore, but he acquiesced anyway.

“Are you cold?” Remus murmured, feeling his forehead. He let out a harsh laugh.

“I’m always cold, without my coat. Nothing else feels… right, or warm, everything else itches or scratches or…” He trailed off in frustration, raking his hand through his hair, surprised as Remus slid into the chair next to him, before pulling him onto his lap, wrapping his arms around him.

He was warm, stars above, Remus was warm, and he couldn’t help himself, as he melted into the touch, warmth surrounding him for the first time in what seemed like forever.

He didn’t understand, why it was so easy to surrender himself to this human, didn’t know why he felt safe, why it warmed him so deeply from the inside out, when so recently he had been irrevocably wounded by a human. He didn’t have the energy to care, though an answer niggled in the back of his brain.

Something about Remus being so passionate, barely knowing him, yet reading him as easily as a favorite book, the way he was so willing to fight for him, the way he didn’t for a moment seem to hesitate, in anything that he did.

He didn’t know him. Barely knew him for more than five minutes. But he’d somehow never felt more right.

“This better?” Remus whispered in his ear, and he let out a small hum of agreement, eyes fluttering shut as the warmth brought out the overwhelming ache for sleep in his bones.

Remus looked up in time to catch the small smile on Virgil’s face. Virgil saw him looking and shot him a thumbs up, before quietly vanishing out the door, a wisp of soft fog against the air as he shifted into his ethereal form.

…

The beach. Water lapping on the shore, sun shining warm and bright. He can hear his pod, off in the distance, can see the pups’ heads popping up through the water, splashing and playing. He calls out to them, wading into the water.

He swims towards them, but the faster and harder he swims, the thicker the water seems to get, the darker the sea becomes around him, his family vanishing into the distance. He tries to call out, but his voice is locked in his throat.

He can’t breathe. He is choking on the water, it is filling his lungs, it is dragging him down, blackness surrounding him as he sinks into the depths. He claws at the water around him, he screams, bubbles leaking from his mouth as his mind goes fuzzy.

“Come now, little pup. Stop resisting. You’ll feel so much better, once you just give in.” The voice is smooth and silky, sweet and warm as honey. He shouldn’t listen, he knows he shouldn’t listen, but he can’t quite remember why.

“That’s right, lovely. Come home-“

“Logan!”

He jolted awake, heart racing, unsure where he was, what was happening. He was pinned to the floor, wrists held down, and for a moment he thrashed, panic blinding him, before the soft tone cut through his haze, and he relaxed, head thumping back against the floor, tears forming in his eyes.

“Logan?” Virgil, from the doorway, he heard the door close. He must’ve just gotten back. Remus’s face came into view above him.

“You back with us?” He nodded, and Remus carefully released his hold on his wrists, supporting him as he helped him sit up. Instantly, Logan took stock of the scratches on Remus’s arms, the four bleeding cuts across his cheek, and he buried his head in his hands, shoulders shaking.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t…” He broke off, sighing raggedly.

“He was calling you. You couldn’t help it, Lo.” Virgil said softly, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered again, feeling Remus wrap his arms around him.

“It’s not your fault. You scared me, more than anything. I could tell you weren’t… you. You were trying to leave, I had to grab you, and you just started clawing at me. Caught me off guard, but I’ve had worse than this, trust me.” He half laughed at that, the panic starting to settle into something a bit more tolerable.

“Did you find anything?” He asked, wiping at his eyes, looking up at Virgil, who pursed his lips.

“I think so. Rumors, an old warehouse, downtown. Strange noises, strange lights, nothing confirmed, but I did a quick flyby, I didn’t go close, Remus,” Virgil commented at Remus’s stern glance, “Just enough to get a sense, and there was a faint spell around it, to divert attention. Just enough to make it uninteresting to any humans, who don’t already know what to look for, anyway.” Logan got to his feet, a bit wobbly. The overwhelming need for the ocean was pounding in his pulse, pain in his chest, and it took a moment to steady himself against it.

“Let’s go, then. What are we waiting for?” He asked.

“Logan, pal, you’re in no shape for a raid.” He shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter. Any longer and I will not be able to resist the next call. That one was so strong, I have a few hours, at most, before I will be completely incapacitated. And you can bet you won’t be able to find it without me, he will have hidden it, somewhere, hidden it well, if he’s smart. It is now or never, as I believe your saying goes.” He sounded more sure than he felt. A slight ache was pounding at his head, and he felt slightly dizzy, a bit off kilter, but he couldn’t let that stop him. This was their best chance, their only chance.

Virgil and Remus exchanged a glance, a silent conversation held in their eyes, but after a few moments, Remus nodded and Virgil sighed. Logan was right, and they both knew it.

“Alright. Let’s do this.”

…

His pulse raced as he stared at the unassuming building. He could feel it, feel it, feel it. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted, eyes trained on the doors.

“Here?” Virgil asked lowly. He nodded, hands shaking with anticipation. It was close, it was so, so close.

Carefully, they snuck around the side of the building, managing to find an unlocked window. It was a tight fit for Remus, but Logan was slender enough he slid through easily, and Virgil simply flowed inside in his noncorporeal form.

They landed with soft thumps inside the darkened warehouse, and instantly, they froze at a soft, bell like sound.

“Kiddos, what are you doing here? Run!” A small, musical voice hissed at them. They turned their heads, surprised to see a small birdcage sitting by the window, a tiny, winged figure clutching at the bars, giving off a soft blue glow. Virgil’s eyes widened, and he was instantly examining the cage, biting his lip as he assessed the lock.

“Don’t worry, Spriggan. I’ll have you out in a jiffy.” Virgil murmured, eyes deepening in their violet glow, as air swirled around the lock. His gaze intensified, the air around him almost buzzing. Then the lock popped open.

The sprite gasped softly as Virgil opened the cage door, fluttering to the edge, almost hesitant to step outside.

“It’s ok. I promise.” Virgil whispered, and the sprite fluttered out, a quiet, disbelieving laugh ringing out as he flew a few laps around Virgil’s head, before settling on his nose and hugging his forehead as far as his tiny arms could reach.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Sylva. But you have to go! You have to leave, now, before he-“

“Finds you? Please, Patton, I knew they were here from the moment they stepped inside.” Instantly, the sprite was gone, buzzing out the window as fast as his wings would carry him, leaving the three to spin around and face the darkness alone.

Logan gasped, icy fear plunging into his heart as he met those gold and brown eyes, that arrogant smirk.

“Give it back. Now.” Virgil growled, and the figure laughed, a dangerously soft sound.

“As if you are in any position to bargain. You did just cost me my Sprite. Though I suppose a Sylph is a fair trade, an upgrade, even.” He mused. Virgil hissed, eyes flashing as he shifted incorporeal, a dark splash of smoke as he swirled up and away.

“As if you could catch me.” The stranger’s smile widened.

“Oh, you do amuse me. I think you will be a new favorite of mine. I will enjoy watching you struggle.” He snapped, and golden light flared to life around him, golden strings unspooling from his fingers, twisting and turning through the air. Virgil dodged and weaved, avoiding the threads that were spiderwebbing through the rafters, slowly closing in on him.

Remus growled, and charged at the man, who lithely stepped out of the way, as he stumbled past him. He felt something coil around him, sending him falling, and he looked up to see a huge, hissing golden serpent wrapping tight around his body. He jolted as Virgil cried out, and he saw him falling through air, landing hard on his back on the ground, gold thread squeezing around him. Then the snake bit into his neck, and the world blurred.

“Remus!” Logan lunged towards him, halting mid step at the soft glimmer he caught in the corner of his eye, slowly turning to face the sorcerer, eyes locked on the soft fur coat held in his hands.

It shimmered, gray and black, smooth and silky, and for a moment, Logan could feel the ocean around him, could see the endless waves, could taste the salt, could feel the cool relief of water.

“There now, little pup. Isn’t that better?” He purred. Logan couldn’t breathe. His heart was frozen in his chest, he couldn’t even bring himself to blink, the want, the overwhelming need filling his soul, his very being. Slowly, despite himself, he nodded.

“Logan… no…” a voice begged weakly. Distantly, he thought he knew that voice, but his coat was all he could see, the gold and brown imprinting into his soul, and his whole being relaxed, putty in his veins.

“Now, lovely, why don’t you come with me?” Emptily, he nodded, following the sorcerer’s directions, his hand on the small of his back guiding him into a small, dark, room, and he passively sat. His mind was fuzzy, soft, barely aware. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, but the feeling flowed over his head, lost in the heady buzz filling his chest.

Dimly, he felt something cold clamping around his ankles, felt something hard clamp around his wrists. He whimpered, trying to move, but a voice shushed him.

“None of that, now, darling.” A hand caressed his cheek, tilting his chin up to meet gold and brown. They stopped his breath, they sucked him in, and he was drowning in those hypnotizing pools, slumping weakly back against the wall. “Wonderful. Oh, you are a pretty one, aren’t you?” He felt those hands turning his chin, examining him, before stepping away with a dark chuckle. Logan’s head fell back against the wall, eyes blurred and unseeing, mind empty and buzzing with soft, hazy warmth. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing, lovely. Jussst sssleeep.” His eyes fluttered shut, the man's voice echoing softly through his mind, recognizing dimly the feel of a spell weaving into him, taking him into a dark, empty oblivion. He didn’t hear the door shut, the lock turn, didn’t notice the pure black darkness of the room. He didn’t notice or feel or think anything. Not anymore.

…

Virgil was dying. Or he thought he was. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t… there wasn’t any air, he couldn’t live without air, he was air, it was his being, he needed it. He gasped in a choking breath, managing to raise his head just enough to see. He was in a large, glass cylinder. He could see a grate at the top, could feel it, it was a vacuum, he was trapped in a vacuum, he was helpless, he was defenseless, he was trapped.

Roman. He could see Roman, through the glass. He was tied to a chair, he could see the sorcerer circling him, taunting him, if he had to guess, and he tried to do anything, tried to get to his feet, but he only succeeded in falling to his hands and knees, dizzy and gasping and consciousness fading, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t leave Remus to this mess all on his own.

But it felt like a thousand pounds of rocks sitting on his chest, it felt like the weight of a mountain pressing down on him, and he weakly clawed at his throat, desperate for air, any air, as his vision flickered, dimming.

Then, suddenly, shattering glass. He wheezed in a desperate breath, kneeling on broken glass, barely getting his bearings as another lungful of air filled him with power.

He didn’t have time to wait. He shot to his feet, eyes flashing electric violet, form dissolving and coalescing into a menacing, flashing cloud of angry black, shadows growing throughout the room, darkening everything. A low growl rumbled, like thunder, and then the room was filled with crackling, sizzling lightning.

…

Roman woke tied to a chair. He groaned, a bit surprised to be waking at all. He had thought for sure that snake was going to kill him.

“Hello there, dearie. Pleasure to meet you properly.” He hissed, struggling against the rope, glaring as those eyes came into view, the man leaning casually on the arms of the chair, too close in his space.

“What do you want?” He spat, not ceasing his struggle, even as the stranger tutted, tilting the chair back on its back legs as he circled it.

“You see, I was going to kill you. Just a human, just in my way, too much care and desperation to stop chasing me, not when I have your little pets.”

“They aren’t my pets. They’re my friends.” The man just chuckled, slamming the chair back down on all four legs, causing him to bite his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

“But then I realized something. You are not the simple human you appear to be, are you?” He froze, breathe catching, before his defiant mask slid back into place.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The man tutted again, grabbing his chin and forcing himself to stare into those eyes.

“Liar, liar, little changeling. Why didn’t they want you, I wonder? Stunted growth? Crippled limb? Ah,” He snapped, “Crippled magic.” Remus winced, jerking his chin out of his hold, glaring at the ground. “Bit touchy, are we?”

“Fuck off.” He looked up, and spat directly into that smug face, enjoying immensely the expression of pure shock and outrage that twisted his lips as he wiped away the bloody spit.

“Oh, you will pay for that.” Then the room exploded in lightning.

“-us! Remus!” He groaned, slowly blinking his eyes open, blinking again as a soft glow of blue buzzed across his vision.

“Virg? What… what happened?” Virgil rubbed the back of his head, shooting him a sheepish grin as he helped him sit up.

“Got a little heated. Lightning went a bit haywire. Gave you a good shock, on accident.”

“How did you get out? And I thought you left us!” Remus accused, getting dizzy as he tried to track the sprite’s nervous fluttering.

“He left to go get help. Something you should have done before charging into a trap!” Remus groaned, looking up as someone reached out their hand, helping pull him to his feet.

“Really, Patton? You had to go get him?”

“You’re lucky he did! What were you thinking, Ree?” He shrugged, meeting the identical face of Roman, his changeling counterpart, the human that had been taken in his place and grown up with everything he should have had, should have been. Which, turns out, wasn’t actually all that great, so he supposed he actually kinda owed Roman.

Still, by the time they’d met, they’d both spent more time in each other’s realms than their own. Roman was more fae than human, and Remus was more human than fae, so they decided to keep their roles, their homes they’d made for themselves. They hadn’t even known what they were, until their early teens.

“we couldn’t wait for you. He’s a Selkie, Ro, we didn’t have time.” Roman softened a bit at the distress of Remus, sighing.

“you panicked. I get that, Remus, I do. It just… scared me. Seeing Virgil like that, seeing you…” Roman trailed off, shaking his head, wry smile on his lips. Remus’s eyes widened, gaze flying through the room, skating over the sorcerer, who was now bound to an upright support beam with shimmering, nearly invisible thread. Faery thread. There were very few things that could break it, certainly nothing the sorcerer had on hand. He didn’t care.

“Logan. Where…” His eyes locked on a door, and he sprinted over to it, growling as he tried the handle, finding it locked. He didn’t wait for Virgil to pop it, instead he kicked it with all his might, sending the door slamming open.

“Remus!” Virgil hissed, appearing at his side, but he barely noticed, instead falling to his knees, Logan filling his entire vision, fury clouding his mind at the chains shackling his wrists and ankles to the floor.

“Get them off.” He hissed, unsure who he was even talking to.

“Virgil, you’ll have to do it. They’re enchanted against magical meddling.” It took Virgil longer than normal to pop the locks, the enchantment making them a bit trickier to handle, but finally, they were all removed, and Remus carefully pulled Logan onto his lap.

“Logan… wake up, please.” He gently shook Logan’s shoulder, but the Selkie remained limp and still as a corpse. His face was too pale, his breathing deep and slow. He brushed back Logan’s hair, frowning at the warmth of his forehead, realizing too his skin was dry, flaking.

“he won’t wake up. He’s sick.” He looked helplessly up at Roman and Patton, who was sitting on Roman’s shoulder, wings fluttering nervously.

“We need to find his coat. Now.” Virgil muttered. Remus stood, still cradling Logan, snarling as he entered the main room, eyes aflame as he glared at the sorcerer, who was now awake, eyes glinting with almost amusement.

“What did you do to him?” He snarled, spitting, mere inches away. The sorcerer simply smirked.

“Whatever do you mean, little changeling?” Remus growled, would have punched him, if he wasn’t holding Logan in his arms, then Virgil was at his side, carefully moving him back, getting in his line of sight.

“Logan-“ Virgil shook his head.

“I know. But we will handle it. You and Patton go take care of him.” Remus hesitated, but his shoulders slumped and he nodded.

“alright. Just kill him for me, won’t you?” a ghost of a smile flitted across Virgil’s face.

“Oh, we’ll do one better. We’ll make him wish he were dead.”

…

Roman turned to face the sorcerer, hands clasped behind him, Virgil leaning against the wall in the shadows, still shaky.

“I believe I’ve heard of you. You’re a freelancer for ‘collectors’.” He spat the word, ash in his mouth. “Deceit, I believe you go by.” The sorcerer’s smirk didn’t drop, but something wary shifted in his eyes. “Usually you’re more careful than this, to my knowledge you’ve never been caught in the act, before tonight.” That seemed to hit a nerve, Deceit’s eyes narrowed.

“How many creatures have you ‘caught’? Torn away from their homes and condemned to torture and captivity and slavery? They have homes, they have families, they’re people!” Virgil spoke up, eyes electric, each word crackling.

“It you protected them better I wouldn’t be able to catch them.” Virgil recoiled, then surged forwards, flying around Deceit’s head so fast all the oxygen was sucked out of the air.

He finally pulled back, coalescing next to Roman, satisfaction rushing through him as the sorcerer coughed, wheezing in breaths.

“Where is his coat?” Virgil demanded, meeting Deceit’s glare with his own.

“Why don’t you ask your little selkie, hmm? Poor thing can’t find it? Oh, that’s right,” he snapped, “you can’t. And nothing you do will change that.” Roman’s eyes flashed, and the string tightened, causing Deceit to hiss in pain as the sharp strands cut through his skin. “You don’t even know what you have, do you? For all your self importance, you really are an idiot. Nothing in the world will make me give up that coat.” The strings dug in deeper, beads of red leaking through the torn fabric of his clothes, slicing through flesh like butter.

“Explain.” Virgil hissed. Deceit rolled his eyes, not saying a word.

“Fine. Hard way then. Virgil, tear this place apart. I’ll tear his mind apart. If there’s one good thing about being raised by seers, it’s this.” Before Deceit could move, Roman had pressed his hands to each of Deceit’s temples, mind foccused on one thought only. “See.”

…

“Well?” Remus asked, looking down at Patton, who was kneeling on Logan’s forehead, hands glowing softly. The sprite slumped back on his knees, exhausted.

“I can tell it’s a spell, some kind of sleep spell. It’s strong, too, nothing I can crack, but nothing that explains why he’s sick like this. Selkies don’t get sick like this, no matter how far from the water they are. I don’t know, I’m sorry.” Carefully, he scooped Patton up in his hand, setting him down on his shoulder.

They were sitting in the back of the van, Logan laid out across the backseat, his head resting in Remus’s lap as he nervously ran his hands through Logan’s hair. He didn’t understand, Logan had been relatively fine just a few hours ago, now he was burning up under his hands.

His eyes shot up at the sound of the door opening, gaze flickering between Roman’s sympathetic brown eyes and Virgil’s thin lipped stare.

“did you get it? Please, please, tell me you got it.” Roman wordlessly handed him a soft, silky seal pelt. Remus nearly sobbed in relief, wrapping it around Logan like a blanket, stroking his cheek.

“wake up, wake up, wake up.” He whispered, almost a prayer, searching Logan’s face for any sign of movement.

“remus. He’s a direct descendant of Sedna. That’s why he’s ill. He literally cannot survive on land. He’s… he’s dying.”

“Then let’s go! What are we waiting for?” He demanded. Roman and Virgil exchanged a look, one that he didn’t miss, sadness and something soft in their eyes.

“We’re too far from the ocean. We won’t get there in time.” A sob clawed its way out of Remus’s throat, and he shook his head.

“NO! No, we promised him we’d get him home, we promised him! So get in the car and FUCKING DRIVE!” He screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Remus-“

“Just do it. Please. We still have a chance, there’s still a chance.” He pleaded.

“Even if we get him back, we have no way to break the spell. He won’t survive.” Remus glared up at Virgil through watery eyes.

“We’re not going to just do nothing! Now get in and drive or I’ll do it myself.” Remus hissed. Virgil and Roman exchanged another glance, and Patton patted his neck in sympathy, but they complied without another word.

…

Logan was shaking. Chills wracked his body, and he was heaving in raspy, unsteady breaths. Sweat covered his hair, sticking to his forehead, and his face was paling even further, as the life drained out of him one breath at a time.

“Come on, Lo. Just hold on, just hold on for me.” He murmured, trying to keep his own voice steady and reassuring, trying to keep his own panic from swallowing him whole.

“We’re here.” Virgil breathed out, the car jolting to a stop, Roman not having bothered with the parking lot, pulling directly onto the sand, as far as he could. Instantly, Remus bolted to his feet, oh so gently lifting Logan into his arms, bolting for the water, tucking his coat tightly around him.

His shaking had stopped. As Remus ran, he realized Logan’s shaking had stopped, he couldn’t feel him breathing anymore, he couldn’t feel his heartbeat. They were nearly there, nearly to the water, he couldn’t die now, they were so close, surely he was still holding on.

He gasped at the shock of cold water, not stopping until he was up to his knees, Logan floating in the water before him, his arms holding him so his head was above the surface.

“Logan… come on, please, Logan, please, wake up, wake up, you stupid seal!” He shouted, tears streaming down his face at Logan’s lifeless form, limp and still, head lolling with the waves.

“Remus… he’s gone…” Patton, he had darted out to Remus had settled on his shoulder once more, looking back to Virgil and Roman, who were waiting on the shore. Another sob tore from his throat, and he shook his head, pulling Logan close, burying his face in the selkie’s soft hair.

“no. nononono we got him home! He can’t… he can’t… he can’t just steal my heart and then die before I can tell him, he can’t just leave, he can’t!” Remus sobbed, shoulders shaking, wishing for all the world Logan would open his eyes. He would give anything, for Logan to open his eyes.

“would you, child of fae, human in nature? Your kind are cruel, cold. What would you truly give, to bring him back?” He didn’t look up at the softly accented woman’s voice. He knew, some part of him knew.

Sedna. Goddess of the sea, mother of all of its creatures, guardian and vengeful spirit of the ocean and all of its depths. Logan’s biological mother.

“anything. I would give anything.” He whispered, meeting her deep, infinite dark eyes, that sparkled with all the mystery of the darkest deepest depths. He saw his own sorrow reflected ten fold there, though her gaze hardened as he met her unfathamoble eyes.

“Choose your words carefully, mortal fae.” His breath caught. He’d spent enough time around Roman, around other mythicals, to know that tone, that careful wording.

“What do I have to do? What do you need from me?” He asked, and the goddess actually hesitated, almost taken aback by his intensity. She held out her arms, and relunctantly, he let her take him.

“oh, my heart, my soul, my babe. What have they done to you?” She murmured softly, kissing Logan’s forehead. “but even still…” she gathered herself, looking up at Remus, something softer in her eyes now, a desperate sort of hope. “A life. Willingly given, willingly gifted. Only then can you hope to find him.” Remus let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any mirth.

“You had me worried there. For a second I thought it might be hard.” He met her eyes, once more, drowning in them, a soft smile tinging his lips. “My life, huh? It’s not much of one, I’m afraid, but you can have it. Willingly and no regrets. Not… not if it gives us a chance.” Sedna nodded once. He didn’t have time to even hold his breath, before he was pulled beneath the waves.

“NO!” Virgil screamed, as Remus was pulled under, in an instant swirling out to Sedna, his form blurred as he hovered above the waves.

“This is not of your business, Sylph.” She stated, not looking away from Logan, and Virgil hissed.

“Like hell, it isn’t.” She looked up at that, eyes sharp but sympathetic.

“It was his choice to make. If his love is pure, they will both come back to us. Have some faith.”

“If it isn’t two innocent lives were lost today.” He growled,

“Innocent lives are lost every second, Sylph. At least this has the chance of righting a wrong.”

…

He is sinking. He can just barely see a faint halo of light, but it is far, far, far above, and fading fast.

Where is he?

He tries to remember, tries to wrack his brain, for what this dark, endlessly sinking abyss could be, but the farther from the light, the blurrier it all gets.

There’s something important, he should be doing. Yes, there was something urgent, something he was looking for, but it is hazy now, and he doesn’t know what it is or was.

He doesn’t know who he is.

That should be worrying, but it isn’t. Not here. Here, it feels inconsequential. Everything seems small and meaningless, and he thinks he would be perfectly content to drift down and down and down in this darkness for eternity, thinking of everything and nothing, letting the darkness swallow him until what’s left of his awareness fades.

But something pulls at him. Something forces him to open his eyes, to take a deep breath, something he’s surprised to find he can do underwater. Or, he thinks he’s underwater. For the first time, he looks around.

He’s surprised to see shapes, in the darkness. Some have outlines of color, just faintly flickering, some are gray, and fade in front of his eyes, but all are drifting listlessly, down and down, and somehow he knows that the deeper they go, the more they fade, until nothing is left.

That sends a jolt of panic through him.

Logan. He has to find Logan.

He doesn’t know quite who that is, but the name lights something inside him, and though it takes all the will in his body, he forces his limbs to move. He forces himself to swim downwards, searching, searching, searching-

There! A faint flicker, a faint something, that tugs him closer. It was so dark, he could barely see where he was going, but he didn’t let up for a moment, not when his lungs began to burn, not when he felt his limbs start to go numb, not when he could see the outline of himself flickering in and out, his mind going hazy.

He pushed forwards, and suddenly he was there, grabbing onto the ethereal form of Logan, pulling him close, and without thinking, he pressed their lips together, exhaling all of his air into Logan’s lungs, breathing all of his own life into Logan, his eyes slipping closed as Logan’s dark ones flew open, his surprised gasp inhaling the last of Remus’s air, and the world blurred, his outline fading quickly to gray, and his last thought was the hope that Logan would live enough life for the both of them.

…

Remus gasped, coughing, heaving in huge breath after huge breath, vision blurred from tears, every part of him sore and aching as he choked on the air.

“Remus.” His eyes jerked up, and he met deep browns, that perfect, beautiful face, and Logan reached out, cupping his cheek, wiping away the tears slipping down his face, as he let out a small, desperately happy laugh. Then he leaned forwards, crushing their lips together, feeling Logan melt into his touch, hands tangling in his hair, and even after their lips parted, Remus didn’t let go, nuzzling against Logan’s hair, silent tears still falling.

“how… what…” he whispered, unable to form the words he was looking for. How was he alive, how was he here, how was Logan here, how had he lived, when he’d given his entire soul to breathe life back into Logan.

“You love me.” Was the somewhat awed, somewhat small answer from Logan, and he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, a smile dancing across his lips.

“yes. I love you, Logan.” He replied, somehow melting even more at the soft, adoring gaze Logan was bestowing upon him, his lips quirked at the corners in a small smile.

“You were willing to give your life for mine. Even if you couldn’t live to live with me, even though I would gain everything and you would lose all, you would still have given it freely. That intent, was enough. It was a test, of sorts. And you passed, Remus.” Logan intertwined their fingers, and Remus couldn’t help it anymore as a desperate, relieved sob shook his frame as he fell into Logan’s arms, crying into his shoulder.

“you still have to go. You still have to leave, go back to the water. I’m still losing you.” He choked out, feeling Logan brushing his thumb over his knuckles. He heard Logan chuckle softly.

“Not quite. You still gave me part of yourself, part of your soul. And you now hold some of mine. We’re tied together now, Remus. Anywhere you step I can also. Anywhere I pass through so will you be able.”

“but… you won’t get sick? You won’t… I won’t keep you, I won’t make you stay, you don’t have to stay.” Just the thought of forcing Logan to stay made him ill.

“I know, Remus. I know you wouldn’t. I know you would never take my coat, I know you would never force me to do anything, I trust you. It won’t make me sick. We can spend time, between land and sea, there’s so much I can show you, Remus, worlds you wouldn’t even be able to imagine.”

They both looked up at the sound of hesitant footsteps. Roman was approaching, having kept his distance and given them space on the shore, where Logan had pulled Remus, just out of the surf. Virgil was still speaking to Sedna, form flickering with displeasure and anger, while she was nothing but calm and placid, the soft glow of Patton clear on his shoulder.

“Remus. If you ever do something like that again I will strangle you with my bare hands.” Roman muttered furiously, eliciting a high laugh, Remus soft as he met Roman’s eyes for a moment, understanding passing between them without a word needing to be spoken. “And Logan… take care of him. He’s a lot softer than he’d like you to believe.” Remus huffed in indignation, melting with a happy hum as Logan pressed a kiss to his cheek, causing the selkie to shake his head in amusement.

“I will. I promise.” With that Roman nodded, walking several yards down the beach before simply vanishing.

“He’s such a drama queen.” Logan chuckled.

“Nothing at all like you, I’m sure.” Remus snorted, tilting his head back, to look up at Logan, his Logan, His.

“We should get you indoors. You’re sopping wet, and it’s cold.” Remus nuzzled closer to Logan, gently butting his chin with his head.

“Good thing I’ve got you, then, keeping me warm.” And before Logan could argue, he had captured the selkie’s lips once more, lost in a different, amazingly beautiful kind of warmth.

#sanders sides #sympathetic remus #remus sanders #human remus #logan sanders #selkie logan #logan angst #remus angst #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #deceit sanders #unsympathetic deceit #temporary character death #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #logan x remus

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misscorn · 4 years

Text

Day 6 Confession

Day 6 of @takaritsuweek 😄😄

***

Masamune stumbled into his apartment at a fresh 2:57 in the morning, completely exhausted, but relieved. One of his author's had had a nervous breakdown causing an issue with getting the manuscript and then once Masamune did finally get his hands on it he realized the author had been so reluctant because it was complete trash and then the printers were giving him a tough time and-

Masamune took a deep breath. It was fine. He got it done. He was the editor-in-chief of their department for a reason. There was no use stressing over it anymore. No, now was the time to let his exhaustion hit and allow himself to pass out on his bed.

It had been like this for the past few days now, Masamune coming home so late after a grueling day at the office. It wasn't even hellweek, no, instead it was just Masamune's own personal little hell made special just for him by whatever God or Goddess thought it was funny to mess with him. Not to mention all this trouble meant he hadn't gotten to see Ritsu outside of work recently, which pissed him off to no end. Hopefully it was finally over.

Only, there was one small, teeny tiny problem left.

His living room light was on.

Masamune knew for a fact that he did not leave his light on before he left for work. He wasn't so careless. Did he have an intruder in his home? Shit, he was too tired to deal with something like that.

Slowly and quietly, Masamune peeked around the corner and was shocked at the sight in front of him: Onodera Ritsu, on his couch, clearly focused as he made and reviewed edits.

'I must be so tired that I've started hallucinating.' Masamune thought to himself. Still, it was a nice hallucination. A life in which Masamume comes home to Ritsu after work is a life Masamune longs deeply for.

Masamune did give Ritsu a spare key in the past, but there was no way the brunette would ever actually use it. Right? Carefully, Masamune approached the Ritsu-mirage, not disturbing him out of his little work bubble until he reached forward to gently pinch his cheek.

Ritsu nearly leaped to his feet, smacking the hand away and pressing himself against the other end of the couch to get away from Masamune's touch. "You scared me!" He complained, placing a hand over his heart, feeling it race.

"You're real?" Masamune stared.

"Of course I'm real! What are you even talking about?" Ritsu huffed. "I came over earlier to ask you to review my edits, but you weren't here. Then I remembered you gave me a key and I decided to wait." Ritsu explained briefly. "...Are you mad that I used it?"

"No! Please, feel free to use it every single day. In fact, forget ever going to your apartment and just move in with me." Masamune said as he flopped on to the couch beside him.

"N-Now you're just speaking nonsense." Ritsu said, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. Maybe they could still go over some stuff before the two of them went to bed. However, Ritsu went wide-eyed at the time. "Three in the morning?! What are you doing coming home at three in the morning? It's not even hellweek, yet, moron!" Ritsu scolded. How had it gotten so late? Ritsu must have completely lost track of the time.

"Eh? What are you getting so worked up for?" Masamune yawned.

"Editor-in-chief or not, you still need to take care of yourself, which includes getting a proper amount of sleep! Did you even eat dinner?"

This felt wrong. These roles should definitely be reversed. The irony wasn't missed by Masamune.

"Aw, are you worried about me?" Masamune asked, his tone teasing, but instead of Ritsu blushing or quickly getting defensive and denying, the brunette frowned and crossed his arms.

"Of course I'm worried about you!" Ritsu said.

Masamune shrugged. "I'm fine, a few late nights at work never killed anybody."

"A few? How often have you been coming home this late?" Ritsu asked.

Masamune's tired brain tried to make sense of the timeline of these past couple days before he finally responded. "I think this is the fourth night." He said.

"Takano-san!" Ritsu exclaimed in a disapproving tone. Ritsu had thought that Masamune seemed a little out of it at work lately, but he hadn't been that worried since he trusted that if Masamune needed time off then he would take it. Obviously, he had been wrong.

"It's fine, it's fine, let me see your edits." Masamune said.

"Absolutely not." Ritsu stood and grabbed Masamune's hands, somehow managing to pull him up as well. "You are going to bed. Right now."

Masamune, irritable from his tiredness, made a sound of protest. "You're not my mother, Onodera. I can put myself to bed when I'm ready."

"Obviously you can't." Ritsu put his hands on his hips, narrowing his eyes at the taller man.

"Stop acting like you're the most responsible adult in the world and like you haven't literally worked yourself to the point of passing out. It's annoying and hypocritical."

"I know I'm not, I never said I was! And I'm seriously trying to get better at not overworking myself, so don't even throw that in my face." Ritsu said, starting to get equally as irritated.

"Why are you even really here?" Masamune asked, crossing his arms.

Ritsu was slightly taken aback by the question, hesitating for a moment before he spoke again. "I-I told you, I wanted you to review-"

"You would not have stuck around this long just for that. Yesterday you probably would've rather died than use that spare key I gave you. So why are you here? To nag me to death? To scold me like a child? I'm a grown man, Onodera, I don't need-"

"Why are you allowed to care about me, but I'm not allowed to care about you?!" Ritsu demanded, balling his hands into fists. "Why can you fuss over me and bandage me up when I'm clumsy? Why can you take care of me when I'm sick? Why can you be concerned about my well being, but I can't be concerned about yours without being annoying?! Isn't that part of what love is? Looking after one another? Why can you smother me to death with what you call 'lovey dovey' stuff, but I'm not allowed to love you back?! I love you, damn it, so let me!" He looked down, unable to maintain eye contact.

Masamune merely stood there, gaping at Ritsu's outburst and confession. "Ritsu, I..." He started, for once looking off balance and unsure.

"It's not fair. It's not fair if I'm the only one who has someone looking out for me." Ritsu said, a soft sniffle escaping him. "I want...I want to take care of you too. I want to be sure that you're okay, too. B-because I l-love you." He gripped the ends of his sleeves, using them to rub away some tears. So embarrassing...this was totally embarrassing. Mortifying, even. It was enough to make Ritsu want to quit his job, crawl into bed, and never come out from under the blanket.

Masamune stared, processing Ritsu's words as the brunette started to hurriedly gather his things. "S-Sorry for dropping by unannounced. I-I'll just go now." Ritsu said, quickly walking past Masamune, still trying not to burst into tears.

"Wait!" Masamune grabbed him by the wrist, not letting him get far. "You think I'm just gonna let you go after you say something like that? Idiot!" Masamune pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him tightly both as apology and as a means to keep him there. "Don't go. Stay the night here." Masamune pleaded, giving his body a gentle squeeze. "I missed you."

"...I missed you too." Ritsu said softly. "That's why I came over." He admitted. "I...I just wanted to see you. I figured the edits would make as good as an excuse as any." He let his head fall against Masamune's chest.

"Say it again." Masamune requested, raking his fingers through Ritsu's hair.

"I wanted to see you."

"No. Tell me you love me again." Masamune began to tear up as the weight of Ritsu's words finally started to sink in.

Ritsu's shyness returned to him, his moment of courage over, but the sound Masamune's pounding heart was enough to make the brunette confess once more.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

#onodera ritsu #takano masamune #takaritsu week #sekaiichi hatsukoi

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sloppy-butcher · 4 years

Note

Whats your hcs for Frank, Evan and Herman?? They are my 3 loves so im curious... (love your work ya poes

how old are you sir? I must ask to see ur ID. a babey can’t be using language like that >:(

anyhow, the 3 boys eh? I’ll gladly write anything for them uwu. I’m going to be doing general relationship hc’s so things will probably get fluffy and maybe a little angsty. i can’t help myself sometimes. I’m going to try include one NSFW hc for each of the 3 stooges, so be prepared. it may be bad. the reader will be left as ambiguous as possible

edit: i write way to much :/ i think i should only do 1 or 2 character requests from now on T_T

hope you enjoy!

General relationship HeadCanons

The Legion (Frank Morrison)

With Frank, there was no real start to your relationship. There was no moment in time, no exact, pinpoint instance when one could say that that is when you two starting everything. It kind of just happened. Maybe it was when Frank first kissed you, it felt like fireworks and the snow in Mount Ormond was no longer cold. Or maybe it was when he first saw you dancing along with Suzie to one of her favorite songs, the twirling of your feet mixed with perfectly timed head slams dazzled him and he wanted nothing more than to have you give him a private dance. In the end, these are all speculations and the truth may never be known.

Around others, he was hesitant to show his emotion. You two could be sitting right next to each other your thighs all but alined when out of nowhere Joey sticks his head in. Frank snaps like a mousetrap, retreating back away from you as if he was embarrassed. You confronted him about this, you told him everything’s okay and that no one would judge him for being human. He refused you and, not to lie, it really hurt. But one day, just as you were walking away you felt his hand snake its way into yours. He hesitated for a moment, afraid you might reject him but of course, you gladly wrapped his hand in yours. You heard Joey wolf-whistle from somewhere behind you and Frank very enthusiastically tossed a middle finger at him. You couldn’t see it, but Frank was blushing under his mask.

Franks, not a romantic guy so don’t expect flowers or gifts or really anything nice. He grew up with virtually nothing so the idea of wooing someone with items of material affection is very foreign to him. He believes that if his presence and physical affection aren’t enough to prove to you that he appreciates you, then nothing will. But you never cared about gifts. All you ever wanted was Frank and he couldn’t help but feel giddy at the thought.

!NSFW! Frank was a pretty vanilla guy. He doesn’t have much experience when it comes to the department of extremely intimate affection and therefore knew literally nothing about the pleasures of the flesh. But the keyword here is ‘was’. After meeting you and your guiding hand he blossomed into a very wild and very hungry individual. His favorite position though is when he gets to look at you. And if you call his name he will instantly crumble. Afterward, or during the act you need to reach out and caress him. Touch and explore his body, mainly his face and he’d moan even louder. Your hands are so soft and gentle and when you touch him he floats with elated glee. He feels alive when he’s with you.

The Doctor (Herman Carter)

You would have to be extremely special or out-of-the-ordinary in order to catch the eye of the Doctor. But somehow you managed to do it. Herman was a man unhinged, incapable of empathy and compassion. He never looked at other humans as people with feelings and conscious ideas and thoughts. He only ever saw them and you as test subjects. But something about you was off. You did something that made this machine of a man halt in his pursuit of human torture. What exactly did you do? Well, nothing really. As he approached you, electrical energy between his hands flexing and growing ready to turn your brain to mush, you never screamed, never flinched away and never took your tired eyes off him. The first few times when you welcomed death he didn’t notice and it was only after a significate amount of encounters that finally Herman realized he had never heard your cries of fear and pain.

He would amp up his power when he would find you in trials. He would kill you much more violently than he would the others, make your liquified brain ooze out your ears and make your heart stop and start like a busted old car. Sometimes he would even through away the whole trial upsetting his boss greatly, just to get to you. But no matter what he did, you never offered him what he wanted. You had seen and experienced much worse than him and when death never gives you a release, torture becomes mundane and repetitive. When Herman finally understood that you weren’t afraid of him, he relented, snuffed out his power and walked away. He had his attention now.

Whenever you would visit him during off-time he would follow you as you wandered around the massive mansion known as Léry’s. Sometimes he would lead you, taking you to the rooms which he liked the most (operation rooms). Herman can not talk, the contraption in his mouth has stretched his lips to the point that they can no longer function and his voice box is beyond repair, damaged thanks to his constant flow of electricity that would otherwise kill a man. But he doesn’t need to talk to you. You always seem to know what he wants without hearing a single word.

!NSFW! Sex with Herman is out of the question. The man is pumped with endless volts of electricity and if you were to so much as touch him, your body would recoil and spasm painfully from the contact. If you ever wanted to experience pleasure from or with the man, he would have to try rein back some of that overflowing energy. But the man is too prideful and would never dare try to cull some of his ability. Unfortunately. But maybe after some time, he might learn to listen. There is no time in the Fog, only eternity and humans were never meant to live for that long. Our minds dull and our intentions warp from the time spent existing and maybe even someone as mad and determined as Herman could learn that it’s not so bad to let others into his life.

The closest you could ever get to kissing Herman is probably just planting a soft peck on his cheek. A dangerous move considering the possible consequences of actually touching him with such a sensitive part of you, but a risk you were willing to take. One day, however, in the silence and fog of the mansion Herman would reach out for you. He would lean down to your height and very slowly take your hand. There was no static shook when your skins met. He was telling you that he was calm. He would then guide your hands to his mouthpiece and he would tell you to take it off. Delicately you would peel away the metal from flesh and his mouth would furiously bleed and dretch his teeth with red. When he was free you would quickly meet him and you would hungrily kiss his chapped lips. He would kiss you back, his lips unable to keep up with yours but his tongue is wild and eager. However, after only a minute he would shove you away violently. As you feel the connection between you two break, the space around Herman lits up and crackles with mad energy. You would have to wait for him to calm down again if you wanted to continue your endeavors.

The Trapper (Evan Macmillan)

Despite being one of the most diligent and consistently brutal killers in the realm, when Evan is alone and the only eyes watching him are yours, he is a gentleman. He would speak to you softly, asking about your day already knowing that it was pretty shit. He would hold doors open for you and he would always make sure you were warm, either with a spare blanket or a seat extra close to a fire. He would fuss over you. Your soft skin, so clean and pure, untouched by the horrible and evil ways of the world made him marvel at how human you were. To him, you were what humans were meant to be, good and kind, whereas he was a monster charred and broken, unworthy and incapable of affection and of all those things that were meant to make life wonderful. He wanted to protect you, preserve that softness of you and although he couldn’t do anything to help you when the camera’s all turned back on, during this time he would smother you with whatever cautious and motherly behavior he could muster.

He was drawn to you because of your confident behavior. He found your energy alluring and would always find himself somehow infected by your hope and optimism. You were like a fire, burning everything in your path and he just happened to be close enough to catch alight. In the beginning, Evan would become very annoyed by your seemingly endless ideas of survival but as time went on and you never seemed to dampen like the others he found that his annoyance turned into curiosity. A part of him wanted to know what it was like to be under your light of hope. It yearned to be rescued but a bigger and much louder part of him, a voice oddly resembling his fathers, drowned it out. However, that didn’t stop his feet from walking towards you and it certainly didn’t stop you from staying with him.

In the early stages of your relationship with the mountain of a man, you had to the one initiating affection. You had to be the one to reach out and grab his hand. He would look down at you and you swore you could hear him gasp. And when you would want to hug him, you would either have to wait until he sat down or you would have to climb atop a box. It’s not that he was afraid to reciprocate your feelings, he just felt like he didn’t deserve it. He tried to remain stone-cold and distant hoping that it would detour you and make you give up on him but you weren’t known for ‘giving up’. Eventually, when you refused to leave and he had to accept that you wanted to be with him, all you needed to do for a hug was open your arms wide and beckon him closer with your hands. He would roll his eyes and very stiffly lean down for you. You would eagerly wrap yourself as best you could around his neck and, if you were laughing or in an infectiously good mood, he would engulf you in his own. Sometimes he would even stand up and sweep you off your feet. He would bury himself into your neck, trying his best to smell you through his bone and metal mask.

!NSFW! This has been said many times before but Evan has handles. Those large pieces of metal piercing his shoulders and down his back. It scared you at first when he suggested you hold onto them, they looked so painful and the skin around the puncture wounds were all puffy and red. He reassured you and explained that he doesn’t feel much of anything anymore. When he said that you looked at him confused then, without thinking, you lean forward and gently place a kiss on the wound. He tries to watch you as you trail butterfly kisses over his exposed chest. “Feel better?” You ask pulling away for a moment. He couldn’t respond, his throat welling up with shook, disgust and absolute fascination. You clearly didn’t care about what he looked like, what kind of monster he had become, and it gave him so much more confidence. Hold on to his handlebars, pull and yank them as he thrusts into you, he likes to feel your weight vibrate through the bars into his ribcage. Evan enjoys the feeling of control he gets when he is the one giving you pleasure and also foundation.

BONUS! Drag your tongue along one of the bars. Make sure his eyes never leave you and when you finally lick the whole length of the metal, plant your lips firmly on his mouth. He will kiss back passionately, amazed at how dirty someone so pure and good like you could be.

#dead by daylight #dbd imagines #dbd the legion #dbd frank morrison x reader #dbd the Doctor #dbd herman carter x reader #dbd the trapper #dbd evan macmillan x reader #this is too long #but i love you #ask

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heartjwi · 5 years

Text

city of angels ☞ lee jeno

GENRE | angst

DISCLAIMER | i’m supposed to be studying but fuck that ig + insp. by la la lost you by niki!!

SUMMARY | jeno finds an old letter under his refrigerator after doing some cleaning around his apartment and finds himself reminiscing the past and wishing he could go back to the city he once lived in, and to you.

A/N | i cant contain myself i’m sorry bois + posted this on hyucafe by accident,, ok clown

you and jeno had a healthy relationship from the very beginning needless to say. especially with the never ending support from your friends and family around the two of you. you and jeno barely fought in your 4 year old relationship, only arguing about where to go or where to eat, just the typical couple arguments.

that was, before you and jeno parted ways to go to college.

you stayed near your old town while jeno chose a college that was 12 hours away from you. the first time you heard about it, you didn’t talk to jeno for days. yes, you were proud of him for aiming high but just the thought of not seeing each other physically made your heart ache.

“why won’t you talk to me” jeno whines, plopping down next to you, who was busy reading a candy magazine. you rolled your eyes and flipped the page. jeno puffs and scoots closer to you. “is it because of the college thing?” he says slowly wrapping his arms around you. you closed the magazine shut and stared at him, “did you really have to choose somewhere far away from me?” you pouted. “and she talks!” jeno exclaims, hugging you close to him. “i mean, you’ll always have me right? no matter the distance” jeno kisses the side of your head.

and boy, were you wrong.

the day when jeno was finally moving to new york, you helped his family set his things in his dad’s car. you and jeno stayed behind his room for one last time in a few months. “so this is it huh” you look up at him. he avoids your eyes and bites his lip. “hmm” he hums. “are you gonna miss me?” you pout, staring at his eyes. he nods, squeezing your sides. “we’re gonna facetime everyday okay?” you held out your pinky to which he links his pinky with yours. a tradition you two had.

his dad honks indicating it was time to go. you see jeno hold back his tears but the moment you hug him for the very last time, a tear fell from his eye. “shit jen, you’re making me cry too” you sniffled, unable to hide your tears as well. jeno lets out a teary laugh, “here” he removes his favorite hoodie and puts it on you. you stared at him in shock, “babe this is your favorite” you remove the hoodie off of you. “keep it” he kisses your hand.

you two walk downstairs hand in hand, ready to send jeno off to college. you stopped in front of the passenger seat when jeno turns to you. “you know i’ll always find my way back here, back home to you” he hugs you as you feel his tears soak his hoodie that you had on. you couldn’t contain the tears any longer and hugged him back tighter. “i’ll wait jeno, i’ll wait for you” you sobbed to his chest. he finally pulls away and cups your cheek for one last time before kissing you on the lips. “i’ll miss you” he whispers on your lips before getting in the passenger seat.

and that was the last time you ever got to see jeno.

the first few weeks without jeno by your side was tough on your part. this was a whole new routine for the both of you. slowly adjusting to the fact he wasn’t by your side in somewhere that’s awfully familiar with the two of you.

on jeno’s part, he was enjoying the feeling of being alone for once in his life. the feeling where there’s no one to hinder him from doing everything he wishes to do. one of the reasons he chose this specific college in new york is that he could get away from you. a bit of a dick move but he had to do something.

in his first few weeks in new york, he already made a name for himself in his new school. a fuckton of new faces he got to meet in a span of a week. he could get used to this.

“please pick up” you repeat, biting your nails as you waited for jeno to answer his phone. “hello?” jeno groggily answers his phone. you went quiet on the other line, not used to this. “y/n?” the way he said your name felt new to you again, almost like you two never met. “hi” you whisper. you hear him chuckle at the other end. “hello to you to my love” he muses.

and you two spent the night just talking to each other just catching up after a while, not knowing that would be one of the last times you two got to act like a couple.

the next few months, you finally adjusted to your new school environment and made new friends along the way. slowly distracting yourself away from jeno. jeno on the other hand, got into some frat parties thanks to his roommates and peers who taught him how to party. not once have you crossed his mind since he moved here.

it didn’t take long for you to long for his touch or voice even. you texted him multiple times to answer your calls or even facetimes but nothing. he ghosted you for the next 2 weeks. you cried your heart out to your best friend about your new situation. your friends told you just dump and move on but you can’t. the town you two used to live in is filled with memories with jeno.

jeno finally had a wake up call the day after you blocked his number. he stared at the unanswered texts he had in his phone and it was all from you. he scrambled to get you to talk to him again, but knowing you, you would be wrapped around his finger again.

it didn’t take a while for jeno to pull the ghosting agenda again. you were starting to get sick of it. you started doing the same thing to him. not leaving a single message to him at all.

it was hurting you at first but slowly and surely, you were getting the hang of it with the help of your closest friends who made efforts to let you have fun and not think of a douchebag boyfriend.

and people began to notice the once introverted y/n turned into a more extroverted version of yourself who subconsciously puts a smile on everyone’s faces.

jeno found himself staring at his phone all day, waiting for a single message from you but nothing— not even a single one. he was starting to feel worried and anxious if anything happened to you but once he opened the instagram app it was a whole new story.

you just posted a new photo in your instagram in a while, and it was a photo of you in a dress after clubbing with your friends last night. it made jeno quite mad that you didn’t tell him about your whereabouts. he immediately called your number and waited for you to answer.

“hello?” you answer, not bothering to check the caller ID. “you got some explaining to do” was the first thing you hear from the other line. you checked the ID and it was jeno. “what are you talking about?” you tell him, not caring about a single thing that was about to happen. “how come you didn’t tell me that you went clubbing last night?!” he starts his sermon. you rolled your eyes and picked on your nails. ‘now he starts to care’ you thought to yourself. “you didn’t even text me for days! i was worried about you!” he rambles on, making you angry.

“so now it’s a problem that i don’t text you” you cut him off, catching him off guard. “huh?” he furrows his eyebrows. “cut this shit jeno, you’re mad that i’m finally doing what you’ve been doing to me” you felt tears prick your eyes. jeno stayed silent on the other line, realizing his mistake. “i’m tired” you start, wiping your tears. jeno felt his heart drop to his stomach, knowing where this was headed. “no-” “i’m so fucking tired waiting for you” you open up to him, full on crying at this moment. “you’re not the jeno i used to know” you whispered on the phone.

jeno stands up quickly, almost losing his balance. “no! y/n please-” he gets cut off yet again, “i think we should just break up” you choked out. jeno felt as if time has stopped all together and everything went silent. “i’m sorry” you whisper before hanging up.

and that was the last time you two heard about each other

its been a couple months after the break up and you were slowly moving on from jeno, after coming to a closure with yourself that you two won’t just work out. he’s not the jeno you once knew from your small hometown. he was a new different jeno in an unfamiliar city.

you went back home for a bit to just clean up any memory you had with jeno in your house and gave it back to his parents next door. they were sorry that their son had to be a dickhead. you just brushed it off and promised you would get lunch with them time to time. they did root for the two of you in the past.

jeno however, was slowly but surely becoming a mess months after the big break up. you only love something when it’s gone. the ‘friends’ he had won’t even check up on him. he was regretting why he hung out with them. now he was just cleaning his apartment, just to ease his mind.

he was sweeping his kitchen floor when he stumbled upon an old letter you sent to him the first week he moved in.

“to my bubby,

hi! i miss you already :-( and i know i’m just being dramatic since it has been only a week but i can’t help it you know? anyway so, how’s new york doing hmm? have you been to broadway? you promised me you’d take me one day hehehe…”

during the first week without jeno, you thought it would be a good idea to send him a letter and you even planned you’d do it monthly if he loved it. you never heard that he got the letter so that was the first and last letter he would ever get from you.

“the jetlag and timezones must be tough eh? but it’s okay, it means nothing when we mean everything to each other right? i even wasted some perfume just so i could spray it to this letter and the envelop so you would remember to miss me and it would ease the pain somehow”

jeno had tears in his eyes at this point, knowing the one who meant everything to him is no longer in his arms.

“if i’m being honest, i’d call you but i know you’ll be busy settling in and i’m trying to let go at the fact i won’t be seeing you in a while :-( i still and will always love you, jenjen! come back to me soon please.

hope new york will hug, take care and hold you the way I do, my love. i miss you so much! see you soon!

with lots and lots of hugs and kisses, y/n”

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serendipityjxmn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, Park Jimin!

Chapter 4

Words Count: 1.9k

TW: None

Link to Chapter 3

Link to Chapter 5

I glanced at the clock on the edge of my table. It was almost 2 AM. I buried my head into my notes, mentally cursing in my head for bringing this onto myself. I had been spending the last five hours planning the so-called study plan for Jimin. It was extremely time-consuming because I had no idea which level he was at. I kept on rewriting my plan over and over again, constantly having a war on whether it would be too easy for him because that means he would laugh at me and placing the bar high would also not mean a thing. Alas, I gave up. I decided to just go on with my plan and whatever criticism he would have for me, I would just take it. Without realizing, I fell asleep on my study table. I woke up the next morning with eyebags, dark circles around my eyes and a painful neck.

I think I looked like a mess when I went to college the next day and Ah Young confirmed my thoughts when her eyes widened at my sight. She was about to say something but our professor entered the class so she was forced to shut her mouth. When the class ended though, she didn’t hesitate.

“You look like zombie!” She examined me at arms length. “What happened to you?”

“I slept late.” I answered simply and we both made our way to our locker. As soon as I was done filling my bag with the next subject’s books, I leaned against my own locker as I wait for Ah Young to finish whatever she was doing.

I sighed.

“What’s up with you?”

“I said yes to the study partner thing but now I’m not sure whether it was the right decision.” My feet kicked the air.

Her eyes widened at this. “What?!” She almost half screamed.

“Yah!” I glanced around. Thank God no one was paying attention.

“Oh my god-“ she clasped her hands onto her mouth dramatically. Her voice dropped low. “This is your chance, girl. The time has finally come. Lord- I would like to thank you for not letting my best friend die a virgin.” Her palms were now clasped together in a praying manner.

What the heck? “Yah!” I pushed her shoulder and she laughed.

“So when are you meeting him?”

“In two hours.” I said poutily as I looked at my watch.

Her eyes went round. “What?! You’re meeting him today and you’re wearing this?”

I threw a look at her in disbelief. “What is wrong with my outfit?”

“Oh God- girl.” She buried her hands in her face. At that moment, her phone rang. She groaned when she saw the caller ID. I peeked and immediately understood. “Yes- Dad. Yes.. I’ll be there. I won’t be late. I’m going now.” She rolled her eyes as she hung up.

I threw a sympathetic look at her. It had to be one of those formal lunches with her family again.

“I have lunch with my parents. And I’m pretty sure they’re going to bring someone again.” She made an annoyed expression. Her parents had been trying to set her up with a friend’s son and she had been suffering a lot these days. Then she narrowed her eyes at me. “You. You’re lucky that you’re off the hook today. But next time you’re meeting him, I’ll be there to groom you from head to toe. Let’s go shopping soon!” She said and with that she left me.

I shuddered at her words grooming me from head to toe. If Ah Young says that, she literally meant that. I slowly dragged my feet to the library.

JIMIN POV

I ran my hands through my hair as I sigh. Why the fuck do I have to go through this shit again?

“Jimin-sshi.” A voice called me. I glanced at the girl sitting in front of me. She has medium-short brown hair, sharp and defined facial features. Her dress looked expensive. Her nails were shiny. Definitely groomed.

“Do you not like the food here?” She asked in her low voice. She slowly put down her own cutleries elegantly.

I shook my head. This had got to be the hundredth date that my parents set with some of their friends or business partners or clients’ daughters. I was starting to get tired of it but I wasn’t creative enough to think of ways to rebel. It was strange that none of these meetings ever fluttered the heartless hole in me. Sure I’ve fucked around but never with the girls my parents set me up with. No particular reason why although I know most of them thirst for me. I just happened to draw the line there.

But that was just it. My encounters with girls were either family business or personal pleasure. None of it ever tapped the hole in my heart. Not until recently- a small voice in my head said. I frowned but I brushed it off quickly.

Kim Hana. The name inevitably popped into my mind. She had a very beautiful name. It sounded just right whenever it came off from my mouth although I rarely had the chance to call out her name. The image of her laughing whenever she was with her best friend crept into my mind. She never flashed a single smile to me. Well, maybe you can try being less of a jerk to her, Park Jimin. I shook my head thinking about the way I rejected her when I knew that she mustered so much courage to come and talk to me. I noticed she doesn’t talk much with guys. I barely see her interacting with boys. The thought seemed to please me.

Wait. Am I forgetting something? I glanced at my watch. It was already 4 PM. My eyes widened. Shit! How could I forget about Kim Hana? I stood up immediately and the girl in front of me seemed taken aback.

“Jimin?” She called softly.

“I’m- I’m sorry I have to go.” I ran my hands through my hair, feeling exasperated at myself. I quickly fished out my card and called for bills. “I’m sorry. I’ll send someone to pick you up.”

I said and within seconds I was in my car, flooring the gas and headed towards the campus. Meanwhile, I called Taehyung.

“Hey.” He answered within a second.

“Taehyung, I need your help.” I said and he didn’t question when I asked her to fetch the girl I was meeting just now. He knew me and my sad life story well. Although I was sure their meeting wouldn’t end then and there. Taehyung had a very high sex appeal and he can be extremely seductive. I can attest to that. I shook my head. Although not that I was in any place to judge his sexual life.

I had no idea how long it took me to arrive at the campus but I sure did break a lot of traffic rules to get here as soon as I can. Could she still be waiting for me? I doubt so but my guilty conscience told me that she might just do so. She was that innocent. Mentally, I rolled my eyes.

I was going to head to the library but I kept my eyes peeled while on my way, scanning for any sight of her. I didn’t see her anywhere so I entered the library. I searched every corner. There was none. Maybe she did go back? Now it does kind of seemed stupid if she were to wait for me. Almost two hours passed. But I climbed the staircase anyway just in case she was at the upper floors. A large lake area slash park where most students enjoyed studying on the grass can be seen through the large glass windows accompanying the staircases. I stopped in my tracks. I saw a familiar back sitting at one of the bench. Her long black hair waving softly from the wind. Is that Kim Hana? I wasn’t entirely sure but I went down anyway.

Soon I arrived at the bench near the park. The place was practically empty perhaps because it was Friday, the start of weekend. I glanced around searching for the familiar figure.

Almost as if she sensed my presence, she looked up and her eyes met mine. She looked pretty in her short white dress. No words seemed to come out from my mouth.

Her expression turned cold. I could clearly see that she was angry. Her face was red. Her eyes pierced at me but why does she look cuter to me that way?

I resigned to what was coming. I went nearer to her.

She crossed her arms. “Thought you got killed or something on the way here.” She said sarcastically.

I didn’t reply anything.

“Did you know that I waited for you for 2 hours like a fool?” Her furious expression tickled something in my heart. It didn’t seem right at her innocent face.

“You’re such a jerk. I have no idea why I trusted you in the first place.” Her ranting continued on and on.

She was getting a bit too lengthy with her words and without me realizing it, I leaned in and crashed my lips to hers. I did it without much thought as I was just trying to shut her up. To my pleasant surprise, her mouth tasted sweet and it felt so right on mine that I was tempted to deepen it but I held myself back.

I broke the kiss - except that it was barely a kiss. Our lips merely touched. I regarded her expression. She was obviously stunned but her expression unfathomable for me.

HANA POV

I was mentally cursing Jimin for the past hour that I even ran out of any other curse words to use. I felt a presence near me so I looked up and guess what- he showed up, obviously way past our meeting time. He dressed smartly - white shirt and black slacks. I wondered if he was from some important event briefly but anger consumed me quickly.

When he went near me with his nonchalant look, I stood up immediately. I crossed my arms. “Thought you got killed or something on the way here.” I started with sarcasm.

My anger boiled further when he made no attempt to reply. I crossed my arms. “Did you know that I waited for you for 2 hours like a fool? You’re such a jerk. I have no idea why I trusted you in the first place.” His eyes were on me but I wasn’t sure if he was even listening to me.

He leaned into me and in a fraction of seconds, his lips were on mine. I should be pushing him away but I was too stunned to do anything. His lips went away as quick as it met mine. Even when he released me, my mind still seemed unable to function properly. Our lips met for a brief moment but it was enough to suck all the air from my lungs.

When my brain finally had the capacity to process the heart-stopping (apparently) event, I glared at him. That was my fucking first kiss! How dare he! I raised my hands to slap him but he was quicker. He took hold of my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped at him.

“What? Don’t tell me that was your first kiss.”

I went red. Then I looked away. How does he even know?

He regarded me for a moment. “Are you for real?” He threw an incredulous look at me.

I glared at him as I tried to pull my hands away but he still held it firmly. “Let go of me!”

“Is that Park Jimin? And Kim Hana...?” A voice was heard and we both stood frozen.

Link to Chapter 5

Posted on 200508 11:25PM

#serendipityjxmn #serendipityjxmnihateyouparkjimin #bts au #jimin au #jimin fic #jimin smut #bts smut #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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taurusjaehyun · 5 years

Text

kiss me // j.jh

♦️Pairing: jaehyun x fem reader

♦️Other Members/ Characters: 97 line GC (Eunwoo, Jungkook and Mingyu) + Jihyo of Twice (also a 97 liner)

♦️Genre: smut, fluff,, bf Jaehyun, uni au

♦️Warnings: rough sex, nipple play(?), slight cock warming, squirting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, badly written smut lmao, mentions of RuPaul’s Drag Race bc I’ve been binging on it after Netflix put all the seasons on!!!

♦️Word count: 3,981

♦️Story: Finals are done and you finally have proper time with your boyfriend Jaehyun but he barely pays you any attention. He won’t even give you a kiss you because of a stupid mobile game.

Note: A request by anon for bf!Jaehyun. Also, yeaaah, this isn’t proof read, sorry for the shitty aftercare and the shitty writing in general lol. Tell me what you guys think, please! I’d love feedback so I can improve hehe <3

"Kiss me." You say as you push yourself up closer to your boyfriend’s face, who was currently focused on his phone as he laid next to you in your bed, playing whatever mobile phone game he was addicted to with the guys. It was kind of annoying, really.

You purse your lips and make kissy sounds, making him chuckle. You roll your eyes at him but he doesn’t notice, because he was too focused on his phone. You couldn’t believe how he’d rather play with his phone and his friends rather than spending time with you, his girlfriend, despite it being a free Sunday for the both of you. Finals were fucking finally over for all of you after the two of you, along with your friends had spent every day studying (more like cramming) to try and ace your tests.

It was safe to say the two of you hadn’t had sex in a while. Plus, this was your only time alone together after a while as your roommate, Jihyo was on a date with her boyfriend, Eunwoo. Jihyo was a bit anal about you bringing in Jaehyun to your dorm to have sex after she had caught you and Jaehyun fucking a few times (it was more than a few times, honestly). You couldn’t hold it against her because she never had sex with Eunwoo in your dorm. Ever. Or not that you know of.

You pinch Jaehyun’s side, making him yelp but he barely spares you a glance. You pucker your lips again and make kissy faces at him, trying to annoy him more than anything at this point. Jaehyun tilts his head towards you, eyes still focused on the screen of his phone as he blindly pecks at your face, kissing your nose instead of your lips like you wanted to.

Feeling annoyed, you grab the phone out of his hands and turn it off. You set his phone on your nightstand, straddle him and cup his cheeks, squishing and pinching it with your hands. His hands automatically make his way to your hips as he looks up with you with a less than pleased expression.

“I was about to beat Mingyu and Jungkook, you know,” he grunts in annoyance, taking hold of your hands that started to pinch his cheeks painfully. He pulls your hands off his cheeks and intertwines his fingers with yours.

You laugh, “Baby, today’s our free day. You can kill them some other time!” You started to grind your hips against his, testing the waters. You really wanted to take advantage of the time alone you had with the love of your life and do anything and everything you’ve wanted to do for the past few weeks. Also, fucking the built up stress away wasn’t a bad idea.

Jaehyun watches you, grinding and circling your hips, almost as if he was hypnotized. He bit his lip and gives you a pointed look, “I thought we weren’t allowed to have sex here anymore?”

You lean back and shrug, “Jihyo isn’t here anyways. What does she know?”

“Well Jungkook and Mingyu know how important my ranking is in that game to me. And they know I’m here with you.” Jaehyun chuckles, “they’re already probably going off in the group chat that we’re already fucking and you know Eunwoo’s in the chat too.”

You stop grinding on him, and sighed before blowing a raspberry, “I honestly don’t give a shit. Jihyo knows I’m putting RuPaul’s Drag Race over everything, including you so I could just say I forced you to watch.”

Jaehyun scoffs and looks at you as if he’s offended, “so you mean to say you finished the season we were watching WITHOUT ME?” He lets go of your hands and holds onto your thighs, squeezing.

You explode in laughter, knowing well that Jaehyun took offense in it. You both were big fans of the show that you’d do marathons of it together, especially the most recent All Stars season. “Trinity-“

He puts up a finger to your lips, “ok, spoiler queen. I don’t need to know. I’ll watch it for myself.”

“No, I’ll tell you right now! Trinity and Monet-“

Jaehyun puts his hands over his ears, closes his eyes and starts howling, and basically doing every annoying sounds he could produce, just to shut you up.

You laugh, trying to pull his hands away from his ear, telling him about the finale. Each second he goes on with his act, the more you found it funny so you ended up bellowing in laughter, weak as you fall down on his chest, shoulders shaking.

Jaehyun sighs as he wraps an arm around you, patting your head gently. “God, you’re annoying.”

Still in fits of giggles, you sit up again and hover over him, staring at him. Jaehyun was probably one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen in your life and you thought you were blessed to have been given a chance to be one of the people he loved in this world. “You love me, though.”

Jaehyun gives you a goofy smile, “that I do, sweetheart. So fucking much. You have no idea.”

“Prove it!”

“How?”

"Kiss me."

Jaehyun didn’t have to be told twice. His hands find its way on the back of your head, and he pulls you close while he lifts his head up to meet you halfway and locks his lips with yours.

You chuckle and proceed to kiss him. Deep and hard, always. His tongue swipes on your lower lip and you grant him access and soon your tongues wrapped around each other. You didn't know how long you were kissing but all you knew was you were already feeling dizzy and breathless but you just wanted to taste him again and again.

People might call you crazy but every time you saw him, he still gave you the butterflies he made you feel from the first time you saw him. That was how you knew you were already in love with him. You were so into in him that his mere touch sent shivers up your spine and when he makes love to you, you’re afraid you’ll burst into tears because of the overwhelming feelings he gives you.

You pull away and pull off the large t-shirt that you used as pyjamas. Underneath it, you weren’t wearing anything because you knew you’d be fucking your boyfriend. You shoot him a smile as you cup your breasts for him, earning a whistle from him. You knew he loved your nipples and right now, they looked too appetizing to him, already so hard and begging to be sucked by him.

He bites his lips at the sight of your naked and pliant body. He knew how conscious you were of your body but he loved how you trusted him too much that you were confident naked in front of him. He was thankful for that because for him it was a way to really say how much you trusted and loved him.

You grab his hands and rest them over your breasts as you start to circle your hips on him again. He had an obsession with you boobs that he would find a way to suck your nipples most of the time, that when you would sleep over at his dorm (which was better because the athletic department had budget and gave them solo rooms) even before you sleep, he sucks your nipples. It was endearing.

You were his and he was yours. As soon as he lets go of your nipples, you kiss his neck, making sure to rub you hard nipples against his chest as you pull up his shirt and help him fully take it off. He cups your face as you kiss and you rush to undo his jeans. You plant kisses down his neck, chest and stomach as you go lower, pulling down his jeans.

His half hard cock pops out as you pull down his underwear and help him get both his jeans and underwear off around his ankles until the both of you were buck naked. You settle between his legs, kissing his thighs, just taking your time but your hands find his cock, the tip leaking with clear liquid.

You spit on your hands, easing the friction and starting to jerk him off. You use the pad of your thumb to rub the slit of his cock, watching how his cock twitches and gets harder at the action. His dick continues to leak pre-cum, enough for you to spread it around the sensitive mushroom head of his shaft.

“Fuck, baby. Stop playing and suck it if you’re going to,” he hisses, fisting the sheets beside him.

“Ok, ok.” You laugh but you continue to play with his sensitive head. You gather your spit in your mouth and drop it slowly on the head of his dick, circling your tongue to the air so the spit goes around and covers the rest of his cock. “I’ll get your dick wet first, you big baby.”

Jaehyun moans as you start to jack him off, your left teasing the head and the right jerking the rest of his cock. He watches you as you bite your lips in concentration as you jerk him off, using the tricks that are fool proof to make him feel good. Especially that jerk-jerk-twist-jerk movement that had his hips bucking.

Without a word, you start to suck on his head, slurping on the salty precum, making him hiss in pleasure. You use your now free left hand to fondle on his balls as you keep jerking and sucking him off. When the moisture from your spit around the rest of his length dries, you slowly take him in your mouth, deep throating him.

You keep your thumb in your fist, trying to keep your gagging down as you used your left hand to hold onto the base of his cock as you take him deeper inside your mouth until your nose was touching his belly, his trimmed pubes prickling you.

Jaehyun was always amazed how you manage to take in his whole length but then again, you always managed to surprise him and managed to exceed his expectations which was one of the reasons for why he fell in love with you. Out of all the girls around him, you managed to catch his attention and he found himself unable to keep you out of his mind until the two of you got to work together since you were both in student government.

You lift your head a little and bob your head, keeping his dick down your throat, knowing this would surely cover the whole of his cock with your spit. Jaehyun had always been a loud grunter and moaner so it was no doubt that the room was filled with Jaehyun’s sounds of pleasure and curses as you make him feel good with your mouth. Once you couldn’t hold your breath anymore, you pull away from his cock.

You take the spit stringing your mouth to the head of his cock with your fingers and jerk him off. Jaehyun looks at you, mouth swollen, eyes lidded and tears forming at your ducts. You lean forward, rubbing the head of his cock against your nipples, making him groan at the sight. You take him in your mouth again, this time, just comfortably sucking him off, just taking in the length you could casually and jerk the rest of his shaft.

He grabs a hold of your head, pushing your pony tail back and tucking the strands that came apart from the vigorous bobbing of your head on his cock. Jaehyun starts to thrust his hips up so you stop moving, your arms on either sides of his hips on the bed, letting him fuck your face at his own pace. When he thrusts to particularly deep, you end up gagging and you pull away, coughing.

Jaehyun gasps in worry, immediately sitting up and cups your face. “Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

You let out a giggle and peck his lips, “it’s ok, love.”

"So now, it’s my turn to please my lady." He grins as he kisses you on the cheek before he maneuvers you to the head of the bed and pushes you down until he was hovering over you and in between your legs. He licks the tips of his fingers and rubs at your clit, making you twitch. He reaches down and slips two of his fingers inside you with no warning, making you gasp. “You’re this wet for me, sweetheart? Well shit.” He grins at you, teasing as his he finds a comfortable paces to fuck you with his fingers.

You close your eyes, reveling in the sensation of his fingers stretching you and rubbing against your spot as you squeeze your breasts. God, he knew just how to make you feel so good, and you couldn’t wait for the main event: his cock but his fingers were doing more than good that you find yourself bucking against his hand as your orgasm comes over you fast, like it was unexpected that you didn’t realize you were cumming until it you started to scream and tremble.

“That was fast,” Jaehyun teases, pulling his fingers out of you slowly, watching your pussy juice stringing as he separates his fingers. He takes the fingers from inside you and shoves it in his mouth and licks it clean. It as a shame you couldn’t see it as you were still basking in the after effects of your orgasm, eyes pinched close. “I didn’t even touch your clit!” He says, giving you a teasing look. “You must’ve waited for this long, huh?”

You grin at him, but still trying to calm yourself down by taking deep breaths. “We haven’t had sex since Jihyo made us stop having sex here and finals was a bitch, Jae. I was stressed!” You close your eyes, clutching your chest dramatically.

Jaehyun laughs at you and kneels in front of you, lifting your hips and pulling you to him. He lifts your hips and settles it on top of his legs. You feel him line his cock to your slit and pushes his head in.

“Wait! I’m not ready yet!” You whimper, using your legs to push yourself off but his grip on your hips was strong and he had already pushed inside you, the whole of his length inside you. Your eyes roll back as his tip presses against your sweet spot but at the same time, the burn of the stretch makes you hiss in pain. He was never an easy size to begin with.

“Relax, babe.” He says gently as he takes a hold of your waist but you see how he has his eyes closed and his mouth agape. “You’re fucking tight.”

Still feeling the stretch, you lift your head and hit his hand on your waist, making him laugh. “You’re an asshole. I’m still sensitive.” You pouted.

“I know, love. Your pussy’s still throbbing.” He gives you a sweet smile and grabs your legs to wrap them around him. He takes his time, keeping his cock inside you while he takes his time into admiring your serene face and running his hands on your skin. “You ok?” He intertwines your fingers and plants kisses on the back of your hand, watching you remain silent with your eyes closed.

You eventually give him a sign but don’t answer him, instead, you smile at him as you squeeze your walls around his cock, making him wince. “Your cock is-AH!”

He starts to move his hips, just grinding do every roll of his hips, his cock hitting your sweet spot. "Ah, shit. You're so fucking tight." He groans as he finally pulls his hips back and drove into me slowly, bottoming out and slamming back in, making you moan at the sweet pressure inside.

You wrap your legs tighter around him as he moved his hips up, hitting your sweet spot at a different angle as he leans down and sucks at your nipples. Fucking Jaehyun wouldn’t be fucking him if he wasn’t sucking on your nipples while he was fucking into you. You keep his head close to you, as if you were holding a baby’s head sucking on its mother’s nipple. Honestly, with the amount of times he was sucking on your nipples, you wouldn’t be surprised if you started lactating out of the blue.

He lifts your legs as he starts slow but deep thrusts and puts both of your legs over his shoulders as he leans down, basically folding you in half. He captures your lips while his hips pick up pace. He kisses the sensitive spots on your neck as he builds up a steady pattern of fucking you, making you eyes roll back in pleasure. He licks the skin from you ear to my neck, making you shiver and buck your hips, easily receiving his hard cock.

He eventually goes into full force and you’re left to nothing but a moaning mess as he drives his hips to yours forcefully and in a pace beyond what you could handle. He was so deep inside you that you could the sweet pressure of his hard cock jabbing your cervix.

You claw at his back and grabbing onto whatever you could, holding on for dear life as he drives into you relentlessly, with his hands lifting up your hips for easier access. "F-fu...fuck! Ah! Soooo goo-...ood! Ah!!"

He pulls out and you groan at the loss of his cock inside you.

"Jaehyun, no," You groan desperately as he smirks at me.

"Patience, love." He smiles and lies on his back, making me straddle him.

Needing no words, you straddle him and slip down his length, releasing a sigh of pleasure at the fullness you’re feeling. You lean down and kiss him and he settles his hands on your ass cheeks, massaging and slapping. You pull away, moving your hips slowly, forward and backward, taking him in deep inside. You lean your head back, moaning from the pleasure.

He leans forward and sucks your left nipple and plays with your nipple with his hands, rolling the hard pebble with his fingers, pulling and squeezing. He groans in pleasure as you tighten your walls around him. He moves to your riģht nipple and sucks, and gives the same treatment as he did with your other nipple.

Jaehyun then pushes you down towards him and holds you tight as he starts thrusting hard and fast from below you. You squeal at the intense, hard pleasure coming in, giving you no room to breathe.

"JAEHYUN!!!!" You scream as you push your hips down to meet his thrusts and take him in any deeper, if it was possible. "FucK! AHH!!" You let myself go and my body becomes limbless at the excessive pleasure. You feel the drool escape your lips as you lean your face on the crook of his neck.

Without effort, he maneuvers you off of him and throws you on the bed then kissing every exposed inch of my skin he could reach. Once he reaches down, he doesn’t hesitate and proceeds to eat you out like a fucking maniac, making you scream and shiver in so much pleasure. There were lots of things Jung Jaehyun did well and one of the top things besides academics, basketball, cooking and fucking, eating you out would be included. And it didn't help that he knew your body like the back of his hand.

"Jaehyun! I'm cummimg!" You scream and before he could react, you were trembling, already in your second orgasm of the day. He never stopped sucking on your clit and started fingering you again, jus jabbing at your sweet spot while you were on the verge of your orgasm. You wanted to keep away but he had your hips on hold. Pretty soon, you felt it coming again and this time, you ended up squirting.

He looked pretty proud of himself after you were left a shivering mess. “There we go, good girl!” He smiles, kissing the back of your hand. “I told you I’d make you squirt, right?” The last time you had sex, knowing it’d be while before you could again, the two of you had rented a room and tried every position you wanted to try out and tried finding out your limits. He had made you squirt then and you both were amazed after seeing it once so he had promised you that he would be making you do it again.

“Jihyo’s gonna be so fucking mad when she gets home…” you trail off, still a bit high from your orgasm. “God, I’m dead. I need to find a new roommate.” You take a deep breathe, “also, I think… I’m gonna pass out.”

Jaehyun laughed, “at least let me cum before you pass out!”

“I fucking hate you right now.” You could feel the slight sheen of sweat on your body, besides from the body liquid you just expelled earlier.

“Excuse me, Ms. Y/N? You were the one that wanted this, remember?”

You wanted to pass out but you were sure Jaehyun wasn't over yet and besides, you always wanted Jaehyun’s cum inside you. It wasn't done until he came inside you. “Fuck me now, come on.” He immediately enters you and starts working his hips in a pace fast and hard.

"Fuck! Slow down!" It was too good that you could feel fresh tears drip down your temple. "Wait!!! Jaehyun" You try to push him away to at least slow him down but he holds you tighter and drives into you harder, constantly pressing against your g-spot. It was honestly like his cock was made for your pussy as he’s always hitting the places inside you that made you see stars.

"Ah, fuck! Your pussy so fucking tight for me!" He exclaims, followed with a plethora of curses as he does a steady pace of strong, deep, fast thrusts. He kisses you and holds tight on your breasts, squeezing them.

"I'm cumming!" You scream as you quickly cum on his cock which triggers his orgasm as well, but he keeps his shallow thrusts until he's emptied his cum all inside of you, filling you a few weeks worth of cum, filling you to the brim that some spill out even though his cock acted as a plug.

He stays inside you as the two of you kiss again, lazily this time, so you both could catch your breaths too. "I love you, y/n." He smiles at you, kissing your chin.

You laugh at his sweetness as you focus on breathing to slow down your fast heartbeat. Was it because of his words or your exhaustion? Or both? But you did know the exhaustion was taking over you. You close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his body against yours. Your ears were blocked and you were still trembling but you weren’t complaining.

Jaehyun knew you so he wasn’t expecting your reply and he already knows your answer anyways. Pretty soon, you quickly fall asleep, surprising him. But it was understandable because he made you spent so he cleaned up after you, wiping your body and your crotch with a warm towel and dressing you in panties and one of the shirts he’s left intentionally after he had cleaned himself up. It was the least he could do.

From Jung Jaehyun | 10:30AM

To Cha Eunwoo

So, what are you willing to do for me not to tell y/n I caught you and Jihyo fucking after ur gf made us stop fucking in their dorm? Send me your most expensive skin, Cha and try to beat me!

3K notes · View notes

the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

Text

A Strange Convergence

Mitch walked past the alley as he had all the others, at first believing it to be empty. He would have continued on in that belief if he had no also struck a match at that very moment, to light a fresh cigarette between his lips. There, deep in the alley, he noticed a slice of pale flesh. The match burned itself down to his fingertips as he stared. Mitch dropped it to the damp ground with a hiss of pain, but his eyes never left that strange, still form. It took him longer than it should to recognize the waifish figure, iridescent moonlight catching on his slender limbs.

Deep shadows cast the alley in darkness. Mitch could hardly make out anything around the boy, that single point of light. There was nothing to see, and yet Mitch found himself stopping to watch. He leaned against the nearest wall so that he would not make too obvious a spectator, backlit by the streetlamps behind. Silver smoke filtered past his lips when he exhaled.

As Mitch watched, he noticed the oddest thing. Stiles’ shadow began to move behind him, a long, twisted thing, writhing as if in unspeakable agony. Yet the boy stood still, his face upturned in supplication. Mitch could not see his eyes, but somehow, he knew that if he could, they would be distant. Like the glass-eyed taxidermy in his uncle’s estate.

Shadows pulled away from the wall, moving with the same fluidity as the move Mitch exhaled. His eyes struggled to focus on the rippling darkness. That liquid absence of light that dew everything in; a starving, ceaseless hunger, consuming all it touched.

Mitch stood frozen with his mountain horror, watching as the shadows reached out to Stiles. It was an impossible sight, there was nothing there, nothing to cast such a sinister image, and yet it was happening right before his eyes. And undeniable, grotesque vision. Stiles’ mouth fell open in a soundless scream and Mitch was helpless to watch as they spooling darkness poured itself into him.

The cigarette burned to nothing between his fingers, the only measure of human time that existed in that alley, suddenly filled with the endless, eternal expanse of void.

Then, just as soon as the shadows had warped, they twisted themselves back into order. A reversal of the entropy surrounding Stiles, filling him, devouring him. Like a marionette with its strings cut the boy collapsed. His limbs fell in a loose tangle, and the spell was broken. Mitch rushed to him.

Already Mitch decided it was some kind of illusion, a trick played by his exhausted mind. Grief over his uncle’s death must have reached deeper than he realized, for his eyes to twist things into such horror. Still, he checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find it sluggishly breathing beneath Stiles’ ivory skin.

***

November 26, 1923

My nightly walks have continued to trouble me. I feel as though I am searching for something, although I do not know what that may be. I find myself walking a strangely familiar path each night, but I am certain I have never walked it before. I haven’t seen these streets since I was a boy; they are as foreign to me as the would be the crowded streets of London.

I feel I am not as along during this excursion as the oft-empty streets would have me believe. There is a… malevolence to the shadows. My own silhouette is alien to me. It responds to my every movement as it should, and yet it is not me. Perhaps it is that my shadow lags behind a second too slow; almost like it must consciously decide to copy me.

Sentient shadows. Not a subject I care to entertain. There is enough occupying my mind as it is. I’ll sound like Hurley before long, and I have no desire to follow his path.

It all comes back to pathways. Those trails we follow through life, forged for us by braver souls. Few seeks to blaze their own way. Fewer still find others to follow in their wake.

For some reason, my path seems to converge with Stiles’ time and again. I find myself inexplicably drawn to him. He has made several appearances of late, although I rarely confront him. Half a dozen times I’ve wanted to shake him and demand an answer: id he him following me, haunting my nights like a specter? Or do I follow him, ignorant of where he leads? Either way, I know not where we are going, only that we seem to be heading there together.

I am… troubled by him.

***

“Such a strange thing.” Mitch traced his fingers over the jagged clay figure, messily sculpted and poorly finished. It was certainly done by a novice; the clay was rough and scratched, not worn smooth by practiced hands. More than that, the geometry was senseless and odd; it made his head hurt to look for too long.

“Do you like it?”

“Christ!” Mitch almost dropped the heavy figure—thought it might be better if he had, to destroy the thing before it could cause him anymore sleepless nights—as he whirled around. Standing just outside the doorway was Stiles, with his big round eyes and his lips downturned into their perpetual moue of discontentment. Mitch set the figure back on its pedestal. As soon as it clicked into place Stiles stepped forward, and Mitch was struck by the sudden impulse to retreat, keep the heavy oak desk between them. He didn’t.

“I made it.” Stiles brushed his finger down one of the arching curves. “Do you know what it is?”

“No.”

“Me neither. It came to me in a dream.” Stiles shuddered and wrapped his arms around himselves, spindly fingers covering the jut of his elbows. “Do you ever have dreams?”

“Sometimes.” Mitch didn’t tell Stiles how more and more, he featured in them. He wondered if Stiles somehow knew anyway.

“Are they good dreams?”

His mind was forced to turn to Stiles; a strange, twisting creature, writhing in his sheets. From fear or pleasure or both, Mitch could never tell. The shadows were too severe over his features to ever fully make out the expression on his face.

“Sometimes,” Mitch answered again, because some of those dreams left him to wake panting and sticky and unable to feel the shame curdling in his belly when desire still ran so hot through his veins. More than one page in his journal was taken with frantic sketches done in the middle of the night, a hollow attempt to commit to paper what Stiles looked like in his dreams. The delicate curve of his breastbone, the rapturous arch of his spine. The open, welcome line of his legs and the soft, plush shape of his lips, always bitten red. Mitch didn’t know what possessed him to immortalize his indiscretions; perhaps if he could not see Stiles in the flesh, he could at least have this crude rendering.

Stiles pulled Mitch out of his mind just as swiftly as he had dredged up those awful imaginings he kept locked away, only to be examined in the dead of night. Mitch realized he was staring too long at Stiles’ lips when he saw them curve into a small, secretive smile. A rare thing.

“My dreams are nightmares,” Stiles said, possible—probably—for the second or third time. “They’re filled with monstrous creatures. They haunt me.” As he spoke Stiles approached, gliding over the floor, until they were almost chest to chest. Only the pedestal crowned with the crude statuette stood between them, little enough distance that Mitch could feel Stiles’ breath ghost against his jaw, second after it left his lungs. Strangely cold. Maybe he should have put the desk between them after all. “Your uncle was very interested in my dreams. He has me tell him about each one, recording them into his little wax cylinders, taking his notes. My draws as well, and my sculptures. Are you interested in them, too, doctor?”

“Yes,” Mitch breathed. There was nothing else for him to say. Anything else would stop Stiles from speaking to him, break this strangely intimate moment between them.

“Maybe I’ll tell you of them, then. Mr. Hurley always wanted to hear about them straight away. While they were fresh in my mind, he said. He even let me stay here for a time, while he conducted his research, holding vigil outside my bedroom at night.” Stiles leaned in a little closer and looked up through his long eyelashes, moistened his lips with his tongue. “Truth be told, I think he would watch me as I slept. Only to note down anything I said, of course. Things I wouldn’t remember come morning. I think that’s would he would have said if I ever caught him.”

“If you thought he was watching you, why did you let him?”

“I liked it,” Stiles said simply. Mischief sparked in his golden eyes, at offs with his deceptive, innocent demeanor. “Knowing he was watching over me made me feel safe. I haven’t been able to sleep since he died; I still feel like something is watching me. Do you think you could help me, doctor?”

Mitch stumbled over nothing. Mistakenly, he tried to catch himself on the thin pedestal and instead overbalanced it. Stiles sculpture crashed onto the ground and broke; too blunt and heavy to shatter, although the delicate, wispy pieces on the edges splintered away. Thich crevasses cleaved apart the heavy core.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Mitch leant down to pick up the pieces, but the damage was done.

“it’s alright.” Stiles tilted his head consideringly. “Looks better this way. More right.” Stiles left without another word, leaving Mitch to stare after him in bewilderment.

“What the hell was that?” Mitch asked the now-empty room. He picked up the largest pieces of the statuette and tried to fit them together again, to see if they could be salvaged. Mitch couldn’t figure out how to align the pieces. Somehow, the hardened clay was distinctly twisted into a new shape, no longer fitting against itself.

Mitch resolved to throw it away and think of it no more.

#cookie writes #stiles stilinski #mitch rapp #stitch #vaguely Lovecraftian AU #inspired by Call of Cthulu #but also there is Void Stiles #I was up all night writing in a fevered haze plz validate me #Mitch has no idea what's going on he just wants to go home to New York #Rhode Island is too fkn weird for him #Hurley was his crazy old uncle obsessed with the occuly #Mitch is a man of Science and Logic and Doesn't Have Time for that #he is a DoctorTM #I was originally gonna make him a lawyer but tbh #I could do some wonderful things with doctor Mitch #wonderful naughty things

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buckthegrump · 5 years

Text

Lifeline - 12 (End)

Lifeline (n): a thing on which someone or something depends or which provides a means of escape from a difficult situation.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 2171

Warnings: fluff, character death,

A/n: i’m sorry

After their quasi date, Y/n almost always had a hand on Bucky. And he didn’t mind, not at all.

It was a rarity that they didn’t share a bed and even more rare when they weren’t entangled in each other when they woke the next morning. Over time, Y/n stopped needing the sound machine, yes she still turned it on because she liked the sounds of nature but it wasn’t a big deal when she forgot to turn it on. There even came the day when she no longer needed a light on.

She also no longer freaked out when people she trusted touched her or if someone accidentally brushed up against her.

Her therapy appointments lessened and as things got better Y/n kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. But then she got cleared to go back on missions as and when the missions didn’t end horribly wrong she started to let herself think that maybe the other shoe dropping would be less of a boot and more of a sandal.

* * *

“We never actually got that date,” Y/n whispered to Bucky one night as she traced shapes on his chest.

“We had that day in the meadow,” he said sleepily.

“That doesn’t count. I didn’t know it was happening.”

“Oh,” Bucky grumbled, “I guess we aren’t together yet since we haven’t gone on a date yet and I, as you know, am an old fashioned gal. You need to at least take me on a date before you seduce me into your bed.”

Bucky started to get up before Y/n pushed him back down.

“Very funny.” Y/n snuggled back into him. “But I want to go on a real date I mean the last date we had planned didn’t even happen because I was kidnapped.”

Bucky hummed. “So what do you suggest we do?”

“Well, tomorrow after our mission, let’s go on a date,” Y/n lifted her head to look at his face.

“What if it doesn’t go well?”

“We’ll go anyway.”

Bucky looked at her for a moment.

“Yeah ok,” he agreed, “but this time we’re going to the restaurant together. None of that meeting there bullshit.”

Y/n chuckled. “Sounds good to me.”

* * *

Y/n was sitting in the jet looking over the scans they had of the building. There were tiny dots that represented everyone on the team. They were going floor by floor trying to find the hostages.

She wasn’t upset that she was stuck in the jet this time, yes she liked being in the action but everyone had their turn stuck at in the jet keeping an eye on things. She had been offering to do it more often since being taken but that was to be expected.

“Barnes,” Y/n spoke into the coms, “there’s a room at the end of the hall on the east side that has heat signatures coming from it.”

“Copy that.” Just a few moments later the sound of a door being kicked in came through the coms followed by a loud cough.

“You ok old man?” Tony asked.

“Yeah, the smell in here is just horrendous and good news,” Bucky said, “hostages have been located.”

“What’s your 20?” Sam asked.

“Sixth-floor south side,” Y/n answered before Bucky could.

“Alright let’s get these people and get out,” Sam ordered.

And they did.

On the jet ride back Bucky sat next to Y/n and drew patterns on her arm. Every once in awhile he’d let out a cough that was aggressive, to say the least.

“Are you ok?” Y/n would ask.

“Yeah I just feel like I have something in my throat,” then he’d smile at her, “I’m ok.”

“Ok.”

* * *

It was the same restaurant from the first time and Bucky kept talking to a server named Ben who would give Y/n the stink eye until Bucky said that she had a legitimate reason for not showing up the first time.

“Wow, he really hates me,” Y/n joked.

“Yeah well, apparently I made an impression.”

“Did you leave him a big tip?” Y/n took a sip of her water.

“Hell yeah. But it’s fine, it was Stark’s money anyway.” Bucky shrugged and Y/n laughed at him.

They talked until their food came and it seemed like Bucky always had some sort of story that he hadn’t told anyone yet about Steve being a little punk back in the day. Y/n told him a story about Natasha that Y/n had sworn to take to the grave but she made Bucky swear to never tell anyone, he did. But Y/n had a feeling that it would come up at some point. Probably at their wedding.

The thought of marrying Bucky was exhilarating and terrifying. Terrifying because she shouldn’t even be thinking about marrying him this early. Should she?

She looked down at her dinner plate and played around with her unfinished food.

“You went quiet,” Bucky said.

Y/n looked up at him realizing that she’d been in the middle of a sentence when she’d stopped talking.

“Yeah, I just -” she paused and looked at Bucky. Really looked at him. And before she could stop herself the words came tumbling out of her mouth, right in the middle of him taking a drink of water. “I’d like to marry you.”

Bucky choked on his water.

“I’m sorry,” she rushed. “And I’m not saying that it has to happen any time soon or at all. I’m just saying that if you want to sometime down the road I could see myself marrying you. But if that’s not really your thing I get it and I can just never speak of this ever again. Actually, ya know what? Let’s never speak of this again. I mean, damn, Y/n this is your first date with him calm down -”

“Y/n!” Bucky cut her off. “I’d liked to marry you too. Whenever you’re ready, I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Well, I’m not letting you go anytime soon.”

They sat there for a minute and smiled at each other completely silent. Bucky opened his mouth to say something but Y/n’s phone started ringing obnoxiously. She looked at the caller ID normally she’d just send it to voicemail but the name told her not to do that.

“It’s Sam,” she told Bucky, “It could be important.”

She looked at him and he nodded so she answered.

“Sam, you know I’m on a date right?” She hoped that her teasing manner would make this phone call less scary but when Sam spoke those hopes flew out the window.

“You and Bucky need to get back here now,” Sam urged.

“Why what’s wrong?” Y/n asked as she waved over their server who came. “Can we get the check, please?”

Ben nodded and went to get it.

“The hostages were exposed to a chemical and we need to check the both of you out.”

Y/n looked over at Bucky who began coughing again, thinking about it, he hadn’t really stopped all day.

“We’ll be there soon.” Y/n hung up the phone and grabbed the card handing it to Ben and asked him to be quick an emergency came up.

Ben was back as quickly as he’d gone and Bucky followed Y/n as she rushed out of the restaurant.

“What happened?” Bucky asked as they walked to the car.

“We have to get back, there’s a possibility we’ve been exposed to something.”

“What?”

They got in the car and Bucky started driving as quickly as he could.

“Sam didn’t say but by the tone in his voice -” Y/n looked over at him, “It sounded bad Bucky.”

* * *

Y/n sat on the exam table and listened to her test results.

“You’re all clear,” Dr. Cho said turning off the tablet and handing her a bottle with three pills in it, “take these over the next three days just to be sure but you’re out of the woods.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cho.” Y/n hopped off the table. “Do you know where Bucky is?”

“Y/n,” Sam called from behind her. She turned around and instantly wished she hadn’t. He looked defeated like he’d drawn the short straw. “He’s over here.”

Y/n followed Sam to a different room in the med-bay where a different doctor told her. Once the words ‘I’m sorry’ came out of the doctor’s mouth she didn’t hear what they said. But the look on the doctor’s face told her everything she needed to know.

“You can go be with him,” was the next thing she heard and Sam opened the door for her.

Bucky laid in the bed he looked so small. He looked over at Y/n and smiled weakly.

“You were fine an hour ago,” she whispered.

“Yeah well,” Bucky said and it broke Y/n’s heart. “Hey, come here.”

She walked over and stood next to his bed. He pulled her closer and she sat on the bed facing him. The beeping of the heart monitor was driving her crazy so she turned the volume down so it was an easily ignored background noise.

“Hey,” Bucky reached up and wiped a tear away from her cheek. She hadn’t realized she’d started crying. “So I was thinking, for our next date we do a day trip to coney island or something.”

“Or we could go bowling,” Y/n sniffled. “Or laser tag. I think you’d get a kick out of laser tag.”

“I’ve never been,” Bucky said getting a little choked up.

“Then I’ll definitely kick your ass.” Y/n looked away unable to look at his face.

“Y/n,” he said and used his fingers to gently turn her head to face him again.

“I would’ve married you tomorrow,” Y/n admitted, “I’m pissed that I don’t get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“But I got to spend mine with you.”

He held her hand and stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

“I have no idea what I’m going to do,” Y/n sobbed.

“Well, you and I are going to go play laser tag. And I’m going to kick your ass.”

Y/n tried to chuckle but it didn’t sound like one. “You couldn’t if you tried old man.”

“I’m an ex-assassin ya know.”

“I’d still own your ass.”

“I love you,” he said, “I know we never really said that to each other but I do. Much more than I ever thought possible.”

“I love you more.”

“Not possible.” He coughed once and before Y/n thought about it she leaned down and kissed him.

When she pulled away she put her head against his forehead in a way it reminded her of their first kiss. Now the sobs were continuous and she couldn’t control them.

“You, my darling, are much stronger than you think you are,” his breath fanned over her face, “I am not the end of your story. But I am so happy you’re the end of mine.”

“James -”

Bucky’d never heard her call him that before and god did he love it. He didn’t think he’d ever love hearing his given name from anyone’s lips.

“Promise me you’ll take your time.” Y/n nodded at his request and he let out one last sigh.

Very faintly she could hear the heart monitor’s beeps turn to one continuous beep as his lifeline went flat.

* * *

Y/n woke up in her bed. She didn’t know how she got there or when she’d fallen asleep. What she did know was that when she reached for Bucky he wasn’t there. Still half asleep she sat up in bed.

“Bucky?” She called out to him expecting him to be in the bathroom or something.

“Y/n.”

She whipped her head around to find Sam sitting in the chair next to the bed. And it all came rushing back to her. She broke down in sobs pulling her knees to her chest.

“Hey,” Sam said and sat next to her. Y/n wrapped her arms around him and taking her initiation as invitation he followed her lead.

“What-” she paused to find her voice again, “What are you doing in here?”

“Barnes said that you didn’t like to wake up in a dark room alone and I didn’t know how long you’d stay asleep.”

Y/n wanted to smile at that but she couldn’t. Instead, she let out a heart-wrenching sob and let Sam rock with her as she cried.

“What do we do now?” Sam asked.

Y/n didn’t have an answer, she wished she did. She wished she could say something that would put him at ease even for just a moment but she couldn’t. The only thing she knew for sure was that Bucky’d been her lifeline for so long, and because of the promise she’d made to him, she’d find a new one.

#Bucky Barnes x Reader #Bucky Barnes Fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #death tw #mentions of death

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swellwriting · 5 years

Text

LOVER 4/18

- THE MAN -

Bucky x Reader/ The Winter Soldier x Reader

A/N: You do not need to be familiar with the song/ Album to read this!!!

Word Count: 2.3k Part 3 Series Masterlist Part 5

Warning: Mentions of injury and blood on the wrists that may be triggering to some. (though not intentionally, they are self-inflicted...handcuffs suck.) Also Sexual references but nothing major. The usual violence.

Summary: “You were tired of being handcuffed to a bed not allowed to leave, you hated being denied drugs and then sedated for hours on end. You wanted to have control again.”

Nat told Tony to stop holding back on your meds, and of course, he listened. Not exactly in the way she intended it to be done though. They kept you heavily sedated, unconscious for an entire day after your first “session” with Wanda.

When you finally came to you felt so groggy, you knew something was wrong. You ate the cold food placed beside your bed and decided then and there that you were going to put an end to these games, whatever Tony was playing with you. And if this meant never seeing Winter or Bucky again, you didn’t care. You were tired of being handcuffed to a bed and not allowed to leave, you hated being denied drugs and then sedated for hours on end. You wanted to have control again.

Before you were too weak to break out of your chains, but the poison has completely run its course so you take your bandage off to see your wound almost completely healed, there is a dark bruising around it and red angry lines in your skin. It will leave a scar but it fits in fine with all the others so you don't really care.

You push your bed tray onto the floor and twist the chains around your hands gripping them roughly and yanking hard on them. The handcuffs don't come free but you rip the metal bars on the sides of the hospital bed clean off, great.

You push your blankets down and all the metal junk clanks together like you’re a damn human wind chime. You push your feet against one of the metal bars and pull your hand away, the cuff digs into the skin of your wrist cutting the sides open and you try to ignore the pain since you can feel the chain weakening and then it snaps, metal clangs to the floor and you look up to see if anyone heard it and is coming.

If the nurse did hear she definitely would be running the opposite direction anyway.

You repeat your actions, place your feet on the other bar, push and pull, your other wrist gets cut open but you don't stop, you are so close, snap! The handcuffs and the bit of chain that was connecting them to the bed hang from your wrists but you are free, you feel free. As if the chains were weighing you down you feel light, at ease and it’s great, but you didn’t think this through.

What now? You look around the room and then get up and walk down the hall.

“I just don’t trust her, she seems wrong. Not that you can ever really trust a woman,” Tony jokes as him Sam and Steve are standing in the hallway outside the medical ward.

“So if I was a man, you could trust me?” You ask as you lean against the wall, the chains and cuffs hang broken from your wrists covered in blood from the cuts they left, blood drips down your arm and onto the floor where you riped your IV out.

“Not particularly,” Tony says and looks you down head to toe admiring your handiwork. “I take it you’re feeling better, why don't you go back and lie down,” he says and it’s so condescending you can’t help the eye roll that comes by instinct.

“I'm tired of being told what to do, of being held a prisoner even though I have done nothing wrong.” You argue.

“You say that with a lot of confidence,” Sams asks, knowing your ledger is just as red as Bucky and Nats.

“I've never done anything wrong to you guys.”

“Spring!” Wanda says, walking into the hallway seemingly the only person concerned about your bloody hands and the trail on the floor behind you, “what did you do?”

You hold up your bloody hands and shrug, aware that there wasn’t really any explaining you could do. Bruce walks down the hallways and is quick to act.

“What the f-,” he stops and wraps his hands around your wrists gently, stopping the blood flow and then walks you backwards down the hallway back to your room, glaring at Tony the entire way. This was his fault in Bruce’s eyes, he told Tony that the handcuffs should have been removed days ago.

Bruce sits you down and Wanda removes the handcuffs with her powers and you thank her, but she isn’t happy with what you’ve done and you can tell on her face.

Bruce starts cleaning the wounds and stitching you up.

“I'm sure you don’t want to “talk” today,” Wanda asks, still unsure of what to call this thing you are doing, this treatment?

“No we can, I'm fine, was just tired of those cuffs, we can start now if you’d like.” You try to sound not so upset but you’re so tired of being treated the way you have been, of being told what to do, of being talked down to and treated differently. You remember the first time Hydra tried to treat you differently than Winter, and you remember the fit you threw to make sure it never happened again.

It’s what your mind goes to as you close your eyes, Wanda’s red glowing hands the last thing you see before the memories start like pressing a play button.

“Asset, you can’t go on this mission, It’s one for The Winter Soldier only, it’s too high stakes and you aren’t ready.” An unnamed officer explains to you as if you are too stupid to understand him. You are stood in one of the labs, having your blood drawn by a lab assistant to your left who seems nervous, looking over your face to see a reaction to being told no.

“Did Winter say that?” You ask.

“No, I did.” Strucker, the Head of your Hydra base among many others, said sternly and you went quiet. “You aren't as strong as him, you aren't as quick or skilled yet, we can’t afford to let this mission fail because we let some girl handle it.”

And something about the way he says that makes your blood boil with rage, like a kettle boiling over you are unable to contain your inner thoughts.

“So If I was a man I could go on the mission. If I was a big strong man I could handle this simple intel mission on my own. I'm so sick of being built up to be this big weapon for Hydra, your big threat only for you to ridicule me and limit me to missions that require seduction and tight dresses as if I couldn’t slit a man’s throat with pants on!”

The unnamed officer lets out a laugh and you give him a deadly glare before looking back to Strucker. He ignores you and you continue, you’ve said too much to take it back so you might as well vent.

“I'm so sick of running as fast as I can and trying to learn everything as fast as I can, perfecting my skills, proving I can be better than Winter in some things. Now I’m left to wonder If I could be Hydra’s number 1 soldier if only I was a man since that seems to be all that’s holding me back!” You yell which startles the lab assistant who is quickly finishing up taking your blood sample, removing the needle and then backing away to the safety of his desk.

“Perhaps you’d be number one if you weren’t sleeping with your coworkers,” the officer jokes, clearly referring to you and Winter even if they aren't certain of what’s going on.

“Yes because that would be a total one-sided thing, I should be punished for seducing him, yet he shouldn’t get reprimanded at all for fucking me as if it would be a one-person job that I’m doing all by myself!” You say with vigour, hatred laced in your voice for the officer. You don't know his name but he is quickly becoming the person you hate most, and that says a lot since you are in a room with Strucker.

“Well if it is a two-man job you just let me know.” The officer says and it would sound like a joke but the look in his eyes tells you it’s everything but, a threat he wishes he could hold up to. He leans in close as he unties the rubber band from your arm, touching your skin with grabby fingers, putting his face all too close to yours.

Perhaps it’s because you know they see you as just a woman who can’t control her emotions, they paint you up to be so bad, a hostile and reckless killing machine but they don't trust you. So in your mind, it’s okay that you’re mad, that you’re fed up and you’ve had enough.

You want to be taken seriously but everything that’s been wired into your brain says there is only one way to show that. So before he can even finish laughing to himself at his own joke, or before he can imagine fucking you in his head you put an end to his thoughts altogether. You close the distance between you in seconds and tackle him to the ground.

“Oh if I was a man, then id be The Man.” You say as you spit in his face. Strucker, the head of Hydra stands there and watches, not stopping you, wanting to see the weapon he created in action. You grab your knife from your thigh holster and slit his throat wide open deep. There’s so much blood that your hand is dripping wet before you pull it away. There is blood splattered on your face and in your hair, your knees are in the puddle that’s quickly growing and u smudge it across the floor and get up.

“Make sure your officers know their place, I am not below them. Number 2 on your list is still miles above them, I am no one’s toy or object. I do my job and I do it well, I deserve their respect!” You say with wild eyes, covered in blood, yet you don’t scare Strucker in the least.

“I’ll make sure they are aware, Asset Number 2,” he says your given name so boldly, to remind you that you may be no object of the officers, but you are his object, his asset and he is Hydra.

Just then Winter walks in completely confused by the scene in front of him, but he has to act like he doesn't care too much. He can’t let them know he is really in love with you. Sure they may be onto the fact that something is going on, especially after what the now dead and forever nameless officer said to you.

There is no harm in sexual relations between their top two soldiers. They aren't about to try to actively stop you, but they aren't going to openly allow it either. Soldiers, Assets they think you have no feelings, so there no harm in acting on basic human needs right? Who else did they think Winter would want to sleep with? Some lowly officer? A lab assistant? No, of course not, he chose the closest thing to his equal, or that’s how they see it anyway.

You walk past Winter without a word, you aren't mad at him. You want nothing more than to fall into his arms and cry and complain but you can’t do that here, can’t show weakness. So you walk down the hallway with your head held high. The officers and lab rats stare as you pass them, a bloody smeared smile on your face daring them to test you, showing them what happens when they cross a line with you.

Earning your respect, or maybe just fear.

“So what do you think, Soldier?” Strucker asks Winter, seemingly calm and uncaring to the whole event that just occurred.

“I'm not sure what you mean Sir?” Winter replies, standing up straight, monotone voice.

“I'm sure you can deduct what happened here, the officer on the floor pushed the other asset a little too far, made her mad and this is how she reacted. What do you think?”

“I think you made her into a weapon first, and then a soldier after. Which I don't think is a problem, just needs to be handled differently, and certainly, with a level of respect I had seen her not getting in the past.” Bucky answers clearly, trying to give a well-thought-out answer.

“I think you’re right,” Strucker says with a sickening smile as he picks up a phone and then calls some officers to the room to clean up the bloody mess.

Winter can’t help but smile inside, he should be angry that someone pushed you this far but he’s glad to know you’re standing up for yourself. He feels like he doesn't have to worry as much.

“That was nothing like what you showed me the other day,” Wanda says with wide eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, it’s just where my mind brought me.”

“I've seen worse, don't worry about me.”

Bruce is patching up your wrists still, eyes wide as he doesn't look up at you.

“Sorry Bruce, I should have waited until you were further away I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay. Now I know not to piss you off,” he jokes, looking up at you with a lopsided smile.

“We have to agree not to piss each other off I guess?” You joke back and he chuckles, finishing patching you up.

Tony had left the floor before the memory started, so it wasn’t accidentally projected into his mind but Steve and Sam were still down the hall, just close enough to have to witness that.

“You were harsh earlier,” Steve says, concerned.

“Harsh? I was right and we just saw that. She’s not innocent!” Same argues.

“Are any of us really?”

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Part 5

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drakewalkerfantasy · 5 years

Text

Consequences: Chapter 1

Synopsis: Two people from two different worlds, two complete strangers come together for a night of solace from their moment of anger and hurt. By consequence, they were brought together and their fates intertwined. What will happen when the reality of the one night’s actions filled with lust and anger will hit them both? What will happen with two complete strangers who seem to have nothing in common? Or do they have more in common than they thought?

Words: 2906

Authors notes: Some chapters maybe NSFW or have a mature content

Beckett x TE MC (Maeve)

**Warnings: This chapter has mature content. Not NSFW but things got spicy. Alcohol consumption, anger, bad decisions. *

This was the last's Friday night before his studies would begin and he was beyond excited to start his new academic journey in the medical field. The only thing that overshadowed his excitement was the fact that the place that he found for the living, was already occupied, which meant that he would have a roommate, something that he never wanted to have. The main reason why no matter how hard his best friend tried to convince him to rent a house together, he did not succumb to his persuasion. Preferring solitude instead to the company. And as a result got himself in a situation in which he was now, with the person he even never met.

He huffed, driving toward the lonely standing house, someone’s car already parked there. He looked around, leaving his car on a free space. Getting out of his SUV, Beckett went toward the house. When he got inside, he noticed still packed boxes in the hall, but he didn’t hear or see anyone else. He walked further into the house, entering a living room he will be forced to share with someone else. He looked around the neat and cozy room, two armchairs were standing opposite fireplace, the massive bookcase was located along one of the walls. He was about to go and check the kitchen when he heard his phone calling. Taking it out, he checked the Caller’s ID before answering the call, listening for a cheerful voice, coming from his mobile.

“Morning to you too, Zephyr,” replied Beckett, putting his keys into the bowl.

“Hey, Beckster, did you finally got to your place? Did you settle already? Who is your new roommate?” questioned Zeph excitedly, not letting Beckett say anything until ending his questioning.

“You know I hate it when you call me that. And yes, I already got to my new place but had no chance to settle, yet. Answering your last question, I have no idea who my new roommate is as I can see only unopened boxes there. But I do hope that the person I share this place with is someone decent and will not interrupt my study. Although based on the fact that instead of unpacking, this roommate just left… I guess I can just forget all my hopes.”

“Yes, yes… About your study, boy you need to unwind for the last time before your study starts…,” started Zeph before being interrupted by Beckett.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was invited to the party, and you are coming with me. So this is Party tiiiiiiiime….” excitedly screamed Zeph making Beckett frown moving his phone a bit further from his ear.

“Never," cut Beckett. "you know I hate parties.”

“Yes, but you also know I will not give up until you say yes. So let’s make it easy for both of us.” laughed Zeph.

“I need to unpack my stuff, and it may take the whole day. Also, I need to go to the library to pick up some books for my studies as tomorrow the library will be closed. So this time you will need somehow to manage this on your own.”

“If these are the only reasons then…. partyyyyy."

"I told you, I will not have...," tried to say, Beckett.

"I will be there in twenty minutes and will help you unpack, and then we will pick up your books before crashing this party.”

“You will not give up… right?”

“My boy, you should know by now that never.”

“Good…” sigh Beckett exasperated looking at his watch. “be here in twenty minutes, but I will leave a party before 10 pm. Understood?”

“See you in twenty minutes,” replied Zeph, ending the call.

Almost an hour later Beckett finally heard a knock on the door. Grudgingly he opened it letting his best friend inside the house.

“You are late,” stated Beckett holding one of the boxes in his hands.

“Sorry, I met my new neighbors and they needed help with some boxes,” shrugged Zeph nonchalantly passing by Beckett feeling not even the slightest remorse in his delay.

Another hour later and unloading a bunch of boxes that Beckett brought with him, they finally started to unpack them. And in another three hours, they were finally done. All the stuff that Beckett took with him were put neatly to their places. The bookshelf in the living room stocked with new books he brought, and a picture of him and his sister put above fireplace. They both looked in satisfaction around the room putting the last boxes into the storage place. Zeph patted Beckett on the back before going toward the door.

“So now, when we finally finished with unpacking,” started Zeph, his eyes widening, when he noticed how his friend displeasingly looked on his new roommate’s still packed boxes. Quickly he marched back to Beckett grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the door, letting him only grab his keys on the way out. “Even don’t you dare think about this. You are NOT touching your roomies' stuff. Now…. let’s go to this place, where you need to be quiet and bore yourself to death or we will be late to the partyyyyyyyy.”

“Can you stop calling it that. And the library can be fun when you know what you are looking for,” notes Beckett before they both exit the house, shutting the door behind.

This was already three o’clock when they rushed toward the library, trying to get on time before it will be closed. When Beckett was about to round the corner, he felt someone bumping straight into him. The heavy books the person was carrying fell to the ground hitting painfully Beckett’s foot. Making him swear under his breath, looking at the person in front of him.

“Haven’t you ever been taught that you need to look where you are going?” snorted annoyed Beckett, crouching in front of the girl and helping her to collect scattered books. “Next time, watch where you are going,” said he with a scowl on his face, shoving the books into her arms before strolling into the library with Zeph following him, leaving startled stranger behind.

“What a jerk,” mumbled girl, standing up with the help of her friends.

“But he is a nice looking jerk,” whistled athletic-looking guy, watching after Beckett. “Isn’t he, Shreya?”

“Ohhhh, yes, Griff. He is yummy, and that ass,” moaned Shreya turning to face her friend. “And did you see his lips? Maeve, if I would bump into him... he wouldn't leave... so easily.”

“You two are just ridiculous, and I hate you,” groaned Maeve, covering her face. “Can you think of anything, but sex?”

Shreya and Griffin shared an incredulous look, before shaking their heads answering in unison.

“Nope… never… And you love us, girl.”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend?” frowned Maeve, looking straight at Griffin.

“Yes, I do. And this is why I don’t try to get the boy myself. Also, because he is straight,” shrugged off Griffin.

“And how exactly do you know that?” questioned Maeve rolling her eyes.

“Did you seen the way he looked at you?” asked Griffin, sharing another look with Shreya, the plan already building in their heads.

“Okay, you two... drop it. I know this look, and you will not try to set me up with him. He looked at me the same way as any other reach boy in town. He is a jerk and a snob. And I'm not interested also you know I have a lot on my place right now. So stop even thinking about this. Be thankful I even agreed to go to this party with you. And Griffin, don’t forget that you promised to do our dance. We need to practice.”

“Don’t worry. I remember. I always up to show my new moves,” he said, wiggling his brows.

“Okay, then let’s go. You know I need to change first and unpack my boxes before my roommate will arrive, what you also promised to do with me.” reminded Maeve, and they went to her house, laughing on their way there.

By the time clock strike seven, Beckett went into a club hosting a party, scowling at the number of people there.

“Zeph, tell me once again, why exactly I agreed to go with you?” said Beckett in a loud voice, while trying to get through the crowd and not to lose his overexcited friend from the view.

When they finally got inside, he looked around the floor, his attention immediately attracted to a dancing couple in the middle of the dance floor. Both moving as a whole to the sounds of Latin Music. The sensual dance attracting the drunken crowd closer to them, creating a commotion on the dance floor from enthusiastic screams and whistles. His brows furrowed instantly when he recognizes the same pretty blond girl he met earlier today. And he felt how his gaze riveted to her, watching her every move, unable to tear his gaze away. He watched how the guy led her into a low dip. His hand shifted to the small of her back when another traveled along her neck caressing her body as if they were in the confidentiality of the bedroom. He slowly reached for her knee making her stretch out her leg. A beautiful red dress flowing around her body, dancing around her petit frame like a flame. At some point during the dance, she looked straight into his eyes, and he felt as if falling under her spell. Her soft hazel eyes were burning with fire alighting something unexplored inside of him. He could feel how his heart sped up beating as never before, and his breath got elevated, from the beats of sultry music and the way her body moved in another man’s arms. Waves of golden hair refracted the lights of the club, and she moved, holding his gaze as though burning him alive from the inside. As if under the spell, Beckett started to move closer to the dancers not even realizing it until a buzzing of his mobile phone broke him out of his daze. It seemed that eternity had passed when in reality it was only a splitting second, second that he will be not able to get out of his mind. He could feel the pounding of his heart inside his chest and he blinked noticing a familiar caller ID. Without another delay, he went outside of the club to take a call, not even sparing another glance to the dance floor.

“Good evening, mother,” said he taking a call. “Sorry, I…,” started he, interrupted by his mother’s voice “No mother, I didn’t… I’m with Zeph… Yes, he is still my friend,” replied Beckett listening to his mother. “Mother, no I still plan to study Medicine and not a business,” said he, annoyed by yet another remark from his mother. “MOTHER,” shouted he losing control for a split second, before taking a deep calming breath. “This is my life, and I have all the right to decide what I want. Look what you have done to Katrina? Isn't it enough...,” exasperatedly said he, only to be shut up by his mother once again. “Yes, mother,” mumbled he, feeling how his blood started to boil, wanting nothing more than to get drunk, to forget about his family at least once. “No, I will not change my mind,” said he, ending the phone call abruptly. He shoved the phone back in the pocket of his dark blue jeans moving back into the club, walking toward the bar. The music has changed to some sultry beats, and when he looked on the dance floor his eyes landed on the same tantalizing stranger who was in the middle of the argument. He could see how some man grabbed her hand, but she jerked it from him and stormed toward the exit.

He huffed, downing one drink after another, not paying attention to what he was drinking, his eyes dropping back to the bar in front of him. His thoughts involuntarily returning to the girl, but he stubbornly pushed them away. Frustrated and angry by the fact he couldn’t get her out of his head. Hurt and angry by the fact his mother managed to get to him once again.

By the time he was done and ready to leave the club, he was more than tipsy, and the anger boiling inside him became only bigger. Beckett rose abruptly, almost tripping over his feet. He looked around, searching for Zeph, but couldn’t find him, so he typed him a quick message letting him know that he about to head back to his place. When he was just about to exit the club, he felt someone bump straight into him. His arms instinctively wrapped around the person’s shoulders, preventing them both from the fall.

“Don’t you ever look where you are going,” groaned Beckett angrily, after realizing that this was the same girl he ran into earlier. The same girl, which he couldn’t get out of his mind after watching her dance. The intensified anger coursing through him.

“Don’t you?” parried she as angrily, throwing his hands from her shoulders, taking a step back.

“I watched,” he snapped, taking a step forward, looming over her. Their eyes locked onto each other.

“Funny thing! As this is already a second time you run into me. So now if you excuse me I need to go,” snapped Maeve, abruptly turning around. Swaying a little, she was ready to leave before Beckett firmly grabbed her hand, turning her to face him. Their lips were just a breath away, and their breathing elevated from the anger seethed in both of them. “For Christ's sake, what is your problem!” cried Maeve, feeling his body firmly pressing into hers. His hand letting go of her, and his fingers painfully digging into her hips. They both glared onto each other, breathing the same air, feeling how the electricity crackling between them. Their eyes dropped to each other’s lips simultaneously, and before they both could realize it they moved toward each other. And their lips met in a passionate hungry kiss intensified by their anger, while their minds switched off, giving way to lust. Both intoxicated by the amount of alcohol they consumed and the blind fury they felt at that moment. Their kisses grew hungrier and rougher, meeting in a bruising kiss, their hands exploring each other bodies not able to break contact.

“Your or mine place,” panted Maeve, feeling the desire building inside her from the way his body was pressing her into the wall. Feeling his hardening member against her abdomen. She hooked her leg around his hip, his hand traveling up under her dress, along her thigh, toward her soaking center. She groaned when his fingers grazed the dampened material, dragging his finger over her panties.

“Yours,” groaned he, feeling how wet she was already, feeling how painfully hard he became. “I have a roommate,” mumbled he, cutting out anything, that she was about to say with the kiss. The mix of alcohol, lust, and anger clouded their minds and they stumbling went toward the exit, catching a taxi. He couldn’t make what address she gave to the driver, not even caring how far this place was from his. The only thing he cared at that moment was to get to the bed with this girl and fuck her senselessly, forgetting everything about his mother and the pain she caused to both her children. Not even caring, why this girl on his arms is willing to jump into the bed with a complete stranger.

It took them twenty-five minutes of the ride to get to Maeve’s place. All the way, they were on each other. Kissing, caressing and touching. Doing things, they would never do sober, with the person they just met. When they got to her place, he pulled her out of the car, lifting her so her legs were wrapped around his waist. Without even looking around they stumbled toward the house kissing hungrily. He pinned her against the front door, his kisses growing more impatient when she struggled to open the front door. His teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck biting her lightly eliciting a hoarse moan from her lips, before the door finally gave way, letting them in.

When inside he turned them around pressing her firmly to the opposite wall. His mouth moving along her neck and ear, the air between them crackling with electricity. Each lick and suck of his lips, each bite on her skin made her moan louder and more desperate, and he silenced them with his lips, crushing them on hers. Her legs tightened around his waist even more, bringing him closer to her, grinding against his throbbing member. He groaned stumbling toward the stair breaking their kiss just for a second, their eyes meeting, filled with something more than raw anger and lust they felt before. When he starts to speak his voice is husky and breathless, and his eyes burning deep into hers with an intensity she never knew existed.

“Where?” the only word he mastered to say, his hands rested under her ass, already halfway upstairs, taking two steps in the time. Their lips moving in unison, stumbling through the door into the room she pointed, shutting the door behind them with a loud thud.

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