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wherenymphsroam · 1 month

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don’t say it’s unholy, if I let you come hold me (pt 1)

⟡ -- leon finds you drowning your grief in the back of a bar just outside of town. but don't worry, he won't blow your cover.

w/c: 2.1k

warnings: themes of coping with grief and depression, implied underage drinking and unhealthy coping mechanisms, vendetta leon, leon is just a wee bit morally grey here just due to the point in his life this is staged during, no sex but explicit language, leon is readers dad's coworker/friend, angst - eventual sex

a/n: okay, I've been sitting on this baby for a hot minute just because of how self indulgent it is iaqhdsiuwsjih. I wanted to make this longer before I released it, but I think I'm going to just continue this in parts (and even then, don't hold me to that lol judgwiuhd !!). again, please heed warnings, and if you are uncomfortable with any themes presented, please just don't read!

playlist: unholy (hey violet), disconnect (she wants revenge), discipline (nine inch nails), paralyzer (finger eleven)

You shouldn’t be here.

By all legal and ethical means, morality aside, you should be at the library, studying for a final you know damn well you won’t be passing. Or better yet, at home. Maybe poured over a mug of tea, that blend your mom has made you since you were a kid. Some shitty romcom playing in the background, ignored as you doze off surrounded by papers, scattered around the dining table like any other honorable, dutiful college student. Not some… dingy, shithole bar outside the parameters of your hometown.

(One you know your dad doesn’t frequent with colleagues. One you know is just outside the radius of people that would see you here, know you enough to know you shouldn’t be here.)

Maybe you would be back home right now, studying until you felt like your brain was going to melt out of your ears, if not for what happened. The “would’ve�� “could’ve” and “should’ve”s are stacked high in your brain, like a mountain of now unattainable possibilities laid bare, slain by the events of recent nights. Something so chilling, so bone shattering and brain dissolving you just can’t manage to wrap your head around it.

‘Shock’, right?

That was the operative term for the numbness that has recently buzzed dully in your limbs, the heaviness of your own weight whenever you roll out of bed every day. The term itself is thrown around so flippantly, so easily outside the walls of a hospital, a clinic. General medical common knowledge be damned, everyone knows what shock is.

'Shock' is being betrayed by your child who marries someone of the same gender, rendering you and your paper thin beliefs meaningless. Generations passed down worth of indoctrination gone moot by one, unholy union. It’s coming home and finding your husband in bed with another woman, that blonde bitch at his front desk. The one he told you not to worry about? Yeah, that one.

It’s the unspeakable, the unimaginable striking. It’s blinding, horrid in how it leaves you.. Empty. You’re compelled to apologize for its effects on your nervous system.

Sorry guys, I promise I’m sad. I know I don’t look it, I’m taking it out on all this- shit lying around. I’ve been meaning to throw this out for ages you know. Guess I finally have a reason now, huh? No, I don’t know how much sleep I’ve gotten the past week, it’s probably fine. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. That’ll make me feel worse. Now, if you would, let me go finish my manic episode in peace, will you-?

Could you blame this too as to why you finally dug out that fake ID your friends coerced you into agreeing to?

This wasn’t like you, not one bit. I mean, really, sitting in the back of some gnarly bar, surrounded with the sorts of people Daddy always warned you about? The sorts of people that only came out after dark, that hung around till dawn when they would then go back to dwell in whatever crevice of the city they called home until dusk? Maybe this was moms genes catching up with you – the predisposed ones you always knew would come to bite you in the ass. Maybe you should go check your eyes, don’t people's pupils dilate when they’re manic? “Crazy eyes'' those people on Tiktok would call them, right?

“Unwidin’, huh?”

His voice calls through the air between you like he might’ve well been standing yards away. It takes you a moment longer than maybe appropriate to track his distance, his place at your side at the bartop. Glancing over, you first get a look at his hand, gesturing to the drink in front of you, the cigarette dangling between your fingers. The one that was currently beginning to slip in your weakened grip, speaking of.

They’re long, nimble. Broad hands, worn at the tips, smooth along the meat of his palms. Even under the hazy atmosphere surrounding you, you can make out the glint of the watch up his sleeve – probably expensive, if the quality of the leather of his jacket sleeve has anything to say about it. Look at you. Even buzzed like this, you were spotting the finer details. A daddy’s girl with daddy’s tolerance.

Despite yourself, you nod numbly, head heavy on the bracket of your neck. A sign directly arguing with the idea of your tolerance – or rather, lack thereof – but it can't be as noticeable as your brain is attempting to trick you into believing, right?

Leon settles into the stool next to you, and you don’t so much as cast him a proper glance. Maybe that’s why he finds himself sitting down. You looked out of place, like a damn kicked puppy with your head drowning in a few shots worth in the back of this bar. It was a wonder no one else had approached you up till this point, especially given the time of night. It was hard not to feel like your guardian angel.

“We both know this ain’t the healthiest way to do it.” He says as he flags the bartender down.

Touche, mystery man.

Well, alright. Technically you knew the guy. You vaguely recognized him as one of Dad’s colleagues through the haze of your buzz. It was too sweet to interrupt, you find yourself completely unfazed in the face of the inevitable consequences that would come from your fathers colleague finding you here.

If anything, you couldn’t complain.

His voice was nice. Beyond “nice” actually. If you were any more wasted, you’d take him for a certain type of actor. More specifically, the ones you listen to late at night. The ones that speak to you behind pseudonyms and expensive microphones, nestled into crevices of the internet any mentally stable person wouldn’t dream of wandering into.

You know better than to entertain that thought for more than a few seconds, even despite the dregs of nicotine floating through your blood coaxing you towards such a mental image.

Finally, you brave a glance over your shoulder at him. He’s pretty. Real pretty. How are you only just noticing how sharp his eyes are? They look darker under this bar's lighting, that typically professional, almost playful glint in his gaze nowhere to be found. It had been a few years since you’d last seen him… maybe it was age finally starting to jade him.

Not that you knew the specifics. He was easily older than you by a decade and some change. And clearly all too happy to bypass all niceties in this situation. Damn. Did you look that bad? He was pretty enough to be an angel, but that didn’t mean he had to act like one. Maybe he felt bad for you. Maybe he had a better head sitting on his shoulders than a better half of the people in here.

A huff of soft breath leaves through your nose, tendrils of smoke swirling out of your system with the action. Shaking your head, you dip it, taking another long drag from your quickly burning cigarette, an excuse to try and string together some sort of response that won’t make an ass out of you. Or actually, anything that didn’t scream “you’re hot and I don’t know how to conduct myself around good natured, attractive men” would do just fine. Those damn eyes of his… it was a mistake, letting your gazes lock. His eyes alone were enough to make your stomach flip.

“Well,” you mutter, not daring to look back at him. “This is better than my plan b for the night.”

You don’t so much as flinch when the bartender comes over, taking an order he murmurs in a tone you want spoken against the shell of your ear from behind. Your periphery catches the actions of the bartender pouring his order into a short glass, bronze in color.

Whiskey. Of course.

Reaching for the middle of the table, you stub your cigarette in a conveniently placed ashtray. Sure, you were a little fucked up in a way you’ve never been before tonight, but you had manners.

Meanwhile, Leon is doing what he does best. Observing. He tries his best not to make it obvious how he watches your hand wobbles when you lift it. He watched the subtle change in your expression when he called to you, how your head bobbed when he sat down. Anyone else would be paying attention to how quickly you recoiled with the action, as if self conscious of your dragged reaction time. However, he had spotted the tension in your slouched shoulders. A reaction rooted in self preservation, a fear of judgment. It was enough to tell him just how many shots you probably had in your system.

He was no stranger to girls like you, ‘situations’ such as the one he was currently sitting next to.

It was a familiar, cliche dance – the unspoken, drowning struggles of a near stranger on display, insecurities risen to the surface like hemorrhaged blood under thinned skin. It was written all over you. You were scrappy, worn paper, and he was the storm settling overhead. Baring your weariness and struggle and strife to his blind eye, painting you transparent. He could see right through you. You were running from something. Likely attempting to drown, bury it somewhere deep if not for just a night or so.

“‘Plan B’?” he questions, tone calm, even almost lighthearted. It betrays his sharp gaze, perceptive and on guard as ever. As if he were approaching an injured doe in the wild. Not that he’s done much hunting lately. He’s found that meat off the streets bleeds more freely than the skin of doe’s and rabbits does in present times.

A wry smile tugs at your lips, almost as if you figured he’d press the topic. It was already too much to ask that he didn’t mention your connection to his coworker, how Leon knew you were definitely not supposed to be somewhere like this, and he had managed to uphold that silent prayer.

Maybe your otherwise handicapped condition was blurring whatever lines that stood between you right now, the lines that constructed what he should be doing, finding you here without a legitimate ID. He should be outing you to the bartender, dragging you out of this place by the scruff of your neck with your dad dialed into his phone.

He shouldn’t be… entertaining you, right? Could you go so far as to call his complacent presence.. Encouragement?

Taking a seat beside you, joining you in your mission to drown your ache, your pain. Keeping you calm under his gaze, as if a sedative rolled off him in gentle waves. His throat bobs around his sip of whiskey, and you can’t help how your gaze lingers on the action.

“Plan B consisted of finding someone to fuck me into next week,” you mutter dryly, as if the admission of your half hearted ‘plans’ for tonight left a sour taste in even your mouth. It wasn’t who you were. This wasn’t what you did. For fucks sake, you weren’t even supposed to have gotten this far, knee deep in an actively self destructive decision. But life sure did have one hell of a way of knocking you one hundred eighty degrees in the other direction, didn’t it?

No. That’s an excuse. A shitty one, at that. It's an excuse you've heard your dad mutter under his breath when he slouches into the couch with a beer in hand.

This is a poor choice, and you knew this was a poor choice. And yet, that didn’t stop you from walking your happy ass into this bar, nose up and full of talked up confidence you poured into yourself in the parking lot. No amount of tugging and pulling and pleading your guilty conscience did on your brain would stop you, not this time. You knew that getting into an Uber to haul you outside the lines of town would seal your fate to the whims of this bar. How classy.

If Leon was a worse man, he’d take your words at face value. (Or maybe he’s just damned with all that thorough training he’s been rung through. It’s practically impossible not to read people nowadays. Even alcohol has ceased to debilitate him of this begrudgingly equipped set of skills that was all but pummeled into him.)

His gaze wavers. Flickers, almost with a wash of amusement for a moment. You were trying oh so hard, taking that clipped, short tone with him, all but puffing your chest with this aura of mental toughness you likely wanted to think you had. It was cute, really. But oh, the lacing of desperation in your tone... The sweet vulnerability in your breath… every hairline fracture your already cracking front is bleeding.

He doesn’t have to be a bloodhound to want to dig for more. He just can’t help himself.

thank you for reading! I have emergency commissions open, so if you enjoyed this piece, please consider taking a look at my menu or rb’ing :^)

#leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #vendetta leon x reader #vendetta leon #if this flops none of u bitches r ever gonna hear from me again istg 💔#kidding #.... maybe

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hairmetal666 · 2 years

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Forever is the Sweetest Con~Cowboy Like Me steddie au (cw// Jason Carver is homophobic)

Eddie Munson thinks "con-artist" is such an ugly term for what he does (though he will admit there is quite a bit of artistry to doing it well). It's just, the idea that the truly, horrendously rich don't deserve to be swindled from time to time is fundamentally incorrect. Eddie studies the wealthy, carefully gathering tales of who they use, exploit, destroy all in the name of money, and he's made a life of taking them down a peg. He knows how to find the worst of them; how to woo them, seduce them; and take just enough to get away with it.

Like he said, it's an art.

He blows into town after reading the obituary for one Christopher Stephen Harrington IV, husband of Miriam and father of Stephen. He doesn't need to research the family to know that Miriam will be an easy target. Most widows of men like Christopher Stephen Harrington IV are after being locked into loveless marriages for the majority of their adulthood. They're looking for someone to pay them attention, sweep them off their feet. Eddie loves being that someone.

Eddie's first mistake is thinking that there will be anything easy about Miriam Harrington and the second is not taking into account her son. Eddie's only been in town for a few days when Stephen, Steve, shows up, and he is a revelation.

Steve is

Beautiful. Stupid. Throws money around like it's nothing, like he's begging to lose it. Fucks everything that moves.

It's not even a decision, not really, for Eddie to change his mark. Everything about the other man screams that he's desperate for love, for some kind of validation, and Eddie knows just how to give it to him.

It's not hard, seducing Steve Harrington. It barely takes a week before Steve gets Eddie alone in the formal dining room of the Harrington estate.

"There a reason you keep watching me?" Steve asks. He steps easily into Eddie's space, hazel eyes darkening to golden honey as the distance between them closes.

"Maybe I like what I see," Eddie answers. "Maybe I like it a lot."

Eddie leans down making his intent clear by letting his gaze drift from Steve's eyes to his mouth. He ignores the rapid beating of his own heart, the butterflies in his stomach, as he brings his mouth to the other man's. This means nothing, like every other seduction. Steve is a mark and nothing more.

Right before their lips meet, Steve's breath hitting his face and making his head swim with want, a strong hand grips his chin, the blunt edge of fingernails digging into his skin.

"You think I don't know what you're doing here, Eddie Munson?" Steve asks.

"Wha--"Eddie blinks, the words not making a ton of sense when his entire body is focused on kissing the beautiful man before him; takes him too long to realize that Steve's called him by his legal name.

He wrenches himself out of the man's grasp. "Who are you?" Eddie demands. "FBI?"

The look Steve shoots him is devoid of the dim party boy lethargy Eddie's become used to. It's calculating, quick, perceives way too much. It's also packed with sneering disdain. "Of course I'm not. I'm here for the same reason you are."

Eddie scoffs. "That seems unlikely."

"You know nothing about me, Munson. Just stay away from me and my mother and we'll be fine."

"Just your mother? You don't care about protecting any of your friends?"

"You heard me. Everyone else is fair game."

Eddie's head is too scrambled to protest, and his heart--his fickle, too-easily-swayed heart--throbs with longing.

"Fine," he manages. He flees the room, already refortifying the walls he's spent most of his life building.

✨✨✨✨

At 16, Steve Harrington was everything Eddie expected; spoiled, vapid, cruel, lazy, his entire life handed to him on a silver platter. His life of no consequences changed over night after his father found him in bed with another boy. He got thrown out, no money, no prospects, no life skills. Like so many before him, he fled to the city, but he was barely surviving. That was until he literally ran into one Robin Buckley fresh from poorly pickpocketing a finance bro. Robin took him in, taught him the ropes, and he devoted himself to making the rich pay for their sins.

It's no wonder that Steve and Eddie wind up targeting the same mark, Jason Carver. Jason is the worst of the worst. Handsome, entitled, clever only in ways that hurt, egotistical, desperate for power and prestige. Has a fiancee he treats like office furniture.

Steve uses their similarities to try to get close to Jason, but Eddie plays on his differences, on his nerdiness and confidence, hoping that Jason will find Eddie's fundamental weirdness too intoxicating to ignore.

Eddie's winning. And when he's not planning his slow seduction of Jason Carver, he's unwittingly learning more about Steve. The country club is running a summer youth program, open to the kids of all the citizens of Roane county. There's one feral group that Eddie has a soft spot for, made up of a bunch of dnd-playing nerd children, a quiet girl named El, and a fierce red-head named Max. He's surprised, one day, when he comes upon Steve and curly-headed Dustin Henderson, as Dustin explains some deep dnd lore to a bemused, but clearly attentive Steve. Next, he finds the man sitting with El and Max. El braids his hair while Max paints his nails a charming teal. Later, he sees Steve playing basketball with Lucas Sinclair, coaching him through some improvements on his form, fingernails still glinting with color.

He's so busy trying to put the pieces of Steve Harrington together, rich boy, con man, kind to children, that he doesn't recognize how dangerous Jason Carver is.

✨✨✨✨

Steve steps from the shower when there's a knock at his hotel room door. He's not expecting anyone, and that makes him nervous. He hasn't survived this long on his own without being cautious. He doesn't hesitate, though, when he sees his visitor is Jason Carver's fiancee, Christine Cunningham. They know each other, sort of, but they aren't close, and he's even more stunned by the tears streaming down her face.

"Chrissy?" He asks as he opens the door.

"Steve, you have to help. Jason's going to hurt him!"

Lead settles hard in Steve's stomach, no need to ask who the "him" is. "Where?"

"They went to Addison's Steakhouse. You know it?"

Steve nods. "I'll get him."

"Please," Chrissy begs. "I didn't think Jason would go through with it, but he kept talking about making Eddie pay, and--and--"

"I know," he says, because he does. "I'll get Eddie. He'll be okay."

When Steve slams into the private dining room of the steakhouse, Jason already has Eddie sprawled on the floor, lip split and bloody, and something inside Steve explodes. He launches himself at Jason, throwing the other man across the room.

Jason staggers. "What, you protecting this freak, Harrington? You know what he wanted with me?"

"I don't care, Carver, just get out of here."

"I heard rumors you were just like him," Jason spits, advancing on Steve.

"Seriously, man, I don't want to hurt you," he clenches his hands into fists.

Jason sneers, taking another step forward. "Like you even could. Everyone knows your dad kicked you out for being a fucking pussy."

It's all the motive Steve needs to punch him across the face with a sharp left hook. Jason collapses, clearly not having been punched anywhere near enough, and then Eddie is all Steve can see.

"Are you okay?" He drops to his knees, angling the man's jaw to get a better look at his injury.

"I was handling it, Harrington."

"Were you?" Steve asks.

Their eyes meet, linger, warmth growing in Steve's stomach.

They move in at the same time, Steve doing nothing to stop it this time, slotting their lips together with practiced slowness. Eddie's blood smears on his mouth, his chin; he gets some on his tongue and moans, pulling the other man closer, burying his hands in all that curly hair.

They fall into bed together like it's the most natural progression of things and, Steve thinks, it probably is. That moment all those weeks ago in his mom's dining room was just a prelude to this, to Eddie taking him apart so slowly, so carefully that it wrecks him, realigns his worldview, makes long dormant emotions surge to the surface so hard and fast that he's helpless to resist. By night's end, he's gone, totally enamored, heart snatched from his chest by Eddie's greedy, careful hands.

✨✨✨✨

Eddie wakes the next morning naked and in an unfamiliar room. For a second, he thinks his seduction of Jason Carver was a success, but then he feels the soft lips pressing against the back of his neck, and he remembers Steve. Steve lying under him, stars in his eyes, smiling up at Eddie; as he made the prettiest, neediest sounds; as Eddie moved inside him, as all his walls came tumbling down, as Steve Harrington ruined him for anyone else.

His mouth aches, the split in his lip still a little bloody. Without Steve around, Eddie would've noticed the danger Jason posed. Would've stopped the con before it got to the point of them being alone together, of Jason having the power to hurt him. If he hadn't been distracted, he could have avoided the very real threat of a beating.

He lurches out of the bed, away from Steve's soft touches.

"Eddie, what..." Steve starts, his voice all gentle.

"Don't," Eddie hisses.

"Don't?"

"Talk to me like we're in love." Eddie rips his hands through his hair.

"I--don't you--aren't--"

He makes the mistake of meeting Steve's eyes, see the love brimming in the golden brown.

"C'mon, Harrington. You're a great fuck and all, but it didn't mean anything."

Eddie watches as all that emotion, all those feelings are packed away, as Steve's pretty face relaxes into a careless blank.

Nausea twists at Eddie's stomach.

"Yeah, whatever," the other man says.

Eddie finds his clothes strewn across the floor, can't stand to watch Steve for another second. Needs to squash all the things rocketing around in his chest."You can't catch feelings so easy in our line of work. You should know better."

Steve snorts. "Don't waste your time worrying about me, Munson."

"Right," Eddie agrees. He stuffs his feet in his shoes. "Well, see you around, Harrington."

Steve doesn't respond and Eddie can't bear to look back.

Once in the elevator, he collapses back against the wall, driving the flat of his palms into his eyes to force away the tears that want to fall. Guys like Steve aren't for him; love isn't for him. He needs to drill that back into his head before someone gets even more hurt.

✨✨✨✨

It's the day of Miriam Harrington's mid-summer party and Eddie's skipping town. This whole endeavor was a bust. He's going home to lick his wounds (both mental and physical), and start over somewhere else. He hasn't seen Steve much since their night together, and that's just another reason to get out of dodge.

He shows up to the party, though, about two hours late. It's foolish, dangerous, but he can't leave without saying goodbye to Steve.

It's one of those black and white balls, and Eddie's in fitted black trousers and a velour suit jacket the color of fresh blood. The guys at the doors don't want to let him in, but Eddie doesn't care, just walks past them, ignoring their protests.

Big, white tents are stretched over the country club tennis courts, and the dancing is already in full swing. Eddie sticks to the edges of the ballroom floor, eyes skipping over swaying couples, searching out the only one he wants to see.

Steve is there, easily found by his chestnut hair that's swept into an artful swoop. He's dancing with Nancy Wheeler, sister of one of the feral dnd children, holding her close as they sway to the mid-tempo song. Eddie watches as the music draws to a close, as Steve smiles at Nancy with soft fondness, and his heart stutters. That's what Steve deserves, who he deserves it with, not someone like Eddie, all rough edges and layers of barbed-wire protecting his too-soft heart.

Nancy walks off, leaving Steve alone in the middle of the dance floor. Eddie is quick to take her place.

"Dance with me, Harrington?" He asks.

Steve turns and when he spots Eddie, his face does many complicated things before falling into the mask that Eddie's now too familiar with.

"Dancing is a dangerous game," Steve responds. He raises an eyebrow, carefully bland.

"I think I'll risk it." Eddie pulls Steve close and they slip together like they had that night in Steve's hotel room.

They dance and everyone else in the room falls away, until it's only them, only this, only the the stars dancing in Steve's eyes as he gazes at Eddie like Eddie's precious, special, worth something.

They're close enough to rest their foreheads together, but Eddie can't bring himself to make any move that will take Steve's eyes out of his view. The song plays, and they hold each other, and they don't speak, neither wanting to ruin the moment with words. Eddie lets a hand trace the strong contours of Steve's jaw, and he knows he's in love. Hopelessly, helplessly.

As the last note of the song swells, Eddie presses a thumb to Steve's pouty bottom lip, and he feels the rush of air as the other man gasps.

Eddie lets himself smile, just a bit, before closing the remaining distance between them, slotting his lips to Steve's in a sweet, soft kiss.

He pulls away without a word, turning and disappearing into the crowd before Steve opens his eyes.

It's for the best, Eddie tells himself as he drives away, knowing he's leaving his heart behind forever.

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taleasnewastime · 2 years

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Starting again

Summary: Two years out of studying to have a baby, only your first few weeks back and it’s already not going as easily as you thought. A babysitter you can barely afford dropping out last minute, you have to take your little girl into the lecture with you. What follows isn’t smooth, but it’s the start of you getting closer to your professor, a man you’ve always admired from your seat, but you learn to get to know up close.

Pairing: Hoseok x reader

Genre: Adult student/Professor, single parent, fluff.

Word count: 11k

Warnings: Though this is a student/professor dynamic there isn’t an age gap and nothing happens when they’re in this different power dynamic, talk of sickness, idk I don’t think there’s much in this.

Authors Note: Another single parent fic. Two members down, five to go ...

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I only just found out myself, and you know I’ve dreamed of this. I really wish I didn’t have to –”

“It’s fine Billie,” you cut the rambling girl off with a sigh.

“I really would take Daisy if I could, you know I love looking after her, it’s just –”

“I get it Billie,” you cut her off again, annoyance seeping into your tone. She’s explained long enough, and you really don’t need to hear any more. Before she can speak again you keep going. “Thanks for the call to let me know and enjoy the concert.”

You hang up halfway through her goodbye. A deep sigh leaves you as you try not to slam your phone down on the kitchen counter.

Maybe you’d been too rash hanging up on Billie, but god has she thrown you in the shit. She was supposed to be here in ten minutes to look after your nine-month-old Daisy. Not that she was the most amazing babysitter ever but was a teen and cheap and was usually someone you could rely on.

Just not today it seems.

It’s still only the start of term, the first one back after having a year off to have unexpected Daisy, your final year before you graduate. It’s trial and error. You knew there would be bumps in the road to this, you’d just hoped they wouldn’t have come this early in the year and certainly not so soon to when you’re supposed to be leaving the house.

You’re supposed to be in the car in ten, no, nine minutes. Billie is supposed to be here now.

Mentally you go through your contact list. Your parents live hours away, your best friend in work, your sister on holiday. You could call up a sitting service but you don’t need to check your bank to know you can’t afford that. You can barely afford Billie, but that was a cut in your budget you’d managed to make. A neighbouring teen who’s taken a gap year, unsure what to do with her life and agreed to take on looking after your kid while you go to lectures. She could do with the cash, you needed the help, you thought it’d be the perfect match till now. There’s days Daisy goes to nursery, but with the bankrupting prices you limited those to the days you’re in work.

You’re down to seven minutes as your head flops onto the table. You take a second to compose yourself, to get your mind back in order.

There’s a small gurgling noise from your right, it’s enough to bring you back into the room, to make you lift your head from the table.

“Hey baby,” you whisper, mind slowly clearing as you look at your little girl. “Billie can’t make it.”

You look at your baby, all gummy smile and dimples, still has little hair even at nine months old. She makes another gurgling noise, slamming a clenched fist onto her highchair as if in response to your comments.

“I know,” you say, voice still chipper despite your feelings. “What we gonna do?”

You move towards her, put your arms out so your hands can reach under her arms. She’s heavy for how small she is, but she’s still utterly perfect. You bounce her on your hip as you look around the room, mind still trying to calculate what to do.

“You might get to have mummy home with you today,” you sigh.

You’ve yet to miss a lecture since you started university, before or since Daisy and though you know it’s not the end of the world to miss one, you pride yourself on managing everything. Your daughter, your job and university. Missing a lecture somehow feels like you’re failing somehow, like if you miss this one it’ll be a downward spiral. You know kids do it all the time, a lot probably only turning up to half their lectures and still getting first class degrees.

Daisy lets out another gurgle and then a small laugh.

“I know,” you coo. “How exciting is that? Mummy home on a Tuesday!”

A false happiness seeps into your tone, the last thing you need is Daisy picking up on how annoyed you are. Even so Daisy lets out what sounds like a less joyful murmur. You bounce her a little harder on your hip, eyes darting to the clock, you still have three minutes to work something out.

“Or you could come with me?” You whisper.

Daisy lets out another happy chortle and you look down at her.

“You like that idea, huh?”

Two more minutes. You need to make your decision now. It might be too late but the idea takes off and the urgency takes over you.

“Ok,” you mutter as you put Daisy back in her highchair. “We’re doing this.”

You have no idea if taking Daisy into your lecture is even allowed. But you know her, she’s an amazing baby, she’s unlikely to make a sound and if she does, well you can just take her out. It sounds fine in your head.

You rush around, the bag you had packed for yourself no longer enough. Now you need nappies, a dummy, milk, muslin cloths, toys, spare clothes, almost twice as much as what you’d take if it was just you. Funny how such a small thing can need so much. You don’t give yourself enough time to question the decision though, you don’t have enough time to question it.

By the time you’re out the door you’re minus three minutes. Pretty good all things considered.

Traffic is good. There’s a parking space close enough to the entrance so that even though you’re behind time you still have enough.

You unbuckle Daisy, take her under your arm while you shove your bag and Daisy’s bag under your other. It’s nothing you haven’t done before; you’ve become a juggler in your parenthood.

You make it all the way to the lecture theatre before you second guess your decision.

The room falls silent as you walk in. A rippling that goes across the room as eyes twist towards you. You stand frozen, staring back, door swinging closed behind you. A room full of nineteen to twenty-two-year-olds looking at you, if you hadn’t felt out of place because of your age before, you do now. You’re not even old but being a mature student even if by six or so years makes you stand out. Now with Daisy, you stand out even more.

Daisy moving in your arms gets you looking down at her. She hasn’t made a sound, is being as good as gold, just as you predicted, but you feel wrong with her in your arms. You shouldn’t feel like this, have never felt like this since having her. Guilt at how you’re feeling starts to seep in, as if Daisy might somehow pick up on how you felt.

“Alright,” a booming voice calls out followed by a loud clap that makes you jump. “Eyes on me please.”

You’re still stood by the door, still have Daisy in your arms, still have all your bags on your shoulder, still feel like you’re on fire. You don’t know what to do now, feel like you should turn and leave but the lectures started and you’ve made it here. Why should you leave? No one’s told you to go. Daisy is still behaving. You belong here as much as anyone else.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you raise your chin as you resettle Daisy on your hip and make your way through the lecture theatre.

Eyes still twist to watch you, whispered words don’t quite reach your ears, but you know are about you.

You settle in a row near the back where there’s a few spare seats together. The dulcet tones of Professor Jung follow you as you settle Daisy on your lap and try to reach around her to get your stuff out. You feel hot and bothered by the time you’re fully ready to take notes.

You’ve missed the first five minutes and with Daisy sat on your lap it’s hard to concentrate and write. It’s not exactly ideal. But you’re here and Daisy is quiet and you’re doing it.

You’re still aware of mutters coming from your right, you can’t make out what they’re saying but it’s distracting enough for you to look at the heads that keep shooting glances in your directions, seemingly undeterred by you looking at them. It’s like none of them have seen a baby before but you know it’s more because none of them have seen one in a lecture before.

You tune everyone out, focus instead on the professor at the front. Jung Hoseok. A man probably only a few years older than you. All teeth and smiles and yet it’s always when he goes into his serious monologues when your stomach curdles. He’s hot when he’s happy, which is seemingly all the time, but he’s even hotter when he turns serious. And the days when he chooses to wear all black, it’s hard to take in what he’s saying sometimes. You can understand why his lectures are always so popular and so hard to get on. He’s hot as well as intelligent, a deadly combination.

You’re trying to block the fact that you have brought your child to his lecture. It’s not like you’ve ever really interacted with the man, it’s still the start of term. You’ve only sat in his lecture admiring him from a far. But you wish today had been any other professor’s lecture. Wish it wasn’t him who wasn’t privy to your embarrassment walking in and struggles now writing.

The lecture is going well, Daisy doesn’t make a sound for over half of it. And maybe you grow complacent of that, or maybe Daisy just decides it’s all a little too long and a little too boring. Whatever it is, the noises start small to begin and then seemingly out of nowhere she lets out a loud wail.

Hoseok stops talking at the front, or maybe he keeps going, you’re not sure over the piercing screams.

“Daisy,” you whisper, bouncing your knee to try and sooth her. “Baby, please.”

Your eyes dart around the aisle in front of you, heads are all turned in your direction. You shoot them apologetic eyes, though you’re sure they probably look more manic than anything. This is your worst fear come true. No one seems to care that you’re dying inside, lips moving with words that don’t reach you but are clearly about you.

Not now, not now, you plead in your head, outwardly shushing your child, running a soothing hand down her back. You’re trying to reach for her dummy or maybe a toy to keep her occupied, all while trying to keep your leg bouncing a steady rhythm.

The volume increases in the room, a buzz that increases louder and louder the longer Daisy cries. The lecture is well and truly over now, whatever Professor Jung was saying forgotten in favour of you. You’re ruining everyone’s education with your selfishness to think you could come with Daisy today.

You’re heating up. You should never have brought Daisy here, why did you think you could do everything. You’re not a superhero, not an amazing mum, not someone who can manage all the things you’re trying to juggle at once. You’re just a single mum, barely managing to raise a child let along hold a job and get an education.

Twisting to your side you hold Daisy close to you as you try and gather up as much of your stuff as you can. Focus mainly on Daisy’s stuff. If you can just get out, calm her down somewhere else, you can always come back for everything else later. Preferably when everyone else is gone.

Bag in hand, Daisy in your arms, you turn back to look at the room, ready to leap up and run. But what you’re met with makes your heart stop.

The professor is walking towards you.

Jung Hoseok is climbing the steps. His eyes firmly on you.

You can’t read his face. It looks flat, but not necessarily firm. Still, your escape route now unavailable, your panic only rises. The only thought going through your head being that Hoseok is going to shout and cuss you out in front of everyone. He’s going to humiliate you as if you aren’t already in that state. And a glance at the other people in the theatre shows just how excited they are at that prospect.

You’re still cooing and bouncing Daisy on your knee when Hoseok comes to stand on the step by you. You have to crane your neck back to look up at him, apologies on your lips.

“What’s her name?”

It takes a second for you to comprehend. They weren’t the words you were expecting to come out of his mouth. The next thought is, is he really about to learn your child’s name just so he can personally shout at her?

“Daisy,” you still mutter her name out.

“Daisy,” Hoseok says back, his tone deep yet soft. “May I, Y/N?”

You’re so stunned by the fact that he knows your name that you willingly hand your child over into his outstretched arms. Daisy has already calmed down a little, no longer screaming, more whimpering.

“It’s a big scary room isn’t it, Daisy?” He’s addressing your child, his voice soft and pitched higher. You feel like your jaw is hitting the ground. “But it’s alright. I know it all sounds boring, but we can get through it together.”

He twists to look at you. You take a second to compose yourself. Daisy’s bag is still clutched to your shoulder.

“She alright to come down with me? You might be able to write a little easier then.”

You can’t tell if it’s a dig or not. For one, he’s not saying it in a tone that suggests it’s anything but a kind gesture. For another, he looks completely at ease with Daisy sat on his hip, her chubby hands grasping at his collar, she looks happy now, no longer wailing. But having expected to be shouted at, you can’t help but feel like he’s silently judging you for bringing your child here.

Still, you nod and then watch as your child is carried away in the arms of a man you hardly know. It should be alarming but is strangely not.

It takes you too long to settle back into the lecture, Hoseok easily picking up from where he was, seemingly undeterred by the fact he has a child in his arms. A whole minute goes by before you even think to put down Daisy’s bag and then another before you pick your pen up. It’s distracting watching your professor holding your child. Especially when he starts one of those monologues, the one where his eyes go dark and passion seeps into his tone. You can’t concentrate on the words he’s saying, don’t take a single note.

You’re pretty sure the rest of the female population in this room feels the same as you. Though with it being your child in his arms, you’re sure they’re not feeling anywhere near as flustered as you are. Still, you can see people taking sneaky pictures, girls giggling behind hands, some of the boy also looking at him with eyes that resemble hearts, hardly anyone taking notes.

“And that’s all I have for you this week,” Hoseok rounds things up a whole hour after he began, beaming at the crowd as he bounces Daisy in his arms. “Reading for next week will be up online.”

Even though you rush, you’re slower than everyone as you pack up. All your bags and bits that have spilled over the floor. By the time you get down to Hoseok the room is nearly empty and you’re a sweaty, panting mess.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Hoseok reassures, eyes going from you to Daisy who’s in his hands. “It was a pleasure, Miss Daisy.”

He pauses before handing her back to you, as if not quite ready to part with her.

“You ok with all that?” He says, eyes on all your bags and Daisy, that’s a more likely reason why he wasn’t keen to hand her over, probably worried for her safety.

“Yeah. It’s nothing I don’t do daily.”

He nods, pauses as he leans back onto the desk behind him, feet crossing at the ankle. “Was dad not able to look after her today?”

“What? Oh. No. Daisy doesn’t have a dad. Well, of course she does, he’s just no longer around.”

Hoseok frowns. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“He’s not dead,” you blurt, realising how he may have taken your words given his tone, but instantly flushing at the comment. “I mean he might be. He left before Daisy was born. I have no idea where he is or what he’s doing.”

Way too much information and Hoseok seems to agree if his small smile and clear amusement is anything to go by.

“Sorry,” you carry on before he can. “It was the babysitter who cancelled. Apparently, there’s a band in town she just couldn’t miss.”

He chuckles. “Music is everything. But her loss is our gain.”

“Right. Sorry again about bringing her.”

He cocks his head to the side but doesn’t say anything.

“And thanks for taking her off my hands. You really didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” he replies easily. “Daisy is welcome in my class anytime, whether you have babysitting issues or not.”

“Right,” you flush again. “Thanks.”

There’s a second of silence. Not long and not awkward, that is until you make it awkward, realising the man is probably very busy and doesn’t need to be stood around talking to single mothers. Though Hoseok doesn’t imply anything of the sort, in fact, if anything, he stays leaning back in his spot, not rushing you out the room.

“Well, thanks again,” you say hiking Daisy up on your side. “And great lecture, as always.”

Did you really have to add the last bit? Definitely not. But before you have any time to flush or ramble on some more you twist and start heading for the door.

“I’ll see you next lecture, Y/N.”

Something deep inside you coils. You block it from your mind as you dash out the room, don’t even think to respond to the smiling man you leave behind.

Things go more smoothly after that disastrous day. Billie gets back on schedule and doesn’t attend anymore last-minute concerts. She’s apologetic about it, you easily forgive her and tell her the story of taking Daisy to your lecture, she finds it way too funny.

Hoseok goes back to being another one of your lecturers. You go back to being punctual, arriving before he does and being fully ready for when he starts. Though he seems to ignore you like before, you swear that first lecture back you see his eyes search for you and a look of disappointment crosses his face before a small smile slips onto his lips. But you’re too far away and his eyes move too quickly, a sweep across the room, for you to be sure about what you saw.

Life goes back to normal. Hectic normal.

What between looking after Daisy, university and work, you don’t have much time to think about anything else.

Weeks pass. University starts to ramp up, essays adding to your stress. You start to question why you decided to go back. Having Daisy was unexpected, you hadn’t planned her, had only been with her dad for a few months but when you found out you were pregnant it strangely felt right. The dad didn’t agree, when you refused to get an abortion, he left your life as if he was never there, as if he hadn’t been a part of creating the new life growing inside you. Funny how men can make that decision while women are stuck with the consequences.

You were upset, of course you were. You had to delay the final year of university you’d already started, you were pregnant and alone. You wanted to drop out completely, but your tutor talked you out of it, said you could take up to two years out and if you still felt the same you could still drop out then.

In hindsight you’re so glad they spoke you into it. Because although it’s hard and you have so much on your plate, this was the reason you decided to go to university so many years late, to make a better life for yourself. And now, with Daisy in your life, that only feels more important. You don’t need a university degree to achieve things in life, you can make a career for yourself, which is why you never went in the first place, that and because your grades were never good enough and were never passionate enough. But you’ve lived in the professional world long enough now to realise what those three letters can mean. The difference between a blank space after your name and BSc after your name in your sector is the difference between an entry level job and one with several zeros after the salary.

Still, even with all that motivation behind you, it’s fucking hard.

It’s why you’re stood knocking on Hoseok’s door during his office hours. You find it hard to ask for help but this essay is slowly killing you so you’re swallowing your pride.

Your heart is hammering, has been since you entered the building, palms sweating and mind scrambled. You know why, you haven’t interacted with him since he held your child during that one lecture weeks ago, have only sat watching him from afar. You’re not sure if you’re more nervous about him not remembering you or him remembering you.

“Come in,” a voice calls out from the already half opened door.

He doesn’t look up from what he’s reading as you push in. You’re met with the top of his head, can see the thick black strands swooping down into his eyes, can see his thick black lashes highlighted against his bronzed skin, can see the blue of his veins through his forearms with his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows and when he starts to sit up straighter you are met with the smooth skin of his chest, his collar bone poking out due to an illegal amount of top buttons being undone.

He seems to jerk upright when his eyes land on you. His back straight, his body stiff in comparison to his gentle, relaxed movements when he hadn’t realised it was you.

“Sorry,” you immediately apologise. “I didn’t mean to disturb you. I can come back another time if now’s not a good time? Or I can email you my questions?”

Your hand is already reaching out for the doors handle from where you’re still stood in the doorway, ready to retreat as soon as he tells you what form of communication is better for him.

He only shakes his head in response, seems to become more relaxed as a smile spreads across his face. He lifts a hand to indicate you should sit in the chair opposite him. “Sorry, you surprised me is all. Now’s good.”

You’re not sure what about your arrival surprised him. You knocked on his door and he obviously heard you as he shouted out before you came in. It’s not like you barged in unannounced. But you don’t question his comment as you make your way to the chair. You sit down before pulling your bag onto your lap and pulling out the notepad and pen you need with your questions and to make notes of whatever advice he gives.

His eyes are steady on you when you look up. You suck in a breath and try not to give away the affect he’s having on you just by looking at you. The fact you don’t speak must say volumes though.

“No Daisy today?”

You actually look to your empty arms as if to check his words, flush when you realise what you’ve done and then heat even further when you look back up to see the amused smile on his face.

“She’s with the babysitter,” you explain.

“Ah, the infamous babysitter. I must admit, I was a little sad to see you had decided to keep her on rather than bring Daisy to the lectures.”

You heat even further but keep your voice level when you reply. “I think she was a little distracting.”

His smile grows, those long, shiny, perfectly white teeth beaming at you. His eyes alight with something that tells you whatever he’s about to say isn’t going to be good for you.

“Yes, I did notice not many people were taking notes that lecture.”

You feel the need to apologise again, but bite back the words and remain silent instead. Now feeling awkward and still very hot in this too small room.

“Anyway, what can I help you with today Ms Y/N? I’m sure you didn’t come here to discuss your daughter, though I wouldn’t mind if you had.”

You swallow, try to ignore his continued comments about Daisy. He must realise what it’s doing to you, how your insides are turning to mush. He’s gaining too much pleasure from your flustered state, it’s the only explanation in your mind because in your limited experience men, especially ones that look like Hoseok, never want to talk about your child.

“It’s about the essay you set for the 14th,” you begin, look down at your notes to try and set your mind back on why you’re here. “I’m really struggling with how broad the question is.”

“Ok,” he smiles already seeming to slip into a more professional state. “Tell me what you’re thinking first. What areas have you considered writing about?”

You pause in thought before answering. And then, before you know it half an hour has slipped away from you.

Hoseok is good, he doesn’t give you any answers, instead he masterfully pulls knowledge from you. He gives you hints and asks you questions that open up thoughts you hadn’t considered and provides angles you hadn’t thought of. It’s comfortable to talk to him, you were worried that it would be awkward or that your nerves would dominate you and you’d hardly be able to talk. Hoseok never once judges you for any question you ask, he never seems to patronise you with his knowledge, in fact at times he looks a little impressed with some of your understanding on the topic.

Half an hour is all you get with the man before he smiles, slips back in his seat and announces he needs to end it there or he’ll be late for a lecture. You almost jump, hadn’t realised so much time had passed.

“Sorry for taking up so much of your time,” you apologise even though he doesn’t look annoyed, as you pack your stuff up.

“I enjoyed talking to you,” when you look at him he must read something in your face as he adds with a laugh, “really.”

“Well, thank you for your time and advice.”

You stand and Hoseok follows the action.

“That’s what office hours are for.”

You dip your head, wanting to say thank you again but feeling like you’ve already said it enough. He continues to follow you to the door so that when you get there he’s already reaching around and pulling it wide for you to exit. You stop and twist to look at him when you’re stood in the hall. Hoseok is leaning on the door looking back at you.

“I’ll see you in class.”

It feels like a lame thing to say but you’re immediately rewarded with a toothy smile.

“That I will. And remember, if you need any more help or advice my door is always open, or feel free to drop me an email,” you nod with a small thanks and as you begin to turn he adds one last thing. “Say hi to Daisy too.”

Daisy is sick. Not sick, sick, but she is restless and running a slight fever and in her eleven months of being on this earth it’s the worst you’ve seen her.

It’s also another day you have a lecture with Hoseok.

By this point you’ve interacted with the man enough to feel more comfortable around him. You’ve dropped into a few more of his office hours, emailed him out of hours with queries and if you ever turn up after him are even rewarded with a nod of the head or a hello in welcome. You’re not friends, your relationship still too professional for that but you are something.

It’s maybe why you pull open your emails to let him know you won’t be able to attend the lecture today. It probably wouldn’t have crossed your mind for any of your other classes. None of them are mandatory, you’re not given a mark based upon it like some other courses, as long as you hand in the essays and pass the exams you are all good. But something makes you want to email him to let him know.

Your email is short and to the point. Though you send it, your mind is still too focused on Daisy to give it too much of your consideration. It’s only when there’s ten minutes to go before the lecture starts and when Daisy is finally asleep on the blankets you’ve placed out for her that you check your emails.

You expect nothing, but there sits one unread email. Sender Professor Jung Hoseok. Time received three minutes after you’d sent yours.

Your heart leaps even though you know his job is predominantly emails and he was probably already looking at them when yours came in. It should mean nothing. But even the fact he replied to your simple email that just stated you weren’t going to attend his lecture feels like a lot.

To: Y/N

From: Jung Hoseok

Subject: Re: Todays lecture

Y/N,

Is Daisy ok? Don’t worry about the lecture today, just make sure to look after Daisy. I will forward you todays slides as well as some helpful notes I’ll be saying around them. I am happy to meet you for a coffee whenever is convenient to discuss the content if needed.

Don’t forget to look after yourself. And if there is anything I can help with, please let me know.

Kind regards,

Hoseok.

Should your heart be beating this fast because of an email? You don’t think it ever has before. And though it’s only six sentences it affects you a lot. Still, you reread it a few times before you lock your phone. You need time to digest that before leaping into a reply and say something stupid.

Your focus turns to Daisy instead. Watch her chest lightly rise and fall as she sleeps. Even though you took her temperature with a thermometer earlier you still reach out to lightly touch her forehead now. She feels a little hot but you feel way calmer now she’s settled. Your mum’s on her way with Calpol and moral support.

You reread the email twice more before you press reply. Again your message is as short and uncomplicated as you can make, yet it takes you nearly ten minutes to type out the words you’re fully happy with. He’s in a lecture won’t see your email until he’s done, so you try to focus on other tasks whilst you wait.

The smile on your face is all consuming when you open your emails and see that a reply is already waiting a minute after the lecture was due to finish.

To: Jung Hoseok

From: Y/N

Subject: Re: Todays lecture

Hi,

Thank you for your quick response and concern. Daisy is fine, just running a high temperature and has been struggling to sleep since last night. My mum is coming round to help me this afternoon so with her experience I feel better that Daisy will be fine. Sorry she couldn’t make it earlier so that I could attend the lecture but thank you for the offer of the slides, your notes and some help. If you have the free time I’d happily pay for your coffee in return for some of your knowledge. I promise I will read the slides and do some of my own research prior so as not to take up too much of your time. Tuesday afternoons and Wednesdays either between 9-10 or after 2 work best for me as I work other days. Please let me know if none of these times suit you though.

Thanks again,

Y/N

To: Y/N

From: Jung Hoseok

Subject: Re: Todays lecture

Y/N

I’m glad to hear Daisy is doing ok. Seriously don’t worry about missing the lecture. Let’s meet for coffee after our lecture next week. We can walk there together, and the coffee is on me.

Hoseok.

You linger when the lecture is wrapped up. Are deliberately slow as you pack your things away. There are still a few students in the room as you work your way down the stairs, but not many.

Hoseok is stood leaning over the desk, his eyes flicking between the papers that lie there and his phone.

Your heart pounds with each step. You want him to look up at you, want him to acknowledge you, wanted that to happen long ago but you haven’t spoken since last week and the few emails where you agreed to go for a coffee today. You’ve wanted to email since to double check that the plan was still on but held off. You’re regretting that decision with every step.

You shift your weight from foot to foot as you stand in front of the desk waiting for Hoseok to notice you. Finally you clear your throat and let out a small, squeaky “hi.”

His eyes flick up, his head still angled down and his flat expression does nothing to sooth your worries.

“Uh, I don’t know if you remember, if it’s not a good –”

“Sorry, the emails never stop,” his lips curl before he looks back down at his phone, taps a few more words before standing up properly and shoving his phone in his pocket. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” you say. “If you are.”

He looks tired. His eyes worn and smile looks more forced. You hadn’t noticed during the lecture, but now you’re up close you wonder how you didn’t notice, everything he does seems a dead giveaway.

“Honestly, I need the caffeine.”

You smile lightly at his attempt to joke but it feels a little too like the truth and you can’t help the worry that seeps in. Why is so tired? Is he ok? Even though they feel like simple questions, they feel too intimate to ask. He’s your professor, no matter how friendly you feel towards him, you have to remember that.

You make your way out of the lecture theatre. An inch behind each of Hoseok’s steps so you can follow where he goes.

“So where do you fancy?” He twists his head a little so he can look at you out of the corner of his eye as you make your way out of the building and on to campus. “I personally prefer Coffee One. Find I don’t bump into as many students there.”

“Coffee One is good,” you say lightly because honestly you have no idea if it is good or not. Coffee shops aren’t something you frequent any more, it’s a cost and time you can’t afford since having Daisy. You don’t even know where the coffee shop is, have to continue to try and follow Hoseok’s lead.

The further to the edge of campus you walk, the more you realise that he must be right. With the many coffee shops on campus, no student would travel this far for caffeine. But with the distance comes an awkwardness. You don’t know what to talk about to this man, it makes you realise that besides your conversation about your course, you know little about this man to make small talk. Still, you try.

“I found the bit of the lecture on Cola fascinating today.”

He twists to look at you more fully, shock on his face for a second before it morphs into pure amusement. He lets out a small chuckle as he focuses back in front of him. Ok, so you’re bad at small talk but at least you got him to smile.

“Thanks,” he says before smoothly moving the conversation on. “How is Daisy doing? Fully recovered from her illness?”

“Oh, yeah. It wasn’t much of an illness, more overprotective parent then anything, if you get me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a small smile.

You pause before you carry on, it’s something you’ve wondered since he first took Daisy off your hands but there was never a chance to ask, at least not one that felt appropriate .

“Do you have kids?”

“No,” he laughs again as if it’s a joke.

“Really? You seemed so natural with Daisy,” and are always asking about her like you’re a parent yourself and you get it, you add silently.

“I have a nephew but that’s as far as my parenting experience goes.”

“Do you want them?”

You can sense him looking at you out of the corner of your eye. “Yeah, I think I do.”

“You think you do?” You chuckle.

“I mean I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t something I ever used to think too much about. But I don’t know, recently I’ve been thinking it would be nice.”

Your stomach knots in that way it always does around him. There’s something about the things he says, or maybe it’s the way he says them.

“I hope your partners prepared then,” you laugh, though even to your own ears it sounds forced and flat.

Hoseok just smiles, indicates that you’ve arrived and as he holds open for you says, “well I’m single, so guess that’s one problem.”

“Right,” you mutter, barely audible for him to hear as you come to a stop just inside the door.

It’s not a big café, but it’s cute. All wooden with hints of black slate and steel. There are pops of colour in the few plants that linger around, but it’s pretty bare. It means that all eyes go to the register where covered cakes and pastries sit tempting you to eat and a massive shiny coffee machine waits. It has a cosy atmosphere with a small amount of buzz from the few occupied tables.

“Shall we sit in the corner?”

“Don’t you want to get a drink first?” You look at him.

“Ok, you grab the table, I’ll grab the coffees. What do you want?”

You pause, look over to the large board behind the tills. You feel awkward letting him buy you a drink, still feel like it should be you treating him.

“It’s my treat, remember?” He goads, reading the uncertainty. “Plus, you’re a starving student and I’m your professor, it’s only right.”

You pause for a second longer but finally give in and tell him your order. He looks far too happy as he heads for the till and you head to grab a table.

The perk at least comes in being able to openly ogle him. You don’t get long, but it’s enough time to take him in. He’s dressed down a bit today, maybe a result of how tired he is, he has a simple white top on, tucked into some smart black trousers and to complete the look he has some black framed glasses. You wonder if he’s wearing them for fashion and although he seems to take an interest in his style, you feel they’re more likely for his sight. You wonder if he wears contacts every day instead.

When he has your drinks and starts to turn your way, you look away. As the drink is placed in front of you, you say a small thanks as you wrap your hands around it.

You give it a second, but when no other topic of conversation comes up, you try to jump straight into the reason you’re hear. You already have your notebook out and open and with how tired Hoseok looks, you doubt he’ll want to linger long with you.

“I read the slides you sent me and went over all the reading. I think I get it all but wondered if you could talk about your slides on the reading from Rhodes et al., a little?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but can I just process some of this caffeine first?”

He’s smiling despite his words, and though he doesn’t say them in an annoyed tone you still flush. The fact he’s even here speaks volumes though. You wonder why he didn’t cancel if he feels so rotten.

“Oh, of course, sorry,” you stutter a little. “If you want to rearrange or cancel we can –”

“Honestly,” he cuts you off as if he hasn’t heard a word. “Having spoken to you and read your essays, I have no doubt you fully grasped everything you read.”

You flush, not just from the compliment but because he’s not far from the truth. Sure, there were things you didn’t fully get but you could have easily done your own research to grasp it, you didn’t necessarily need Hoseok to understand. But you also weren’t about to turn down having a coffee with him, free or not.

“Anyway, I don’t think I’ve known a student care so much about missing a lecture.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not exactly a twenty-year-old student, am I?”

He hums as he takes a sip of his drink, observing you over the rim. “What made you want to come to uni?”

The question throws you a little, even though you’ve had it asked multiple times in the past. Funny how someone attending at eighteen doesn’t have the same microscope placed on them, as if you should be in a different place in your life at your age.

“I just mean, you’re in your final year, right?” You nod your head at the question. “And you’re clearly very intelligent. But I just wondered why you wanted to get a degree and not, I don’t know …”

He drifts off and you smile, knowing exactly what he wanted to say.

“Focus on my child?”

Colour lights his cheeks and you don’t miss the way his fingers toy with his cup. “I wasn’t going to say that. I was going to say you could get an amazing job without having a degree.”

“Thanks,” you chuckle. “I actually spoke to the company I worked for about progression and they offered to help pay for my degree if I stay with them after.”

He raises his eyebrows, impressed.

“I guess it’s been good and bad. Not that Daisy is bad but meeting her dad and him leaving me pregnant hasn’t been a highlight of university.”

He looks like he’s about to spit his drink out his eyes have gone wide, his face now a completely different colour. You realise you may have been a little too candid with that comment and swiftly try and move on.

“Anyway, you must be pretty young for a professor?”

He smirks as if he knows your game and you heat. You hadn’t meant it like that. Sure, you think he’s hot but you honestly weren’t trying to hit on your professor. You would never. You could never.

“I was the youngest professor at the university at one stage,” your eyes go wide at the knowledge, though you shouldn’t be surprised at the accolade. “Turns out they just keep getting younger and younger and now I no longer hold the record.”

“Ah,” you smile. “Just a couple of oldies aren’t we.”

He chuckles, toys with the drink in front of him.

“And I mean you’re a mum,” he looks up at you, the joking completely seeping out of his tone now. “That’s a lot.”

“Yeah,” you laugh lightly. “Though I would never swap Daisy for the world.”

“Of course,” Hoseok is quick to chip in, as if he too would never dream of saying the opposite.

“But I can’t deny I didn’t always think that,” Hoseok cocks his head to the side, a silent question to explain. “I was at uni when I found out. I was already doing my degree later in life than most and then a baby from a relationship that was still pretty new wasn’t exactly my plan. As if I didn’t already have enough to feel left out about with being the oldie in class, now I was the pregnant one too. It was a tough time for a lot of reasons.”

“And yet you still passed your assignments with flying colours.”

Your eyes shoot to him. “You looked at my marks?”

He shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but his eyes avoid you and there’s a small smile on his lips. “You’re one of my students. I always take a keen interest in all my students results.”

You hum, “not sure all my professors would say the same.”

“Well,” he says, not adding anything else on as he takes a sip of his drink. This time it’s you that beams at him.

“It must be a stressful job,” you say, trying to think of a way of coaxing out how tired he looks, trying to check in on him without being so plain. “Marking, running lectures while also trying to do your own research.”

“I think I’m supposed to say I love it so it’s no hardship here,” you watch as he runs a hand through his hair, messing the strands.

“You don’t?”

“It’s just a lot of pressure at the moment,” there’s a pause and when you don’t fill the gap, he does. “I’m trying for some new funding on a project. It means I have to try and impress some people and prove why my research will be worth the investment.”

“I can’t imagine that being a problem for you.”

You hadn’t realised how that might sound until Hoseok raises and eyebrow at you. You’d genuinely meant it, he was approachable, kind with his time knowledge but also so passionate about what he does. You can’t imagine anyone not being impressed with him.

“It’s just a lot of hoops to jump through,” he confesses.

“Well,” you start more conscious of your words now, but still wanting to let him know your feelings. “I know you’ll do it. But make sure to take some time for yourself too.”

His smile is soft, one you’ve not seen before. It lights his eyes up, and though it’s not as big as smiles you’ve seen from him before, it affects you more than any other he’s sent your way.

“Thanks Y/N,” he says, his voice just as gentle. “I’ll definitely try, though it’s a busy time of year, guest lectures and the department trying to plan for the end of the year.”

You nod as if understanding, though really you can only half relate. You have no idea what sort of pressures a professor is put under. Though you can relate to feeling like you have a hundred things to do at once.

“Actually,” his face lights up with an idea. “You should come.”

You pause, waiting for him to explain. “Where?”

“The guest lecture.”

It still doesn’t explain anything. If anything it only causes more questions.

“… is coming and doing a lecture for post-grads. It’s expected that lecturers turn up too, but I think you should come along.”

“But I’m not a post-grad.”

“It’s on a topic we covered the other week in class,” he carries on as if you’re following.

“But, uh, I’m not a lecturer,” you add.

He smiles. “You’d be my guest.”

Your heart stops then stutters back to life. Hoseok still looks oblivious to how you feel. Well, there’s a small smile on his face that makes it look like he’s amused by your reaction. But his words imply he hasn’t taken in a single point you’ve made.

“I think it might help your understanding,” because of course that’s the reason he’d think you should go, not whatever reason your heart flipped for. “Not that you need the help.”

“Ah,” you flush, brushing off his comment. “I’m not so sure.”

“So you’ll come?” He looks hopeful and you have to stop your heart getting it’s hopes up. It’s only because you’re his student and he wants you to well. “It’s on a Tuesday over lunch time so you can’t use the excuse that you have work.”

You chuckle along with him, though the noise is empty and hollow. He remembers your email well enough to know which days you work? It shouldn’t be a big deal, but honestly you’ve not met many men who would remember something that small.

“Uh, yeah,” you say and watch as his smile broadens. “I’ll have a think and let you know.”

“Amazing,” he says as if you’ve just agreed to going. In a way you know you have. Whatever Hoseok is to you, you like him so much you’d happily go to a lecture if it meant you could spend some more time with him.

Jesus, what’s happening to you?

If you felt out of place in your lectures, it’s nothing in comparison to this.

The room is full of people milling around, a gentle hum of conversation filling the air. You felt your hands go clammy as soon as you walked in. A quick glance at the unknown faces was enough for you to bolt to the corner of the room.

It feels safer here somehow, though you really need to get a drink or something because at the moment you’re clutching your bag as if worried someone is about to rip it off you. Not the best look at an academic gathering.

You almost didn’t come. You’d turned up for the lecture before but when there was the announcement about heading here for refreshments, you nearly chickened out. Now you wish you had.

You know no one here, don’t even recognise anyone enough to try and strike up a conversation. You’re terrified someone will spot you and ask what you’re doing here before escorting you out. You feel way over your head.

Another glance around the room confirms what you already know. Hoseok invited you and yet he’s not even attended himself. Maybe you got the wrong impression that he was inviting you to go with him. Maybe he genuinely meant he thought you’d benefit from the lecture and networking. He didn’t mean he was going to come too.

You’re an idiot, truly.

The lecture was interesting, you guess. It had a relevance to one of your modules, but from what you could tell you were one of the only undergrads in there. Why Hoseok said you should attend, you’re not entirely sure.

You’re just debating whether to go and grab a drink or some food to make yourself look less awkward when someone approaches.

“You look new,” you look over at the man who’s carrying a full plate, not letting the fact of eating stopping him from talking. “What are you studying?”

“Ah,” you look around the room as if for an escape. The man’s still smiling when your focus is back on him. “Well, I’m an undergraduate.”

His head cocks to the side. “You’re not a PhD student then?”

“Professor Jung invited me along?” You look around the room in search of the man again but he’s nowhere to be seen.

“Ah, you’re in his third-year class?”

You look back at him, a frown on your face while his is lit with more recognition. He bites slowly down on a breadstick, amusement dancing across his face as if he knows something you don’t. The look only makes you stiffen.

“Yes?”

“So you got to witness baby-gate?”

“Baby-gate?” Your throat dries, knowing what he means but not understanding the implications.

“When he held that baby for a lecture. I’ve got to say, it’s already become a legendary story in the department. And annoyingly it’s only increased Hoseok’s standing.”

He doesn’t look anything but annoyed, in fact he’s still smiling widely at you. You just feel a little dread, you hadn’t really thought much about the fact that what happened would have left your lecture theatre. But of course it was going to get out to his department. Though the mans not implying it’s done anything to affect Hoseoks career, if anything he’s implying the opposite, it still fills you with a little dread.

“Yeah, it was quite something,” you say, deciding to omit the fact that it was your baby he was holding.

“If he gets more funding for his projects or better students because of it, I’m going to be fuming.”

He says it lightly, but you still look at him blankly. You’re not really sure how to respond to that. There’s a short pause before the man breaks it.

“You should get some food. Honestly, the only good thing about these events is the free shit.”

He leaves you with a theoretical shove in the direction of the food and a promise to catch up again later. You’re sure the latter won’t happen, but out of nerves follow the first.

You’re putting a few nibbles on your plate, shooting small smiles at anyone who looks in your direction, ones that say don’t talk to me. You’re still feeling pretty overwhelmed and like you shouldn’t be here when you spot him.

Hoseok has only just arrived, stood just inside the door he’s paused to look around the room, a vacant look on his face as he concentrates. Someone approaches him and starts speaking though it looks like Hoseok doesn’t take in a word of it, he’s still scanning the room. And then his eyes meet yours and his whole face transforms. Gone is the vacant look, his eyes light up, lips pull back a little. He hardly seems to say goodbye to the person before he starts moving.

Your heart thunders in your chest as he moves across the room towards you. It’s as if he only has eyes for you, because though you notice some of the attention in the room shift towards him, Hoseok doesn’t seem to care. A few people try to approach him but he just brushes them off. His eyes are on you the entire time and the closer he gets the more your heart struggles.

You focus back on the food, are picking up a second pizza pinwheel when you feel his presence next to you.

“The free food is the best bit about these things.”

“So I’ve heard,” you mutter.

You look at him and are nearly knocked over by the look he’s shooting you. He looks lit up from within, positively glowing, his smile so wide you worry his jaw might start aching.

You can’t quite comprehend why he’s looking at you like that. Don’t get why he walked across the room and ignored all those surely important professors and PhD students who wanted to talk to him in favour of you. It makes you nervous that he thinks you’re something you’re not. But it also makes something else bubble inside you.

Glancing down at your plate he looks satisfied that you have some food. He picks up his own plate and starts piling on the food.

“Have you tried the mini quiches? They’re always my favourite.”

When you shake your head a little, he doesn’t even question it, just reaches out and places one on your plate.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll steal it later.”

Well, that’s a little assuring, the fact he’s implying he’s going to stick with you now he’s arrived. Though that same thought is also completely terrifying. Because although he’s avoided everyone in the room but you so far, surely he’s going to go and network after this.

“Have you spoken to anyone yet?” He looks at you, plate now full you watch as he pops an olive into his mouth.

“Uh,” you struggle to drag your eyes away from his mouth, but force yourself to. “I didn’t catch his name …” you spot him across the room and point, “but I spoke to him.”

Hoseok’s eyes follow your finger. “Ah, Rav or I guess Professor Peryie. You can ignore everything he said.”

“Oh really?” You look at him to see his brightness has dropped, you worry they don’t get on until you pick up on his slightly coloured cheeks and wonder if it’s something else. “Well, he was implying you’re not going to struggle getting any female PhD students joining your team.”

When he whips his head to look at you, shock written over every feature you only laugh. It’s the first time you’ve felt fully relaxed this whole afternoon. And when you focus back on Hoseok you see the easy smile is back on his face too.

“Come on,” he rolls his eyes. “Let me introduce you to some people.”

It’s funny how something you once thought of as nerve wracking or out of the ordinary can become something so normal. But that’s what being with Hoseok becomes to you.

It’s not like you socialise outside of office hours together, well, unless you count the coffee breaks and strolls around campus. Your predominately study, well, again, you study and Hoseok just works. It’s because you want to do well, you use as an excuse whenever you overthink the whole thing. And Hoseok, being your professor with all the knowledge he holds, it’s easier to just sit together.

But none of that explains the talks you have not about your course. The hours of questions he has about Daisy and the small smiles that flutter to his lips whenever you tell him a piece of new information. It doesn’t explain the feelings that still flutters in your chest whenever you first step into his presence. Doesn’t explain all the hours you long for him when you’re not at university.

Studying gets hard though. Exams approach and your life outside of university continues. You manage to take some days of annual leave from work, feel guilty when you still drop Daisy off at nursery, but you use the hours to study. It’s your final year if you don’t pass these exams –

It’s not worth thinking about.

If Hoseok picks up on your stress, he doesn’t comment. At least not verbally. But he does bring you things, crisps and sweets and fizzy drinks as well as fruit and energy bars. He learns what you like, what you don’t as quickly pick up and what you love. He doesn’t ask, and you never say, but he still manages to pick up on your subtleties enough to bring you what you’re always craving.

“So come on,” Hoseok beams, almost dancing as if excited. “How you feeling?”

“Like I could be sick.”

He laughs like it’s a joke, but you’re not smiling. “Come on. You’ve done so much work you’ll breeze this.”

“It’s alright for you, you’re not having to take the exam.”

“I did once,” he says. “Well, not this exact one but you know.”

“And I bet you were shitting bricks too.”

He lifts an eyebrow and chuckles, answering your question. “And that’s why I know you’ll pass. Because you’ve worked hard for this, and yet I hardly worked and still passed.”

You hum. “That’s because you’re smart. These things come naturally to you.”

“Funny,” he says. “I’d have said the same thing about you.”

You flush, something Hoseok manages to do a lot. It’s just the things he says and the way he says them, as if they’re exactly what he thinks. He says it so plainly and unembarrassed.

“Well, uh, I better get going. I don’t want to be late.”

He smiles as you linger and as you take a step away from him, he reaches out to grab your wrist. It’s gentle, a grip you could easily pull from, but you stay. Eyes go from his hand holding your wrist, up his arm until you meet his eyes already looking at you.

“You’ve honestly got this,” he says, voice almost whispered.

You can only nod your head. Throat thick, heart hammering and now not because of nerves at the thought of your exam.

With a squeeze of your wrist and a soft smile Hoseok lets you go with a quick ‘good luck.’

At least he managed to distract you from the exam. The whole walk to the exam room you struggle to focus on recalling your notes and can only think of Hoseoks fingers on your skin.

You pass. Not quite flying colours, but you do pass comfortably. As Hoseok predicted you had nothing to worry about.

Time is back on your side. No longer having to attend classes, study or do assignments you get more of your life back, can spend more time with Daisy. While it’s nice, more relaxing and you love spending the time with Daisy without the worry of having to catch up on things, there are still things you miss. The main one being Hoseok.

You no longer have any excuse to go to a coffee shop with him, can no longer go to his office on the pretence of asking him a question. You do still email him though. Firstly to thank him for all he did for you, the help and the copious amounts of caffeine. But the emails go well past that.

One email turn into chains. He asks about Daisy but he also asks after you.

You learn more about each other’s lives. Don’t see each other and yet somehow grow closer. Maybe it’s the distance that gets you to open up easier, or maybe it’s the fact you don’t have any official ties to him anymore. Your graduation is still a few weeks away but you no longer view yourself as his student anymore.

Still, it doesn’t mean anything happens. They’re just emails. You don’t see him in person. And as the weeks between exams and graduation pass you learn to accept that emails is all it’ll be. You have Daisy, that’s all you need.

“Congratulations.”

You twist, already knowing who it is before you see him.

It feels like it’s been ages since you last saw him and the sight of him takes your breath away.

Hoseok is all sharp black lines, crisp white shirt, thin black tie. His smile is just as wide and just as white. His eyes sparkling, the skin around them crinkling with joy. You don’t reply to his comment, mind a whirl of disconnected thoughts at the shock of how good he looks. A hint of wicked creeps into his smile as if he can read every thought. But then his eyes are dropping and his smile is all joy again.

“And hello again Miss Daisy.”

You look down at the mans focus, jump Daisy up so she sits better on your hip. Her eyes jump between the two of you, unsure. She’s older now, just over fourteen months old. She can walk on her own, or more wobble, every step looking as if she might topple. She’s said her first word though most noises are still gobbledygook. She must look so different to Hoseok.

“You don’t remember me?” He almost sounds offended, but his voice is sweet and his smile is still in place. “Even after I held you for so long in that class?”

She leans her head into your side, trying to cover her face while her wide eyes still try and take him in. Your smile is broad when you look back at Hoseok, his mirroring yours.

“She’s grown,” he says it gently, quietly as if not wanting Daisy to hear.

“That’s generally what babies do,” you tease, Hoseok’s eyes sparking with joy.

“And you’ve done it,” he says. “You must enjoy all the extra time you can spend with Daisy.”

“Yeah,” you say looking down at Daisy and then more sheepishly looking at Hoseok. “I just also kind of miss uni too.”

He looks surprised and you flush as if you’ve admitted an embarrassing secret. Which in a way you have. Because you may miss university, but it’s not the studying you miss.

“You miss university?” He mutters the words back to you.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Ah,” he scratches the back of his neck as you hoist Daisy to a more comfortable spot on your hip. “So, uh, what are your plans are now?”

You look around, can see your parents stood in the distance talking to some other parents from your course. “I was going to head out for a meal with my family.”

“Yeah, sorry, I mean now you’ve graduated. If you miss studying, do you plan on staying to do a PhD or anything?”

“What? No way.”

“Oh, ok,” he laughs, relief flowing off him though you’re not sure why. “It’s just, that’s good, because now you’re not my student I feel I can ask you on a date.”

“What?”

He laughs, his eyes dancing to Daisy. “I’m sorry, maybe this isn’t the best time.”

“It’s definitely questionable timing.”

“Well, maybe I’ll ask at a better time.”

“No,” you jump in, Hoseok’s eyes wide as he looks at you. “I mean yes,” his smile begins to curve as you stumble over your words. “I mean, I’d like it if you ask again. Maybe when I didn’t have my daughter on my hip.”

You’ve never seen him smile wider. His eyes once again going between you and Daisy before settling on you.

“Then I’ll ask you again,” he says. “Congratulations.”

You both beam at each other for a couple more seconds before you mum calls you in the background. Looking over your shoulder you see your parents waiting for you. Hoseok’s eyes are still on you, the smile on his lips when you look back at him.

“I guess I’ll see you soon?”

“Sounds like a date to me,” he smiles.

You nod, struggle to leave him, but you now you know this isn’t goodbye you can turn and walk over to your parents.

“Who was that?” You mum asks, not even trying to hide the fact she’s looking at Hoseok.

When you glance over your shoulder Hoseok is talking to someone else but his eyes keep glancing your way. You smile back at your mum, hesitating on saying he’s your professor, you guess he isn’t anyone.

“A friend,” you say instead, hoping one day he might be something else.

#hoseok fic #btswritingcafe #hoseok x you #j hope fic #hoseok one shot #hoseok fan fiction #hoseok fluff

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threeletterslife · 1 year

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33 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity, depictions of violence

⨰ wordcount: 6.9k

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⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

That night, Instructor Shin came to you in your dreams—quite vividly too, for your dream worlds have always been picturesque.

She was staring at you with her sharp eyes, but her gaze was strangely gentle. It felt so real—especially as she held her black pointer bedazzled with her emerald birthstone, which twinkled in white light. May you one day change Darlae for the better, she whispered, her ruby-red lips moving just enough to enunciate her words.

You tossed and turned in your sleep.

She smiled at you—it was one of her rare smiles that brought slight wrinkles upon her face, but it made her look incredibly kind. And may you one day still remember me, your strict, old, incompetent instructor, who nearly stopped you from achieving greatness in the Darlaean Army.

When you woke up at the break of dawn, there were dried tear streaks on your face and a new fire burning inside of you. You’d forgotten your dream for a moment—amongst all of the fuss with the rankings and the training and the duels. Your life had picked up its pace and while living in survival mode, you’d simply unremembered what made you join the Darlaean Army in the first place. But Instructor Shin’s words reignited what you lost.

She believed in you and so did Hajin, her father, and even General Son, who was willing to give you a second chance. So how could you so easily give up on your dream? How silly of you to simply let go of all the efforts you’ve put into your training! General Son was right; there was no place for cowardliness in his army. Heroes got nowhere from fear!

But perhaps you could compromise. Sometimes, fear drove people to do great things; you couldn’t exactly think of any examples, but maybe you could be the first instance. Maybe you could leverage your fears—your fear of hurting others, your fear of getting hurt yourself, your fear of dying unaccomplished, your fear of losing the life you’d built for yourself in the 12th city—to drive yourself to stay in General Son’s army.

You gritted your teeth. You had exactly three days to pull yourself together and rise from the deep end, so you decided to put yourself through hell to prepare.

The only problem was, fear was a damn hard thing to shake off.

“Okay, okay, that was good, Y/N,” Hajin said, nodding her head as you masked a flower petal into a pebble and threw it hard at the wooden dummy before you. “But it was a pebble, Y/N. No one in their right damn mind would surrender to a tiny piece of rock.” She hummed, circling around you in the small practice arena. “It was an improvement, though.” She sighed. “Try to think bigger. Think, what is a showstopper?”

You nervously tugged at your necklace. The dirt arena was littered with harmless objects that were standard when it came to these duels. Cadets were expected to use alchemy to create non-lethal weapons to force their opponents to surrender. But to you, the term non-lethal truly meant something that couldn’t harm anyone. “I’m sorry,” you sighed, wiping the sweat off your brow. “It’s just… if I turned that pebble any bigger… I mean, what if I accidentally give my opponent a concussion?”

Hajin snorted. “It happens. They shouldn’t take it personally. And if they do, it’s on them. You’re dueling! Something like that is expected to happen! Look, I gave someone a black eye last week, but they healed it in several days! So don’t worry too much about hurting someone.”

You bit your lip. It was much easier said than done. You wished with all your heart that you could stop giving a shit about hurting your opponent, but there was always a degree of unpredictability in these duels—you never knew what arbitrary objects would be placed in the arena and you never knew who your opponent was until the duel began. What if something happened and you seriously injured them? What if something happened and you were seriously injured? It was such a selfish thought to have, and you hated yourself for it.

The truth was, there were soldiers out there, sacrificing their lives for Darlae and here you were, unable to participate properly in a small duel. On the battlefield, no arbitrary objects were littered on the ground for Darlaean soldiers’ ease of use. On the battlefield, Darlaean soldiers survived on pure instinct and adrenaline—at least that was what was rumored amongst your squadron, for no cadet truly knew what a soldier went through when they marched to battle. On the battlefield, it was kill or be killed.

But this wasn’t the battlefield, thank Guseul, it was a damn little arena. You weren’t expected to kill anyone, and now that you thought about it, your primary goal technically wasn’t to injure. In fact, your real goal was to make your opponent surrender.

“Look,” Hajin said, breaking you out of your thoughts, “you need to win this damn duel because I’m not letting my best friend leave me. So, you’re going to take this very, very seriously, all right? It’s just like when you taught me alchemy, Y/N. You told me to stay true to myself when I cast my whims. You let me continue to use light magic; you honed my strengths. You made me embrace them. So do the same!” She grinned. “What kind of alchemy are you best at? What can you use to make your opponent surrender? Surely, masking some rose petal into a pebble isn’t the best you’ve got. You’ve ranked first amongst 100 cadets before! You have it in you, Y/N!”

Hajin’s words of encouragement made you feel a little better.

“You’re the masking master!” Hajin cheered you on. “You can mask everything into anything!!!”

That wasn’t exactly true as of yet, but you were trying to get there anyway.

You smiled, a new idea suddenly materializing in your head. “Thanks, Hajin. You’re the best.”

She grinned. “Now get to work, cadet! Time’s ticking!”

The sunlight was too bright. The dirt was too loose. And there were one too many spectators. You could feel their gazes, boring into your back, and in that moment, you felt so small, so tiny, so insignificant. Your hands were shaking, and you hoped no one was observant enough to notice.

“YOU CAN DO IT, Y/N!” Hajin yelled from the crowd. You couldn’t find the energy to smile, but her words did ease off a little bit of the tension. Still, your heart felt like it was in your guts, and you could barely see past arm’s length.

You clutched your trinket, trying to feel the magic course through your veins and calm your nerves. While taking deep breaths, you carefully surveyed the objects scattered around in today’s arena. There were cotton balls, a few towels, a roll of gauze, an apricot seed, a mug from the dining hall, and what looked to be someone’s lost sock to name a few. You looked away from these objects, not even bothering to study them at all.

Instead, you looked ahead to study your opponent, who was all the way on the other side of the arena. Unlike you, she didn’t seem too nervous at all, which made sense since rumor had caught on that you automatically surrendered every duel you were put into. For a second, you felt a little guilty that that wouldn’t be the case today—that was, if you were able to pull off what you spent countless hours practicing. Your opponent—Eunhae was her name—began studying the objects on the ground, which made you sweat just a little more. She was ranked fairly high—somewhere amongst the top 20 cadets—so you knew she wouldn’t surrender so easily. You could practically see her already calculating what to shift and what to mask.

Nervously, you looked to the stands, glancing momentarily at General Son. He rarely came to these duels—his officers were the ones who usually supervised them—but he was undoubtedly here for you today. Even worse, the man was staring straight at you, your eyes making contact with his sharp ones. You jumped a little and looked away.

For a split second, you wondered if this was all a good idea.

But there was no time to second guess yourself.

A vivid purple streak shot up in the bright noon sky, courtesy of one of the judging officers.

The duel had officially begun.

Your ears began to ring.

Eunhae charged at you, her long, brown hair flying behind her. She had her teeth gritted, her fists clenched.

But everything felt like it was moving in slow motion.

You watched as Eunhae laggardly crouched down, carefully picked up the mug from the dining hall, then gradually size-shifted it, where it became the size of her head. Your eyes widened slowly as she sluggishly heaved the giant mug at you with all of her might.

Your breath hitched.

Then all at once, everything was moving too fast.

Every bone, muscle, nerve in your body screamed at you to surrender, to make it stop, to feel that sweet sense of relief and comfort that you were going to be safe. Instead, somehow, somewhere, something in you made you jerk away, and just in the nick of time, you managed to dodge the attack as the mug crashed into the arena’s walls behind you.

There was an ear-splitting crack!

You felt like you were going to throw up.

Eunhae picked up one of the gauzes.

You were stumbling away, attempting to avoid being cornered, but your feet felt so heavy; were you imagining it, or were your black leather boots sinking into the dirt? When you looked up from your daze, you saw an arrow—where the spearhead was the harmless white gauze—spiraling straight at you.

You frowned.

Eunhae cursed under her breath.

Failed masking happened rather often during duels when the stress levels were high. You let the gauze-arrow hit you on the arm, trying not to expend energy unnecessarily. While trembling, you rubbed the impact area with your hand, not because it hurt, but as if to calm your nerves. It wasn’t exactly working.

Somehow, you were already panting. The breathing echoed in your ears in slow, loud huffs. A single drop of sweat rolled down your face, over the hill of your cheeks and down the slope of your chin.

It felt like you were running out of time.

Any minute now, after she recovered from the shock of her failed masking, Eunhae was bound to attack again. You knew you wouldn’t be able to keep up—stamina wasn’t your greatest strength, but it was definitely hers.

Your trembling hand reached up to clench the pendant of your necklace.

Immediately, just a tiny bit of courage flooded back into you.

Right.

The plan.

The plan that you weren’t so sure was allowed.

But you didn’t exactly have many options now that you were already here.

Focus, now…

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out…

And soon, the world fell silent, save for the loud beating of your heart.

The only thing in your vision now was Eunhae, running towards you in slow motion once more. Her face was contorted, and there was sweat beading on her forehead. She was already holding a new object—ready to attack you with it—but that didn’t matter to you at the moment. She was so close to you now that you could see the splash of freckles across her nose. Her lips were parted, and her dark eyes seemed to see no one but you.

But more importantly, she wore the standard cadet uniform—the black, stiff cotton material, the silver and purple stitchings, the shiny leather boots. It was identical to yours and that of the 70 other cadets left in the program. It was the uniform you saw every day, the uniform you hand-washed, the uniform you folded, ironed, and donned each morning. You spent more time in your uniform than not; thus, you knew every stitch, every crease, every stretch of the fabric like it was on the back of your hand. You could recreate the uniform from memory if you wanted to—even with brand-new material: velvet, corduroy, wool… It wouldn’t be so challenging, considering how well-versed you were in designing apparel.

Perhaps you could even recreate it with more untraditional fabrics like chenille, taffeta, or brocade.

Or what about with outrageous material like rubber? Wood? Perhaps stone?

Yes, stone—that was perfect! You could practically feel the cool, hard sleeves, the stiff body of the uniform, the heavy boots… The smoothness, the dark gray color, the sheer heaviness… Yes, that charcoal color would suit Eunhae quite nicely—possibly bringing out her freckles. Gone would be the cotton and the silver purple stitchings, and gone would be the leather on the boots, too. Everything would be stone.

Dense, immovable stone.

Somewhere along your vivid train of thought, you must’ve closed your eyes—it happened often when you were attempting to mask something big. There was that familiar migraine seeping in, too. When your eyes finally fluttered open, relieving yourself from the darkness, you came nearly face to face with Eunhae. Her eyebrows were deeply furrowed, and her teeth were gritted in concentration. Her forehead was now wet with perspiration. And her eyes, they were screaming with what looked like anger.

You let out a tiny squeak, your whole body tensing up as you squeezed your eyes shut again—too afraid to face your impending doom. You waited for the blow to come, to feel some sort of pain in your side, but when nothing happened after several seconds, you slowly opened one eye, then the other.

Less than an arm’s length away from you, Eunhae was wobbling from side to side, on the verge of losing her balance. She grunted, her face completely red as she struggled with the new weight of her uniform. The sweat from her forehead began rolling down her face.

Your lips parted in shock.

“Y-You!” Eunhae stuttered, trying to move forward, but when that proved to be futile, she tried another tactic. With all of her might, and with a mighty scream, she swung her arm at you. You flinched on instinct, but her arm fell limp before ever reaching you from being encompassed in a stone sleeve. Eunhae was struggling to keep her arm up—she was trembling from head to toe—and she was successful for perhaps half a minute before her whole body collapsed onto the ground.

With a loud groan, she heaved her body forward, straining her muscles in an attempt to move, but she could barely keep her head lifted from the ground. Her face was growing near purple now as her stone uniform kept her pinned to the ground. Sweat continued to roll off of her body, streaking the gray stone with a darker charcoal color.

You watched her struggle, which felt so incredibly wrong, but there was nothing else you could do. You would lose everything if you lost—you had to make sure you walked away victorious. So you stood your ground before the poor girl, staring down, shaking in your uniform boots.

Sweat rolled down your neck, disappearing underneath your cotton uniform. The masking had to hold until Eunhae surrendered. It was all you needed to win. You couldn’t bear looking her in the eyes, so you closed your own, your fists clenched at your sides.

“You can’t keep me like this forever!” Eunhae shouted, but she sounded desperate.

For a second, you feared that she would somehow be able to unmask her uniform material back into cotton, but the logical part of you countered that with a simple fact: Eunhae was an expert at size-shifting, not so much masking. But, if she just so happened to be angry enough to unleash powerful light magic, that would also be a different story.

Nervously, you cracked open one eye, wondering if this was even enough to stop a cadet like Eunhae. There was unbridled rage in her eyes as she lay on the ground, unable to move. But the longer you stared at her, the look gradually morphed into one of capitulation.

Finally, Eunhae let out a long, labored sigh. “I’ll give you this one, then.” She was completely limp. “You win. I surrender. Now get me out of this thing!”

You collapsed to the ground in shock, and it was your loss of concentration—not quite exactly her request—that unmasked Eunhae’s uniform. As the stone eroded away and the familiar cotton material faded into existence, you stared at the dirt, unblinking. Grumbling, Eunhae sat up, stretching her limbs and brushing herself off while looking quite disdained at her loss.

There was an eerie silence.

Normally, there would be clapping by now.

Now you were shaking, though you didn’t know why, and suddenly, it felt like you were the one donning the stone uniform. You could hear your breathing echoing in your head, and your legs refused to listen to you anymore. It was as if all of the energy in your body had been zapped away.

Were you allowed to do this? Was masking your opponent’s uniform on the grounds for disqualification? Is that why everybody was so silent?

But then, you heard a joyous cry from the audience.

“YOU DID IT, Y/N, YOU WON!”

It was Hajin—bless her—and in no time, others followed the princess’ lead. Your victory was welcomed with a roar of applause. The world began spinning. You were still shaking, but when you turned slightly to the side, you saw General Son, standing up with the rest of the audience, clapping for you. He wasn’t smiling, because he never smiled, but he was nodding in approval, and that was all you needed for all of your worries to wash away.

You were safe.

You could stay here.

Who knew that the Fashion Studies class you took years ago would be so useful in the army? From your first victorious duel, you learned that you didn’t have to resort to violence if you didn’t want to. There were definitely officers who didn’t approve of that notion, but they couldn’t do anything about it since General Son never found it wrong, though he did later admit it was unorthodox.

Still, he confirmed that you were no longer on probation, and with the momentum of your first victory, you went on to win a majority of the rest of your duels. As a year flew past, your ranking gradually, gradually increased until one day, your name was next to that shiny, silver number 1 once more. But you never really gave two shits about the rankings. In your mind, this was all for a bigger cause—the cause of one day changing Darlae for the better. The change that Instructor Shin believed you could make.

But you did have to admit, though a bit begrudgingly, that it always felt good when your opponent would take one look at you from across the arena and surrender right away. You didn’t let those instances get to your head, though; you worked hard, just like everybody else. If it just so happened that your masking skills were more advanced and your hexes were mostly successful, then that was that. There was no need to make a big deal out of it. But Hajin always liked to, anyways.

She was your biggest supporter, attending every one of your duels and cheering you on the whole time. As more circas passed, she grew into her light magic, and though she still occasionally cast an unpredictable whim, she was a much stronger alchemist than before. Her father was proud of her as any father would be, but he was just as proud of you, who he practically took under his wing as his second daughter.

And then there was General Son. He was always watching you with those sharp eyes of his, not saying much in both words and expression. But you knew he had a lot of thoughts—whether they were good thoughts or bad thoughts, you were never too sure. Still, he seemed satisfied with your performance in his army, and you liked to imagine that he looked mildly pleased every time you saluted him when he walked past.

Just like that, your life as a cadet in the Darlaean Army became routine once more, with the occasional ups and downs, but nothing life-changing. And before you knew it, you were already 17.

Hajin slumped over her bed in a deep pout. “I can’t believe he’s making us wait another two years, Y/N. Two! I swear on Guseul’s heart that I’m going to die waiting for the day we can finally go to battle!”

“Your father’s just trying to protect you,” you said, patting Hajin’s shoulder. “You’re his only daughter. Also his last living family member.”

Hajin let out a loud sigh. “Everyone else in our cohort has already been moved to the 1st city!” She groaned, hiding her face in her silk pillowcase. “We’ll be the oldest ones in the new cohort! It’s going to be so embarrassing!” She suddenly sat up, turning to face you. “This isn’t fair! We were ranked in the top ten!”

“I know, I know,” you said, patting Hajin’s back. “It sucks, but I mean, we’ll be able to explore the tunnels for two more years, isn’t that the good part? Why do you want to go to battle so much, anyways?” You didn’t mean to sound so exasperated when you asked the latter question because you knew full well what Hajin was going to say. But before you could open your mouth to apologize, Hajin was already speaking.

“I just need to avenge my mother’s death!” she announced valiantly as predicted. She sighed, looking out the window, where the dim moonlight filtered in. “That’s all I want. I just need to be out there and fight the same bastards who killed her.” Her voice grew quiet, which happened quite rarely and only when she was dead serious, which was also a rarity. “You didn’t have to stay with me, you know, stuck in this damn training program. You finished first in our cohort; you should’ve graduated and marched on to the 1st city.”

The truth was, Hoseok had invited you to another private chat in which he’d given you a few options. One of them was, of course, graduating from the training program for adolescents and moving on to becoming a true soldier who would march to battle. But the other choice, the one that Hoseok wanted you to choose, was to stay in the 12th city with his daughter before he finally deemed her ready to leave the royal nest.

“She still casts unpredictable whims from time to time,” was his biggest worry. “She must be absolutely formidable before I let her on that battlefield.” You knew it would break Hajin’s heart if she found out her father withheld her from graduating due to her erratic alchemy skills—when those who were far worse than she had already graduated—so you never mentioned it to her. The plan, if you stayed, would be to help train Hajin’s light magic skills until her alchemy was sound, and that would all be under the guise of her father’s protectiveness over his only daughter, which was also true.

“But I don’t want to hold you back either, my dear. I don’t want to withhold such a promising soldier from my nation; General Son tells me he sees the future in you. But ultimately, my dear, the choice is yours.”

And you’d chosen to stay. Mostly because the prospect of going to battle terrified you, though you never admitted that to anyone—not even Hajin. It was too humiliating. But another part of you couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Hajin, of leaving her father, of leaving the secret tunnels, too. It would be like entering a new chapter of your life, which wasn’t always the worst thing that could happen. But you simply didn’t feel ready. What good was an unprepared hero, anyway?

You sighed, staring outside at the moon along with Hajin. “Well, I wasn’t going to leave you here. And besides,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips, “we can eat all the deviled eggs we want for two more years. Isn’t that paradise?”

Hajin didn’t laugh at your joke; she was too lost in her thoughts, which was something that you usually did and not the other way around. Then, she spoke in a quiet murmur: “Y/N, why do you want to fight in the war?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I mean, um… it’s…” You sighed, not having expected Hajin to ask such a question. “It’s going to sound silly.”

Hajin finally turned to you, and it looked like she was finally back to her old self because she was grinning madly. “Try me,” she snorted. “How silly can it really be?”

“Well…” You hesitated. “Okay, fine. Ever since I was little, I’ve always wanted to be some sort of hero. I guess I just read too many fairytales, but that’s beside the point. I want to accomplish something big, you know? Make a difference. I dunno. How cool would it be if I could contribute even just a little bit to Darlae’s freedom from the war?” You tugged on your necklace. “It’s stupid, I know. Your reason is much cooler—”

“No way!” Hajin’s eyes widened. “Your reason is so… mature. It’s high level, you know? Above seeking vengeance and all that crap. Oh, Y/N,” she laughed. “You could definitely do it. You’ve already made a difference in my life! I just know you’re going to do something great. Oh, I know! You’ll become an officer—I don’t need to be a divinist to know that!”

You laughed along with her. “Aw, thanks, Hajin. I wouldn’t say it’s a mature reason—I mean, I’m 17 and I’m still dreaming of heroes. But thanks. Really. That was kind of you to say.” You nudged her playfully. “You’re more officer material than I am. You’ve got the energy and charisma. You’re a people magnet!”

Hajin beamed. “You really think so?” She plopped back down on her bed, rolling her eyes. “Tell that to my father, will you? Then maybe he’ll let us go to war.”

You laughed, plopping down on the bed right next to your best friend. “I don’t think he’ll budge.”

“Bummer,” Hajin sighed. “Whatever.” Then, she turned to her side, grinning at you mischievously. “Wanna have a late-night deviled egg party?”

You would be crazy to resist.

Even though you and Hajin weren’t technically allowed in the 1st city as both of you were still cadets in the training program, that never stopped the two of you from simply using the secret tunnels to infiltrate the 1st city’s sewers. But all there was to see in the 1st city was soldiers training. Though you found it fascinating, Hajin found it boring.

“What’s so fun about watching a bunch of soldiers train?” Hajin sighed. “We see that in the training grounds all the time.”

“No, but they train so differently,” you answered, your voice tinged with excitement. “Look! They don’t do the stupid duels at all. They’re focusing on masking scraps of junk into weapons! See how that soldier just masked that blade of grass into a dagger? See how it pierced through the wooden block without unmasking itself? Amazing,” you breathed. “That’s not easy to do.”

“I’d rather watch a duel. They’re more exciting,” Hajin snorted. “Come on, let’s get back to the 12th city before anyone finds out we left.”

“W-Wait!” you said, eyes widening. “Look! We can’t miss this—they’re practicing formations! See how impenetrable it looks? It’s a formation meant for defense! And see how perfectly identical every soldier’s stance is? That must take hours and hours of practice!”

Hajin just laughed. “Only you could be so excited by army formations,” she teased.

But it wasn’t just you.

General Son also had a penchant for formations, which he made obvious to you after he caught you and Hajin snooping around the 1st city. He wasn’t angry, only stern, but when he found out that you had been drawing out his army’s formations and studying them on your own, he invited you to his study in the 12th city to “discuss”—though what about, you weren’t quite sure. But the invitation, of course, only came after you and Hajin ran a couple of laps around the training grounds for breaking regulations—it was only a formality.

The discussion ended up being hours long and was more like a lecture than anything else. The General asked you to explain what you had gleaned from snooping around the 1st city and observing the different formations, and though you were nervous, you were able to explain each one and the purpose you believed it had. He had no discernible expression on his face when you finished, but you must’ve done something right because he began to spread out a few of his own battle plans, which were a work in progress.

“See this, cadet?” he asked, running his fingers through the five obvious sectors drawn into the paper in black ink. “This is the battlefield. Memorize it by next time,” he said. “A good soldier must know the terrain she fights on.”

The mention of a next time filled you full of excitement, and you spent the following several days thinking about nothing but the battlefield. You woke up in the morning and stared at the copy of it that the General had given you. During your training—which was now too easy for you—you tried to draw it from memory in your mind. And at night, you dreamed of it—the five sectors, the soil, the hard dirt, and the soldiers charging through it.

General Son didn’t show much of a reaction when you completely redrew the battlefield from memory during your next “discussion.” But the more time you spent under his guidance, you realized that he had particular ways of showing his praise. When he deemed you ready, he simply moved on to the next thing he wanted you to learn. He pushed you harder than any other person in your life—nearly rivaling your own spirit—always sending you back from his study with a stack of books to read for the next discussion, along with formations to review and comment on. You spent your days training—though you always finished early—and your nights studying battle plans and formations.

Hajin found it tedious.

“You look like you’re having fun,” she snorted, staring at you hunched over, studying your books in the moonlight streaming through her large window. She shuddered. “On second thought, I don’t think I could ever become an officer. I can’t handle the logistics! I would never want to spend my free time studying battle plans and doing extra reading. But you’re fit for the job, Y/N. I think General Son thinks so too.”

You didn’t want to believe that at first. It seemed impossible to you that the General of the Darlaean Army could ever see someone like you as an officer. You weren’t even sure if you could handle it! What kind of officer was afraid of going to battle? What good was knowing the battlefield like the back of your hand if you were too afraid to fight?

Despite your doubts, the General believed in you—at least it seemed like he did. He began granting you special access to the 1st city to observe the soldiers’ training. He also invited Hajin as a formality, for she was also a well-respected cadet yet to graduate from the training program, but she declined. “I’d rather give up a week’s worth of deviled eggs than go sit and watch soldiers train for what feels like an eternity!” she told you quite vehemently.

So, by yourself, you diligently traveled to the 1st city once a week to study the applications of the formations you’ve read about and to learn about the different charms that the soldiers used. Most of these charms were cast as whims because in a battle, where anger and passion drenched the air, light magic became much more powerful. It was still difficult for you to get rid of that scholarly instinct of using dark magic, and since the General never commented on your tendency for casting hexes, you continued to use the magic that brought comfort to you.

Sometimes, you wondered what the General saw in you to privately teach you the ways of battle planning. You often wondered if you deserved the treatment. Hajin was aware of your self-doubting tendencies, and she was always kind enough to point out that you were, indeed, a talented cadet, and you have been, for circas now, ranked first on the board—that the newer cadets feared dueling with you because you never lost.

But you weren’t as charismatic as the majors, captains, sergeants and privates you observed in the 1st city. And you sure as hell would never be as charismatic as the General. There was something about him that elicited fear and respect. He never had to raise his voice; just one look from him and he could have even the strongest soldiers cowering. He was brutal out on the battlefield, you’ve heard. Perhaps actions spoke louder than words.

Of course you knew not to compare yourself to the damn General of the Darlaean Army, but self-doubt was in your nature. Still, your fear of disappointing the General was somehow greater than your self-doubting tendencies. You continued to make an effort in your private discussions and visited the 1st city with a fiery passion in your eyes, ready to commit everything you saw into memory.

And slowly, as you began to catch up to his expectations, General Son became just slightly amiable. He no longer watched you with his sharp, discerning eyes, and he gave you short, laconic compliments when you deserved them. You had the feeling that he was warming up to you. Perhaps he wasn’t sure if he could trust you before, especially with the stunt you pulled when you had refused to participate in duels.

He asked you quite often about Hajin and her progress with her light magic, which you suspected Hoseok put him up to. It was no secret that General Son and Hoseok were quite close. You’ve heard them call each other by their first names, which was shocking considering one was the king and the other was the general of the nation. You don’t think you’ve ever heard anybody else refer to General Son as Taegi except Hoseok.

Though General Son didn’t exactly show you the same kind of warmth that Hoseok did, he showed you generosity and patience. The discussions no longer felt like lectures; they were truly discussions—an exchange of ideas and feedback. Sometimes, General Son invited over a few of his majors to participate, which made you incredibly nervous, but every time self-doubt sank in, you reminded yourself of Instructor Shin’s words: may you one day change Darlae for the better. You were going to do it—someday in the future. This was simply your journey of mentorship and preparation.

It became increasingly clear that General Son trusted your opinions, and you naturally trusted him, for he commanded the entire army with a steady hand. Gradually, things fell into a routine again. You still had your moments of diffidence, of course, but that was part of the routine, too. And soon, before you knew it, seasons passed until the leaves of the trees reddened and the weather became chillier.

You would never forget this particular day in Circa Opal. The day that altered the routine of your life.

You were walking back to the castle from a long discussion with General Son. In your uniform pocket was the smaller, size-shifted stack of books he’d assigned you to read and the shrunken scrolls he wanted you to annotate. The air was brisk and the sun was setting, which were all the more reasons for you to quicken your pace as you promised to meet Hajin for another one of your secret tunnel exploring rounds, which had become rare with your busy schedule. The plan was to explore Hajin’s favorite: the 6th city. She was undoubtedly already waiting for you, wearing her purple pantaloons that you’d gifted her two years ago—her “exploring pants” as she called them. You could just imagine her pacing around her room impatiently, wondering “Where the hell is she???”

You smiled to yourself, practically running now to get to the castle faster. The red leaves made a satisfying crunch underneath your feet as you sprinted. But in your haste, you bumped into someone nearby and the force of the collision caused both of you to fall to the ground.

You felt a dull impact on your behind and winced, but you’ve been through worse during training. Luckily, your miniature textbook and scrolls didn’t fall out of your pocket, which was a better outcome than what you would’ve hoped. But the stranger—the boy—whom you’d bumped into wasn’t so fortunate. He’d been carrying a large bag of what seemed to be filled with all sorts of equipment, which dropped to the ground from the impact and landed with a raucous crash! At the same time, a twinkling blue stone slipped from his pocket and landed on top of a few fallen leaves on the grass.

“O-Oh! I’m so, so sorry,” you said, quickly scrambling to pick up the sapphire from the ground and wiping it clean from the dried leaf debris. “I wasn’t looking where I was going! Here, you dropped your birthst—”

Your breath hitched as your eyes met his. The rest of your words became lost in your throat.

He was beautiful.

As the two of you slowly stood up together, you couldn’t help but notice his big, doe eyes, perfect nose, gently tousled hair, delicate, pinkish lips… The warm glow of the setting sun backlit his face, softening his features, and the mild autumn breeze mussed his raven-colored hair, where strands of it fell over his dark brown eyes.

Time slowed down as he reached out to take his birthstone from you. And when his hands brushed yours, there was a shy spark that ignited in your chest. Your eyes widened as you looked up at him in shock.

His own tender eyes met yours, and he blinked slowly, his lashes long enough to kiss his face. It was as if you were in a trance.

“Thank you,” he whispered. His voice was quiet, silvery, perfect as you would expect from someone like him.

Your lips parted as you readied yourself to respond, but no words fell from your lips.

Who was he? Why haven’t you seen him before?

He surely wasn’t a soldier, for he wasn’t wearing the uniform, which meant he most likely worked for the royal family or perhaps even for the army. He looked too kind to be a soldier, anyway.

A soft splash of rosy pink emerged on his cheeks as the two of you continued to peer into each other’s eyes. His hands began fidgeting with his birthstone. “You…” he said, face brightening in recognition. “You…” he whispered again, eyes softening.

Did he know you?

You surely didn’t know him; you would’ve remembered if you did.

“You…?” you barely managed to get out when the boy suddenly picked up the bag he dropped from the ground and began stepping backwards, though slowly.

You wanted to tell him to wait, to at least ask for his name, but how could you? He was already walking away from you. Maybe something about this encounter terrified him. It was rather odd. He was a complete stranger, but he strangely felt like comfort. There was this foreign tug on your heartstrings—a fleeting feeling that maybe you will get to know him in the near future. Did he feel this too? Was that why he left?

You couldn’t help but watch him walk away, your head tilting as you stared at his back. It was stupid to think such a short encounter could blossom into something more. But…

No. Nothing was going to happen. This fate-like encounter was nothing more than a figment of your imagination—perhaps it was acting up after all of those tales of romance you read when you were young. Perhaps the boy left because there was nothing to stay for. With a sigh, you turned around and began walking away, towards the grand castle and to Hajin, who was undoubtedly waiting for your arrival.

But unbeknownst to you, soon after you turned around, the boy stopped in his footsteps to watch you leave. He had a bright look in his eyes, a look of mostly curiosity, really, but there was another thing. A look of longing. It was gone in a second, however, when he finally blinked. Then, he began walking away too, as if the encounter had never happened at all in the early days of Circa Opal.

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⨰ a/n: sorry for the short delay! had to attempt to proofread :') but hehe we finally get to meet jk!!!

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

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esta-elavaris · 2 years

Note

Hi! I recently discovered “Catch the Wind” and I absolutely love it, it’s such a masterpiece, thanks for creating it.

I saw that you’re open for one-shot requests for that universe and I had a thought for a bit of an AU scenario: what if Theodora had been discovered by Elizabeth instead of James and his crew? Maybe she appeared on the beach instead of at sea, and told Elizabeth some version of her story that convinced her to take her in, and Elizabeth was only too happy to help her fabricate a story to fit in with Port Royal society, because at this stage in her life she’s so DONE with her lot in life as a society woman and is craving any sort of adventure, and sees Theo as a sort of exciting project but also a potential friend). What happens if as a result of this, Theo went to live with Elizabeth at the Governor’s home instead of with James? How would that have affected James and Theo’s opinions of one another upon meeting, and the development of their relationship, particularly their early days pining?

I would imagine it would make it harder for the couple to get to know each other and thus to fall in love (yay more angst!), but I have faith that they would have found their way to one another anyways. I love when you write Theo’s and Elizabeth’s friendship, especially in the early days. It’s so pure, like neither can help becoming friends, so I think we’d get to see more of that in this proposed AU. I also think it would be really interesting to read your take on Theo’s feelings regarding Elizabeth’s general apathy and dismissive attitude towards James as a potential husband, which I imagine she’s notice more if they lived together, or to read about Elizabeth’s realisation of Theo’s and James’ reciprocal feelings for one another while they remain oblivious (I’d imagine she’d notice earlier on as well if they were closer, the way Hattie or even Groves did).

Anyway, sorry for the long ask, and thanks again for your wonderful story! If you decide to take this request on, thank you so much in advance, I’ll be so excited to read it! In the meantime, here’s a nice gif of our darling man giving us a smile, look at that cutie pie

Ooooh I’m losing my mind over this AU (and over the word masterpiece being thrown around, don’t do that to me hhhh). The thing is, it was so important to me to have Theo staying with James in the original story because I was pretty sure that was the only way he’d ever notice a woman who wasn’t Elizabeth - she’d have to be THAT much under his nose, and even then it would be an uphill battle. I think you’re right - Elizabeth would have to be in on it somehow, trying to push them together behind the scenes. I think she’d have her own motivations to do that, anyway, considering she admits in the first movie that she suspected he’d proposed, and it’s clear she’s not interested, so she’d probably consider it best for everybody if he and Theo ended up together.

I’ll see what I can do! I’ve got history with writing full blown AU fics of my own damn fics, but I can’t take something that extensive on right now, and this one would probably actually end up merging with how the original fic goes after the end of the first movie in terms of her having to make sure he ends up in Tortuga and then telling him the truth there and so on. It’s definitely something I’m interested in attempting, I’m already getting withdrawals as far as writing Theo and James is concerned, and while there’s definitely enough here for a multi-chapter arc, it would definitely have to be just a “highlight” reel sort of thing where I write the most interesting parts, otherwise it could end up being 40+ chapters far too easily. I’ll start throwing some scenes together and keep you posted! Thanks for the idea!

But YEAH, thank you so much! I’m glad you like what I did with Theo and Elizabeth’s friendship — one of the very first decisions I made going in was that they’d have to be friends, because I didn’t like the idea of creating an OC who is immediately at odds with one of the very few prominent ladies in the trilogy (if I keep calling it a trilogy enough, movies 4 and 5 will vanish, it’s science). If Elizabeth was actually interested in James at all, it would’ve been different, but she wasn’t so it just felt sort of needless? There was enough angst material in there already without Theo pinning all of the blame on Elizabeth as far as the first movie stuff is concerned.

And I won’t even get into how many times I watched that gif. It’s a sickness, I swear. Apparently 19 months//400k words of writing isn’t enough to get our lad out of my system.

#catch the wind #theodora #james/theodora

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ughwhateveridek · 2 years

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Blog 2

Karma

"A boomerang returns back to the person that throws it."

-Vera Nazarian

In today's world, this word gets thrown around a lot. Does anyone even know what it truly means?

Karma is the sum of a person's actions in this and previous states of existence, viewed as deciding their fate in future existences. In simple words, it's good or bad luck, viewed as resulting from one's actions.

But people don't get this. Most people just use this word when their own sadistic desires get fulfilled.

People who use this word way too often are definitely a lot, but the people who actually understand its meaning and believe in it are very few.

It is also often confused with 'destiny'. Karma isn't necessarily the same as destiny; but it can be seen as a part of it.

Karma is also defined as 'the law of cause and effect', in the sense that every action brings about a corresponding reaction.

The ENDLESS KNOT is a famous symbol that represents 'Karma'. They symbolize the interlinking of cause and effect, a Karmic cycle that continues eternally.

But, all this leads to one major question arising, IS KARMA REAL OR JUST A MYTH?

I feel the answer to this question is subjective. A lot of people believe in Karma because they have experienced instances where, when they'd lost all hope, "Karma" came through for them. While on the other hand, people could just as easily argue that the concept is stupid and all the things that happen are mere coincidences because it makes people feel, for even just one second, that the world isn't all unfair; there is still some sense of justice.

I personally believe in it, maybe because it reinforces that there is still fairness in this unjust world, or maybe because something like this has happened to me, or maybe for some reason I just do.

A few years ago, my then best friend and I had a major fight because of a guy she brought into our life. The guy wasn't even someone she was romantically interested in, he was just a little more than an acquaintance. Yet she distanced herself from me for him. All our other friends saw this; asked both of us to make amends. I was ready to forgive her, she just never apologized. The fight was never resolved. She later ended up dating the guy. At that point it had been more than 6 months since we last talked. Their relationship went on for a good 2-3 years. A few months ago I found out the guy dumped her for someone else and for old times sake I reached out to her, asking her if she was okay or not. She ended up apologizing and we're on talking terms now.

What was that? Karma? Coincidence? Something else? I don't know. I only know that my faith in some God-ly things was restored that day and suddenly I was a believer.

Karma is also said to have linkages to past lives. A lot of people don't believe in past lives or rebirth, but I do.

I know someone who's scared of bobby pins, yes the not-at-all-dangerous pins people put in their hair. She'd been scared of them for as long as I can remember. A while back she got really into meditation and I don't know how true the next part is, but apparently in meditation when you reach a certain level, you can see visions of your past/future life (past life regression). She ended up seeing one such vision where she was killed in her previous life by nails being nailed into her head. Awful, right? But suddenly her fear of bobby pins started making a lot of sense…

"Why does this always happen to me?", "Why do I always suffer?", are some questions that a lot of us wonder about quite often. You're this wonderful person and who always thinks about others yet you still get tested so much, yet things always seem to go wrong. Why is it so? Maybe it's your past life? Maybe you're paying for the sins you committed in that life? Nobody knows for sure. But still, why not be good? Why not help people around you? Why not always be kind? Because no matter whether you believe in Karma or not, there's absolutely nothing wrong with being altruistic (to a limit, of course) and personally the smile you get afterwards is bigger than any reward you can possibly imagine.

#universe #universe and its ways #blog writers #blog writing #writeblogging #writeblr #writing #karma

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dragonofthedepths · 3 years

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Ingo is Immortal AU 12.3.22

So what if after getting messed around with and thrown through time and space Ingo and Akari are immortal?

It's not obvious at first especially with Ingo because they have no idea how old he really is, and everyone just thinks Akari is ageing really well. They both still have amnesia so it's not like they have any better of an idea how old they are than anyone else

But eventually it gets to the point where it's like "you definitely should have aged by now" and they just... haven't.

Like Liam is a full blown adult with grandkids and here they are looking exactly the same and absolutely everyone has noticed that it's weird

So they hang around Hisui a while longer but once they've figured out that they're immortal it gets kind of uncomfortable and so after a while they decide to leave

They adventure all around the world together for a hundred years or so, and Ingo takes up scrapbooking because he already lost his memories once and he wants to make sure he has a record of the things and people that matter to him so that can't happen again

Then Ingo decides he wants to settle down somewhere and not need to worry about living in a village as an immortal that'll kinda freak people out and just hide.

So he goes to Unova and finds himself a cave. Because Ingo likes caves. He's always liked caves. There's something nice about big dark underground tunnel systems, and he can navigate them easily and they just feel safe to him.

And every couple decades he leaves the cave and he meets people and makes friends and every now and then those friends will send their kids or grandkids up the mountain to say hi to him, and he keeps scrapbooking

Then one day a trainer gets lost on the mountain and stumbles across the cave and at first they spot silver eyes looking at them from across the cave and think it's inhabited by a pokémon of some kind then a lantern gets lit and... isn't that the missing Subway Boss?

And they're like "...Ingo?"

And Ingo's just like "Yes?" completly casual because he doesn't think it's weird that they know his name, they're probably just the decendent of one of his friends or something

And they're like "I think you need to come with me"

So they get him out and they get the authorities involved and someone calls Emmet and everyone gets ready to solve this mystery and find out why Ingo dissapeared while Ingo is just confused.

The authorities are like "Can you tell us why you were in the cave?"

And he's like "I live in the cave. I have lived in the cave for the past 198 years 2 months and 13 days"

And they're like 'well, this guy is completely crazy but maybe we can piece together something out of his story to figure out what actually happened' so they go "okay, what can you tell us about life in the cave"

So Ingo starts telling them about how he found the cave, all the historical figures he's met while living in the cave, all the times he's left the cave, and everyone who's come to visit him in the cave, and it's absolutely insane

But then he pulls out his scrapbooks, and they look up the history of these people and check their biographies/journals/whathaveyou, and his story is corroborated every step of the way

And they're just kinda forced to accept that Ingo has been in a cave for the past 200 years. Somehow.

They can't even be like 'must be a differnt Ingo' because the entire time he's been talking in train terms and gesturing and he's still in his freaking subway uniform (very very worn and patched)

Tldr: Ingo went missing for six months and when he reappeared it had been 200-400 years he had amnesia and he'd shaped history

Emmet is gonna need a lot of hugs to deal with this one.

And an emergency trip to meet Ho-oh or something so he can be immortal too.

Nobody tell him Ingo’s still not sure what a train is.

(Eventually Ingo's like "Would you like to meet my immortal niece?" and when they do someone takes one look at her and just goes "That's Champion Dawn")

Day (279/100) of my #infinitedaysofwriting @the-wip-project

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junghelioseok · 3 years

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heart-on.

↳ your one-night stand definitely isn’t relationship material, but maybe—just maybe—your manager’s son is.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | strangers to lovers!au ◇ 10.1k [1/1]

❛❛ my boss is always telling me how perfect her son would be for me and she promises he’s coming to the next holiday party and don’t worry he’s heard all about me too and ALSO there’s this dude i slept with once a couple of months ago and sometimes he still sends me dick pics when i ask him to at 3 in the morning cause seriously dude’s got a good dick ❜❜

notes: welcome to the first installment of the serendipity series! we’re starting with hoseok, because, well, have you met me? 🤣 be warned, however, that this isn’t anywhere near as edited as i’d like so i’ll probably give it another read/edit tomorrow but for now!!! here it is!!!

⇢ series masterlist. | inspired by this post.

warnings: dirty talk bc hoseok’s got a bit of a mouth on him, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kids!), sexting. dick pics, obvi. brief mention of a dead pet goldfish :(

You’re refilling your mug when you hear it. Voices filter out from the kitchen, floating past the coffee station where you’re pouring yourself another drink and hanging in the open air of the hallway that leads back to the rest of the office. They’re familiar voices, too—voices that belong to the resident gossips of your workplace. Lottie’s pitchy, nasal tone melds with Hyejin’s higher one, their conversation interrupted every so often by an exaggerated exclamation or gasp from Sandra, the third and final member of their trio.

“Haven’t you heard? Carolyn’s divorce was finalized over the weekend, the poor thing.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine how she’s feeling. I mean, getting back into dating at her age? Goodness!”

“And now she’ll be all alone at the holiday party, too. How sad is that?”

“It’s tragic. Poor thing.”

Rolling your eyes, you grab a packet of sugar and tear it open, upending it over your mug and watching the crystalline granules fall into the dark liquid within. You know for a fact that Sandra and her husband can’t even stand to be in the same room for an extended period of time, considering how they’d spent most of last year’s holiday party talking to entirely different groups of people. You’d sat two tables away from them during dinner, and they hadn’t even made eye contact once. And as for Lottie and Hyejin, well, you’re certain that their relationships aren’t much better. All three of them are miserable people as far as you’re concerned, and you make a mental note to check in on Carolyn—a sweet woman in her thirties who always keeps chocolate bars in her purse—on your way back to your desk.

“Sheesh. Vultures, the lot of them. Don’t you think?”

You whirl at the sound of your manager’s voice. Kyunghee Jung is a dark-haired woman in her late fifties, and she laughs when she sees your startled expression, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Easy! You’ll spill your coffee if you’re not careful.”

“I’ll probably have a heart attack first,” you reply, pressing a hand to your chest. “What was your job before this? Some kind of intelligence operative? Are you a super spy?”

Kyunghee laughs again and joins you at the counter. “Nothing even remotely as exciting as that,” she answers, plopping her mug down beside yours. It’s decorated with what looks like every color of the rainbow, a massive smiling sunflower taking up the majority of the surface, and the only remnant of the ceramic’s original color is on the very edge of the handle where there’s a lopsided little patch of white. The piece is clearly handmade, and a stark contrast to the simple mint green cup that houses your coffee. Looking at it, it’s impossible not to smile.

“I love that,” you remark, inclining your head at her mug. “Was it a present from one of your kids?”

“Hoseok,” she confirms, running a fingertip along the imperfect handle fondly. “I’ve told you about him before—he’s right around your age.”

You chuckle. “Right, I remember. That’s why he’s the perfect match for me, right?”

“Come now, there’s more to it than that,” Kyunghee defends, waving a hand. “But yes, to answer your question. He gave it to me as a birthday present when he was eight.”

“Well, you never told me he was an artist,” you tease. “Does he have an Etsy? Can I buy one of these off him? Does he do custom orders, maybe?”

Normally, your manager is more than happy to play along with your jokes, but today Kyunghee fixes you with an uncharacteristically serious look. “Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she asks. “He’s coming to the holiday party, after all. I figured you could finally meet.”

You blink. Kyunghee has been making offhand remarks about how well you would get on with her son, Hoseok, for over a year now, but you’ve never even come close to broaching the topic of meeting him. You don’t even know anything about the man beyond the fact that his name is Hoseok and that he works somewhere downtown. He also favors tall socks and yellow suspenders if the framed photograph on Kyunghee’s desk is any indication—or at least, he certainly did when he was still in diapers. Whether he still does, is anyone’s guess.

“Wow, I had no idea he was even interested in coming,” you manage when you’ve recovered from your surprise. “Did you bribe him?”

If Kyunghee notices that your voice is a few pitches higher than usual, she doesn’t remark on it. “Oh, you know. I just told him that this would be his last chance to score free booze on the company’s dime.” She laughs. “Three more months and it’s going to be all beaches and sunshine for me. I might even become a cruise person in my retirement.”

You gasp and slap a hand to your heart. “Kyunghee! Think of the environmental impact!”

“I said I might!” she retorts immediately. “Sheesh. Even in my old age, it’s hard to conveniently forget how shitty and unsustainable those damn boats are.”

You pick up your mug and raise it in a salute. “Well, the oceans thank you.”

“My husband doesn’t,” she answers with a sigh. “He’s been dying to book one of those trips that stop all along the Mediterrannean coastline, and I can’t exactly blame him.”

“That is tempting,” you admit. “You’ll have to send photos, if you do end up going.”

“You’ll be sick of me and my photos before the first day is even up,” she promises. Then she pauses, her eyes darting toward the kitchen where silence has fallen in the last few minutes. “Speaking of being sick—you think the vultures are still hovering around in there? I haven’t had lunch yet, and I need the microwave.”

Obligingly, you edge a little closer to the kitchen doorway and poke your head around the frame, scanning for Lottie and her sidekicks. “Coast is clear. Enjoy your lunch, Kyunghee.”

She nods and raises her mug at you, returning your salute. “I always do.”

///

As soon as the work day ends, you fall into your usual routine. Your commute home is easily walkable on nicer days, and though the winter weather is brisker than you’d like, you decide to walk for the sake of stopping at the convenience store on the corner of the block.

Once you arrive back at your apartment, you change into your comfiest sweats and a loose tee. You turn on some music while you throw together some dinner, and settle onto the couch half an hour later with a full plate and Netflix. Television is a welcome distraction from the events of the workday, and you manage to get through three full episodes of your current show before your pesky brain decides to revisit the events of today, replaying the conversations that you’d both had and overheard.

There’s no denying that you’ve been single for quite some time now, and for the most part, it’s been by choice. Ever since graduating from university, you’ve chosen to focus more on your career, and it’s paid off both in terms of the important position you hold in your company and your above average salary. And yet, you can’t help but think back to the gossip you’d overheard earlier—about the supposed tragedy of being single and attending the upcoming holiday party alone. Your mind wanders to Kyunghee’s son, Hoseok, and how he’ll be in attendance this year. You wonder what he’s like, and whether he really is perfect for you, as Kyunghee seems to be so fond of mentioning.

And then your mind goes to Jay.

You met Jay two months ago, on a well-deserved night out after a hellish workweek. The bar was crowded, and the music coming from the neon dancefloor in the back was just loud enough to drown out your inhibitions. That, combined with the alcohol swimming through your system, made you bold. You sashayed your way across the dancefloor, dodging inebriated bodies and swaying limbs as you fixed your attention on the head of pale lavender hair and deliciously broad shoulders that awaits you just behind the bar counter. The bartender is nothing short of gorgeous, and you’ve thrown all caution to the wind. Sure, several other women are eyeing him like he’s their next meal—several men are, too—but you need another drink. And while he prepares it, you plan to flirt.

A lot.

The bar counter is sticky with spilled liquor, but you don’t pay that any mind as you lean across it, the wood digging into the narrow strip of exposed skin left by your cropped top. “Hi!” you call, and the bartender looks up from where he’s just finished pouring a round of shots for a group of raucous young men.

“Hi yourself,” he says, his pillowy lips stretching into an easy smile. “What can I get you?”

You pretend not to notice the way his eyes flicker down to the dip of your cleavage and instead put on the sultriest smile you are capable of mustering. “Vodka soda,” you tell him, injecting a bit of purr into your voice. “A bit of lemon too, if you have it.”

“Trust me, I have it,” he assures, his smile growing as he reaches for a clean glass and a clear bottle. “Name’s Jin, by the way. I’m here all night, if you need anything e—”

A loud clatter and the sound of breaking glass interrupts the rest of his sentence, and all eyes at the bar go to the source of the disturbance. Conversations stutter to a halt, and even the thumping bass of the music seems to dull. Jin darts to the other end of the bar, where you can see that one of several barstools has fallen to the ground. There’s a man on the ground as well, surrounded by shattered glass and spilled dark liquor, and your eyes widen when you realize that you know him.

And arguably, a little too well.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. People are starting to lose interest in the spectacle, turning back to their own conversations and continuing on as if nothing had happened at all. The man is beginning to clamber to his feet, and a few people lend a helping hand as Jin begins barking out orders for everyone to step back so he can sweep up the broken glass. You seize upon the opportunity, latching on to the nearest arm and pulling them close so you can hide behind them. Vaguely, you’re aware of them sputtering in surprise, but you only have eyes for the man who had fallen off his stool, watching him carefully as he brushes himself off and tries to play it cool despite the sizable patch of whiskey soaking his white shirt.

“Hey, uh…” Your human shield is speaking. “Are you okay? You’re squeezing me pretty tight.”

That draws you out of your daze. Abashed, you loosen your grip on his arm and look up into his face, your throat going dry when you realize how handsome he is. His black hair is parted over his forehead, a stray strand falling into warm brown eyes set above a straight nose and an inviting mouth. There’s a freckle above his top lip, just shy of the center, and your inebriated brain wonders just what it would be like to kiss it.

“I, um—” You clear your throat and try again. “Sorry about that. I just didn’t want him to see me.”

Your newfound companion raises an eyebrow and glances over his shoulder at the drunk man, who is now being ushered out of the bar by his buddies. “You know that guy?”

You nod, cringing. “Yeah, his name’s Trent. I… may or may not have dated him for a few months last year.”

The man laughs out loud. “You dated a Trent?”

“What, like you’ve never made a questionable life choice?” you challenge. “Besides, you shouldn’t judge someone based on the sins of their parents. It’s not his fault they gave him a terrible name.”

“Sure, but it is on him for going along with it,” he replies with a shrug. “I would’ve changed my name as soon as I could if my parents had named me Trent. But hey, that’s just one man’s opinion.”

You laugh. “Okay then, Not-Trent.” Relinquishing your grip on his arm, you let your fingers graze his hand before pulling away entirely. “What do you say we continue this conversation over a drink?”

The man, whose name is decidedly not Trent, catches your fingers in his and gives them a gentle squeeze. “Happily.”

One drink turns into two, and then three. By the end of the hour, you are feeling pleasantly warm, the alcohol spreading through your veins like molasses and turning your surroundings into a hazy blur. The music has grown even louder, pounding against your eardrums, and you grab onto Not-Trent’s wrist as he sets his now-empty glass back down onto the counter.

“Do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, raising your voice to be heard over the thumping bassline. “I can’t even hear myself think.”

“The parking lot’s out back,” he suggests. “Why don’t we get some air?”

You nod and stand up on wobbly legs, cursing your decision to wear heels when you stumble into your companion. He steadies you with a gentle but firm hand, and you don’t miss the way his touch lingers on your lower back, his palm warm through the material of your blouse.

Together, the two of you pick your way through the throng of swaying bodies on the dancefloor. The bassline thuds in your ears, dark and hypnotic, and you can feel the reverberations thrumming across the slats of your ribs and echoing in the cavern of your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s almost a relief, then, when you step out into the cool night air. Your ears continue to ring for a few seconds, but it soon fades and leaves behind only the muted hum of traffic from the street and the faint sound of music from inside. At your side, Not-Trent releases a long breath and leans against the brick wall of the building, and you turn to take in the steep slopes of his side profile as he tilts his head up toward the velvety night sky.

He’s handsome. Dressed in ripped jeans and black leather, he’s a sight to behold, and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been craving a bit of intimacy for quite some time now. The alcohol swimming through your system makes you bolder than you normally would be, and you reach out to lay a hand on his arm. He turns toward you with a silent question glimmering in his irises, but you simply step closer, until you’re pinning him against the wall with your body and you’re breathing the same air.

“Hey,” you say, your voice an airy whisper. His eyes are near obsidian in the dimness of the parking lot, illuminated only by the orange glow of the streetlamps on either end, and your gaze flickers down to his mouth before roving to the freckle that sits upon his top lip. “Kiss me?”

Your companion’s eyes widen. His lips part, but no words come out, and you’re about to repeat your question when he finally finds his voice again.

“That’s really… that’s not a good idea.” Awkwardly, he clears his throat, but the hoarseness of his voice and the harsh bob of his Adam’s apple give away his true desires. “Look, you’ve been drinking. We both have, and—”

You cut him off, pushing up to your tiptoes and planting a messy kiss to the soft dip just beneath his bottom lip. “Don’t care,” you mumble against his skin. “I want you.”

Your companion laughs weakly. His hands find their way to your waist and pause there, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer. “You don’t even know me,” he murmurs.

“I don’t have to know you,” you reply. Your fingers drag down his chest, trailing along the delicate silver necklace that rests against the black of his shirt. From the chain hangs a round pendant, the surface engraved with the letter J. Slowly, you trace it with a fingertip, the metal shining even in the dim light, and satisfaction blooms in your heart when your companion’s throat bobs again. “I want you,” you breathe, soft but insistent. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I—” He clears his throat and tries again, and you wonder if he realizes that his hands have slid down to your hips, or that there’s a growing hardness against your lower stomach that’s becoming increasingly harder to ignore. “Look, I’m flattered—really, I am. And you’re… I mean, fuck, you’re gorgeous. But I don’t think we should do anything when you’re clearly not in the right frame of mind to be making this kind of decision, and—”

“And, nothing.” You wind your arms around his neck, pressing close and grinding subtly against the bulge in his pants. You smirk when he releases a low hiss from between his teeth, and hide it by laying a trail of kisses along the stretch of bare skin exposed by the dip of his collar. “Stop being such a gentleman,” you whisper. Your fingers trail down his chest, past the silver of his pendant and down to the faded denim of his jeans, teasing at the cool metal of his belt buckle. “I want this. But if you’re not interested, I can always go back in there and—”

The rest of your sentence dies in your throat. Your companion has tugged you flush against him in one smooth motion, and your gasp is cut off by the firm press of his mouth against yours. Immediately, you melt into the kiss, and a moan tears from your lips when he spins you around and pins you against the brick wall of the building.

“You’re a spoiled little thing, huh?” His breath fans hot against your cheeks, and you shiver when you meet his eyes and see the dark promise reflected there. “Used to getting what you want, huh, princess?”

Your breath hitches at the endearment—something your companion doesn’t miss. “Oh, you like that?” He chuckles hoarsely, and when he speaks again it’s in a rasp that sends heat straight to your core. “What else do you like, hmm? You want me to be rough with you, princess? Or should I be gentle and treat you like a queen?”

You reach up, raking your fingers through his hair and skimming across the soft strands of his undercut before finding purchase at his nape. “You talk too much,” you whisper.

And then you’re crushing your mouth back against his, whining when he immediately takes back control of the kiss. His grip slides downward, his fingertips digging into the skin just above the curve of your ass, and you squeak when he grabs the back of your thigh and hooks your leg around his waist.

“You feel that?” he rasps into your ear, nipping at the delicate shell and chortling when you keen. Your skirt has ridden up dangerously high on your spread thighs, and you let out a soft whimper when he grinds harshly against your center. The lace of your panties and the denim of his jeans are the last barricades between you, and you wonder, vaguely, whether your companion has a bit of an exhibitionist streak when he slides one of your sleeves down your shoulder and begins kissing a trail down to the swell of your cleavage. “You feel how hard you’ve gotten me?”

You lean down, kissing the soft spot where his jaw meets his ear before letting your teeth graze against his skin. “Why don’t you do something about it then?”

He hisses out a sharp breath, his hands tightening their hold on your hips. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, huh? I can’t wait to make you eat your words.”

Any retort you may have had is interrupted by a sudden swell of music and the sound of a slamming door. Whirling to face the source of the noise, you immediately spot a familiar head of lavender hair atop broad shoulders encapsulated in the black uniform of the bar. Jin hasn’t noticed the two of you yet, his attention fixated on his cell phone screen, but he looks up when you let out a little squeak of surprise and shove your companion’s chest in an attempt to create some distance between you.

“Hey.” Jin raises a hand in greeting, a knowing smirk curling his lips. “This phone call shouldn’t be too long, so please. Don’t stop the party on my behalf.”

Heat floods to your cheeks. There isn’t much use protesting against his insinuation, considering the rather compromising position you’re in. Much to your relief, though, your companion simply huffs out a chuckle and waves Jin off. “Thanks, man, but we’ll get out of your hair.” Lowering his voice, he turns back to you. “Coming, princess?”

You nod. He offers you his hand, and you take it gratefully, adjusting your skirt so that it drapes properly over your hips and thighs again.

“Have a good night!” Jin calls after you, amusement lacing every word. You can’t work up the nerve to respond, and luckily, you don’t have to. Your companion leads you around the corner of the building, where several rows of cars are parked beneath an orange streetlamp. On this side, the exterior brick wall is painted with a mural, and you admire the colorful galaxies and nebulae swirling amidst silvery white stars and the word serendipity spray-painted in pale blue.

The last car in the row is parked just beneath the letter Y, and it’s here that your companion stops. The sleek black vehicle has an almost vintage feel to it, and you glance up when you hear the jingle of metal.

“I’m guessing this is yours?”

He nods, pulling a set of keys from the pocket of his leather jacket and inserting one into the lock. “Yeah. You like it?”

“It’s beautiful,” you tell him, tracing the edge of the passenger window “Makes my car look like a total piece of shit by comparison.”

Your companion chuckles, pulling open the driver’s side door, and you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window as he presses a button to unlock the rest of the doors. Your hair’s a bit of a mess and your mascara has smudged beneath your right eye, and you hurriedly swipe at it as your companion turns his attention back to you.

“So,” he says. “Now what? I can give you a ride home, if you want.”

Deliberately, you let your gaze drop down to his crotch, where his bulge—albeit waning—is still visible. “Seriously? I thought you were going to… what was it again? Make me eat my words?”

And just like that, it’s as if a switch has flipped. His eyes darken to obsidian, his lips settling into a stern line, and you barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s caging you against the side of his car and molding his mouth to yours. Your lips part beneath the onslaught, and he wastes no time in dipping inside to explore, licking into you until you’re both breathless.

“Inside,” he breathes once you’ve broken apart, and you instantly obey. You wrench the door open and all but tumble into the backseat, and he isn’t far behind as he slots himself between your spread thighs. Your hands fly to his shoulders where you help him shuck off his leather jacket, tossing it carelessly to the front where it lands in a heap on the dashboard before focusing your attention on the hem of his black t-shirt. Your companion obliges you as you push it upward to expose his toned abdomen, grabbing it by the collar and pulling it off the rest of the way when your reach falls a little short in the cramped interior of the backseat.

“Your turn,” he whispers when you try to reach for his belt, his hands settling around your wrists. “It’s only fair, princess.”

Pouting, you let your hands fall limp in his grasp, and he chuckles as he leans down to pacify you with a kiss. Deft fingers find the hem of your blouse, pushing it up until you can twist out of the material. You throw it aside with no regard for where it lands on the ground, and lay back as your companion drinks you in, his dark gaze raking across the lacy black lingerie that decorates your curves and skims you like a second skin. “Fuck,” he breathes, his voice hoarse with a combination of amazement and disbelief. “You’re stunning.”

You smile, trailing a fingertip from the dip of his collarbone down to the silver necklace that sits prettily against his bare chest. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you tell him, tracing the letter engraved into his pendant. “Jay.”

Your companion—newly dubbed Jay—smiles back. “You’re something else, princess,” he murmurs, before leaning down to kiss you again. He explores your mouth thoroughly—languidly—before moving down to nip at your neck, and already, you can feel the beginnings of marks beginning to form, blossoming across your skin as irrefutable proof of your tryst.

It isn’t long before Jay frees you from your bra, watching with carnal fascination as your breasts spill out of the lacy material. You whine when he reaches out to cup one, his palm hot against your bare skin, and he smirks crookedly when a pinch to your nipple makes your back arch off the leather of the seat. “So pretty,” he rasps. “I can’t wait to see how you look stretched around my cock.”

“Stop waiting, then,” you tell him, trying again for his belt buckle. This time, he lets you fumble it open, leaning back to watch you work with hooded eyes and a lazy little smile. Emboldened, you push aside the denim of his jeans and free his cock from the confines of his underwear. He’s hard and hot and heavy in your palm, and your tongue darts out instinctively at the sight of the pearlescent precum beading the tip.

“Jay,” you murmur, thumbing across the head of his erection and smirking when he hisses in pleasure. “Fuck me.”

Jay seems to consider your demand, mischief flitting across his features before he manages to school his expression into something more neutral. “Where are your manners, princess?” he asks, pushing your hand away and giving himself a few long, slow strokes. “Say please, if you want it so bad.”

For a moment, you consider refusing. Jay seems to be the type of man who enjoys a good game, but between the state of his cock and the earlier interruption, you’re pretty sure he’s nearing his limit. And even if he isn’t, you are. And so, you shelve your pride for the time being, and trail a hand down the length of your bared body as you bat your lashes up at him. “Fuck me, Jay,” you repeat. “Please. Want your cock so bad.”

His answering smile is equal parts amusement and satisfaction, and altogether sinful. “That’s my girl,” he rasps, before shoving your panties aside. Lining the head of his cock up, he enters you in one smooth thrust, and you moan as your walls stretch to accommodate his girth. You’re more than wet enough to take him in his entirety, your eyes fluttering shut when he bottoms out, and he groans hoarsely as he takes a second to relish the feeling of your walls gripping him so tightly.

“Fuck. You’re so wet, princess.” Jay dips a thumb into your slick, spreading it across your clit and rubbing a few experimental circles around the sensitive nub. He groans when you clench around him, his hips stuttering, and you squeeze around him again just to hear him grit out another curse. “Shit. I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“Don’t care,” you murmur, rocking against him and sighing when the motion sends him a little deeper into your core. “Just fuck me, Jay. Please.”

Jay leans in, a dark lock of hair falling across his forehead as he plants an indulgent kiss on your waiting mouth. “Anything for you, princess,” he breathes. Slowly, he pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside you. Then he’s slamming forward, and you can’t even find it in yourself to care about the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin or the way the car rocks. Jay’s thumbing across your clit in tight circles that he times perfectly with the rock of his hips, and you wonder whether the rapidly building pleasure in your belly is due to your dry spell or if he’s just that good. You can feel every inch of him as he fills you up repeatedly, his brows furrowed in concentration and his dark hair flopping as he drives deeper in search of the spot that will have you seeing stars.

You know he’s found it when the pleasure in your belly spikes, your back arching off the backseat. Your skin is sticky against the dark leather and you’re certain the sweat gathering at your temples has destroyed the last of your makeup, but Jay alleviates your concerns with a particularly well-timed thrust and a harsh nip to the soft spot at your clavicle. You keen out something unintelligible, and his lips stretch into a smirk against your skin.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Cum for me, princess.”

That’s all it takes for the mounting pressure to snap. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, the pleasure flaring out like a supernova and spreading through your veins like wildfire. “F-fuck, Jay—” you gasp, your fingers scrabbling at his back for purchase and no doubt leaving scratches in their wake. “Fuck, you feel so—”

The remainder of your words trail off into garbled nonsense, and Jay huffs out a strained chuckle as he begins chasing after his own orgasm, rutting against you in a way that both prolongs your pleasure and sustains his own. “Shit,” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck, that’s it. Look at you—taking my cock so well. So pretty and perfect and—”

Whatever he was going to say dissolves into a groan as he gives a few more erratic thrusts before his release overwhelms him. Creamy warmth floods through you, and you rub his back tiredly as his head drops onto your shoulder, his breath flaring hot against your skin as he rides out his orgasm.

It takes several long seconds for the pleasure to recede. Your legs are still shaky when Jay pulls away, straightening up and tucking himself back into his jeans. There’s an empty ache in your core now that you are no longer stuffed full of his cock, and already, you are missing the feeling. Still, you push that aside as you sit up, adjusting your panties and wincing at the wetness that soaks the material and sticks to your skin.

“So,” Jay says after a moment’s silence, and you glance over at him when he huffs out a short chuckle. “That was fun.”

“Not bad at all,” you agree weakly, an irrepressible smile tugging at your lips.

Jay grins. It’s a bright, infectious grin—and it’s one that you’ve already grown rather fond of in the short period of time you’ve known him. It’s a grin that showcases his perfect teeth and crinkles his eyes into crescents, and one that all but forces you to grin back.

“Here, give me your phone,” he says, and you watch as he punches in his number once you hand it over. “Just in case you ever wanna do this again,” he tells you, handing it back. “Don’t be a stranger, princess.”

You glance down at his contact information, saved under the moniker you’d given him and affixed with a short string of emojis. “I won’t,” you tell him, chuckling. “In fact, I just might take you up on the offer.”

The screen of your laptop has long since gone dark, and you stretch your arms overhead before waking it again. Rolling your shoulders, you navigate back to the main Netflix menu, hovering over the resume button and watching the trailer loop in the background.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about Jay often. You’ve texted each other quite often since that night in his car—usually when you’re bored and alone and have had a few too many glasses of wine in the evenings. You’ve found yourself tapping on his name instinctively during those odd, ambiguous hours—when late night and early morning meld together and you’re aching for a bit of relief.

And as if he knows you’re thinking about him, your phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a familiar name.

[11:22pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinkin about u, pretty girl 😘

It’s followed by an image, and your heart rate picks up, thudding loudly against your ribs as you open it.

Fuck.

Your memories of Jay’s face—made all the more hazy by the alcohol and the amount of time elapsed since your first and only meeting—truly don’t do him justice. Though the photograph cuts off just above his nose, you can still admire the sharp angle of his jaw and the fullness of his puckered lips. His skin is golden against the white of his t-shirt, and you lick your lips before thumbing across your screen to respond.

[11:23pm] You: yeah? what else are you thinking about, hmm?

His response is instantaneous.

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: thinking about that pretty little pussy of yours

[11:23pm] Jay 😘🍆💦: how good it looked in that pic u sent me tuesday 👅

You barely even notice the way your hand begins trailing down your body, pushing aside the elastic waistband of your sweats. It’s as if you’re on autopilot, as your fingers find their way to the damp spot growing on your panties.

Yeah? you write back with your free hand, already teasing at your clothed folds with the other. Tell me more.

///

It’s an uncharacteristically warm Friday morning when you find yourself in the elevator with Jimin, a good friend of yours who works on one of the lower levels of your office building. “Morning,” he says as he steps in, a large iced coffee in hand despite the fact that it’s still very much the middle of winter. Then he squints, leaning a little closer. “Oh my god. You got laid!”

“Oh my god, not so loud!” you hiss, whacking him on the shoulder and jabbing the button to close the elevator doors. “And no, not exactly. I’ve just been texting Jay.”

“Texting, sure.” Jimin mimes air quotes around the word and rolls his eyes. “You’re sexting him, and we all know it. How many pictures of his dick do you have saved on your phone now?”

“Oh my—” You sigh, trailing off. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“Right, of course.” Jimin takes a sip of his coffee and pretends to check his watch. “When would you like to talk about it then? Do you need to check your calendar? Can I book an appointment for later this afternoon?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Shut up.”

Jimin just grins, his lips puckered around his straw. “So, how’s Jay? Have you asked for his real name yet?”

You shrug. “What’s the point? It’s not like we’re friends or anything. We’ve literally only met the one time.”

“Yeah, but that’s just because you’re a coward,” Jimin points out. “What’s stopping you from meeting up with him again? You have his number. You have at least one photo of his dick. Ask him out already!”

“It’s not that easy, though,” you sigh. The elevator doors open to let a few more people in, and you move to the side and lower your voice so that only Jimin can hear. “Jay—he’s not exactly boyfriend material. I mean, we fucked in his car the first night we met.”

“So?” Jimin frowns and takes another sip of his iced coffee. “You talk about things besides sex, don’t you? You definitely told him about your goldfish dying, at least. I mean, you told him before you even told me!”

“Yes I did, and he was appropriately sympathetic about Mustache’s passing, unlike some people,” you sniff. “Get over it already, won’t you?”

“Never,” Jimin replies, ignoring your pointed jab. “I’m sure you only told him because you knew you could get a sympathy sext out of it. How many dick pics did you get out of that night, anyway?”

“You’re gross,” you tell him, punching him in the arm. “Not to mention that’s exactly why Jay’s not boyfriend material. He’s perfectly happy with—whatever it is we’re doing. I can’t just ruin that by asking him to get dinner.” You frown, gnawing on your bottom lip. “I don’t want to make this into something that it’s not.”

Jimin hesitates. “Fine, okay. I guess I can understand that.”

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause, as the elevator makes a few more stops. You watch the numbers crawl higher, and know that you’ll soon have to part ways with your friend..

“Hey.” You nudge Jimin with your shoulder, just as the elevator doors close and you begin the ascent to his floor. “Wanna know something interesting?”

Jimin looks up from his phone, where he’s scrolling through Twitter. “Always.”

“My boss’ son is coming to the party tomorrow.”

Jimin’s eyebrows disappear into his ashy blond hair at your revelation. “Kyunghee’s son? Hoseok, or whatever?”

You chuckle. “The one and only. She’s found about a million ways to bring him up in conversation this past week. She thinks we’re a match made in heaven.”

“Wow.” Jimin releases a long breath. “I wonder what he’s like, then.”

You shrug, adjusting the strap of your work tote over your shoulder. “I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

///

The morning of the party, you wake up to an empty refrigerator. Half stale cereal and the last dregs of milk from the carton become your breakfast, and you munch on that as you mull over the contents of your closet. You’re still in your pajamas, but you pull out your comfiest jeans and a sweater to change into after you finish eating. Then you turn to your collection of dresses, rifling through them and mentally debating the merits of each material and color.

You could go in one of two directions tonight. On the one hand, this is still a work party, and as such your attire should probably maintain a certain level of decorum. But on the other, you’re meeting Hoseok Jung for the first time tonight. You aren’t necessarily looking to start anything with the man, of course, but you do want to look good. With that in mind, you eventually settle on a deep red number that you pull out of the very back of your closet, made of a silky material that skims your curves and accentuates your best assets. Laying it on the bed, you begin your hunt for a pair of matching shoes. Twenty minutes of searching and another five of agonizing later, you step into the bathroom, intent on showering and getting on with the rest of your day.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you decide that tackling the state of your refrigerator takes top priority over your other weekend errands. Sitting down at the dining table, you take stock of what you have in your pantry, planning out your meals for the upcoming week and making a list of what you need to purchase in order to make them a reality. It’s just after one in the afternoon when you exit your apartment with a completed grocery list and your purse stuffed full of reusable canvas bags. The store is a short walk from where you live, and you decide to put in your earbuds as your feet navigate the familiar route. The temperature is surprisingly mild for winter, and the sun shines bright from its perch in the cloudless blue sky. It’s perfect weather for a walk, and the fresh air clears your mind and eases your heart.

At the grocery store, you forego the stack of baskets and instead grab a shopping cart. Weaving your way up and down the aisles, you check items off the list on your phone one by one. Eventually, you find yourself in the cereal section, grabbing a box of granola before turning to where your favorite cereal normally sits. It isn’t there, and you turn in a full circle, confused, until your gaze finally lands on the familiar box on the top shelf.

Great.

Sighing, you push up to your tiptoes, stretching your arm as far as it can reach. Your fingertips graze the shelf, but you can’t quite get a grip on the box itself. Glancing down, you scan the bottommost shelf and wonder if you can step on it to give yourself a boost.

“Need a hand?”

The voice comes from behind you, and a vague sense of familiarity sparks in your brain. Slowly, you turn around, and your entire body freezes when your gaze slides up to the speaker’s face.

“Jay.” The syllable escapes you in a near whisper. “H-hi.”

“Hey.”

Jay stands before you, looking like sin incarnate in a faded denim jacket, black sweatpants slung low on his hips, and not much else. At his throat, his silver necklace sparkles, the silver J pendant glinting beneath the fluorescent lights of the store, and you’re suddenly beyond grateful that you decided to put on a decent sweater before leaving.

“Here,” he says, stepping forward until he’s close enough that you can smell his cologne—sandalwood tinged with sweet citrus. “Let me help you with that.”

The sudden proximity has your breath hitching in your throat. Your heart thuds erratically against your ribs as he reaches around you, the denim flaps of his jacket gaping in a way that exposes even more of his bare chest. By the time he pulls back with your cereal box in hand, you feel almost faint, belatedly realizing that you’d been holding your breath.

“You wanted this, right?” Jay asks, and you aren’t sure if you’re imagining the innuendo underlying his words or the teasing inflection of the syllables.

“Y-yeah, that’s the one,” you manage, fighting to quell the uneven tempo of your heartbeat as you accept the box. “Thanks.”

“Happy to help,” he replies. Then he leans in, close enough that you can feel his warm breath fanning your cheek as he murmurs his next sentence into your ear. “Anything for you, princess. You know that.”

Heat floods across your cheeks. Your heart skips two full beats before taking off into a sprint, and it’s impossible to ignore the way your core begins to thrum, as if anticipating a repeat of that night you first met all those weeks ago. Almost instinctively, your eyes dart up to the ceiling where the security cameras are, and Jay follows the trajectory of your gaze with a low chuckle and a soft brush of your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry, princess. As much as I’d love to get my hands on you, I’m kind of on a time crunch today.”

You can’t stop the wave of disappointment that washes over you, even if you’re in the exact same boat. “Rain check, then?”

“Rain check,” he agrees. Slowly, you reach up to touch the engraved silver pendant resting against his chest, rubbing it between your fingertips before tracing the curve of the J, and he catches your wandering fingers between his and presses a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“You know how to reach me,” he murmurs with a mischievous wink. His gaze lingers even after he’s released your hand, and you clear your throat awkwardly before turning to deposit your cereal box into your shopping cart.

The two of you go your separate ways then, exchanging goodbyes. You finish the rest of your grocery shopping in a daze, idly going through the motions at checkout and letting muscle memory guide you back home. Your arms are aching by the time you step past the threshold of your apartment, and you heave your shopping bags up onto the kitchen counter with a relieved sigh before returning to the entryway to toe off your shoes. You throw together a sandwich as you unpack your groceries, taking a big bite as you walk back to your bedroom to look at the dress you’ve picked out. Pacing over to the closet, you double-check your shoe choice. Briefly, you debate whether or not to wear flats instead of heels.

There are still a few hours left before you have to start getting ready, so you take the last of your sandwich back to the kitchen and whip up a smoothie to go with it. You scroll through your phone as you eat, browsing through the latest news headlines and scrolling through your social media accounts. Just before six o’clock, as the sun starts setting beyond the horizon and casting long shadows across your living room, you start getting changed. You snap a photo in the mirror once you’re dressed, pulling up Jimin’s name in your phone and sending it to him.

[6:13pm] You: last chance to come tonight

Your phone buzzes with a response almost immediately.

[6:14pm] Jimin: nah. i’d hate to step on hoseok’s toes.

You laugh. Not so fast, you text back. We don’t even know anything about the guy yet. What if he’s boring? Or sexist?

[6:15pm] Jimin: if u think kyunghee raised a sexist you’re seriously deranged

[6:16pm] Jimin: now stop taking selfies and get your ass out the door! you’re gonna be late!!!!

///

Each year, the holiday party tends to be a little over the top, and this year is no exception. The company has bought out the entirety of a restaurant for the evening, and you glance around in amazement at the twinkling lights and lush evergreen boughs decorating the walls and strung up along the ceiling. An assortment of sparkling ornaments hangs from the massive tree in the far corner, interspersed between silver tinsel and more lights. Grabbing a champagne flute off a passing server’s tray, you head farther into the restaurant, skirting around tables draped in creamy linen and greeting your colleagues and friends.

“Is she alone?”

“Figures.”

The voices come from the direction of the open bar, and somehow, you just know that they’re talking about you. Lottie, Hyejin, and Sandra are clustered in the corner with glasses of wine in hand, casting glances around the restaurant and gossiping about anything and everything with a pulse. You’re sorely tempted to grab the nearest pitcher of water off a table and pour it over their heads, but you suppress the urge and instead head over with a saccharine smile. “So lovely to see you, {Name},” Lottie says as you approach.

“I love your dress,” Sandra adds. “Very slimming.”

“Thanks,” you reply, putting on your brightest, fakest smile. “Yours is great too. How are you and your husband enjoying the party so far?”

Sandra’s face sours, and you hide your smirk in your champagne flute. Maybe it’s petty to bring up her rocky relationship, but you’ve been subject to snide comments from Sandra and her friends for years now and it’s become increasingly hard for you to bite your tongue. A few tables away, you spot Sandra’s husband, Rodney, take an enormous gulp of his whiskey and wince as it burns down his throat.

“We’re all having a wonderful time, aren’t we, ladies?” Lottie cuts in when Sandra takes too long to answer. “Hyejin’s date is over there with Rodney, and my boyfriend is fetching himself a drink. You remember Dev, don’t you?”

You nod, even though it’s a lie. “Sure. Say hi to him for me.”

Lottie’s lips curve up into a smile, her head tilting to the side, and you’re suddenly reminded of a snake rearing its head back for the kill. “So, what about you? Have you brought someone tonight, or—?”

“Hi ladies!” Kyunghee materializes at your side, her lips painted a festive red shade to match her dress. She’s wearing the disingenuous smile that she reserves for the resident gossips of your office, and you try not to let your relief show on your face when Lottie’s attention refocuses on your manager.

“So good to see you, Kyunghee,” she simpers. “Have you been here long?”

“Not as long as you,” your manager replies, nodding at the near-empty wineglass in her hand. “I see we’re already making a dent in the wine supply, and you’re falling behind, {Name}. Why don’t we go remedy that, hmm?”

She doesn’t give you a chance to respond, grabbing your arm and leading you away. Kyunghee is surprisingly spry for a woman her age, and you follow after her with some difficulty as she marches through the throngs of conversing people, all the way to the line at the open bar.

“I’d like you to meet someone,” she says, gesturing at the man standing at the end of the line with his back to you. “{Name}, this is my son, Hoseok.”

The man turns around at the sound of his name, a warm, affable smile stretched across his face. “Hi, I’m H—” he begins, but he’s cut off by your sharp intake of breath. His eyes go wide, his smile fading as his mouth falls open, and you’re certain you’re wearing an even more dumbfounded expression. “It’s you,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Wh-what… how…” You trail off, speechless. The words flounder and die in your throat as your brain struggles to process this development, and you practically feel the way the gears in your head churn to a stuttering halt.

Because this man standing before you, the one that Kyunghee has just introduced as her son, is none other than Jay. He looks completely and utterly devastating in a navy waistcoat and matching slacks, a green tie shaped like a Christmas tree knotted loosely around the white collar of his shirt. His dark hair is parted, his undercut exposed, and you can’t tear your gaze away from the loose strand that has fallen across his forehead.

“H-hi.”

Jay—Hoseok—swallows. “Hi.”

Kyunghee glances between the two of you, her brows furrowing. “I take it you two already know each other?”

Hoseok’s ears begin taking on a scarlet tinge, the color spreading to his cheeks as he struggles to find his vocabulary again. “I—yeah. Yeah, we’ve met.”

“Right. Do I even want to know how?” she asks dubiously, before shaking her head and huffing out a sigh. “No, forget I asked. I don’t want to know. I’ll just leave you two to… catch up.”

Waving goodbye, Kyunghee disappears back into the crowd of partygoers milling around. Hoseok turns back to you, sucking in a deep breath, and you fight the urge to stare down at your toes as his gaze roves across your face.

“I can’t believe this,” he says, breaking the silence that’s fallen between you at last. “My mom’s been talking about you for months, but I never imagined that it’d be you.”

“You’re telling me,” you reply, finally having recovered your voice. “Kyunghee brings you up all the time, but I never thought… I mean, we didn’t even know each other’s names, and now…” You shrug. “Here we both are.”

“It’s a pretty crazy coincidence, huh?”

“Definitely.”

A beat passes, and then two. You’re fully aware that you’re staring, but you don’t dare blink, afraid that he’ll disappear if you close your eyes. Of all the things that you thought might happen tonight, this particular meeting wasn’t even close to making the list. Never would you have thought that the man you only knew as Jay would turn out to be Kyunghee’s son. Never would you have connected Jay to the photographed little boy in yellow suspenders on Kyunghee’s desk, or realized that they were one and the same.

From behind you, someone loudly clears their throat. Another voice calls for you to get a move on, already, and both you and Hoseok belatedly realize that you are still standing in line for the open bar. Hoseok’s eyes go wide again, and you nearly tread on his toes when you both try to move forward. “After you,” he says with a chuckle, gesturing for you to go in front of him, and that’s enough to break the tension. You step ahead of him with a laugh, catching up to the line, and Hoseok doesn’t stray far as he follows your lead.

“So, what are you drinking?” he asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Vodka soda with a twist?”

“Actually, I think I’m going to stick with wine tonight,” you reply, peering at the bottles lined up on the counter. “What about you?”

“Hmm. Jack and coke, I think. Nothing else is really calling my name right now.”

Grabbing your drinks, the two of you begin searching for a place to sit. You spot Kyunghee at a table near the front, and she smiles knowingly and offers you a thumbs-up when she catches your eye. Eventually, you settle on a table near the Christmas tree, the lights glimmering off the glasses and reflecting off your knife as you pick it up to butter a slice of crusty bread from the basket in the center. Hoseok follows your lead, grabbing a piece for himself, and the two of you munch in silence for a few seconds before Hoseok breaks it.

“You know, my mom says you’re the perfect girl for me” he says with a dry little chuckle. “Think she’s right?”

“I don’t know,” you answer. “It’s funny, though—Kyunghee’s been telling me the same thing. She sings your praises all the time.”

Hoseok laughs and scratches the back of his neck. “Oh, jeez, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m glad she’s saying good things, at least.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you tell him, grinning. “She’s only shown us one photo album from your childhood.”

His face crumples. “Was it the Disneyland one?”

You nod, fighting back laughter, and watch as Hoseok groans and lets his forehead meet the linen-covered tabletop with a dull thunk.

“I don’t like rollercoasters,” he mumbles into the tablecloth, his voice muffled by the material. “They make me queasy.”

“Even now?” you ask, and he nods.

“Yep.”

The clinking of a fork against a wineglass—amplified and broadcast through an array of invisible speakers built into the restaurant’s walls—interrupts any further conversation. You twist in your seat to watch your company’s leadership give their opening remarks, listening as they congratulate everyone for a great year and wish you a happy holiday season. The servers begin going out with plates of food, and you thank them as they set yours down. Hoseok does the same before raising his glass in your direction, clearing his throat and offering you a crooked little smile.

“Here’s to second meetings.”

“Third, if you count the store earlier,” you correct, and he chuckles and nods in agreement before clinking his drink against yours.

You spend the entirety of dinner chatting with Hoseok, getting to know him beyond the few facts Kyunghee has mentioned and what little you’ve gleaned from texting him the last two months. He tells you all about his dance studio, Hope World, where he teaches both contemporary dance and the occasional Pilates class. You find out that in addition to rollercoasters, he also dislikes sour foods and raisins, but he loves mint chocolate and sweet and sour pork. He also has a very low tolerance for alcohol—something he tells you as he tilts the rest of his drink into his mouth. “Should I be worried?” you ask as he sets his glass back down, and he chuckles and shakes his head, sending the loose tendril of hair flopping across his forehead.

Dessert is served, and subsequently eaten. The music is turned up, and people slowly begin finding their way to the open space that serves as an impromptu dancefloor. Hoseok rises to his feet and extends a hand toward you, and you only hesitate for the briefest of seconds before accepting it. He leads you out amongst the other swaying couples, his hand finding its way to the curve of your waist, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he begins guiding you in a slow, simple waltz.

“So?” Hoseok’s voice is a low murmur, soft and gentle against the shell of your ear. “What’s the verdict?”

You blink. “The verdict?”

Even without looking, you can tell that he’s smiling. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice, and imagine it in the curve of his lips. “About me,” he clarifies, carefully pulling back so you can spin in a circle beneath his outstretched arm. “About us. My mom will never let me hear the end of it if she turns out to be right, but I still wanna know. So what are you thinking?”

“Are you asking if I think we’re perfect for each other?” you ask, giggling. “I don’t know if I believe in all that, to be quite honest. Destiny and soulmates—I mean, doesn’t it seem a little too good to be true?”

Hoseok hums. “Maybe. But considering all that’s happened to us in the last couple of months, don’t you think there’s a chance that it's all more than simple coincidence?”

“Maybe,” you concede. “Still, I don’t know if I can give you a verdict just yet. We haven’t even gone on a date.”

“We did do things a little backwards,” Hoseok admits, tugging you close and winding his arm around your waist. “Let me make it up to you, then. Are you free tomorrow?”

“What if I am?” you challenge.

“Then, I’d like to take you out for breakfast,” he replies without missing a beat.

The prospect of a proper meal with Hoseok Jung does something funny to your insides. Still, something makes you hesitate, and you avert your gaze as you search for your next words. “I wasn’t expecting to end tonight with a date,” you admit slowly. “I honestly didn’t even think you were interested in… well, anything beyond sex, to be honest.”

Hoseok’s face creases into a frown, and you look up again when he murmurs your name. “I understand why you would think that,” he says. “Really, I do. But honestly? I had every intention of texting you and asking you out properly. I was going to play it cool and wait a few days, which was stupid in retrospect. And then you texted me first.”

“I texted y—” You trail off. “Oh, god.”

“It seemed like you’d been drinking,” Hoseok says with a shrug, and you press a finger to his lips before he can say anything more. You remember the night in question, and you remember the bottle of wine you’d consumed. And you definitely remember the photographs you’d sent of yourself, and the ones Hoseok had been kind enough to send in return.

“Wait, so you were going to ask me out? And then I… I sexted you?”

Hoseok nods, and you groan and bury your face into his chest.

“I can’t believe this,” you mutter, and you feel laughter rumble through his chest before a hand comes up to stroke along your back.

“Believe me, I’m not complaining,” he assures you. “But I’d still really like to take you out, so what do you say?”

His gaze doesn’t leave yours for a second as he awaits your answer, and your heart skips a beat when you look up to see the earnestness in his eyes and the hesitant smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Breakfast sounds wonderful,” you whisper, and the smile that blossoms on your companion’s face is nothing short of radiant.

“Good,” he says. “Great. Breakfast tomorrow, then. Now, can I kiss you?”

You’re already pushing up to your tiptoes, your fingers fisting in the soft hair at his nape. “God, yes.”

///

“Hey, you made it!”

You beam. “Hi.”

You and Hoseok are about to commence your first date, having just sat down at a cozy little café for breakfast. Hoseok has pulled your chair out in true gentlemanly fashion, and you can’t help but smile over your menu at the few lingering snowflakes that have yet to melt into his dark hair.

“So, here we are,” you remark. “Our fourth meeting.”

Hoseok’s lips stretch into his signature grin, breathtakingly bright and infectious. “And hopefully many more.”

You grin at him. “Yeah? Too bad this is breakfast, because I’d drink to that.”

He leans forward, his grin widening. “Next time,” he says as his hand finds its way around yours, his fingers slotting comfortably into the spaces between your own. “We can do dinner, maybe. Or I can cook for you. But for now, I’m just happy that we’re finally doing this.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Me too.”

“Just promise me one thing?”

The sudden seriousness of his tone has your brow furrowing in concern. “Sure, of course,” you reassure. “What is it?”

He winces. “Please don’t tell my mom about all the dick pics.”

#hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #bts smut #bts scenarios #hoseok scenarios #jhope #jung hoseok #bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts fic #kpop scenarios #hoseok x you #strangers to lovers!au #strangers to lovers #lia writes #gonna change that stupid summary if i can think of anything better LOL #my brain went all mushy on me idk what's happening

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ohworm-writes · 3 years

Note

hello! :) so u know how kuon has a crush on sniper right ? can i get an imagine where reader is jealous bc of kuon, cuz u know, her crush on sniper etc etc (sorry i'm just vv lazy at typing), and how sniper reacts to it ?? can u make it like they're still friends but have mutual feelings for each other as they hang out as a unit, and they get together in the end bc sum confessions happened !! sorry if u don't get it i'm rlly bad at explaining but thank u in advance if u do this !! <33

High-Rise Invasion/Tenkuu Shinpan: Sniper Mask Boyfriend Imagine

high-rise invasion/tenkuu shinpan masterlist

‼ Jealous Reader (over Kuon) + Make up + Confession ‼

Featuring: Sniper Mask, Yuri Honjo, Mayuko Nise (implied), Kuon Shinzaki (implied)

Warnings: frustrated Y/n, crushes, jealousy

a/n - good GODS this has been in my inbox for a while and i’m so so so sorry for not posting it way sooner! hopefully you see this anon, and i hope you enjoy!

content below the cut!

you had developed a crush on the man in the mask ever since you first joined Yuri's little group

you couldn't really tell what it was the drew you to him

he was silent, dismissive, and he was a Mask for goodness sake!

but none of that deterred you from the attraction you garnered for him

you always found yourself trying to interact with him

whether it was offering your help with something that he was doing, or simply keeping him company

most times he brushed you off, walking away and not giving you an answer

other times he silently accepted your offer

those times the two of you would sit in comfortable silence, just enjoying one another's presence

you cherish moments like these for a very specific reason

Kuon

now you had nothing against the girl!

... at first

she seemed nice enough, always eager to help, and full of ignorant innocence

but then you realized her (very obvious) crush on the masked man

the way she got flustered around him so easily

the way she clung to him like a lost child

at first, you thought maybe she saw him as a parental figure, seeing how young she was

but that thought was (very) quickly thrown to the wind when you saw her wrapped up in his jacket, blushing like the schoolgirl she was and giggling to herself

so what she liked him? you liked him too, maybe the two of you could bond over that!

that's what you told yourself

of course, you never acted on it

it was simple, you were too jealous to do so

you noticed how Sniper Mask welcomed all her little instances without a care in the world

not giving a damn when she clung to him

or batting an eye at her obvious fangirling

it pissed you off

naturally, you began to avoid Kuon

and Sniper Mask simultaneously

you avoided the two of them whenever you could

when you saw them walking towards you, you kept to the opposite side of the wall and walked quickly past them

when you all usually ate together, you picked up your food and ate outside

you were simply, undeniably jealous

you didn't think Sniper Mask cared about it, not that you could tell under his mask

but in actuality, he was confused as to why you avoided him all of the sudden

so, he opted to ask you one day

You shut the door to the dining room rather aggressively as you exited, but you couldn't care less. You let your body slump against the adjacent wall, your plate of food resting on your lap.

Today had been... exhausting, to say the least. Kuon was on her usual actions of pining over 'Mr. Mask', crossing your way a few more times than you would have liked. During your meeting earlier with her and Yuri, your fellow mouthless masked allies, she had the gall to talk on and on about how much she adored him.

You hated it.

You looked down at your food, a scowl finding its place on your features. You glared at it, pushing the pieces around with your fork, not noticing a door open and close right in front of you.

"Jesus, if that food was alive, it would be 6 feet under with the glare you're giving it." You hear a gruff voice call from in front of you. A voice you would rather not be hearing right now.

You continue to move around the food, staying silent as the man awkwardly stands in front of you, unsure of what to do with himself in this situation. "Is it, uh, okay if I sit here?" He asks, which finally makes you look up.

He had a plate of food between his own hands, his jacket gone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His mask covered his face, per usual, but it seemed much more lopsided than usual.

You give him a shrug in response, looking back down at your food again. He stands there for a moment, before taking a seat right next to you, your knees almost touching. "You don't mind if I eat with you, right?"

His question makes your eye twitch. Was he seriously trying to be all buddy-buddy with you now? You shrugged again, not giving him as much as a single word.

You heard him sigh, setting his food to the side before he speaks again. "Alright, what's going on?" He asks, making your body tense up. "Nothing." You shoot back, scowling.

"What happened to the Y/n that stayed up and talked about their life for hours? What happened to the Y/n that told me horrible jokes to try and get a reaction out of me? Huh? What happened to them?"

That broke you.

You were angry, furious even. Was he trying to blame this on you? You didn't do anything wrong! If it wasn't for Kuon, maybe you would still be that person! If it wasn't for her, you could still be friends with him! You could be-

"What?" You hear him say softly, much softer than his previous tone. Shit, did you say that out loud? "Yeah, you did." He says again, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face, not that you could tell.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to lash out. I just- I’ve been-" You stutter, trying to find the right words. He laughs at that, actually laughs at it.

His laugh is hearty, warm, almost inviting you to laugh along with him. You don't, but he quickly composes himself, making your head turn towards him.

"Why on Earth were you jealous of Kuon?" He asks honestly, watching at how the invisible gears turn in your head, searching for an answer. You sigh heavily, running a hand across your face as you shake your hands while you speak.

"I just- she’s always there with you. She's latched onto you 24/7! I can't get 5 minutes alone with you before she comes barging in." You rant, frustration evident in your shaky voice.

"I just wanted to be your friend, be close with you. I can never do that because she's-she's there." You groan, hugging yourself with your arms. "I sound like a selfish idiot now, huh?"

You laugh dryly, frowning. He sighs, but a smile plays at his lips. "Y/n." He begins, his hand resting you your forearm. "You know she would never purposefully do that. She just, she has an infatuation with me I guess."

He sighs dramatically, earning a chuckle from you. "But." He tells you, watching your eyes as he speaks. "That doesn't mean I didn't miss you."

Your heart skips a beat at his comment, face flushing softly. "Kuon also misses you. You might not have caught onto it, but she looks up to you." He explains, smiling at how your expression softens, mumbling a soft 'she does?' to him.

He nods, laughing once more. "Come on, have dinner with the rest of us. We can't have you sitting alone out here anymore." You roll your eyes, but take him up on his word. He leads you back to the other, Kuon frantically waving over to the two of you the second you pass through the door.

"Y/n! Come sit with me!" She yells excitedly. Maybe you were wrong about her.

after that interaction, the three of you were all on much better terms

yes, kuon still had her habits, but he toned them WAY down after you explained to her how it made you feel

she teased the hell out of you for it too

you, of course, shrugged it off

but you never told her that she was wrong

you were happy to be on good terms with Sniper Mask again

he made a lot more time for you

your old interactions coming back at full force, and some new ones

he loved to take you on little walks on the high rises

he also made it a point to teach you how to shoot his rifle

which was terrifying, but exhilarating

you fell for him harder and harder every day

one day, you ranted your feelings out to Kuon

and while she wasn't surprised, it warmed her heart to see how much you loved him

yes, she crushed on him too, but that didn't take away from the obvious connection she saw between the two of you

unbeknownst to you, Sniper Mask had come to her about the same things

his usually cold demeanor broke whenever he talked with you

he genuinely enjoyed your company, he wanted more of it

and then some

so, she put a plan together

operation "get Mr. Mask and Y/n together" is a go!

she took it all very seriously

making sure you guys get paired together for scouting missions? that's all her

convincing Sniper Mask to get you little gifts and things? of course

overall, the best wing-woman you could ask for

however, the one thing she didn't have anything to do with was his confession to you

he could have used her help with it, that much was clear

but he wanted to tell you how he felt, no help necessary

Sniper Mask had told you earlier this morning to meet you at his room when the sunset before he rushed to get out of your vicinity like you were a plague. Granted, it hurt your feelings, but you couldn't stand him up.

You knocked gently on the wooden door, stepping back and waiting patiently for it to open. After about a minute, while you had heard nothing, you went to knock again.

Your efforts were proved useless as the door swung open hastily, revealing a disheveled Sniper Mask. His usual blazer and fedora were long forgotten, his hair messy, strands pointing this way and that. His mask sat lopsided on his face, still covering it fully.

"H-hey Y/n." He mumbled out, you offered him a wave as he awkwardly shuffled to the side, opening the door as an incentive for you to come in. You stepped inside, walking to the center of the room as you heard him close the door behind you.

You turned to speak to him again, but those thoughts were cast aside as you felt his hands settle onto your cheeks and his lips molding with yours. It startled you, you're eyes open in shock as you looked at him. His mask was completely off, thrown somewhere in the room, but he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

You quickly melted into the kiss, bringing your hands up to gently hold onto his forearms. He hummed, taking a moment before pulling away, leaving the two of you to gasp for air as he rested his forehead against yours. You opened your eyes to meet his, full of adoration.

"I, uh, I think I'm in love with you?" It was more of a question, but you took it happily. You laughed softly, your fingers rubbing small circles in his forearms.

"Was that what that was?"

#sniper mask #sniper mask x reader #tenkuu shinpan #tenkuu shinpan x reader #high rise invasion #high rise invasion x reader #tenkuu shinpan headcanons #high rise invasion headcanons #sniper mask headcanons #yuka makoto #yuka makoto x reader #yuka makoto headcanons #headcanons #x reader #anime x reader #request #worm answers #kuon + reader

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whosscruffylooking · 3 years

Text

Bad Bounty Chapter One: Reunion

Sergeant Hunter x Fem! Bounty Hunter

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Maybe mutual pining? Nothing too gross.

A/N: hunter was already attractive in season 7, but i managed to suppress my feelings for an ANIMATED character. alas, the bad batch has cursed me and i have finally accepted that he is my latest comfort character.

“You hold onto friends by keeping your heart a little softer than your head.”

“Clone Force 99. Welcome back, ” Commander Cody extends a hand to Hunter who firmly shakes it.

“Apologies for showing up late, we-”

“Got stuck handling some unexpected complications during a mission. I understand Sergeant Hunter,” Cody winks.

“What have you got for us this time Commander?” Crosshair mumbles, twisting his toothpick around between his teeth.

“This one is going to be a bit different boys. It’s not exactly…sanctioned by the GAR. Let’s call it a favor for an old friend of mine.”

Crosshair straightens up, suspicious of Cody’s statement, “We may bend the rules from time to time, but we don’t do favors.”

“This is an efficient mission that ultimately will aid us in the war, provide you some easy target practice…and helps me relieve an old debt I have to pay.”

“Is there a reason you can’t do this yourself?” Hunter questions.

“We’ve been called into battle. Besides, this separatist encampment is one we have failed to infiltrate time and time again,” Cody responds.

Hunter shifts, struggling to comprehend where this is going, “What does attacking a separatist encampment have to do with repaying a debt?”

“There is a Senator stationed on Drahgor III…a corrupt senator at that. One who has a significant bounty on his head. My dear old friend is a bounty hunter I met on Ord Mantell. Your job will be to take out the clankers and retrieve any data you can from the main database. Meanwhile, my bounty hunter friend will secure the bounty and you’ll go your separate ways.”

“Who is this Bounty Hunter?” Crosshair inquires.

“Glad you asked,” Cody exclaims, “Y/N!”

The clone troopers twirl around to see you approaching them. Your manner is conservative yet confident. One thing you have become an expert at is never striving for attention. Instead, your presence demands it.

You nod at the troopers, “Clone Force 99, it is a pleasure to be working with you.”

Surveying the team, your eyes first fall on Crosshair. His distrusting look reaffirms the defense you raised long before wandering onto the landing platform.

Gotta keep an eye on that one.

Next, you glance over to Wrecker. A massive lug of a man, but he has the noticeable demeanor of a gentle giant. Something about him reminds you of a plush toy you once owned as a child.

Tech catches your attention next. He is clearly the intuitive one. He will either be a pain to deal with, or a beneficial asset.

At last, your eyes meet Hunter’s. Such a tiny gesture of nothingness feels like you’ve just been thrust into a timeless world of something far more significant. You quickly dismiss your gaze, but soon find your eyes wandering back to him. His eyes are already on you.

Tech quickly picks up on your silent interaction and nudges Hunter to break him of his trance. Hunter quickly snaps out of it and clears his throat. He is dumbstruck by his response. His heart beats recklessly.

Taking note of his counterpart’s vitals, Tech is left unsettled by the quickening of Hunter’s heart rate. “Hunter, I need you to focus on your breathing. Your heart rate is abnormally high.”

Setting your sight once more on the rugged clone trooper, you catch the ever-changing hue of his cheek…the one that isn’t covered in dark ink. A hint of red paints his untouched skin.

He clears his throat, “Erm-thank you for alerting me Tech. I’ll be aboard the ship.”

Cody shrugs his shoulders at you, “I guess you’ll brief them on the ship. Have a safe trip.”

“Thank you Cody, ” you clap him on the shoulder and follow the rogue crews lead onto their ship.

++++

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙳𝚊𝚢

“Where are we going to go? We need somewhere we can set up camp that isn’t easily tracked, ” Echo declares.

“There is one place I can think of, but I’m not sure that Hunter will be a fan of the location, ” Tech announces apprehensively.

Hunter lets out a groan and tightens his fist.

Wrecker laughs, “Hunter doesn’t like this idea! Which means I like it even more!”

Glaring at Wrecker, Hunter abruptly stands and stomps off into the cockpit.

“Where is it?” Echo inquires. He leans in, intrigued by the atmosphere that has suddenly befallen the Marauder.

“Let’s just say…we’d have to get help from an old friend.”

“Ha! An old friend!?” Wrecker blurts out, “Try an old fla-”

“That’s enough, ” Hunter commands, having regained his composure, “We will attempt to make contact this evening and if we have no response by the morning, we will seek out other options.”

++++

All night Hunter stayed up, much to the dismay of his crewmates, awaiting an incoming communication. His mind told him that it would never come through; his heart made him believe…or at least hope otherwise.

He stretches his arms into the air, releasing a hardy yawn. Tech enters the cockpit, “Anything?”

“Nothing, ” Hunter responds with a hint of despair clouding his words.

Just then, a muffled echo transmits through the comms unit. Hunter nearly falls out of the captain’s chair as he scrambles to the commlink.

“This is Phoenix 178095 trying to contact Clone Force 99. I repeat, this is Phoenix 1780-“

“Copy Phoenix 178095, this is Clone Force 99,” Hunter announces almost frantically.

The only response is silence…until, “Hunter? Hunter, is that you?”

The rugged clones grasp on the comlink tightens, and he touches it to his forehead. His eyes are locked shut, his breath unsteady.

“Yes. It’s me.”

You hear his guttural voice and suddenly, your memories which you’ve strived to suppress come flooding back, knocking the wind out of you.

Attempting to swallow the lump that insists on crowding your throat, you press down the transmitter button, but fail to express your thoughts.

“What?” A menacing voice echoes out, “Lothcat got your tongue?”

You chuckle, pressing the comlink to your forehead, “well if it isn’t my favorite piston head.” Piston head, a nickname you have used to refer to Crosshair for as long as you can remember. You find it fitting because term is in reference to a droid, similar to the droid-like manner in which Crosshair carries himself.

“So!” Shouts a third, brooding and somewhat childish voice, “Are we bunking with you or what?”

“Yes Wrecker, you are more than welcome to stay here.”

“Thank you, ” Hunter softly says into the comm’s mic. His voice still brings warmth to your soul, although the communicator slightly alters it.

“Get here safely.”

“Always do.”

“I know, ” you affirm and disconnect the commlink.

Looking around at the empty room, which mere seconds ago was filled with the sound of your closest friends’ voices, you feel once again plagued by loneliness.

It has been nearly three years since you last spoke to them. Choosing to once again shove your feelings down deep inside you, rather than let the pain consume you, you prepare for their arrival.

++++

“Maybe one day we will meet again, when all of this is over. Perhaps then we will have the freedom to say all that we have long held in, ” you exhaust yourself in the effort to fight back the words that are bottled up inside of you.

A void and emotionless, expression spans across his face as he finally acknowledges the weight of the moment. A single tear threatens to spill over, and he clenches his fist to fight back the giant hole that is forming in his heart.

“Y/N, ” he utters, “I-”

“Hunter! It’s time for us to go, ” Tech calls out.

++++

Your entire body jerks to a standstill when you hear the hum of their ship landing.

Hunter feels a sudden sickening sensation throughout his body.

“Deep breaths, brother. You don’t want your little reunion to be overruled by sweaty palms and rosy cheeks, ” Crosshair teases.

Hunter groans, “We are here for a short period of time until we can safely get back to Kamino. Until then, this is strictly business as usual.”

“Whatever you say Hunter,” he flicks his toothpick into the garbage receptacle with perfect aim.

The leader of the clone force, known for being courageous, daring, and valiant has abruptly shifted to a timid and uncertain man. But that’s just it. He felt like a man. A feeling only familiar when around you. Every other day of the rotation, he is merely a defective clone—a misfit who despite his enhanced abilities, is thrown into combat, aware of the fact that he is completely dispensable. Because he is merely one of hundreds of thousands of others just like him, he feels like he is just another carbon copy dispersed off of a factory line. Yet, around you, he never felt that way.

He watches out the cockpit window and sees you emerge from your homestead. His heart somersaults.

“Shall we disembark Hunter?” Tech asks.

He nods.

You are so lost in your thoughts that you hardly notice the troopers exiting their ship. It isn’t until Wrecker has scooped you up into his arms that you are jostled back to reality.

“Wreck!” You cry out in excitement as you wrap your arms around him.

Crosshair lends you a wink that you flirtatiously mirror. It’s always fun seeing him fight back a cheeky grin.

Tech is clearly holding back, so you eagerly close the distance between you two and envelope him in your arms. Initially, he hesitates but rapidly works up the bravery to reciprocate.

Chuckling at his hold on you, you tease, “I don’t know who gives the stronger hugs! You, or Wrecker.” He quickly releases you and straightens his glasses.

“Who’s this?” You motion towards the pale, almost sickly-looking clone. In fact, he looks more like a machine than a clone.

“I’m Echo, ” he extends his hand to you. Accepting it, you introduce yourself in return.

Hunter appears from behind the group. Suddenly, you lose the ability to think straight, let alone speak. His eyes meet yours and you share a somber smile. Each taking a step toward each other, you close the distance between you. Unable to resist any longer, you throw your arms around him, drawing him tightly to you.

For a moment, he stands frozen. Hunter has imagined the feeling of taking you into his arms again more than he would like to admit. At last, he pushes his thoughts aside and encircles your waist with his strong embrace.

You can feel his heartbeat slowly accelerate; at least your heart isn’t the only one threatening to beat out of your chest. You seemingly melt into each other. His hands softly tracing circles on your lower back.

Knowing that this moment cannot last as long as you’d both like, you hesitantly pull away from him. His hands grip at your hips as if he is begging you to not stray from his grasp. Your heart yearns to pull him back into your embrace and to stay there with him forever.

Becoming aware of the world around you once again, you feel your face flush into a crimson red.

“Why are they just standing there like that?” Wrecker leans down to whisper to Tech.

“Sometimes, the most important messages do not need to be said with words,” he responds softly.

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somewhatgreatexpectations · 3 years

Text

Love Me, or Let Me Go (Wanda Maximoff/ Reader)

Hello!

Double Lizzie!

Um... No comment other than brace yourselves. Enjoy! :)

“Do you have to go?” You mumbled into Wanda’s collar bone, smiling slightly at the way she absently ran her fingers up and down your spine. “I think your skills will be better utilized here. With me.” You added, softly kissing the base of her neck.

Her body shivered as her hands began gently stroking through your hair. “I’m sorry, krasivaya. I have to.”

Curiosity blossomed in your chest when the foreign word fell from her lips. “What does that mean?”

“Beautiful.” She replied without hesitation. Your cheeks flushed at the term of endearment.

Making your way up her neck, you allowed your lips to linger teasingly at the corner of her mouth. “Is there a way I can convince you to stay?”

Once again, Wanda shivered, and you felt pleased at the way her breathing became uneven. “Y/n…” She whispered, gently tugging you forward to meet her lips in a heated kiss. A moment later she rolled onto you, her lips moving passionately against your own.

You easily wrapped your arms around her, pulling her close, so close that you weren’t sure where she ended, and you began.

The moment was interrupted by the shrill sound of a phone ringing. Wanda began pulling away, but you chased after her lips. “Ignore it.” You mumbled against her lips.

For a moment it seemed like she was going to ignore the call until the ringing started again. “I have to get that.” Wanda said quietly with a small smile. She pressed three quick kisses to your lips before she rolled off of you.

You groaned in displeasure and Wanda just laughed at your response.

As she stepped away to take the call, you pulled on your sweater that was carelessly thrown on the floor. For the first time since the day before you picked up your phone, noticing a few missed messages and calls. You decided to open the messages from Leigh first.

Is it socially acceptable

to throw hot coffee at

men when they whistle

at you? Asking for a

friend.

Sent 9:02 AM

You couldn’t help but laugh at the message as you scrolled on, seeing she had sent two more following the first one.

Jules said to bark at

them. Would that scare

them away or get me

institutionalized?

Sent 9:27 AM

Do you maybe want

to come over tonight?

Sent 2:46 PM

Reading over the last message surprised you. After the talk you had at your office you had begun to see glimpses of the Leigh you knew was hidden by the walls that she had built.

That’s not to say she changed overnight, but the hurricane had settled into a storm. You could navigate that.

Just as you were about to reply that you had plans, Wanda walked back into the room. A sheepish smile spread across her lips as she took a seat next to you. “Let me guess, you’re smiling like that because you’re staying, and we can watch movies and cuddle?” You murmured sarcastically.

Wanda leaned forward and once again pressed three short kisses to your lips. “Unfortunately not, dorogaya.” She took your hand in her own. “I actually have to leave now instead of later tonight. I should only be gone for a day or two though.”

You sighed, and Wanda smiled back at you. “I’m going to miss you.” You admitted. No time with Wanda ever seemed to be enough.

Without a word, she pulled you to your feet, tugging off the sweatshirt she was wearing in the process. All you could manage to do was stare at her in awe. She laughed and reached out to pull off your sweater as well which you easily complied with.

This woman isn’t real. There’s no way she’s real. Your thoughts screamed at you as your mind short-circuited at the sight of her. Wanda giggled.

Your brow furrowed in confusion when she pulled a sweatshirt back over your head. “What are you doing?” You asked with a puzzled smile.

Wanda put your sweater on before answering. “Now you have a piece of me and I have a piece of you. For when I miss you.” She leaned forward and lightly pecked your lips. “And you miss me.”

You melted at her words.

Once you had heard someone say that you don’t remember days, you remember moments and this moment here, with Wanda… This moment you’d remember forever.

Three words hung on your lips, but you forced them back down. It was too soon to say them. “Hurry back to me.” You whispered, giving her one final kiss.

“As fast as I can.” She promised with a soft smile, lingering in the doorway. Wanda always lingered before she left, as if it would be the last time she saw you. Butterflies filled your stomach with the way she looked at you before she sent you one final smile and closed the door behind herself.

With a content sigh, you threw yourself back on your bed, smiling up at the ceiling for a moment.

After a few minutes you pulled out your phone, erasing the reply you had begun to type out to Leigh and sending a new one.

Hey. I’ll be there.

Should I bring anything?

Read 3:11 PM

Institutionalized yet?

Read 3:12 PM

Not institutionalized

YET… but it’s still early.

Sent 3:13 PM

Can you bring flour?

We’re making pizza

from scratch tonight.

Sent 3:14 PM

What an accomplishment!

Cooking? I think you

forgot how terrible of

cook I am.

Read 3:15 PM

It really is, be proud.

It’s flour and water. How

hard can it be? Come over

at 6.

Sent 3:15 PM

If you say so. See you then.

Read 3:16 PM

_______________

It turned out making pizza from scratch was a lot harder than Leigh made it seem. “Why is it so… slimy?” You mumbled, poking what was supposed to be the dough with your finger. You made a face when it jiggled.

“I told you to follow the recipe.” Leigh called in a sing song voice from her place by the stove.

You rolled your eyes. “I did!” She pursed her lips but didn’t comment further. “Hey, there will be no judging!”

A small smirk spread across her lips as she stirred the sauce in the pan. “But I’m so good at it.” She quipped back sarcastically.

Petulantly you poked the dough again. “But I’m so good at it.” You mocked under your breath.

There was a soft click as Leigh turned off the stove, her eyes squinted at you slightly. “Are you mocking me?”

You shrugged challengingly. “What if I am?”

Leigh tilted her head slightly, her lips pressed together in an amused smile. “I don’t know…” She began walking towards the counter slowly as you eyed her wearily. You knew that look. She was up to something. “I might have to do this.”

Before you could react, she had tossed a hand full of flour your way. You gasped. “You didn’t.” Leigh bit her lip to fight back her laughter. “Oh, it’s on.”

As you reached for one of the tomatoes, she sprinted around to the other side of the counter. “Listen, Y/n, we can talk about this.” A short laugh fell from her lips as she mockingly held up her hands.

“What was that?” You grinned, raising the tomato slightly. Leigh’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t hear you with all this flour in my ears.” Quickly scrambling over the counter, you reached out and smashed the tomato into the front of her shirt.

That action unleashed chaos as you and Leigh chased each other around the kitchen with various items that were originally supposed to be for the pizza. When there were no ingredients left, you leaned against the counter, laughing at what disasters you both were.

Leigh laughed along with you and you felt your chest tighten when you heard the sound you had spent so long adoring. She looked so carefree. You missed that. “Alright. I’m going to go change now. Thank you for turning me into the beginnings of pizza dough.”

You playfully squinted your eyes at her. “Says the one who threw flour first.” She opened her mouth to retort. “Go change!” You playfully shouted with a laugh.

With one final teasing glare, Leigh walked off to her room. When she left, you turned to face the kitchen, wincing at the mess you two had made. With a one final grimace, you grabbed a rag and began wiping down the counter.

“Boo!” Jules said loudly, causing you to jump in surprise.

The shock of your friends sudden appearance made you clutch your chest as you shook your head in amusement at her. “Was that necessary?”

Jules shrugged as she leaned against the counter. “You look like a mess.” She commented offhandedly. You just laughed, not offering an explanation for your appearance.

A short moment of silence settled in the air as you continued cleaning up the mess. “Don’t give up on her.” Jules said suddenly.

You froze slightly. “What?”

Even though you didn’t turn you could hear Jules sigh. “On Leigh. Don’t give up on her.” She repeated quietly. “Last year was a nightmare for her. She lost Matt in more ways than one and learned some pretty painful things about him. And to be honest… I don’t think she ever really recovered from losing you either.”

You clenched the rag tightly in your hands before begrudgingly turning to face her. “I’m not giving up on her, Jules. Why do you think I’m here? I want to be her friend again. To be there for her.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You furrowed your brows in confusion. “Look, Matt was amazing, and Leigh loved him so much. We all did… but towards the end they had drifted apart. They weren’t on the same wavelength anymore. She had to compromise herself. I don’t think she's ever had to do that with you.”

You sighed, but Jules continued on. “Leigh isn’t used to being loved anymore. That’s why she pushes you away. That’s why she said what she did on her birthday.”

The tightening in your chest made a reappearance. “Yeah, well, Leigh made her decision two years ago.”

Jules subtly shook her head. “Someday she’s going to realize that your what she wanted all along... It may not seem like it, but she’s happiest when she’s with you.”

The weight of her words rendered you speechless as you stared blankly at a spot on the counter. “Jules, I-” Wanda’s name was on your lips when she interrupted you.

“She’s a lot, trust me, I know better than most… but don’t give up on her.” She repeated once more in a hurried voice. She stood up just in time for Leigh to walk back in. “Alright, have a fun night you two!” She called out as she rushed out the room, sending you one last meaningful look before she disappeared.

Leigh chuckled as she turned her attention to you. “What was that about?”

Through the fog in your mind you managed a weak, “Nothing.”. Leigh’s eyebrows raised curiously but she didn’t question it. “I’m going to go wash my face.” You mumbled rushing out of the room.

When you reached the bathroom you quickly splashed your face with water, trying desperately to shake Jules’ words from your mind. After a few minutes, you felt calm enough to make your way back to the kitchen.

Leigh was cleaning up, but she looked up when she heard you wander back in. “Hey, I ordered pizza. I didn’t think there was a way for us to salvage… this.” She gestured vaguely to the final creation left standing, your slimy pizza dough.

You shuddered at the sight. “We need to destroy that before it grows legs and walks out of here.” Leigh laughed as she dropped the ball of dough into the trashcan. “What’d you order?” You asked as you leaned your forearms against the counter.

Leigh mimicked your stance and tilted her head to face you. “Extra pineapple.” You stared at her in disbelief for a moment. “I’m kidding. I got spinach and sun-dried tomatoes. That’s still your favorite, right?”

A small smile spread across your lips. “Yeah… it’s still my favorite.” You said quietly. You knew she hated those toppings, but she ordered them anyway. The small action confused you.

________________

After you had both finished eating, you were both sat on the couch, talking casually when your phone buzzed. When you opened the message, you were greeted by a picture of Wanda with a goofy smile, wearing your sweater.

Miss you.

Sent 9:53 PM

The message was simple, but you couldn’t help the adoring way you smiled at your phone. Leigh quirked her eyebrows curiously. “What’s got you so smiley?” She peeked over before you could move your phone out of her sight. The smile on her face fell immediately. “Seriously?”

A heavy sigh fell from your lips at her tone. “Leigh-”

“What? So, are you dating now?” She asked, her words clipped.

Your gaze fell to the floor. “Yes- No- I don’t know? We haven’t talked about labels.” You admitted quietly.

Her lips pressed in a line as she shook her head disbelievingly. “Right. Well, tonight was fun. I’m going to bed now.”

As she stood you followed after her. “What’s your problem?” You demanded. Tired of all the back and forth.

“I don’t have a problem.” Leigh called over her shoulder, feigning disintrest as she continued making her way towards the staircase.

“You obviously do because every time I mention Wanda you shut down.” You grabbed her hand and spun her back around to face you.

Leigh yanked her hand out of your grasp. “Because you’re using her as a placeholder to get over me!” She shouted, making you flinch.

The heat of the moment made it impossible to process your words before they tumbled from your lips. “I’m not, I love her!”

Her mouth fell open as she stared at you in shock, the fight leaving her system. “…What?”

You pushed a frustrated hand through your hair. “I’m in love with her. With Wanda.” You sighed. Your gaze falling to the floor because you weren’t sure you could handle another minute under her scrutinizing stare. “With the way she plays with her fingers when she’s nervous. With the way she scrunches her nose when she’s excited. With the way she lingers in the doorway every time she has to leave. With the way she lets the world move around her because-”

“Why her?’ Leigh interrupted quietly. You tried to ignore the way her eyes glistened.

“Because whenever something happens, she’s the first person I want to tell.” You replied without missing a beat.

For a moment Leigh just stared at you. You noticed the way her lip quivered ever so slightly. “Did you love me?”

The shock of the question rendered you speechless for a moment. “You can’t be serious.” The way she blinked back at you made it clear she was serious. “I loved you to the point of ruin, Leigh. I loved you so much that I had to build myself from the ground up again because all that was left of me was ashes after you chose him.” Your breathing became ragged as you fought to push your words out. “I loved you enough to let you go but you keep pulling me back.”

Her gaze fell to the floor, but she didn’t respond. “Why do you even care? You don’t want me. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

She paused and took a breath, her eyes never meeting yours. “Y/n, I never-… I l-… If you're going to leave then go.”

“You can’t keep doing this to me.” You sighed. “Love me or let me go, Leigh.”

You winced at your word choice but didn’t take them back. When it was clear she wasn’t going to say anything else, you nodded slightly, accepting the silence as her answer.

Unable to take it anymore, you turned and left.

_______________

Hours later you had fallen into a restless sleep until repetitive banging on your front door startled you awake. You were surprised to find Leigh on your doorstep, the bags under her eyes were more apparent than ever. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but worry.

The worry faded when she spoke.

“I hate you.”

A disbelieving laugh fell from your lips. “Wow. Okay, that’s great, Leigh. Thank you for driving all the way over here at 1 in the morning to tell me that.” You began closing the door when she put her hand on it to stop you. You didn’t fight her.

Leigh continued as if you hadn’t even spoken. Her eyes glistened brightly under the light of the moon. "I hate you because every time I’m around you it feels wrong.”

You fought desperately to ignore the pain that bloomed in your chest at her words. “Alright. I get it, Leigh.” You mumbled staring down at the floor. You couldn’t understand why she was doing this. “You can go now.”

“I hate you because you make it so fucking hard to be around you and not love you.” Your eyes shot up to meet hers just as tears began falling down her cheeks. You couldn’t breathe. “It feels wrong because nothing about it feels wrong and it should. It feels wrong because everything about you feels right. You shouldn’t feel right, and I feel so fucking guilty, Y/n.”

All you could do was stare back at her, all your words wiped entirely from your mind. Her lip began to quiver once again. “Say something.” Leigh pleaded. You opened and closed your mouth, but no words came out.

Eventually your frustration took precedence because why now? Why not two years ago? “What do you expect me to say to that, Leigh?”

Leigh used her palm to wipe the tears that flowed steadily down her cheeks. “Say that you haven’t given up on me yet.” She whispered.

Jules words rang in your mind as you struggled to keep your breath steady. “Why now?”

“Because you’re like oxygen to me and I’ve been holding my breath for too long… Because I don’t want to lose you without knowing that I tried.” Leigh took your hand and held it to her chest, much like you did the day of her wedding. “Does it feel like this to you?”

Your breath hitched when she repeated the words you once told her back to you. “I love Wanda.” You whispered, feeling her hand slacken slightly in your own, but her eyes continued to shine with determination.

“Do you want us to be done?” She asked, holding her breath.

The way she was looking at you was unbearable as you shut your eyes to avoid the emotions that came with meeting her gaze. “I don’t- I don’t know.” You stuttered out.

“Well, I don’t. I don’t want us to be done.” When you opened your eyes again Leigh gently wiped away a tear that had fallen down your cheek.

For a moment you both stared at one another, the emotions making the air around you feel heavy. Leigh gently took one of your hands and slowly brought it up to her cheek. She lightly kissed the inside of your palm before she leaned into it. Your chest clenched as you watched her closely.

You allowed yourself to get lost in the feeling of her skin under your fingertips. Her lips parted slightly as you saw her eyes fall to your lips, her chest rising and falling unsteadily with shallow breathes.

A moment later, Leigh slowly leaned into you, her lips tentatively pressing against your own. You had kissed Leigh dozens of times before, but none had ever been like this. It was as though she was trying to pour all her emotions into this one kiss. To make you understand how she felt with this one kiss.

When you realized what was happening you quickly pulled away. “Leigh, stop. I can’t do this to Wanda.” You stepped back, putting a fair distance between you both.

Leigh’s eyes filled with sadness, but she nodded faintly. “Please, just think about what I said.” You nodded, not feeling up to saying anything else. “I’m not giving up on you.”

With a final nod, Leigh turned and got into her car which you watched drive away. All you wanted to do was scream in frustration.

____________________

Even though you were expecting it, the knock on your door made you jump. Anxiety quickly overcame you as you rushed over to open the door. Your heart thudded guiltily against your ribcage when your eyes fell on a smiling Wanda. “Hi, krasivaya.”

All you could do was leap into her arms, quickly pulling away when you felt her flinch. “Are you okay?”

Wanda managed an unconvincing nod as she pulled you back in. “Just fell on the trip, I’m okay. Holding you is worth it.” As gently as you could, you wrapped your arms around her and breathed in her sweet scent. The anxiety you felt earlier easing slightly in her presence.

“I missed you.” You said quietly, as you pulled her in and led her to the couch.

“I missed you too.” She replied back without hesitation. Your gaze fell to your lap and you could feel Wanda’s concern without even looking at her. “What’s wrong?”

Her fingers slid against your palm as she squeezed your hand gently. You had to tell her. Everything. “There’s something you should know.” You said quietly. The concern in Wanda’s eyes grew.

Part 5! Um... it had to happen. Also I feel like this part was particularly important because we got to see a different side of Leigh. Sure, she's a lot sadness most of the time but if you watch the show, she's actually kind of dorky when she's not mad or sad. Hopefully this showed more of her depth.

How's the team Leigh vs. Team Wanda debate?

I hope you all enjoyed! I am so excited to read all your comments about this part! Remember, thoughts and comments are always welcome. :)

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@khiaraaa-in-spacee // @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo //@halobaby // @madamevirgo // @aimezvousbrahms //@trikruismybitch // @marvels-writings // @izalesbean // @imdreamingblo // @i-choose-you-cyndaquil // @helloalycia // @scarlets-maximoff // @cantcontroltheirfear // @women-am-i-right // @funnysoldier // @myfavoriteficss // @imapotatao // @imagine-reblog // @blackxwidowsxwife // @purplemeetsblue // @cristin-rjd // @raven-ss // @legaypandaboi

#wanda #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda marvel #wanda maximov #wanda maximoff fic #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x y/n #sorry for your loss #leigh shaw #leigh shaw x reader #elizabeth olsen

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highdramas · 4 years

Text

forever is the sweetest con | b.b.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝'𝐬 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐮𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: language and tfatws spoilers? not really but just in case

word count: 2167

summary: bucky makes a friend in his neighbor and her cat.

note: hiiiii so happy that so many people enjoyed the world's a little blurry! i am going to be writing multiple one shots, all connecting and showing little snapshots from the life of bucky and the reader <3 you don't have to read them in order, but reading all of them will help you better understand the relationship!

enjoy! <3

“stupid fucking thing.”

the swearing followed by incoherent irritable grumbling is like a dog whistle to bucky barnes. he’s standing outside of his apartment, lingering in the hallway, waiting to see if the person will speak again. to the surprise of no one, bucky hasn’t put much effort into getting to know his neighbors. he gives curt nods as he passes them in the hallway, tries his best to muster a smile when he gets caught at the mailbox beside someone else. he thinks that it looks more like a grimace than anything, but still-- it’s something.

“son of a bitch.”

the voice is feminine, and it is angry. he’s trying to discern if there is any immediate distress, and if there is-- maybe he can help. he’s pulled from his thoughts quickly as a door swings open and a large box is thrown out onto the doorstep. “fucking hell.”

the door doesn’t close. it stays open, still swinging, as if recoiling from the force in which it was tossed open. bucky could very easily continue on his way to his apartment, put away the few groceries he had purchased-- mostly pasta and cereal-- and spend his evening how he spends most evenings. fighting off sleep, because he knows what comes the moment consciousness fades and the darkness swallows him whole.

but he doesn’t.

instead, he dashes to his door and places the bag at the entryway, turning back on his heel. he fiddles with his gloves as he grows closer and closer to the door. and then, he sees you.

bucky can’t see much-- the door is only cracked. but what he can see almost makes him laugh. you’re huddled over what he assumes is a cat tower. well, a sorry excuse for a cat tower, really-- it’s half put together with miscellaneous pieces strewn all around you. you seem to be studying the instruction manual, flipping through it before you eventually toss it to the side. “kitty, i don’t know about all of this,” he hears you say.

again, there are multiple options here in terms of what bucky can do. he can leave now, pretend he never saw anything. he can check on you, and then… and then what? he doesn’t know.

he knocks.

bucky takes a step back as you scramble to your feet, pushing your hair back. you open the door and up at the stranger. “hi.” the word is short, and he can tell that you are not in a good mood. “if you’re going to bitch me out about the noise, i’m sorry. i bought a new cat tower for my cat, and it’s a bitch to put together. and i hate building anything, so i’m basically useless.” you suck in a breath and muster a smile. “so, like i said. sorry. i’ll be a better neighbor tomorrow.”

you go to close the door, and he doesn’t know what he’s doing when he blurts-- “wait-- no.” he shakes his head, clears his throat. “no, i wasn’t gonna bitch you out. i was--”

what was he going to say? what was he going to do?

“i was going to say i could help. if you want.” he clears his throat and rubs at his chin with a gloved hand. “i’m alright at putting furniture together.”

you linger in the doorway and look at him. though there are countless people who look at him every day, oftentimes, bucky doesn’t feel like he’s being recognized. sometimes he wonders if he is secretly invisible, drifting through this too-long life as a ghost. but the look you give him is piercing, and the smile that follows makes his heart stop in his chest.

“i’m not gonna turn down someone building this god forsaken thing for me,” you open the door wider. “come on in.”

bucky finishes his handiwork on the cat tower within thirty minutes, but something about you draws him in, and now it has been an hour and a half and he has not tired of your company.

you are very charming. that is the first thing that bucky notices about you. and it’s not just your personality, either. everything in your apartment seems to drip in you. there is no wall that is bare, there are different colored lights twinkling around each window, plants galore. it makes him almost feel embarrassed about the state of his own home. if you can even call it that.

it’s not a home. it’s a place where he fights off his demons and drinks cheap beer and pretends that he is okay, pretends that he is not alone, pretends that he doesn’t need sam or his therapist or anyone else in order to figure out how to live in the present.

but yours. yours is a home.

there’s a pang of jealousy, nestled deep in his heart. he doesn’t care if the thought is unreachable for someone like him, someone who has done the sort of things that he has done-- he wants it.

the thought will never reach the light of day, of course. no, it will stay buried in his belly, churning with the guilt and the anguish and the loneliness, too.

“you good over there?”

“huh?”

bucky looks up to see that you’re looking at him. your head is tilted and your mouth slightly agape, and the look… he can’t quite place it. it’s more confusion and less concern, and in a weird way, he likes that. “yeah. i’m fine.”

he’s confused by the way that the corner of your mouth turns up. “you’re a good liar,” is all that you quip before you push up off the ground, dusting off your leggings. “do you like pizza? i’m starving, and i would cook us something, but i don’t want to subject you to that. my mom says the only thing i should ever make is cereal, and even that’s pushing it. says i use too much milk.”

bucky laughs.

and it shocks him. it takes no thought at all to laugh at your words, your charm, the way that you carry yourself with such easy self deprecating humor. you make him laugh.

you, on the other hand, don’t think anything of it. you raise your eyebrows at him. “well? it’s pizza or we’re eating two big bowls of honey nut cheerios.”

“pizza is good.”

you bite down on your lip and you nod, fishing your phone from your back pocket. “great.”

bucky studies you as you order the food.

he’s learning that there are many things that he envies you for.

every muscle in your body is loose and relaxed. you don’t walk, you seem to float-- drifting in and out of rooms, brushing past him, as if you’re made up of nothing but air and stardust. you joke with the employee on the other line and then you hang up and look back to him. “i said we’d go and pick it up. it’s my favorite place, just down the street.”

“yeah, that sounds nice.”

bucky follows your lead. he’d never taken off his jacket, or his gloves, but you hadn’t made a comment about them. you scramble into clothing suitable for a new york winter and then grin at him, face slightly obscured by the massive scarf. “ready?”

he nods, and then you set out. you’re quiet for a few moments, before you say, “you’re bucky, right?”

there’s a silence that settles between you, as if some jig is now up. you glance over at him. “that’s not a bad thing,” you say softly. “or an insult.”

“yeah, i know.” his elbow knocks against yours lightly. “but, yeah. i am.”

you nod and offer your own name in return, and that is that. you don’t allude to anything else that you might or might not about him, his past, or the fact that he was used as a hydra weapon for a majority of his life, now thrust into a brand new century. no, all you do is say, “bucky’s a nice name.”

“thanks, doll.”

the pet name rolls off of his tongue so easily, like breathing. he stops for a moment, leaning into the urge to be embarrassed, but you don’t let him. “no one’s ever called me that before,” you say, brushing against his arm. “i like it.”

“it’s what all the guys used to call their girls.” he stops. “not that, you know--”

“yeah, i know,” you laugh. “i know what you meant.” you glance up at him again. “like i said, i like it.”

bucky swallows his nervousness and instead comes reassurance at your words. “i can keep callin’ you doll, if you really like it that much.”

playfulness. ease. comfort. things he has not felt in so long-- yori has tried to pull them out of him when it comes to women, but it has always felt forced, too fast, not right. this feels right.

“you make it sound like it’s such a chore!” you gape at him, but your voice is not malicious in the slightest. you are holding james buchanan barnes in the palm of your hand and you do not even know it.

“it’s not a chore,” bucky reassures. “trust me.”

“whatever you say,” you point to a small hole in the wall shop. “this is it.”

bucky holds the door open for you and you smile and wink as a thank you and god it sends his mind spinning, intoxicated by even the look that you give him. your name is performed like a symphony by every employee in the shop-- they all grin and wave, some make small talk. they eye bucky who stands a step behind you. but you turn and you place a hand on his forearm and even through all of the layers he swears that your touch burns. “this is my neighbor--” you look to him.

bucky clears his throats and he musters a smile, somewhere between his normal grimace and the smile that only seems to form in your presence. “james.”

they greet bucky with kindness and send the both of you on your way with the large pizza and a free liter of diet coke. “her favorite,” the owner says pointedly, winking to you. “we’re always trying to tell her to stop. maybe you can get her to knock the habit.”

“i don’t think anyone can get me to stop drinking diet coke,” you joke, looking at bucky with a level of fondness. “but he can certainly try.”

“i’ll give it a valiant effort,” bucky says and he tips his head to everyone before he opens the door for you once more. he holds the pizza and you hold the soda, tucked beneath your arm, and you make the trek back to your apartment in comforting quiet.

bucky learns that you don’t have a dining room table. you call it a waste of space, so you two sit in front of your coffee table on floor pillows, eating off mismatched plates and drinking the diet coke out of mugs from the thrift store you frequent.

the night is growing quieter, and you think that both you and bucky sense that it is coming to an end. you think you might be a bit addicted to being around him. he reminds you of the smell after it rains and black coffee, of laughter under neon lights and gentleness.

bucky is beginning to gather his things to leave when a meow turns both of your heads. your eyes light up. “hi baby,” you coo and the cat goes right to you and you scoop her up in your arms, presenting her to bucky. “this is katherine. or kitty, as i call her. she’s normally pretty scared of people.”

bucky hesitates, looking between you and the cat. finally, his hand reaches out and scratches kitty beneath the chin. she purrs almost instantly, nuzzling her face into his hand. you watch, somewhere in between shocked and amazed, as bucky interacts with her. “no, i swear, she hates people.” you pause. “wanna hold her?”

“oh, i don’t know…”

you raise your eyebrows and then he looks back at the cat, who gives a yap. it seems to say: please? he huffs and it fades into a smile and he holds his arms out. you set kitty into them and watch as she curls into him, rubbing the top of her head against his chin.

a girlish laugh bubbles from the deep pit of you belly and you clasp your hands together in front of you, watching with hearts in your eyes. the corner of his mouth turns up as he continues to pet the cat.

“bucky,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “i hate to inform you, she’s never gonna let you go now.”

bucky looks up at you through his lashes. you, with your easy and calm demeanor, your loud laugh and your inability to build even the simplest of furniture.

“i think i’m okay with that.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes series #the world's a little blurry #bucky barnes fanfic

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forsakenmis · 3 years

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Calming her down

Title: Calming her down Pairing: top!Wanda Maximoff x female!reader Rating: 18+ Incredibly NSFW Warnings: Dark Wanda, kind of non-con, strap on, fingering, mummy kink, post-WV finale so spoilers if you haven’t seen it. also i haven’t editted it so beware grammar and spelling mistakes. Word count: 4215 words

It had taken far too long to track her down. Why they asked you to do it, you weren’t really sure. It’s not as if you and Wanda ever really talked, or even made eye contact, during the years as an avenger. Yet you were given the task of pulling her back onto the rails, rails she’s apparently veered pretty badly. You really think Doctor Strange, the Gandalf of wizards, would be a lot better at handling her than you would be. Or even Clint, the guy who was her mentor. But no-no one wanted to reach out to her, even though they spent years arguing that she needed to be supervised. You could go on for days how you being the person being sent is the most ridiculous idea they could have had.

You weren’t even a super, or an avenger, you started off as a shield agent who was then thrown into Stark Industries as Tony’s intern. Fury wanted an in and you were that in. Then everything went bottoms up and you became a slightly more valuable member of the group. Support, really.

After the snap, you just wanted a stable life. A normal life. By the time they contacted you to do this, you’d applied to a college. No, a university. In Australia, which was far, far away from New York. The briefing was simple. Wanda, left to her own devices in her time of need, went to try to handle her own grief after stealing Vision’s body from S.W.O.R.D. You were being asked to go try to talk some sense into her. Then, within the week of you repeatedly saying no, it turned out the head of S.W.O.R.D. was a bastard which you could have seen coming from a mile away, and Wanda was god knows where.

They promised you they’d leave you alone after this.

So you said yes.

What could go wrong?

You were still asking herself that three weeks later when you were sitting there still trying to find out where exactly she went. Wanda wasn’t going to be easy to find, especially considering she didn’t want to be found but you did it. It was four in the morning when you finally narrowed down a list of ten possible locations that she could be in. You were too tired to even crack a smile, you fell back onto your bed to sleep.

Your celebration was sleep for by the next morning, you were trekking across the world and came to the outskirts of a property with the view of the mountains. Pretty, sure, but you didn’t think Wanda was here for the view.

It was eerily quiet when you walked up to the door. That type of quiet they put into horror movies before they pulled out a jump scare. You didn’t trust it. Then again-not that there was anything around to make noise. Wanda could be asleep, as maybe all this isolation has meant she’s forsaken a body clock.

Still-you trusted it as much as you could lift Mjollnir and you couldn’t even make it shift.

The curtains were closed, you couldn’t see anything as you walked up the two steps and you had to stop your hand from hovering over your handgun. It would have been more of a self assurance. You couldn’t dream of winning against Wanda in a fight, both of you would be aware of that, but you couldn’t exactly imagine she’d be that trusting of you if you walked in holding a gun. So you fiddled with the watch around your wrist, it was a gift from Tony years ago.

You could have brought reinforcement, sure, but that seemed like a moot point considering you were trying to gain her trust, somewhat. The reinforcement would have been S.W.O-oh whatever, sword, you don’t have the time for formality. And sword made such a huge mess of it the first time round so you didn’t think they were going to help this time round. You tried calling Clint, but he was busy, apparently. Too busy to pick up your calls.

This was definitely a suicide mission.

You knocked three times with the back of your knuckles and listened, trying to hear any hint of movement.

Nothing.

You knocked again. Knock. Knock. Knock. Not even a creak.

Maybe she was asleep or maybe, dare you say it, had gotten it wrong. God, you’d hate for some old man to swing the door open.

Your hand dropped to the handle, going to test the lock, but then it swung open and if it wasn’t for your own instincts, you would have stumbled forward.

Wanda.

Your eyes slammed onto her face and, for the first time in years, you fumbled. She looked different, way too different for your liking, she looked older since Tony’s funeral. Mature. More confident in herself. You could think of a different million ways to describe her in that split second.

She’d always been pretty before but this Wanda was…gorgeous. This Wanda could also read minds.

You cut your thoughts short and took in a slight breath. Wanda wasn’t saying anything and her only acknowledgement was the slight hook of her brow.

“Wanda,” you began before forcing a smile onto yourself, “long time no see.”

“So they sent you, of all people,” Wanda remarked and you made a face. Sure-she was right but that was, quite frankly, rude.

“They suggested I come and I wanted to come,” you lied, “to see how you were doing...okay, look, I know we never talked. Or interacted. I know that. I was probably not the most open to you as I could have been.” Wanda was continuing to stare at you. She was dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. A shirt that arguably was one size too small for her. You weren’t really sure what to say, if you were honest, you’d spent so much time trying to find her, tracking her down like a puzzle, that you forgot to plan for this interaction.

“But I like to think we were on good terms,” you continued. Worst thing she could do was close the door in your face and you were more than happy to camp outside. “Enough that you’ll hear me out. I heard about your book, the darkhold–” That’s when you got a reaction out of her. Her eyes narrowed, growing even colder, and you could see her grip tightening on the door. “–we need to talk. Please-just let me in. I’m not going to fight you. We both know I can’t do that.”

You were keeping your thoughts clear. You didn’t want her reading you.

After a second, Wanda swung the door open wider and let you in.

Your eyes scanned the room the moment you entered the threshold, looking for all the exits, before you turned back to Wanda. Wanda, who had closed the door, and had started walking towards you, close enough that you took a step back but found yourself hitting the back of a table.

Now that she was right up in your personal space, close enough that you could smell the soap she was using. Your heart was beating now.

“So you came for the book?” She asked, staring down at you. She was only a couple of inches taller than you but it may as well have been more.

“No, I came here to help you. And I know that book isn’t helping you, no matter how much you think it is. Wanda, that book is dangerous,” you said, gaining enough courage that you pushed yourself off the table to step forward, getting into Wanda’s space just as she was in yours.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Wanda remarked but she didn’t move. “You’re as bullheaded as you used to be, never knowing when a fight was too big for you. I remember all those times Nat and Steve had to throw themselves on the line because you’d done something reckless.” “That’s rich coming from you.” “I could protect myself,” Wanda snapped back. “So where are they? The rest of them. The people that said they were my family. Were you all that they had?”

You clenched your teeth. Don’t say the truth. “They wanted a woman’s touch with it,” you lied. “There isn’t that many of us who were close to you back then anymore.”

It was really only Nat and maybe Pepper who were close to Wanda. Both were a little preoccupied as of right now (for different reasons) to come knocking on Wanda’s door.

“A woman’s touch?” Wanda echoed, saying it in a way that made you clench your teeth. It was a raspy whisper. “And what, may I ask, would that entail?”

With the way she said it, you were pretty sure that Wanda wasn’t meaning it in the same way you were. Albeit, your meaning was rather off as well. In that you had no idea what that would entail either.

Wanda must have realised this and took a step back. “I suggest you leave,” she said and you hesitated before shaking your head.

“I won’t do that,” you said and she frowned. “They asked me to calm you down–”

“Calm me down?” She repeated, pronouncing each syllable, and it was as if the temperature dropped ten degrees. “Calm me down.” Then she smirked and it made you roll back on your heels.

“As long as you have that book, yes,” you said, “how about this–I take the book and then I go. You’ll think more rational without it, Maximoff, you know that. Deep down. You’re smart, Wanda, smarter than anyone ever gave you credit for. Besides Vision–”

“Don’t say his name,” Wanda snarled and suddenly she was in front of you again, hand around your throat, “do you understand me? He doesn’t exist here, not with you around.”

You didn’t really know what she meant but you ran with it and nodded. Her hand was tight and your airway was becoming a little too blocked for your liking.

She stared down at you, her eyes hard and cold, but then they softened and her grip loosened but they still didn’t leave your skin.

“You know, I might have pursued you back then, if it wasn’t for him,” Wanda began and you blinked. What? “You were everything I liked in a girl. Besides your recklessness….and stubbornness...but I think I can deal with that pretty easily.”

“Wanda, I’m flattered, really, but how about we focus,” you said, carefully, deciding to take that with a grain of salt and then over analyse it at three in the morning. Like how could you be cock blocked by a bloody robot? “Just give me the book and I’ll leave you in peace. I’ll make sure no one comes looking for you–” “You can’t promise me that,” Wanda remarked before she dropped her hand to take a step back. Then she looked you up and down. “You said they wanted you to calm me down, right? How about I keep both you and the book.”

You would like to say you were able to fight back. Prevent Wanda from knocking you out. But you were gone by the time she finished her sentence.

----

When light streamed into your eyes, the first thing you registered was the soft pillow underneath your head. Then you felt the rest of the bed and your eyes sprung open.

Your legs were bent up and out, Wanda’s red mist wrapped around your ankles and knees to keep them up. Meanwhile, your wrists were stuck to the headboard. Then your eyes rested on….Wanda?

Transparent Wanda reading that bloody book. You swear to god-you’ll burn that book the moment you get your hands–

“You’ll do no such thing,” Wanda’s voice cut through your apparently rather loud thoughts. You turned your head, trying to find her, and there she was in the doorway, sipping a cup of tea, watching you. Then she kicked off it and moved into the room and slid the mug onto a table before coming to the bed. “Maybe I’ll let you hold it one day as I read it.”

“I don’t...I don’t understand, Wanda, let me go,” you whispered as you began to struggle, pulling on the restraints again and again, but they weren’t budging. Neither was Wanda.

“I don’t think I want to,” Wanda hummed as she pushed herself onto the bed, “you see, I lost everything. My brother, Vision, Nat, Steve, my two boys, then Vision again. I lose every single family I ever have. Maybe this time I’ll succeed. I’m trying to find them, you see, with the book. Find them and pull them out. We can live here, happy, away from everyone.”

“We’ve done this story before Wanda, it didn’t–” “This time will be different, I’ll be more powerful, I won’t mess up this time,” Wanda pressed as her hands went to your inner thighs, moving them up and down your clothed skin. “And, when it comes to you, what they don’t know won’t hurt them. I don’t think I’ll let them see you. No, you can be my little secret. I stared at you for too many years, let you whore yourself out to other people. Not anymore.”

You drew your brows together. This couldn’t be happening.

“As you said, you’re meant to calm me down, right? Meant to pull me off some edge because everyone else was just too busy,” Wanda said as she positioned herself between your legs, bending down to kiss your jawline. You throbbed and pulled on the red strands wrapped around your wrist, but to no avail. “But I can think of another edge you can get close to,” she whispered as she pulled away again.

“Wanda, what are you–”

Her fingers slid in between your thighs, pressing into your heat, and a sharp gasp left your mouth. She began to rub through your jeans, cupping your heat, and you tugged again. This time, the red scratched the watch around your wrist and suddenly your clothes had snapped into the red armour Tony had built you years ago. Protective armour that replaced whatever you were wearing in a nick of time.

Useful.

The shift was enough to push Wanda off you and she stared down at the red and black armour with a slight tilt of her head.

“Well, that won’t do, will it?” She asked as her hands trailed down the cool metal. “Neat trick. Tony’s design, right?”

“Of course,” you responded after a moment, your chest rising up and down. There was no point in denying it-it was obviously Tony’s. Right down to the colours.

Wanda’s eyes turned red as the red mist circled around her hand as she lowered it back down. You flinched when you felt it slink in between the small crevices. The suit was meant to be protected against outside substances, able to go into water, but you supposed Tony didn’t exactly build it against Wanda.

“Wanda, you don’t–” “If you don’t be quiet, I’ll make you, do you understand me?” She hissed as she bucked her hand backwards and the suit around your hips ripped off you and tossed across the room. You whined as the cold air hit your bare skin, contrasting the building heat in between your legs.

You were left with nothing but the top half and the pants that wrapped around your thigh. “Much better.”

With that, she went back to what she was doing before but this time there was nothing to prevent her from slipping her fingers through your slick folds, the tips of her nails teasing your entrance.

“Look at you, already so wet,” she cooed and you gritted your teeth. This really couldn’t be happening. This was a dream. She could control reality, this was just a dream. “This isn’t me in your head, sweetheart, trust me–I would have cut the foreplay if I was creating this.”

She continued to massage your heat and it took you everything you had not to moan.

“Why are you…” you tried saying but you were cut short, once again, when her fingers found your hooded clit, using the tips of her nails to start playing with it. You bucked your hips instinctively and she chuckled.

“You said you wanted to help me, right?” Wanda asked and the building heat was beginning to become a little too much. “So how about this, sweetheart, you help mummy out by becoming mummy’s little stress reliever.”

Two fingers suddenly plunged into your entrance and your back arched. At least your clit got a little bit of a break but it wasn’t long until her palm began to grind against it as she thrusted the fingers into your tight entrance. Each thrust expanded your walls, letting her in even deeper, your own arousal making her movements slick and quick.

“Wand-” you began to moan but it morphed into a sharp yelp when she pulled her fingers out to slap your cunt.

“You’re a smart girl, sweetheart, it’s how you got around Tony for so long. I think you know exactly what you want to be calling me,” she said and suddenly she was back down so that her face was only inches away from yours and her fingers slid back inside of you.

Unlike last time, though, it wasn’t rough and sharp. Her fingers were slow as they moved inside of you, curling at the tips, scratching your walls. Exploring. She was exploring you and you could do nothing but whimper and moan.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I know you would. Look at you, already so wet and submissive for me,” she whispered, scattering kisses down your jawline as she reached your ear to nibble on your earlobe. “I’ll keep you in here for as long as I need you. Ride your pretty little mouth as I read that book, fill you up again and again until you’re passing out. All you have to do is be a good little girl.”

Heat was curling through your body, that buzzing sort of heat, that made your vision blur. Your teeth were clamped together. You wanted to moan, they were in your throat, but even when you opened your mouth, no sound came out. Just silent moans. The fingers moving inside of you had grabbed all your attention.

Then she scratched that little sweet spot and it was that that pushed out a moan that bounced around the room. Wanda laughed, hitting it again and again.

“Let your mummy hear your moans, sweetheart,” she said before she pulled back to kiss you on the mouth, biting hard on your lip so you wouldn’t even try to close your mouth and stop the tongue that slid into your mouth.

Your stomach was twisting into knots at this point and seemed like every other muscle seemed to be cramping. You were close to climax. Your walls clenched around Wanda’s fingers. Just a little bit–

You groaned when she peeled herself off you. You blinked up at her, looking through what seemed like tears, as you were denied that relief. Relief from the throbbing coming from your cunt.

“You want to cum, baby?” Wanda asked as she pulled off her shirt. Underneath was a simple black bra that was quickly disposed of. Your eyes, naturally, landed on her chest. A chest that, even under the circumstances, made you drool. Wanda’s clicking your fingers drew your eyes back up. “Eyes on mummy, sweetheart. God, you really are a little whore, aren’t you? Tell me-do you want to cum?” You pulled on your restraints just once more but all it seemed to do was to make it even tighter.

You nodded, jerkily.

“Use your words, sweetheart, I very clearly established you’re not mute,” Wanda remarked as her fingers went down to her jeans, fiddling with her button.

“Yes. Please, I want to,” you mumbled, knowing you won’t be coming back from this point. Then again-if she could make you feel like that again...maybe that wasn’t so bad.

Wanda tilted her head as she hummed, not having to move much to slap your sore cunt again and you jerked. “Say it politely and maybe I’ll consider it.” You scrunch your eyes shut and mewled when she began to knead your pulsating clit again. “M-mummy, please,” you whispered and her hands left your cunt. Before you could even open your eyes, you felt her lips on yours. Soft, gentle...loving.

“Good girl...that wasn’t so hard, was it?” She asked and you could hear the ruffling of her pants as she kicked them off. “Now...mummy’s going into your head, okay? I promise it won’t be long.” You began to struggle again but the warmth of her powers quickly washed over you. Your memories began playing the past three months. You tracking her down. Refusing back up.

Then she was out again.

“You really told no one where you were going? Almost as if you wanted this to happen,” She said as she shifted on top of you. Shifted that you felt something rub up against your entrance and you flinched. She...she was packing. “Of course I am, sweetheart, do you really think I wasn’t prepared for you? I knew you were coming from a mile away, honey.”

And with that, she pushed the strap inside of you, not bothering to wait for you to adjust until she was completely inside of you. You arched your back again, pressing into Wanda’s naked body, as the pain of being ripped open rushed through your body. You moaned and grunted as you grew adjusted to the width and length of Wanda.

“Come on, baby, you can do it,” Wanda murmured into your lips and suddenly your wrists were freed. But then her own hands came up to wrap around them to press them against the pillows herself. “I know you’ve taken bigger. Do you think we didn’t know? Didn’t know you and Nat were fucking every other night?” The comment drew you out, just for a moment, and you shook your head but all she did was pull back slightly to slam inside of you again.

“Don’t lie to me,” Wanda snarled, “tell me, tell me the truth. Use your words.”

It took only a few more thrusts of her strap filling you up again and again that the words began to spill out of your lips. “S-she found out. About my status as a shield status. Fuck,” you hissed out, barely able to hear your own words over the lude noises of Wanda beginning to pound into you. This wasn’t fair-you couldn’t dream of talking when she was fucking you like this.

“So you whored yourself out to her to make sure she kept her mouth shut,” Wanda said, finishing the sentence and you nodded jerkily. “You little slut. I bet you liked it too, just like how you like me pounding into you. But you’re mine now. Not hers. Not Tony’s. Mine. My little whore.”

She shifted upwards so that her chest was dangling above your face. “Suck your mommy's tit, baby, I saw you admire them before.”

It was a welcome change, you had to admit, to trying to formulate sentences and words around the moans and screams spilling out of your mouth. Your head leaned forward, closing the distance, so your mouth could wrap around her erect nipple and your walls clenched around her strap as you heard her moan.

Her hand moved to the top of your head, her nails scraping against your scalp as she interwove her fingers through your messy hair. Your tongue lapped at the small bud between your teeth and she began to move her hips in time with your tongue.

Your now free hand wrapped around her body so your nails were digging into her shoulder, drawing Wanda down even closer so you could take more of her tit into her mouth.

The same heat that had built before was coming back, and you weren’t sure how long you could hold on at this point.

“You can cum whenever you want, baby, just this once,” Wanda purred, hearing your thoughts, and it was all you needed, that confirmation, to come undone. Your walls clenched around the strap and you could feel Wanda slowing down as thrusting became just a tad more difficult and you screamed into her tits, careful not to clamp your jaw shut, as the orgasm rushed through you.

Even through it, she continued moving inside of you, and you almost felt like you could pass out.

“Good girl,” Wanda whispered. “Oh, I could get used to this. I’m going to keep you in here, do you hear me? Make you a good little whore for me to come home to.” They did say your mission was to help Wanda calm down.

#wanda x reader #smut #wanda maximoff smut #dark!wanda maximoff #top!wanda #dark wanda maximoff x reader #misfitwrites #wanda maximoff x you

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todourouki · 4 years

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↲ Back to my BNHA Masterlist

i crash, u crash.

SUMMARY: Being with Dabi wasn’t easy and it probably never will be, but he just wants to make sure you’ll stick around. Or in which Dabi tries his best to show you he cares about you.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: based off i crash, u crash by lil peep! lol honestly idk about this one. but welcome back gift for me, from me, to you <3

PAIRING: Boyfriend!Dabi & Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5,476

WARNINGS: Explicit Content, Dabi is toxic, Angst*, NSFW [18+] including spitting, slight daddy kink, squirting, slight overstimulation.

Sex with Dabi was always the same.

Routinely speaking, whenever he was back from a mission was the time you were expected to be on all fours waiting for his attention. It was always rough too, nothing short of angry and aggressive even if it was a form of “love-making.” He could call it what he wanted to though, he knew the universal term for his type of sex was simply fucking.

The positions and their timings were always on schedule. No more than 3 minutes in missionary— all the time in the world doing everything else. You never really got to touch him, and he’s never let you see his face when he came.

The relationship of hot and fiery sex mixed with an unrequited form of codependency grew to an actual romantic one somehow between the days and nights spent together, yet nothing of the dynamic ever changed. The only thing you could recall is that he groggily asked of you to “finally be his girlfriend since you already acted like it.”

Dabi was a complicated person. You never knew if he planned on waking up and deciding he wanted to be single, and honestly the day he decided to do such a thing wouldn’t be a surprise to you. He was an avid participator in the league of breaking hearts and even if you had more than enough knowledge on this, you allowed his sneaky smirk to seduce you into the sheets of his bed and hours of his days.

You eventually found yourself moving in, figuring out that he refused to sleep without the air conditioner on, never wore socks around the house, used way too much salt on his eggs, and never managed to close the curtains after he got out the shower. Above all that though, he never changed the way he fucked you.

Dabi loves you, of course you never had to question it or get reassurance. He showed you in minuscule ways such as stealing bringing you your favorite snacks after a long day without you, doing things such as buying double of what he gets from store runs because you’re in his mind all day, and telling you he’ll be safe for you once he walks out the door. He never says I love you, but he doesn’t need to.

It’s hard to get someone like him to change the way they are, so when you’re sitting on your shared bed flipping through a magazine and see a couples quiz linger across the page, you can’t help but try to feed yourself crumbs of his affection you know you’ll spend a lifetime searching for.

“How long did it take for you to realize you like me?” You broke the silence, squinting at the duo-skin toned man slouched across the wooden headboard.

You heard him chuckle, blinking longly at you with amusement glimmering within his cerulean irises. It wasn’t rare for Dabi to mock you for asking such a thing, but it was a rare moment for you to glare at him deadpanned and genuinely waiting for an answer. It fucking confused him.

“As long as it took you to make me cum the first time.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment enough to make him furrow his eyebrows. It wasn’t like you to not retaliate back, you were always quick to snap back at him. Hearing nothing but his own breathing as you skipped through pages made him furrow his eyebrows. He wanted to ask if you were okay— he really did, but then you’d think he cared.

And Dabi would be a terrible person if he let you know he cared.

The silence was nearly overbearing, nearly deafening in his ears as he tried his hardest to focus on anything but your serious expression haunting him in the back of his mind. Things like this rarely bothered him. It goes to say that Dabi was rarely ever bothered.

Sure, you never asked for much reassurance and never even did as much as ask if he meant it when he asked you out mid-nap, but he really did. Sure, you lived off the whim of thinking it was, but at least the raven haired man knew it was. Right?

The sound of the magazine slamming shut and getting thrown somewhere onto the bed broke Dabi of his thoughts. “I’m gonna’ pee.” You announced, mostly to no one in particular because your soft eyes refused to meet his own. Another rare occurrence.

You lied to Dabi for the first time in your life. Did you really have to pee? Of course not. Did you have to cry in the bathroom for a quick 2 seconds to release the pent up frustration of utter confusion? Of course you did. It was annoying— living with someone and only getting treated as if you were anything in the slightest to him when his dick was inside of you. He only ever fucks you rough and never lets you see his face, and he expects you to believe he wants to be with you?

After cleaning your solemn face from dry tears, your body grudgingly made its way out the bathroom and to the bed. Your presence within the studio was clear, panties strewn across the open drawers mixed with Dabi’s briefs, shoes tucked neatly compared to Dabi’s boots tossed lazily near the door, and perfume bottles layering up against the old brown dresser. You took a quick glance at a picture of you hanging on the wall, a familiar raven-headed man’s arms wrapped around your head as he towered over your frame with his head resting across your head.

It was never worth the confusion.

“Why were you crying?” His dark voice rang out, making you slightly flinch as you dented the soft mattress with your frame.

A quick shake of the head will do, you thought to yourself as you followed your own orders. You knew Dabi wouldn’t push to find out what was wrong, he never does. And he doesn’t, lips shut as he takes a drag from some cigarette he’s smoking and giving you a longing look of aggravation. It’s even less of a surprise for him to do such a thing.

“If you have something to tell me, then I suggest you do it.” If you hadn’t known Dabi for as long as you do, you’d probably assume he was being condescending and outright rude. Because you do know him though, you know that’s exactly how he’s trying to come off to you.

You dreaded it. The eventual confrontation that was inevitable from the moment you accepted to be his girlfriend— it all led to this moment in space and time. You felt exactly how you predicted you’d feel, sick and intimidated. Not necessarily by Dabi because you know he’d never hurt you, but intimidated by the fact that it’s as easy as 1-2-3 for him to up and leave depending on your answer.

“What are we, Dabi?” And there it goes, 1-2-3.

It was like hearing a pin drop. Nobody moved, nobody spoke, nobody did anything for the first three seconds following the ultimatum. He knew he had two options: answer genuinely and reveal information he’d die before releasing, or leave you high and dry yet again for his own benefit when it comes to the mere idea of using words he doesn’t use in bed.

Staring into your eyes never scared him, he cremating people for a living, but knowing that lying behind them were tears falling for your reflection rather than on his shoulder caused a pang to hit his chest. It was unfamiliar and unusual, but looking at your body begin to leave its space in the bed in frustration with his quietness made him snap. You were serious for the first time.

“I’m not going to repeat myself.” Your words were harsh, harsher than usual and you yourself couldn’t even tell where this newfound energy came from.

You were okay. You were okay with whatever this complicated situationship was, and you probably would have still been okay with it if you hadn’t gotten too deep in over your head and let his words get to you. Him saying he realized he liked you coincidentally while you fucked should be above you, yet here you are.

“Jesus doll, relax.” He taunted, hands reaching out to grab your arm in a fit of confusion and annoyance, “just come back to bed Y/N.”

You felt it - the minute he touched your arm and released the tiniest bit of heat coming off his palm - just how tense he was becoming. He knew once you put your mind to something, it was difficult to get you to move away from it. He knew that there was no escaping this conversation.

It was inevitable really, the fact that one day (which was, unfortunately for him, today) you would question the legitimacy of his emotions for you. You were carefree just like him, that’s why he fell for you. But you were also blunt. If you felt a way, you were going to say it and that’s that.

Easily, the scarred hand gripping onto your arm slid over to your clenched jaw. You didn’t mean to give him a hard time for not looking his way—with the way his fingers squeezed deep into your skin and tilted your head towards him, you knew you did. It almost repulsed you with how obedient your body was to his touch, glancing at him with no shame other than the dried tears threatening to spill over.

“I’m gonna tell you the one time and I’ll never repeat myself,” he threatened, voice treading amongst angry waters as his blue eyes bored into yours, “I’m serious.”

You stood your ground, eyes taking away from your scowling expression as they swirled in curiosity. It didn’t take much to make you lower your frame onto the edge of the bed, a sigh escaping your lips as you pulled the t-shirt past your exposed panties.

“I don’t say much when it comes to you, or even to when it’s about you—but you’re all I am.” Your eyebrows furrowed, clear confusion written in your face.

“What does tha—” “I’m talking.” Dabi’s aggravated expression never left, not even with the joint hoisted between his lips in nothing but frustration.

“I got nothing to give you, nothing but collected calls from jail and maybe some jewelry I stole cause I got bored. I don’t have any money, anything to my name, and nothing but a spot on the police and hero department’s most wanted list.” His words made you frown, the clear self-depreciation outweighing the cocky and arrogant attitude you once knew to belong to the man infront of you.

“I can’t look you in the eye, show you my face when you milk my cock clean— can’t do shit like that,” Dabi’s smirk was quick to appear, your eyes rolling as you met his serious gaze yet again, “probably won’t be able to take you out the country either unless we run far, far away from here.”

“But nothing I say or do will ever express the way I feel about you.” And now it’s Dabi’s turn for the 1-2-3 process, because that statement in itself made your brain stop working.

Your brain couldn’t comprehend the fact that Dabi’s free hand was circling your bare thigh, moving closer and closer to where he most felt at home. His words never faltered though, only slightly pausing to smoothly slip his hands onto the soaked folds of pink lace.

His words were thrown against empty ears. You couldn’t focus on the words flowing within the room due to the ever-growing heartbeat pulsing between your thighs. Dabi’s hand sank into your leg, heat splitting between your skin enough to hiss and throw your head back.

“From this perfect pussy,” he applied pressure to the space between your legs, the wet patch inducing a smile from his once blank expesssion. The sudden contact caused a gasp to slip from your panting lips. Almost instinctively, Dabi pressed his thumb against your tongue, “to this smart ass mouth, it’s all I need to wake up in the morning.”

Your mind was now blank. All you could think about was the feelings of Dabi's heated fingertips dancing against the confining cotton of your panties. He always had the ability of doing this to you— dumbifying you with nothing but the pads of his fingertips and making you beg for his tongue.

Watching you pant under him nearly made the expressionless man shudder in pleasure. Dabi wasnt a liar, anything and everything he's ever said being some mangled up verbal example of his brain. He was far from the type to express his feelings, show anything other than smugness and oversuimulation, and dedicate his entire life to another person.

He was far from the type, yet managed to become a perfect example of a significant other who's life slowly but surely becomes solely to live for another person. The other person in this situation, was you.

You felt him begin to leave swollen burn bubbles on the outer layer of your skin, legs shaking in a way that brought the two of you out of your racing minds.

His motions stopped, yet hands showed no intention on moving from its current place. He was staring at you intensely - as intensely as he could - to assert his egotistical dominance but you knew the truth.

And as Dabi lowered your frame into the soft, plush white sheets, he realized he knew the truth as well. Your eyes were dazed, irises looking at all of him at the same time as your body swallowed in his touch and he knew. Dabi knows deep down no matter how much taller, bigger, or dominant he ever tried to be, he would worship the ground you walked on with the blink of an eye.

Your hands found his cold cheeks, tongue still stuck to your bottom lip with Dabi's harsh finger circling the pink muscle. Not a word was said, or per say, not a single word needed to be said. The energy surrounding the one-roomed apartment was enough for the two of them.

Before you, Dabi was known to be something of a martyr. He fooled women, toying with their souls the same way he toyed with their bodies and cried trauma when they threatened to leave. He kept a string on every one he ever fucked, being cautious enough to keep them at the heel of his feet for a fun time when he felt he had enough of you.

Then, he got addicted. He drowned in your drive, finding for the first time in his life some sort of comfort. Your natural warmth, your smile, your understanding— you were someone Dabi would find himself laughing at for thinking they actually existed.

"You're gonna get tired of me one day," he bitterly smiled, eyeing you deep into your skull with nothing but sadness laced in an angry distraction, "you're gonna find some hero and leave me here all on my own."

He wanted to think he wouldn't care. If the time where you decided to go back to the better things in life, leave a lowlife villain who wants to destruct the government, and live a rich healthy lifestyle, he knew you didn't do anything less but deserve it. You were too good for him, better than anyone he's ever known in his life for as long as he'd live.

With a soft whimper, your hands turned his head from his lowered expression over to your soft eyes. He hated how quick you got him to look at you, and he especially hated how quick you made his breath stop.

"Hey," you whispered, soft smile still glowing even though you realized he had intentionally lowered his voice as well as his lips from your sight. The vulnerable expression the raven-haired man was trying his hardest to not get you to see brought a rough pang to your chest.

"You crash, I crash. Always."

Your words hit him, and boy did they hit Dabi hard. The time it took for the word always to softly slip off your tongue was just enough time for Dabi to realize the depth of your words.

They were the same ones that fell between your lips when he thought he was dying, when you thought you were dying, and now. Dabi was complex - that was evident - but he was also the simplest man you knew. All he ever really needed was some reassurance.

It was long before his fingers found their way into your scalp, slipping over the crevices of your neck and gripping onto the back of your head as if his life depended on it. All you could do was gasp.

"Can I touch you?" The words were like a record scratch, repeating through the scarred man's brain all too much to keep anyone sane.

He couldn't tell if it was the slur of your words, or if it was your soft hands running across his thick shoulders as the words whispered into his ears— whatever it was made him take up the obligation of doing anything and everything you said.

It wasn't soon before you found yourself slamming your lips against his, the sensation causing you both to moan. You couldn't tell the difference between his hands and yours, tangled limbs falling deep into the plush comforter covering your shared bed. His weight above you did nothing but encourage you to wrap your bare limbs against his now shirtless one on, hands running through the raven locks above your head.

The minute you felt the heated pads of his fingertips lower themselves down your abdomen, your head shook underneath his and caused him to part his lips from its home on yours.

"Hmph," you groaned, pouting as your hands traveled down to his jeans and began to fiddle with the zipper, "I want to feel you in me now."

Dabi was used to being in control. He was used to ordering your body around, telling you what to do and how to do it. In the bedroom, Dabi made the orders. So when he parted his lips from yours and stood over your body with his scarred hands shoving his pants down his thighs, you couldn't do anything less than moan. Knowing he was taking what you said into consideration brought chills to your skin.

"You sure you're ready for this, sweetheart?" He smirked, legs coming out of the restricting jeans he wore and leaving his tall and lean frame in nothing but gray briefs.

Dabi had a lot to brag about, in the most respectful way possible.

Your hands clawed at his waistband, giggling as you pulled his body all the way back to its original position of resting above you and let the underwear go with a loud smack. Being eye to eye with someone like Dabi was scary, no point in denying that. Her there was something about it that just drove the two of you insane— and he couldn't tell if I was anything short of love.

He silenced himself, attaching his lips to yours and preoccupying a hand into pulling his briefs down just enough. And by just enough, it meant just enough to brush your clothed clit as his painfully hard cock stretched up to his stomach. You couldn’t do anything but flinch, hands reaching out to grip his thick girth and slap it across your clothed pussy.

“Let me do it.” You smiled, eyes boring into Dabi’s own blue ones. Your free hand slipped your panties to the side, his mushroom tip dancing against the rim of your wet hole and causing the two of you to release a soft groan into one another’s face.

If there was one thing Dabi would never get tired of, it would be the feeling of your velvet walls sucking his dick closer into you. Nothing short of sensation hit him the minute your hands shoved the head in, and his almost fell inlove with the view of you watching his large length disappear into your own heaven.

It was hard for you to not cum from his entrance. Even as he bottomed out, your teeth sealing a scream from leaving your throat by pressing into his shoulder, did you realize just how big Dabi was. No matter how skinny, lean, and weightless he seemed, the girth and length on Dabi’s third leg when he was stuffing himself into you never failed to surprise you. Even through the self-inflicted pain of going into this without foreplay, you knew there was nothing that would ever fill you up as amazing as Dabi does.

“Fuuuck,” you dragged out into his earlobe, tongue licking a strip of his patched skin from your bite-mark to the lobe of his pierced ears, “you’re so big.”

He couldn’t help but whimper (another thing on Dabi’s list or shit he doesn’t do but now does because of you), the feeling of your tongue circling his ear as your pussy gripped onto his fleeting cock nearly felt like too much. It didn’t help that you were moaning and whispering in his ear with nothing but pure sex laced in your words.

“You know,” he breathed out, beginning to create a routine with his hips bottoming harshly into your cervix and slowly dragging out in a timely fashion, “this is the best pussy I’ve ever had.”

He thinks it’s a compliment, but really it stirs awake the competitive bone in your body. You ignore it though like you always do, choosing to appreciate the fact that he considers you the best at atleast something.

His hand gripped onto your neck, bringing neon stars and dots of blackness to conceal your view of cerulean eyes. Nothing but the lewd sounds of Dabi pushing his dick into your wet hole filled the room, sprinkles of your whimpers and his groans mixing amongst the darkness of the apartment.

Dabi was trouble. He never felt in control of his feelings, never knew what he would want in life, and never bothered to consider living for someone other than himself. It’s moments like these with you though, that makes him realize the God he wakes up thinking about rests between the gap in the middle of your heavenly thighs. He’d killed people before, but the power you held over him was enough to make him consider killing everyone on earth if you’d ask.

You felt him begin to grow impatient, hips pounding into your frame and causing your body to jolt up and down harshly. Words couldn’t describe how amazing Dabi felt inside of you right now. His tip crushed your cervix within every thrust, and it was Dabi’s fingers that lifted your gaping face from the trance of watching him fuck into you to his own face.

“I-I cant.” You began to slip out, tears growing against your eyes as Dabi’s hot fingers began to flick your swollen clit. You swear it’s only been like ten minutes, or maybe Dabi’s huge dick pushing against your cervix was beginning to fuck you stupid. “You’re gonna’ make me cum— make me cum too fast daddy.” You cried out, fingers dragging against the stapled back as you felt Dabi purposely drag one of the piercings located on his tip across your pulsating velvet walls. It was almost too good to be true, and you couldn’t help yourself from kicking his waist over you and forcing his body underneath you. He didn’t even have the courtesy to wipe the smirk off his sweating face.

“Get to work, doll.”

You knew why he spoke to you with such condensation. You also knew exactly why his hands pressed into your ass cheeks as you found your home on top of his bare lap. His scarred torso leaned against the black bed frame, and you decided right then and there that Dabi deserved to get his brains fucked out. So you did exactly what he told you to do— you got to work.

You were wet enough to take him some more, knees straining as you finally pushed his length deep into your stomach. The silent scream that left your lips didn’t go unnoticed though, your fingers that now gripped his cheeks pressing between his lips to keep his teasing menstruations to himself. Dabi’s eyes couldn’t come off your body, and honestly he wished they never had to.

Keeping a grip on your stomach and your ass cheek, an enflamed slap brought a powerful burn across your ass cheek and caused you to jolt against his penis.

“Jesus Dabi, a-are you trying to kill me?” You weakly pleaded, and it didn’t take long for your fucked our expression to start slurring your words.

The sound of you dropping your frame onto his body filled the room, your hips rolling against your clothed clit and bringing sensation you weren’t sure if you could handle. You were trying to focus, but the feeling of Dabi heating a hand up across your ass and slowly beginning to meet your thrusts caused your brain to jumble into a mess of nothing but him.

“Fuck, baby you look so good when you start to get stupid.” He smirked, lips running against the cleavage of your bouncing breasts and lazily sucking on the moving nipple in front of him.

You wanted to fight back, and you wanted to defend yourself against him thinking you we’re starting to get stupid. You really wanted to— the only issue being that you couldn’t. You couldn’t the minute Dabi found a way to meet your thrusts and roughly tilt your neck back up towards the ceiling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Was all you could cry out as you began to grow impatient in your lower abdomen. It just felt too good. And as if to add injury to insult, your walls began to clamp up from the feeling you knew was coming soon. Dabi paid the price.

You’d never seen his eyes get this wide, eyebrows furrowed as his mouth gaped open in shock. His eyes found its way down, the sight of your pussy gripping and swallowing his dick back in and out being something he wishes he could see all day and that’s when Dabi realizes that he is inlove with everything about you.

“It’s like your perfect pussy was made for me, baby.” He whimpered out, smirking between hooded eyes as he struggled to regain some of his consciousness. You were way too good at bouncing on his dick, and he couldn’t help but begin to meet your thrusts with more precision as he felt himself near orgasm.

“A-all for you! Always all- always all for you daddy!” You cried out, voice struggling to come out as you threw your hands against Dabi’s chest and began to bounce as if your life depends on it.

You hate doing all the work, honestly you really do dislike it. But this has been the longest Dabi has allowed you to ride him and the feeling of you literally milking his cock at your own disposal was an offer too good to ruin.

“I know it’s all for me, princess.” He whimpered out, a hand gripping the back of your neck and pulling it low enough to slam your chapped lips against his own. “Wanna know something, baby?”

The words vibrating against your own moans got lost in the sound, your headboard forcibly slamming against the wall only louder as every other thrust from you gradually grew rougher with your urge to cum. Your brain couldn’t do anything less than feverishly nod, hands slipping back onto your body and allowing Dabi to drill into you from underneath. Gasps slipped out of your parted lips with a hand gripping his black hair and the other begging to rub your own clit.

“You crash, I crash forever, right baby?” He moaned out, the words entering your ears and making you cry out with tears finally spilling down your eyes from nothing but intense pleasure.

“Fuck yes daddy, forever!” You cried out, body beginning to hunch over as you felt the pressure in your stomach compared to the way Dabi slammed into you become too much.

“Good, doll,” he moaned, pushing you so far into him, the heartbeat in your pussy was sure to be vibrating onto the veins of his dick, “so do me a favor.”

Everything happened much too fast, your dizzy state only increasing as Dabi grabbed your body harshly and tossed you back underneath him. There you were again, tossed carelessly under him with your legs trembling and pussy stuffed with all of Dabi in his glory. His lips found our ear again, licking your lobe and sucking on it right after.

“Cream all over my cock so I can stuff you up with my kids, deal?” He smirked into you, jolting into you as soon as the last word resonated on all ears.

Soon enough, he found it in himself to thrust into you like never before. You could barely breath, gasping for air as you felt your vagina began to vibrate due to stage of pleasure you were in. And just like that, your body began to run from the overstimulation of Dabi’s hot finger rubbing roughly against your clit as he drills your frame into the crevices of your mattress.

“Da-daddy I’m gonna’....” The words just couldn’t come out— he was begging to fuck you dumb.

You couldn’t feel nothing but Dabi’s dick pound into you, and if this was all you felt before you fell into a sex-coma than fuck it. It will forever and always be worth it.

It was like you were starting to see white. The feeling of one of his hands now roughly gripping your drooling expression closer to his face made you scream in pleasure, Dabi’s smirk leaving only to release a trail of saliva from his throat into the back of yours. You swallowed it with no hesitation, some of the residue slipping through your lips in a mix with your own spit as you began to drool at the feeling of his tip hitting that one spot over and over again.

And that’s when you felt it. You felt the build up, the pressure of holding back becoming too much as you belted into a mess of tears and tried to push his body off your own.

“No baby,” he roughly said, milking his cock into you even harder and rubbing pressured circles into your clit until a strong snapped within you and you saw nothing but white.

You weren’t sure if it was a sub-space you had entered, or some fucked up version of heaven people who just for their brains fucked out go, but either option felt like fair-game the minute your pussy began to squirt a mess of cum and other liquids from the space Dabi still found himself intruding. If anything boosted his confidence, it was this right here.

“Fuck yes baby, squirt for daddy,” he smirked, rubbing you harder and harder as your felt your body stiffen at the overstimulation, “fuck, you’re so hot.”

As soon as you, Dabi found himself cumming harder than he ever had, lips only being able to cry out a mantra of your name. He knew sex with you was amazing— but this was a new high he doesn’t think he’d ever went to let go of. He didn’t even have the energy to lift himself out of you, small drips of cum able to slip out of your swollen pussy making you flinch in both overstimulation and pain. The cockwarming brought chills to your arm, body sprawled underneath Dabi’s panting frame in nothing but a fucked our expression.

You felt him lift his head up, eyes glancing over your puffy closed ones and being able to do nothing more than steal a kiss from your tongue-licked lips. He knows the difference between “fucked-out” you and “genuinely-knocked-out” you, and you knew he knew the difference too. But he acted as if he didn’t.

And before Dabi could pass out on top of your sweaty and sticky frame, words he mumbled into your shoulder nearly burned into your skin. At least, just enough to make your pussy and lips twitch in nothing but contentness.

I crash, you crash. Forever and always.

Sex with Dabi was always the same— sure. It was rough, messy, and painfully over-stimulating, but it was Dabi, and it was more than enough for you.

Your mind was now blank. All you could think about was the feelings of Dabi’s heated fingertips dancing against the confining cotton of your panties. He always had the ability of doing this to you— dumbifying you with nothing but the pads of his fingertips and making you beg for his tongue.

Watching you pant under him nearly made the expressionless man shudder in pleasure. Dabi wasnt a liar, anything and everything he’s ever said being some mangled up verbal example of his brain. He was far from the type to express his feelings, show anything other than smugness and oversuimulation, and dedicate his entire life to another person.

He was far from the type, yet managed to become a perfect example of a significant other who’s life slowly but surely becomes solely to live for another person. The other person in this situation, was you.

You felt him begin to leave swollen bubbles on the outer layer of your skin, legs shaking in a way that brought the two of you out of your racing minds.

Your hands found his cold cheeks, tongue still stuck to your bottom lip with Dabi’s harsh finger circling the pink muscle. Not a word was said, or per say, not a single word needed to be said. The energy surrounding the one-roomed apartment was enough for the two of them.

“You’re gonna get tired of me one day,” he bitterly smiled, eyeing you deep into your skull with nothing but sadness laced in an angry distraction, “you’re gonna find some hero and leave me here all on my own.”

He wanted to think he wouldn’t care. If the time where you decided to go back to the better things in life, leave a lowlife villain who wants to destruct the government, and live a rich healthy lifestyle, he knew you didn’t do anything less but deserve it. You were too good for him, better than anyone he’s ever known in his life for as long as he’d live.

“Hey,” you whispered, soft smile still glowing even though you realized he had intentionally lowered his voice as well as his lips from your sight. The vulnerable expression the raven-haired man was trying his hardest to not get you to see brought a rough pang to your chest.

“You crash, I crash. Always.”

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rose2jam · 3 years

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Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults. I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever. This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something. The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies. But this Leader? This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way. Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered. That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others. Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families. Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in. He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them. I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever. But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin. Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside. And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him. Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader. Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded. Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above. Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters. He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1). Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be. Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her. (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well). I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life. And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical. Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back. For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental. This friendship is everything. Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts. Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life. But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up. Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black. So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3). And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat. And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4). What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience. He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible. During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place. It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5). But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6). He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus. On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily. So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this? He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers). But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members. McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol). So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles. As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with. His dorm mates became his family. So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily. Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic? Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8). At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word. He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds. Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse. So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life. By Muggles and Magic Folk alike. And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light. He betrayed her as well, of course. But he did try to show remorse. And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.

So. Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here. Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate. For what? For power, for a family, for a community. For a world where he is no longer the weird one. For a world where he’s respected, strong. For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult. Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House. Maybe he was recruited directly. Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life. And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions. There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play. Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right. (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family. Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult. On the contrary, I feel sorry for them. Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them. Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”. But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end. They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart. I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done. But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany. This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers. There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2. Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware. As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family. The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks. Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry. Back to Snape. There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation. This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this). Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however. In the end, he manages to break away from the cult. The scales fall from his eyes. In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off. What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life. He was brought back by genuine love. Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

#Snape Meta #Severus Snape #Pro Snape #Snapedom #Snape Community #This will be the TRUE test of the tags #Essay Jam #Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult

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