#I probably could have given them faces but I left them empty instead :) Now they're blank slates to insert your own idea of the wearer!

[krenenbaker]

Ramshackle Uniforms

So, a while ago, I made some possible designs for uniforms for Ramshackle dorm, but haven't posted them anywhere yet. This is what I came up with! (please pardon the wonky writing)

School Uniform

Colour scheme: Purple and green

Waistcoat - green

Black trousers & jacket - NRC standard

Penny loafers (or preferred shoe)

Black gloves

The ribbons on the armband are purple (the same as Grim's ribbon) and green (the same as the dark green/teal of Ramshackle's walls). Additionally, the insignia on the armband is the NRC crest.

P.E. Uniform

Colour scheme: Purple and green

Standard, full-length uniform

White athletic shoes (or preferred shoe)

Black undershirt with green binding

The insignia on the right chest pocket is, again, the NRC crest.

Labwear

Colour scheme: Purple and green

Standard lab coat and goggles

Insignia on left arm (Night Raven College)

School Uniform beneath

Preferred shoe (ex. penny loafers)

Since the Ramshackle prefect has no magic, they do not have a magic pen in their lab coat pocket like the other students. (Same as in the school uniform.)

Dorm Uniform(s)

Colour scheme: Purple and green

Style: 1910s casual (based on the Ramshackle ghosts' top hats)

Option 1:

White collared shirt (with black stripes)

Green sweater-vest with purple edging

Purple tie

Brown knickerbockers

White socks

Preferred shoe (ex. Penny loafers)

White gloves

Brown felt boater hat with purple & green ribbon

Option 2:

White collared shirt (with black stripes)

Purple tie

Brown suspenders

Brown trousers

White socks

Preferred shoe (ex. Penny loafers)

(Optional: Hat, gloves)

Note: These are all also the variation of the uniform I would most likely wear, so it includes my own preferences for looseness/buttoning, shoes, gloves, etc. Other Ramshacklers may have different preferences and, thus, would wear things differently!

Additionally, the colours I was using (specifically the green and purple ink I used for the armbands and such) were a bit too dark, so it's sort of hard to see the differentiation between the different coloured stripes. In reality, they would be slightly brighter shades, and more easily discerned from one another.

#twst #twisted wonderland #ramshackle #krenenbaker's :) #krenenbaker's creations #<-new tag for my projects I think! #I'm still not quite used to drawing people - I usually focus on landscapes when I draw but I'm learning some other things! #you can pretty easily tell who I used as reference for the different outfits hey? #also #ignore the white-out in the dorm uniform option 1... #I made the knickerbockers the wrong shape and only noticed after I had lined and coloured already! #;^^ #and fun fact: drawing folds/creases on striped shirts is REALLY tricky to figure out! #I probably could have given them faces but I left them empty instead :) Now they're blank slates to insert your own idea of the wearer! #(or something?)

[the-likesofus]

Words Fall Short (Tongue Tied and Lonely)

AKA The Miscommunication Fic

Buddie | 9-1-1 on Fox | 13k words | angst with a happy ending, buck is an unreliable narrator, fridge-related angst, eddie is a little bit oblivious

Buck misoverhears Eddie complaining to Hen at work and presumes the worst. He slowly starts to phase himself out of Eddie's life and Eddie doesn't know why.

Read on AO3

Buck doesn’t like to jinx things but even he can admit that it has been a pretty good day. The sun has been shining, the calls have been routine and few and far between, and with the end of their shift closing in, he is lined up to spend the evening with his two favorite Diaz boys for their obligatory Friday movie night. Of course, just as often seems to happen in Buck’s life, just as things are looking up, something comes along to ruin it. 

"He's just always there." He hears Eddie complain and Buck's heart immediately stops, as do his feet as he comes to a halt just behind the bunk room door. 

"What do you mean?" Hen is there too, with Eddie. 

"I dunno, Hen. He's Buck, you know what he's like." Eddie sounds exasperated and Buck is having flashbacks to the grocery store and you're exhausting . "He's always there, cooking us dinner, driving Chris to school, buying our groceries, sleeping on my couch."

Buck instantly wracks his brain, trying to remember the last time he slept at his loft. He knows he was there on Tuesday but that was just to water his plants and pick up an extra work shirt. He still went back to Eddie's that night, made the pasta recipe he found on Facebook, and—slept on Eddie's couch. 

God, how has he not noticed? No wonder Eddie is annoyed, Buck hasn't given them a night to themselves in weeks. Eddie probably wants to spend time with his son, relax by himself, hell, do his laundry without Buck chattering away about narwhals the entire time. 

Buck's heart feels like a small, fragile thing in his chest, barely beating and cold as ice. He turns on his heel and decides he’ll sleep on the couch in the loft instead. When Eddie asks him later whose vehicle they're driving home in, he apologizes and pretends that he has a meeting with his landlord that he forgot and bows out of movie night. He'll make it up to Chris later, maybe take him to the zoo next week — if Eddie's okay with that. Maybe that's still him being too much . 

He ignores the pinched and confused look on Eddie's face at his dismissal and quickly shouts goodbye to the rest of the crew before ducking out to his Jeep and driving back to his loft. 

The loft, not home. He hasn't referred to it in his head as home in months. Home is lego-covered floors and three pairs of shoes by the door. Home is Finding Nemo and bedtime stories and beers on the porch under the glow of the inside light. Eddie’s house has been Buck’s home for longer than he realized and now he feels like an intruder. He had carved out a space for himself without a thought about how Eddie would feel about having his home invaded. Well, Buck will not be a stowaway any longer. 

The loft is cold and still when he unlocks the door, kicking the pile of junk mail and bills aside with his foot as he enters. After a shower, he finds an old, scratchy sweatshirt and the pair of joggers that shrunk in the wash to be the only 'comfy' clothes left in his drawer. 

He traipses into the kitchen to start prepping dinner. He hopes that keeping his hands busy will distract him from the ghost of Taylor that still clings to the walls of his apartment. He doesn’t miss her, not the way he thinks he should. They ended on good terms, good for what it could have been — with his penchant for deflection and her love of sharp words. But he’s spent the last six months trying to move forward, to become comfortable alone in his skin. Learning how to fill his time without putting half his worth into what he can provide for someone else, for a significant other. But now, being back here in his empty loft, it feels like a step backward, like he’s not only been using Eddie’s hospitality but using Eddie as a scapegoat for Buck’s need to feel useful. God dammit .

His fridge is empty. There's a couple of carrots, half a jar of olives, and the leftover naan bread from the takeaways he and Eddie had for lunch the day they were both here because the plumber was at Eddie’s fixing a leak in his ceiling. That was three weeks ago and the naan is moldy. Get it together, Buckley.

Buck leans his elbows against the kitchen counter and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He tries to take the deep, even breaths that Doctor Copeland had taught him. He throws the naan in the trash, calls the Chinese place down the street to place an order, and munches on one of the carrots while he waits for the delivery guy to show up.

Continue on AO3

#buddie #buddie fic #911 fox #eddie diaz #evan ‘buck’ buckley #911 on fox #buddie ao3 #buddie fic rec #bobby nash #christopher diaz #howard chimney han #chimney han #hen wilson #ravi panikkar #meegs writes stuff #miscommunication fic #maddie buckley #jee yun buckley han #911 fic #911 fanfiction #buddie fanfiction #13k words

[apathynoir]

a kiss to comfort both parties.

an avalanche should not have been on their schedule.

dwyer, jakob, sothe, micaiah. it's a small party, but size wasn't crucial to the mission. the task was to investigate unknown tracks in the snowy wood not far from their makeshift camp, determine their origin, and go home before the temperature dropped too far. really, it should have been quick.

nobody knew who caused it, or even if it was caused by a person. one minute the four were chatting quietly amongst themselves. the next, flashes of white came bearing down upon all of them.

dwyer was quick to act. he leapt at the first color he could see--green--and grabbed on to whatever it was before being swept away by the snow. he hoped this was a person. for the gods' sakes, just let it be a human. they rolled down with the flurry, earning strikes from passing rocks and trees. damn it, why was this the way things had to go?!

dwyer finds a stopping point, finally, in a lower area of the mountain--whether it was the base or just further down was beyond him. he's still in shock over the fall, and so is his new passenger, he notices. sothe is stuck in his arms, clearly just as frantic. despite the pair's equally frazzled states of being, neither have it in them to move. the snow saps their strength, and the hits they took on the way down are starting to ache something terrible.

sothe's wide and flitting gaze is telling enough to dwyer. he's looking for micaiah, who must have gotten split off. it's only natural; dwyer is doing the same for jakob. neither silver-haired person seem to be with them, so he can only assume (for his own peace of mind) that the two are together in some different part of the mountain.

but there's no time to wonder about that. the first step is to get warm and not freeze to death in the snow. time to drag the both of them to level ground. a campfire is necessary.

❧ ❧ ❧ ❧

time has passed with no sign of micaiah or jakob. it's almost nighttime, and dwyer is now far, far past concerned.

sothe is too from the looks of it. his distress hasn't once left his face since the two made their makeshift camp, and it's likely compounded by the fact that they're too weak to actually make any headway on searching for their companions. had dwyer's staff not broken during the tumble, they could have been on their way by now. frustrating.

dwyer is soaking wet, tired, cold, hurt. but there's someone in front of him feeling the same, and he knows wallowing in his own issues would do neither of them any favors. he will see them through this night through hell or high water.

he unbuttons his thick riding coat and turns it around so that the back faces outward. wordlessly he nudges sothe's arms through the arm holes, pulling the coat back until the two of them fit snugly inside. it's definitely an intimate approach, but it's also the best way for them to retain body heat. given the situation, between touchiness and death, it wasn't difficult to take a pick.

dwyer rests his head on sothe's, feeling fatigue clawing its way through him. he feels worry for sothe; having no confirmation on micaiah's whereabouts had to be more than difficult for him. neither of them had said anything the whole day. what kinds of thoughts were eating at him? and more importantly, how could dwyer ease them?

"...they'll be okay," dwyer finally musters with a voice hoarse from wear. he focuses on the fire, still mirthfully crackling away. "micaiah and my father are probably doing the same thing we are." well, maybe except for the extremely intimate parts. why was it so easy for dwyer himself to do this with sothe? "my father's pretty adept. whatever i do, he's probably doing, too... so don't, um..."

the words aren't coming out the way he wants them to. he wants to reassure sothe so that he can sleep a little easier, but what is there to do? make empty promises? lie? honesty was such an easy achievement when the stakes weren't the last threads of sanity.

and so, instead of talking, dwyer takes to memory. he thinks about those rare days in his childhood that his mother was present, holding him just as he holds sothe. there was always something that frightened dwyer in his youth, but the days his mother sat with him were the days he feared not a thing in the world.

her arms were relaxed but just firm enough to bring comfort. his hands slide to sothe's upper arms, cold fingers gently grabbing hold.

his mother would rock him back and forth ever so slightly, the movement reminding dwyer that he was alive and protected. it was hardly any movement at all, but dwyer could just tell. always. now, dwyer tries not to move too sharply. he wants to keep the peace, after all. eventually, he starts up a subtle movement from left to right, closing his eyes so that he could savor a little of that peace, too.

lastly, with her face buried in his hair, his mother would kiss the crown of his head. the softness always brought dwyer confidence and a quiet like no other. no matter what, no matter when. thinking of it made dwyer's nose singe---how long had it been since he'd seen her?---but he pushes through the cloud and moves as he remembers those days. silently, softly, with the ambiance of fire in the night, dwyer presses his lips into sothe's hair.

dwyer isn't sure if this will help how he hopes, but it's all he has. from the past to the present, he comforts the way he knows best.

and really, just doing this helps him a little, too.

#[ ic ] #[ ask memes ] #[ au ] #[ nevassan ] #[ me when i jsut decide to write a million words about it ]

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter Six, Part 8

"Oh stop. They're your friends. Even if you don't want to admit it. You seem comfortable with them."

"Fine. I guess they're my friends." I scowled and squinted my eyes at her.

Addison laughed again, and it was at this moment I had a realization. I was falling for this woman in front of me. I was falling hard and I was falling fast. I didn't have a choice in the matter. This beautiful woman was bringing out parts of me that had long ago been made dormant. She was opening my eyes. Giving me something I hadn't felt in a very long time. I was in these dangerous waters, and the boat was drifting further and further away. Eventually I wouldn't be able to get back on, and I'd drown here in these bright blue depths.

"One more for both us please, Nugget," I said, pulling her eyes to look away from Justin for a few seconds.

"You know, you too look kind of cute together," Amber placed the two bottles in front of us. Amber, my annoying sister I'd do pretty much anything for, proving why I'd do anything for her. Playing a wing-man out of the blue. Oh, Nugget, how I adore you so.

"Thanks, I think," I said in question form. Addison said nothing, instead looking up at me. I kind of wished she would have said something because the intrusive thoughts decided to make themselves known right at that moment. She didn't answer because she didn't ssee as nothing more than friends. Or I was just something to kill time. Or the thousands and thousands of combinations of self-doubt and anxiety.

"Chris! Snap out of it," Justin shouted, clapping loudly in my face. I had left Earth again.

"Huh? What? Oh fuck, sorry." I said, scrambling to regain my brain and come back to reality.

"Space case," Amber said, "hey! We finally have a nickname for Chris! Space Case!"

"Hey, yeah. I like that," Justin said.

"Quiet, Skeletor," I said sharply.

"I like it. It defiantly fits you," Addison joined in. All three were ganging up on me and I knew what this meant. I sighed in defeat. There was no use fighting it. I was now Space Case for the rest of the night. I'd been given plenty of nicknames here. Not one of them ever lasts more than a night or two. It really helps if you just refuse to answer to them.

"Alright, alright," I said, laughing along with them.

We sat and talked, joking around for another half-hour before Amber started her closing duties. We'd been alone in the building for quite some time now. Justin had to get up early in the morning, and took off with a small wave.

"Are you two heading out or did you want another? I don't mind if you hang out while I close everything up." Amber said, typing something into the register. I looked over to Addison, who smirked and nodded towards the door.

"I think we're good. Probably taking off too." I hopped off the stool and almost fell right on my face. My right leg was completely numb. Luckily, Addison had the reflexes of a cat and caught my arm.

"Are you ok?" She asked. I shook my leg around in a circle, hoping to stop the pins and needles before they could even start.

"I'm good, my leg was numb," I said. Addison let go of my arm. In all honesty, I didn't mind her holding me.

"See you, Nugget. Have a good night," I shouted to Amber as Addison and I made our way out.

"It was nice actually meeting you!" Addison exclaimed. Amber smiled and went back to her closing duty. Addison and I stepped out into the warm night air.

A soft breeze carried the smell of the lake lazily along it's unseen current. The sky above was black with no stars. I missed them. I don't think I could ever get used to an empty night sky.

We crossed the parking lot, to where Addison had parked her small truck. Addison led the way, so I only guessed I was getting a ride home.

#Fiction tags #fiction #artists on tumblr #writing #my writing #spilled words #writers on tumblr #poets and writers #writeblr #creative writing #writerscommunity #writerscorner #writer #lierature #cynical #cynic #free verse #free form #Stories #autobiographical fiction #art #literure #howispentmysummervacation #september sky

[dragonmuse]

My curiously was aroused on my most recently reread of the LH&K 'verse when Stede said there was "very heated bargaining" around the wedding party. Was that just about whether they'd have one at all/how many people? Or were they actually wanting the same folks?

(excellent question!)

What mostly happened was that Eddy did not give a flying fuck and Stede very much cared and was picturing a flock of doves worth of people. Eddy bargained him down to one each and then Stede asked,

"Who do I choose then?"

"Whoever you want?" Eddy had a headache.

"But that's playing favorites."

"Yeah? So?" Maybe if they fell asleep Stede would work through it on his own. Except it was noon and they were at the nice brunch place that Eddy would like to come back to and people got weird when you fell asleep face down in a plate of maple syrup.

"It's not...I don't want anyone to be upset."

"Why would they be upset?"

"Because I chose someone over them? It would make me upset," Stede reasoned, waving around a bit of bagel.

"So don't choose anyone."

"But that brings us back to either no party or an enormous one."

"No to the big one," Eddy reiterated. "We figured this out already. Best person each. Deal is a deal, golden boy."

"Fine," Stede frowned. "So who are you going to choose?"

"Jim," Eddy said without having to think about it.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"Don’t do that. It’s just if I understand your reasoning, it'll be easier for me to decide. Maybe I want Jim."

"Fuck off, you can't have them." She took the bagel out of Stede's hand and popped it in her mouth.

"I would've given it to you, darling," he sighed. "Just tell me."

"Ugh, fine," Eddy chewed slowly, buying time. But there was no getting around admitting, "they're my closest friend."

“Are they?” Stede frowned. “How do you know that?” 

“Fucking hell,” Eddy picked up their empty coffee cup for something to occupy their hands. “Dunno. Got a lot in common. Spend a lot of time together. Have fun together. If I want to tell someone something and you’re not around, they’re next on the list.” 

“Oh. That makes sense,” Stede offered up his cup. “If you want more.” 

“I’m good.” They set down the empty one. “Just...it’s Lucius, right? You can have him.”

“Lucius?” 

“Yeah, my love. Tall one with the fluffy hair that follows you around like he’s on a string and it's annoying the hell out of him. Can’t miss him.” 

“We do spend a lot of time together.” There was a smidge of coffee left in Stede’s mug. Eddy reconsidered and took it off him. Stede barely took notice, lost in thought. “Do you think we’re friends? I mean I would consider him a friend, but I’m not sure he’d consider it back.” 

“Dunno. Probably. You’re likeable.” 

“I’m really not,” Stede frowned, noticed his hand was empty and picked up his water glass instead, taking a sip. “I think you’re the only person that thinks that.” 

“Good thing I’m the one marrying you then.” 

That brought a small pleased smile to his face, “So it is.” 

“Anyway, he likes you. Luc isn’t the type that hangs around people that he doesn’t like.” 

“He’s not?” 

“Nah,” Eddy finished Stede’s coffee. “He’d be long gone by now if he thought you were shitty. Plus, there’s all the gossip sessions.” 

“I do not gossip,” Stede huffed. 

“You do. Maybe it’s about dead writers or whatever, but you two get very catty when left alone for too long. Like about the Bironic guy.” 

“Lord Byron deserves every nasty word ever said about him.” 

“Mhmm. See you can’t get me to talk about that worth a damn, but I bet if you text Luc right now, he’d have some kind of rant ready to go.” 

“I’m going to tell him you’re defending Byron.” Stede did not get out his phone. 

“If he falls for that, than he’s way more gullible than I’ve ever guessed,” Eddy snorted. “Just ask him, my love.” 

“Don’t know if you don’t ask.” It was a phrase Stede often leveled at the kids and he looked half-annoyed half-pleased that Eddy had needled him into it. “Fine. I’ll ask him.” 

Good. Then Eddy could have Jim. Perfect. Not that she cared. She didn't need a wedding party.

“Should we have another round of coffee?” 

“No,” Eddy reached across the table, but this time all she stole was Stede’s hand. “Can we go home? I’ve got a headache.” 

“Of course, dear. Do you think they should have matching suits?” 

Eddy considered the maple syrup again, more seriously this time.  “I would like a nap.” 

“You can’t fall asleep every time we talk about the wedding for too long,” Stede laughed. “Just tell me you’re done.” 

“My love, my heart,” Eddy clutched his hand. “Mercy. I’m so fucking done.” 

“All right, all right. Tabled for the day.” 

He was a ridiculous man and Eddy was going to marry him so hard as soon as they figured out the flower arrangements.

#leda house and the kraken verse #ficlet #babygirl and goldenboy #stede teach bonnet #eddy teach bonnet

[captainthomasrobbie]

Requiem

Summary; King Benjamin made a lot of mistakes. Punishing Chad Charming by isolation may be his biggest yet. Joker probably said it best; "What do you get when you cross a mentally ill loner with a society that abandons him and treats him like trash?"

Fandom; Descendants 1-3

Characters; Chad Charming-centric

Tags; Loneliness, Depression, anxiety, mental illness, isolation, psychosis, etc.

----------------------------------

Next

The room was silent, the only thing that could be heard was quiet tapping of Chadwicks leg against the floor in his nervous state that he desperately tried to hide. He was seated in large, comfortable chair pushed against wooden table, facing King Ben in a not so friendly manor. Ben had a guilty but firm grimace plastered on his face. His posture was stiff as if he wasn't sure what exactly was he doing. The three VKs behind him made it feel otherwise. 

"I'm not saying you're a villain, Chad. But you have to understand that this is good for you. The VKs are here, and they're here to stay. Mal and I - we've decided that it would do you better if you would have a home study for now, you know. Maybe it will give you some time to think, to calm down. It's probably for the best."

Chadwick would have called him out, telling him that this is nonsense. The two pirates with the Tourney player were glaring at him, Hook smirking as if he could feel Blonds nervousness. And to be true, Chad was scared, and even tho he tried hard to hide it, his body was failing him, his ticks were showing. His leg couldn't stop tapping, and he clutched all of his muscles for his head and hands to stop the sudden moves.He was uncomfortable, and hurting. Migraine was spiking behind his eyes and the lights in the office were piercing him apart. 

"Do you agree to these- Um.."

"Concequences of your actions." Helped Carlos from his place on a plushy sofa hiding behind a tablet. "Yes. The concequences of your actions?"

He wanted to scream, to shout, to tear the whole world apart and do it again and again until it crumbles so much it cannot be pulled or pieced back together. Instead, he just nodded pushing all of these thoughts away, leaving him in some wierd sort of emptiness. He took a paper that was given to him, sighing it without really reading it. He stood up, putting on a bright fake smile, he shook Ben's hand and walked out of castle. He felt numb, weightly thinking about his father's anger when he finds out he's exiled out of school to distance learning. He couldn't even imagine how could he possibly learn anything, but he isn't going to say anything to the newer king, not when, with VKs on the throne, he could be thrown in the prison or even get the death penalty. All he got was a slap on his wrist and lonely education. 

Chad looked longingly at a group of friends he was walking around. They were talking, laughing. He couldn't bear the thought of not being able to have fun like this with his classmates. At least he still has Turney. One thing he could bet on, they wouldn't left him, or throw him aside. He was shuffling with his hands, looking at them. He didn't understand what he did wrong, after all, he did everything right, didn't he? Why only did Ben with the VKs thought this was suitable punishment? 

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding as a door of his empty dorm room fell shut. Peace at least. And quiet, maybe too quiet... So loud it's sickening. He wanted to scream, not sure if it was to disstroy the silence or to somehow express the pain and betrail he was feeling. The air in the room as if suffocating him from doing so. He thought about going out, but it was late and he didn't feel like getting up. In fact, he did the exact opposite, as he laid down in his bed, hugging his soft pillow closer to his body. Breathing deeply, he tried to calm himself enough to fall into sleep effortlessly. He laid there with his eyes closed but sleep just wasn't taking him. Looking at the time, it was already after midnight. Sighing, he sat up taking a laptop in his lap, he doesn't need to wake up to school tomorrow anyway. Putting on 'The Class' and relaxed, letting a drama play out in front of him, he grabbed snack from his night stand and let his mind turn off.

#chad charming love #isolation #schizophrenia #chad charming #angst #hurtful #hurt #chad charming angst #chad angst #loneliness #halucination #chad centric #chad-centric #mental illness #chad needs help ok? #anxiety #post Descendants 3 #post D3 #my fics are really just ancient Greece tragedy drama stories aren't they? #my fic #my fanfiction #cross posted on ao3 #no beta we die like men #no beta we die like Chadwicks dreams #psychosis #SoundCloud

[jungshookz]

miss cee pd i have a request!!!! how about e2l tae x y/n but they're in law school and they're always arguing and debating inside and outside of the classroom and tae being a little shit is like "you wanna kiss me so bad" and they both don't realise that there's mistletoe above them which jimin put because he was tired of watching them constantly argue and wanted to fiZzle the tension hehe and then they KITH,, i hope this isn't too long aha

➺ pairing; kim taehyung x reader

➺ genre; sfw!! enemies to lovers!! everyone’s in law school!! mostly y/n and taehyung bickering with each other and wanting to jump each other’s bones at the same time

➺ wordcount; 4.3k

➺ what to expect; “don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.”

                                     »»————-　❄　————-««

“-now, the particular case study that was assigned to our group involves a civil action for medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter, which means that there are seven elements that we need to hit when we’re acting out our simulation next class,” you explain, flipping to the next page of your notebook with a flick of your wrist, “firstly, the client - jimin - must be interviewed so that we may determine the facts that surround the claim/prosecution. secondly, we need to draft witness statements - from hoseok and namjoon - and assess the legal efficacy of said statements. thirdly, we must assess the propriety of police interrogation from officer jungkook of the defend-”

you pause when a crumpled piece of paper lands by your left foot and you clear your throat quietly before stepping over it and continuing to pace back and forth at the front of the classroom

your eyes skim over your scribbled words as you try to relocate your place

…

ah!

here we are

“-ant, seokjin, through all transcripts along with the custody record. fourthly, we move on to assessing the reports that have been produced by the forensic experts-”

another balled-up piece of paper hits your foot and your head immediately snaps upwards from your book before you twist around to face the room

“would you cut that out, please?” you snap, already feeling your blood pressure starting to rise from a single glance at taehyung’s smug face

“what? i didn’t know how else to get your attention!” he hums, his arm dangling in the air with a floppy wrist, “my arm’s been up for the past three minutes, and you would’ve known that if you didn’t have your nose buried deep in your book.”

the reminder that you wouldn’t last a day in prison keeps you from lunging forward to wrap your hands around taehyung’s neck and you press your lips together to stop yourself from saying anything too crass

the last thing you need is for some professor to walk past the classroom while you’re cussing up a storm

your self-control has really been put to the test ever since you met taehyung

after all this time, you still don’t know what the guy’s deal is

he’s been a pain in your ass since day one

and for what??

for WHAT?!

at first you just thought that being a complete prick was just his weird version of being charismatic, but then you realised that he wasn’t being charming at all and he was really, truly, genuinely being a straight-up asshole

and, for the record, you’ve tried several times in the past to try to make things better but nothing’s worked

you said that he looked nice in his suit = he told you to stop looking at him like a piece of meat

you asked him how he did on the midterm exam = he told you that it was his right to keep that piece of information private and that you were being a snake by even asking about it

you said happy birthday to him = he said, and you quote, “yeah. it was until you got here.”

the point is, you’ve waved many white flags of surrender and extended many, many olive branches to no avail

at this point you’re pretty sure taehyung just gets off on being a jerk to you

and it’s not fair because it’s literally just you that he picks on constantly

at first you thought that maybe he was just threatened by your presence because you made it pretty clear from day one that you weren’t here to play around

powerful women are intimidating!

you totally get it.

…but then you overheard him offering rosé some studying tips and you even saw him help wendy carry her books for her and everyone knows that rosé and wendy are two of the smartest girls in the class, so why wasn’t he threatened by them?

...

the point is, he doesn’t treat anyone else in the class like this except for you and you can’t seem to figure out why!

what makes it even more frustrating is the fact that his stupid face is very nice to look at, so whenever he’s being mean to you, your dumb girl hormones drown out the sound of his rich, honey-like voice and place floating pink hearts around his head instead

“i’m so sorry i wasn’t paying attention to you, mr. kim.” you force out before gesturing to the notebook cradled in the crook of your arm, “see, all my notes are in here and i’m just trying to make sure that i don’t miss out on any details,” you point out, “and… i thought i said to save your questions for the end, did i not?”

“did you? i guess i wasn’t listening. sorry, sweetheart.” taehyung chirps, folding his arms and leaning forward on his desk, “anyway- don’t you think it’s a little unfair that you get to play the hotshot lawyer in this simulation?”

“everyone gets a turn to be the lawyer - last week, it was jungkook. this week, it’s me. everyone gets a shot to play the hotshot lawyer because our roles rotate.” you shake your head in disagreement, “how am i being unfair?”

“you assigned yourself, like, the coolest case study.” taehyung scoffs, leaning back against his seat and crossing his arms, “i mean… medical negligence and a criminal prosecution for gross negligence manslaughter?” his left brow arches before he turns his head slightly, “jungkook, what was your case study on again?”

“my client parked in a no-parking zone!” jungkook beams, nodding to himself, “i didn’t mind getting that case, though. it was actually pretty fu-”

“you hear that, y/n?” taehyung turns his head back to face you before gesturing behind him, “jungkook also thinks his case was boring as hell- his client parked in a no-parking zone and you get to deal with corrupt doctors and accidentally-but-not-really-accidentally-run-over-by-a-car pedestrians.”

your jaw clenches in frustration and you resist the urge to take a heel off and bash taehyung’s skull in with it

being forced to wear nice shoes to school would be so much better if you were allowed to commit cold-blooded murder with them

“well, that was last week’s case, so even if jungkook thought it was boring…” you pause, turning to set your notebook down on the front desk before twisting back around, “he’s already had his turn. and now it’s my turn!”

“you could’ve given me this case.”

“oh, please.” you snort, rolling your eyes before leaning against the front desk, “you wouldn’t have been able to handle a case this big. this has my name written all over it.”

taehyung scoffs, rolling his eyes, “the only reason why it has your name written all over it was because you grabbed it with your grubby little raccoon hands before anyone else had the chance to-”

“i-!” you pinch the bridge of your nose before letting out a laugh of disbelief, “oh my god, i refuse to have this conversation with you again, taehyung- for the last time, it was a first-come-first-serve situation, and you probably could’ve gotten this case if you weren’t so busy watching netflix in class-”

“you guys-” namjoon clears his throat, his shoulders drooping when the two of you ignore him, “…never mind.”

this always happens

you guys somehow always find something to argue about no matter what

in fact, namjoon’s convinced that you guys could sit in complete and utter silence and still find something to fight over

“how long do you think the argument will last this time?” yoongi leans over, “i bet you ten bucks it’ll last longer than last week’s fight.”

“no way! last week’s fight was half an hour long-” hoseok chimes in, “…they can’t possibly argue for longer than thirty minutes… can they?”

“remember that time they fought over a sandwich?” jungkook sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist, “that was a forty minute argument.”

“they fought over a sandwich?” jimin frowns, turning to glance towards the front, “what was there to even argue about??”

“y/n said that the spread was dijon mustard and taehyung said it was horseradish mustard,” seokjin purses his lips, “…i actually ordered the same sandwich and i’m pretty sure it was just regular ol’ yellow mustard… but i’m too afraid to tell either of them they’re wrong about it.”

“oh my god-” jimin scoffs, “forty minutes arguing about mustard?? really??”

“yep! i even recorded the whole thing just because it’s actually pretty interesting listening to two people scream about mustard so passionately for so long,” jungkook pulls his phone out of his back pocket, the rest of the boys scooting in closer to his desk, “by the time we finish watching the video, they’ll… probably be done arguing with each other. maybe.”

“-ow thick is your skull, taehyung? were you dropped on your head as a baby??” you scowl, “if i was a teacher’s pet like you say i am, then i would’ve sweet-talked my way out of being in a group with you. also, you know what? i wasn’t going to bring this up, but the only reason why we’re here during christmas break is because it was your idea to practice during the holidays-”

“yeah! you get to practice your big show in a huge, empty classroom without getting nervous about someone overhearing you practice speaking in your dumb, professional lawyer voice-” taehyung gestures around at the spacious atmosphere, “if this is your way of being thankful to me, you have an awfully funny way of showing it-”

“do you know what i could be doing right now if i wasn’t here?” you scowl, placing your hands on your hips as you glare at taehyung

“hm, let me think…” he hums, leaning back against his chair before kicking his legs up onto his desk, “bending over and trying desperately to pull the fat stick out of your ass?”

jimin sits up a little straighter as he peers over the top of namjoon and seokjin’s heads to check and see if you and taehyung are done arguing yet

your ears are turning red and there’s an animalistic, frenzied look behind your eyes, so... nope. definitely not done yet.

after all this time, he still doesn’t know why you guys fight the way that you do

it’s like you enjoy pushing each other’s buttons and irritating each other until one of you inevitably snaps (you’re usually the first one to fall off the rocker because taehyung is alarmingly good at being irritating)

“ooh, hold on-” jungkook grins, pointing to the screen before whacking jimin’s arm in rapid smacks, “my favourite part is coming up, you have to pay attention-”

jimin looks away from you two and back down at the screen

“-the low acidity liquid gives dijon mustard that intensified heat and the classic pungent flavour which is very obvious in this sandwich!” you exclaim, peeling the top slice of bread off to reveal the inside, “and look at that colour! that is literally dijon mustard-”

“okay, fine! it’s dijon mustard.” taehyung responds while inspecting his nail beds

“no, you’re not listening to- wait… did you just agree with me?”

“yeah!” he sighs, crossing his arms, “the mustard used in your sandwich is dijon mustard. and also, the sky is green-”

“oh my god, you piece of-!”

jimin looks up again when he hears your voice rise a couple of octaves

this is the part of the argument when your ‘i’m-fine-don’t-touch-me-I’M-FINE’ voice comes out

“wow! you are-” you laugh, shaking your head as you lean down and place your hands flat on the surface of taehyung’s desk “you really are something else, kim taehyung. i-!”

you let out a yelp of surprise when taehyung suddenly reaches over and yanks at a section of your hair

“ow!” you whack his hand away before flicking your hair over your shoulder, “wha- what the hell was that for?!”

taehyung doesn’t flinch at your aggressive tone and he looks up at you, completely unfazed, before giving a half-hearted shrug

“it was hanging, like, right in front of me. i couldn’t not pull on it.”

“well, your tie is right there but you don’t see me reaching over and pulling on it to strangle you because it’s right in front of me-”

“oh, threatening to choke me, are we?” taehyung hums, “i’m suddenly feeling very unsafe. should i get one of the guys to call campus security for my protection, miss y/n?”

“do you guys think we should break things off?” seokjin glances over his shoulder at the escalating scene, “ideally, i’d like for this to not turn into a how to get away with murder scenario…”

jimin narrows his eyes slightly as the gears click-click-click away in his head, leaning back against his seat and reaching up to tap at his chin

there’s something about this situation that’s reminding him of something but he can’t quite put his finger on it

“oh my god, you are such a child-!”

jimin’s eyes suddenly widen in realization, a lightbulb appearing at the top of his head

!

does taehyung like y/n?

...

oh, wow

taehyung has a full-blown crush on you!

how could he not have noticed this before?!

taehyung is literally the bratty little boy pulling on your pigtails because he doesn’t know how else to get your attention on this playground!

a comment from a former conversation with you briefly flits through jimin’s mind as he continues staring at the two of you in awe

he doesn’t remember how exactly you guys started talking about it, but he does remember you saying these words to him:

“i mean… yeah. of course i think taehyung’s attractive. maybe in another universe where he’s not bullying me 24/7, i would be more open to admitting to myself that i might have a slight crush- i-i mean, i- what did we say we were going to get for lunch today?? sandwiches?? we should get sandwiches, the place is right here-”

how could he have forgotten you said that to him?!

it’s like he finally has his hands on the missing puzzle piece... and it’s up to him to finish this puzzle!

“i have a plan.” jimin whispers to himself before reaching over to grab onto jungkook’s wrist, “i know what i have to do!”

“huh?” jungkook frowns in confusion, pausing the video before looking over at him, “what are you talking about?”

“just-” jimin gets up from his seat quickly, the chair screeching against the floor, “just make sure they don’t stop arguing with each other while i’m gone because i might take a while to find what i need-”

“you know, i don’t think that’s going to be an issue,” yoongi snorts, everyone looking towards the front to see you glaring at taehyung like you want to rip his heart out of his chest and eat it raw, “check out that throbbing vein in y/n’s forehead.”

“forget about her forehead vein-” jungkook shakes his head, “has no one else noticed how tightly taehyung clenches his asscheeks whenever he’s pissed? those trousers do not hide anything.”

everyone’s eyes immediately gravitate down to taehyung’s ass, hoseok and seokjin bursting into giggles at the sight

“what the fuck is your problem?!” you scream, taehyung’s eyes widening at your sudden outburst, “you’ve treated me like shit from day one and i’ve literally done nothing wrong!”

“okay! i think we should all just take a step back and take a deep breath…” namjoon gets up from his seat slowly, “it’s getting a little intense-“

“nothing wrong?! oh yeah, because you’re little miss perfect-” taehyung spits out, “don’t play dumb, you know exactly what you did!”

“what did i-!” you throw your hands up into the air, “please, i am begging you to tell me what the horrible thing is that i did that made you decide i was public enemy number one-”

“i heard you talking shit about me at the very beginning of the semester when you didn’t even know me! we’d never met and you didn’t even bother trying to get to know me before you formed your own opinion of me based on the way i looked-” taehyung snaps, “you said that i looked like an entitled, obnoxious frat-boy who didn’t even know left from right and only made it to law school because his daddy gave the school a generous donation- so if we’re really going to talk about who the real asshole is in this room, i would suggest re-evaluating-”

you feel the blood drain from your face at the reminder of what you said about taehyung on the first day of class

...oh.

...

okay, yeah, you... might have said that stuff, but it was only because the other people you were sitting with at the time said stuff like that and... and you were so desperate to find a group of cool law-school friends that you were totally willing to say and do anything they wanted you to do or say!

it obviously didn’t work because you don’t sit with them anymore, so...

yeah, it was a bad move to talk shit about taehyung like that without even having spoken one word to him, but if this proves anything... it’s that peer pressure is dangerous!

“well, why didn’t you just-” you stammer, feeling your face starting to heat up from embarrassment, “why didn’t you just tell me about this earlier? we could’ve nipped it right in the bud-”

“i much prefer the bullying because the feeling i get after seeing the defeat in your eyes is equivalent to a full-body orgasm-”

“oh my god, you sick freak-”

“uh, you guys-” namjoon cuts in again, holding his finger up, “can i just s-”

“okay, fine!” you raise your hands in surrender, “i’m sorry, alright? i’m really sorry. what i said about you was shitty, but i don’t see how bullying me for months on end was a good solution-”

“can you two shut u-”

“oh, i never said it was a good solution, y/n,” taehyung purses his lips, “like i said - i just did it because it was fun-”

“guys, if i could just get one word in-”

“do you even realize how psychotic you sound right no-”

“HEY!” namjoon suddenly bellows, you and taehyung jumping and clamming up immediately in alarm

“what??” the two of you ask at the same time, pausing to glare at each other for a split second before looking back over at namjoon

“i…” he trails off, his eyes flickering upwards, “…know this is kind of awkward timing, but…”

you and taehyung look up simultaneously, your eyes widening to see a dinky little shrub of... mistletoe? taped at the end of a meter stick

oh no 

oh hell no

“kiss first, and then you can apologise for what was obviously a huge misunderstanding and you can apologise for being a huge prick later - pucker up, lovebirds!” jimin chirps, waving the stick a little and watching your eyes go side to side like a ping-pong ball, “don’t be shy! also, i know the mistletoe looks like a clump of grass that i tied a red ribbon around- just don’t look too closely at it-”

“ha!” you let out a laugh before shaking your head quickly, “no way! i don’t know what you people think is going on here, but it’s certainly not that- you can’t just dangle a plant over my head and force me to kiss him-”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” taehyung scoffs in offence, tilting his head upwards slightly, “anyone would be honoured to be under the mistletoe with me!”

“yeah. anyone out of their mind.”

“aw, c’mon, you guys…” hoseok pushes his bottom lip out in a pout before clasping his hands together, “kiss and make up! we all know that’s how it works. let the christmas spirit take over your bodies and fuel your weird hate-love for each othe-”

“the sooner you two kiss and make out, the sooner i can get the hell out of here,” yoongi interrupts, snapping his fingers, “c’mon! plant a fat one on each other!”

“the only reason why y/n’s getting whiney about it because she knows she’ll fall in love with me the moment she kisses me.” taehyung suddenly speaks up and you immediately look back down at him with a glare

fall in love????

with him????

it’s not going to take a single kiss to fall in love with taehyung - it’s going to take intensive exposure therapy to fall in love with him!

“don’t flatter yourself. i would rather throw myself into oncoming traffic than kiss you, kim taehyung.” you growl, smacking your hands down on taehyung’s desk so violently that it rattles beneath you

“now, now. there’s no need to lie…” taehyung chuckles lightly as he pushes his seat back slightly and rises to his feet

“i’m not lying! i don’t want to kiss you!”

“do too!”

“do not!”

“do TOO!”

“do NOT!”

“you know, you just sound like you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t want to kiss me-”

“you’re the one who keeps pushing it-” you jab a finger into his chest, “maybe you’re the one who wants to kiss me!”

“you think i wanna kiss you?!” taehyung laughs, flicking your hand away from him, “now look who the delusional one is!”

“i thought this was supposed to fix the arguing?” seokjin mutters under his breath, jungkook offering him a shrug while keeping his eyes glued on you and taehyung

he was running out of things to watch on netflix and this makes far better entertainment

the only thing that would make this better was if you and taehyung had at it in a grimy boxing ring half-naked

“i can’t be the only one thinking that all of this could be easily fixed if they just boned each other.” jungkook snorts, the other boys turning to look at him, “…what??”

“i wouldn’t kiss you even if you were the last man on earth.” you snarl, your voice wavering slightly

“you really expect me to believe that?” taehyung tilts his head, “don’t think i didn’t catch the way your eyes just flickered down to my lips, y/n...”

you feel your heart starting to pound in your chest when he places his hands flat on the desk as well, the tips of his fingers brushing over yours

at this proximity, the little voice in the back of your head can’t help but point out how pretty taehyung’s eyes are... and how nice he smells... and how soft his lips look...

...do you wanna kiss him?

oh, god

do you wanna kiss kim taehyung?!

no, you don’t

yes, you do

what??

WHAT?? 

“you wanna kiss me so bad, and you know it, y/l/n.” taehyung taunts, leaning forward just a little more

at this point, your faces are merely an inch away from each other’s and it wouldn’t take much effort to just lean in and… you know.

“i hate you.”

“if you hated me so much, then you wouldn’t be making such a big deal over silly little mistletoe now, would you?” taehyung smirks, pulling away before making his way around the desk so that he can get closer to you, “you like me but you’re too much of a wimp to admit it!”

“i like you?!” you gawk, “more like you like me!”

“okay-” jimin huffs, lowering the stick before taking a step back, “i really thought this was going to work, but my arms are getting tired, so if you two aren’t going to kiss, then i- oh-” his eyes widen in surprise when you and taehyung are suddenly lunging at each other not a second later, your hands cupping his cheeks and his hands gripping your waist as you kiss far more feverishly than he thought you two would

oh

oh my

“see, what’d i say? sexual tension!” jungkook kisses his teeth, leaning back against his chair and crossing his arms, “all that pent-up energy from arguing has led to this beautiful moment-”

“you’re an- mm- you’re an awful kisser, by the way-” taehyung mutters against your mouth, lips turning up in a boyish grin when you retaliate by shoving at his chest

“so are you!” you pull away only for taehyung to pull you right back in to press his mouth against yours again, “’m hating ehvery minute of this-”

“ah… isn’t young love sweet?” hoseok coos, jumping in his seat when taehyung suddenly shoves you up against the front desk with a thud, “so passionate!”

“okay, we’re just going to-” namjoon gets up from his seat gesturing for the boys to get up as well, “we’re happy to see that the argument has been settled!”

he hurries everyone to the front door and turns to glance over his shoulder, “when you guys are done, just… let us know! we’re going to pop over to starbucks for some hot chocolate. so... text one of us. or call! or you could use snapchat- it’s up to you, really-!”

namjoon doesn’t get a chance to say anything else before yoongi’s yanking his arm and pulling him backwards, reaching over to slam the door shut

a moment of silence goes by in which everyone takes a second to process what exactly just happened

“take your shirt off-”

“you take yours off first!”

“i... can’t tell if my plan was a success or a failure.” jimin mutters to himself, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck

“hey, if it makes you feel any better, at least they aren’t arguing with each other anymore!” jungkook cheers, clapping his hands quietly, “it’s a christmas miracle!”

❄️christmas with cee 2020 masterlist 🎄

#cwc2020 #lawstudent!tae #lawstudent!tae drabbles #taehyung drabbles #taehyung fluff #taehyung fluff recs #kim taehyung fluff #taehyung fics #taehyung fic recs #kim taehyung #taehyung #bts fluff #bts fluff recs #bts fics #bts fic recs #bts smut #bts smut recs #taehyung smut #taehyung smut recs #bts au #taehyung au #kim taehyung drabbles #reader insert #taehyung x reader #taehyung cute #kim taehyung cute #taehyung cute gifs #taehyung gifs #taehyung hot #bts author recs

[astro-rain]

delicate; b. barnes

chapter thirteen - “sober desires & the reminiscence of a winsome smile”

delicate masterlist

word count: 4k

synopsis: wakanda gets a visit from our favorite captain, two drinks is too much rum for a reticent psychologist, and bucky knows (& feels) more than meets the eye.

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

[A/N]: this took so long to write but WHEW this chapter!!!! pls let me know what you think >:D

The knock on the outside of his hut was followed by a deep accented voice, one that he had heard before.

"Sergeant Barnes?" it called.

Quickly enough Bucky was outside, facing the king of Wakanda himself. He wasn't sure exactly what to say. You see, the majority of their past interactions included the Black Panther trying to kill him. T'Challa was kind and Bucky trusted him. It was just... a little awkward given the history.

"Your highness," he greeted.

He smiled bashfully at the title.

"I have some news for you."

Bucky's head cocked to the side, curious. News? Should he be worried? He hadn't been expecting anything.

"Captain Rogers is on his way here. He was alerted about our recent complication with N'Jadaka," he said, referring to who Bucky guessed was who Y/N called Erik Killmonger, "and he asked to come check in, make sure you're okay."

Steve was coming. His mood was immediately uplifted. He hadn't seen his oldest friend for months. It was weird to have Steve feeling the need to make sure Bucky was okay; it was usually the other way around. Nonetheless, he was excited. And he had the sudden urge to tell Y/N.

- - -

READER

"Sharon. Hey," she said into the phone.

The friends hadn't spoken since Y/N left for Wakanda - security measures since Sharon helped Steve and betrayed the... well everyone.

"Y/N!" Sharon greeted. "How is everything? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, no I'm totally okay. The Killmonger thing was more the royal family's deal than mine. I was just hiding out in some bunker with Barnes."

Concerned weaved its way into Sharon's voice. "Oh my god. Did anything happen?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, historically, stress hasn't affected him well..."

She wasn't sure why she almost got offended. "No... he was completely fine. He doesn't lose control out of nowhere and turn into the winter soldier. It's a lot more complicated than that... We were fine."

"Oh, that's good. Listen... I'm actually on my way to Wakanda right now."

"You're-... what?"

"Steve needed to check in on Bucky after Killmonger. Wilson and I are coming too."

They must all be together. It makes sense considering what happened after the disaster in Berlin, and then the airport fiasco in Germany and then... everything in Siberia.

Aw, they're in hiding together, Y/N joked in her head. She almost laughed out loud.

"Oh. Is that safe? For you? For everyone?"

"I've been careful. We've all been careful. But, things don't always go as planned. And T'Challa feels bad about putting you guys in a dangerous situation when he was supposed to protect you."

"It wasn't his fault."

"I know. We all know. But, it's kind of his way of making up for it: letting us stay so that Steve can check in on Barnes and we can cool off for a bit."

"Was Rogers mad?"

"Well, he wasn't thrilled that his best friend was trapped alone in a country that just got taken over..."

He wasn't alone.

"...he was mostly worried," Sharon continued. "Still is."

"Right."

"Alright, well I got to go. We'll be there in a couple hours."

"I'll see you. Be safe."

"See you."

- - -

BUCKY BARNES

"Hey Buck," the happiness in Steve's voice was genuine as he patted his oldest friend on the back in the middle of an embrace. "How you been?"

"A hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you, that's for damn sure," Bucky smiled.

Sam Wilson stood next to the star spangled man with a plan. Bucky briefly glanced at him.

"Wilson," he deadpanned.

"Barnes," he returned the greeting.

"I was worried when T'Challa told me about Killmonger," Steve said. "Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful that they let you stay here, but I just didn't think I'd have to be worried so soon."

"It's alright. Everything turned out okay and I was fine the whole time. You don't have to lose your head."

"I'm not losing my head."

"You never had it in the first place."

The blonde changed the topic of conversation.

"You were with that therapist right?"

"Yeah."

"What do we think about her?" he asked with equal parts caution and suspicion. "Do you trust her?"

Bucky wasn't sure why he was almost offended.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you know what happened the last time you were with a psychiatrist..."

"Yeah well, this one doesn't have a personal vendetta against the Avengers."

"You sure she's alright?"

He looked serious, and Bucky could see the genuine concern etched into his friend's face. Steve was truly wary.

"I'm positive. She's helped so much since I've been here. I really trust her."

"Okay, if you say so. I trust you."

Bucky smirked. "Hey uh... is Sharon with you?"

Sam said nothing but radiated a smirk to match Bucky's perfectly, a kind of smirk that only a ball-busting best friend cracks.

"She is..." Steve replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Oh nothing. Just wondering, that's all."

"She said she wanted to talk to a friend."

"Oh, she's probably with Y/N."

"Who?"

"Y/N. Dr. Y/L/N. 'The therapist.'"

"I didn't know they were friends."

"Why do you think Sharon recommended her?"

"She said she knew 'the best' person to help."

"That true. She's crazy smart."

"As long as she can do the job, I'm all for it, no matter whose friend she is."

In a short-lived thought, Bucky wondered what Steve Rogers would think of who else Y/N was friends with. He wondered if Steve would think it was strange to be friends with your doctor, or if he'd be pleased that Bucky had gotten close to someone, anyone else in this world.

"How long are you guys staying for?" Bucky asked.

Steve rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "Honestly, we were only planning on staying for like a week or so. We've been moving throughout Europe, and the other day, when we were in Prague... it was almost really bad."

"We need to stay low for a while," Sam added.

"What did you do?" Bucky asked, used to Steve getting himself into trouble.

"It's a long story..."

"What did T'Challa say about it?"

"He said to take as much time as we needed," Steve filled him in.

"You know, I'm startin' to really like this guy," Sam nodded, smiling. "Obviously when he went all cat murderer on you, he was a bit of a pain in the ass. But now? Guardian angel."

Bucky shook his head at Sam's nonsense. What an idiot, he thought. He wondered what Y/N would think of Sam, but then a more pressing question popped into his head.

"Where are you guys gonna stay?"

"I'm guessing there," Steve said pointing behind Bucky.

When he turned around, Bucky was shocked but he also wasn't. Behind and around his hut stood three more just like it, but slightly smaller. He could've sworn those weren't there yesterday, but that's the beauty of Wakanda. They were ten steps ahead of the rest of the world and he guessed that included speed building as well.

"I will never stop loving this place," he admired.

-

He tried not to sound too eager when he knocked on her door. She looked shocked but didn't really try to hide it.

"Oh," she sounded confused. "Hi, Bucky..."

"Hey," he grinned. "I have a proposition for you."

Her eyebrows lowered as her lips twisted into the most devilish smirk. She could communicate an entire joke with just her face.

"Not like that!" he exclaimed.

She laughed, smirk morphing into an endearing smile. "Like what then?"

"Steve wanted to have like a bonfire sorta thing to catch up since we're all together for once. You know, just like drinks and stupid stories from the forties. D'ya think you could part with your paper work to grace us with your presence?"

"Oh, uh... are you sure?"

"Of course. I'd love to have you there."

She wrung out her hands. "I don't know, Buck. Is that really appropriate? To have your doctor hangin' out with your friends?"

"That may be, but that's not what I'm asking. I want my friend to 'hang out' with my other friends."

Out of her composure seeped a meek smile. The air felt softer to him.

"And maybe you can analyze Wilson and tell me what his biggest fear is later," he added.

She snickered.

"Okay. Lead the way, James Buchanan."

-

The fire was a monster, roaring and crackling with all the life in the world. Bucky loved it. He loved the warmth, the heat, the lack of cold.

"I'm gonna get another drink," Y/N said. "You want anything, Buck?"

"I'm all set," he smiled, gaze lingering for only a second too long.

"Sharon?" she turned. "You?"

The blonde shook her head. "Oh, I think I've had plenty."

Surrounding the fire sat five chairs. All but one was empty as Y/N went to get her second drink. Of course they were in Sam's hut, Bucky thought. After all, even though it was Steve's idea, Sam was most excited about the whole thing, actually sitting down and just relaxing instead of fleeing from belligerent governments.

"Therapist's pretty," Sam noted with a smirk once she was out of hearing range.

"Y/N," Bucky corrected, mind going completely elsewhere. "She's so smart."

"Smart enough to call you Buck..." Steve said, catching on to Sam.

"What?"

"She calls you Buck."

"Yeah, so? You do too."

"Yeah, but I've known you longer. And I'm your friend."

"She's my friend too," he shrugged.

"She's your doctor..."

"And I'm a hundred year old man with one arm trying to get un-brainwashed in a country that the rest of the world doesn't even know exists. None of this is conventional."

"...fair," Steve said, with only a little bit of skepticism. "Are you guys close?"

Does spending hours alone talking with someone in a hidden bunker make you close? Does them comforting you after a nightmare and then subsequently allowing you to get the best night sleep you've had in forever? What about making daring voyages to quaint waterfalls and laughing a kind of laugh that makes your heart swell? What about-

"Buck?"

He shrugged. Again. "I guess so."

Sam narrowed his eyebrows. "How close?"

"Wilson," Sharon admonished exasperatedly. "Y/L/N's his doctor, come on. That's inappropriate to suggest."

Sam put his hands up in mock surrender. Briefly, just briefly, Bucky imagined kicking the leg of Sam's chair and watching him fall back. He didn't, obviously. But it would have been funny if he did.

The seemingly never ending conversation was cut short when Y/N returned, drink in hand, and took her seat next to Bucky.

"What'd you get?" he asked, demeanor subtly but swiftly changing into something lighter, something happier.

"I don't know, but it has rum in it," she shrugged sardonically before clinking her glass with Bucky's.

"Cheers," Sam raised his glass, trying to engage.

Y/N wordlessly, and with a half-smile, raised her glass in his direction.

"So," Steve started, comfortably crossing his legs and leaning back into his chair before asking Bucky, "you wanna know what actually happened in Prague?"

"Do enlighten me. I've been waiting all night."

"Jerk."

"Punk."

The rest of the night went on sort of like this. The group took turns telling stories and then listening. Cracking jokes and then laughing. Everyone but Y/N, Bucky noticed. She just... sat and drank, livelihood only extending to the borders of her seat.

He hadn't seen her like this before, and he found himself stuck halfway between confused and worried. Had something happened? Had something wrong been said?

He kept an eye on her as dusk melted into night. He told himself it was because he was concerned, but that was only in addition to the way he was magnetized to how she looked with the light of the fire gleaming on her skin.

After she would finish a drink, she'd stare into the fire for a little while, before leaving to get another. When he made sure no one was looking at him, he'd look at her. Discretely. At her eyes. The reflection of the fire in her pupils made him wonder if she would burn the fire before it could ever burn her. He was all too aware of the heat that accompanied her gaze. It was a ravishing burn that made him ache for the searing feeling as soon as it was taken away.

He didn't dare think of it for too long or else he would get distracted. And someone would call his name, pulling him out of a trance he didn't want to be caught in. A trance he wasn't sure he wanted to admit that he was in.

The night remained as such until someone - he couldn't remember who - said they were tired, and everyone bid their farewells, and wished their good nights.

Y/N spared about a side hug to Sharon before walking off on her own. Bucky half volunteered, half insisted on tending to the fire to make sure it went out, only to ignore it as soon as everyone was gone and follow after his psychologist.

He caught up to her as she was in the middle of opening the door to her living quarters.

"Y/N."

She turned around in the spot, door wide open, staring up at him.

He bore into her eyes, looking at something, noticing her dilated pupils and hazy stare.

"You're drunk," he said, but it sounded more like a question.

"Yeah."

"But you don't seem drunk?"

"I'm not wasted," she padded into the room, carelessly leaving the door wide open for him to walk through. "Just drunk enough to remember why I didn't drink in college."

She rubbed her eyes.

"Think I want another one," she sighed, heading for the door with a bitter smile. "More rum."

Bucky gently closed the door, maneuvering himself in front of it, and blocking her from exiting. Another drink is definitely not a good idea.

He changed the subject. "Why didn't you drink in college?"

Her eyebrows raised, introducing a look that said Really? You think I don't know what you're doing?

"Wow, look at you being the voice of reason for my otherwise inebriated brain."

Nevertheless, she cooperated.

She sighed. "It just... makes me miserable. I'm a sad drunk."

"Better than a mean drunk," he offered.

"Possibly. It's a real mood killer, though."

"That why you were off all night?"

"Off... ? I don't know, I guess so... I'm usually pretty inconspicuous when I'm drunk. Didn't think anyone would really notice."

There was no hesitation when he spoke.

"I did."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry. Just... why did you keep drinking if it only makes you miserable?"

"Alcohol is a depressant," she breathed mechanically, as if speaking was difficult. "It depresses your nervous system, then you get disinhibited. Then you don't care about rationality and just drink! Then in the moment it feels kinda good... but then it makes you sad... and then you need more to blur the feeling away. It's like... the worse you feel, the more you need to drink... but then the more you drink... the worse you feel..."

"How are you drunk but still talking... sorta still like you usually do?"

She smirked, looking like she was trying not to laugh. He was glad she was smiling.

"Maybe you're not the only one with heightened metabolism as a result of the serum..."

He looked at her quizzically, amused. She wasn't making total sense, but he couldn't find it in himself to give much of a damn. She smiled, again.

"Kidding. I just have outstanding self-control."

She plopped down on the floor, deciding that she no longer wanted to use her legs. Fine motor function was overrated for intoxicated people.

He sat down with her, next to her.

"If I tell you a joke will you be less sad-drunk?"

"I already am 'less sad-drunk.' I wasn't before, but," she took a breath in, "now you're here, so... improvements have been made."

"That's good 'cause I was worried before."

She glanced up at him with brazen eye contact. Her face held a mixture of what looked like a confused and pained expression, as something changed. Some sort of realization or reality check.

She wiped her hands over her face. "God, this is so ridiculous. I'm sorry. You shouldn't be worried about me, that's not your job. I'm sorry. I should just go to bed, and you can leave..."

"I know it's not my job. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

"I was alright- it... it's not like I was crying at the fire or something. I was fine."

"After your second drink, you were silent almost the entire time."

"You were counting my drinks?"

Not exactly.

"I was paying attention."

"To what?"

To you.

"You completely turned into yourself. Your elbows and legs were drawn in close to your body: unrelaxed and almost apprehensive posture. You were nonverbal, didn't make any jokes, no sarcastic commentary. I was literally purposefully saying things I knew you would correct or tease or laugh at and nothing. I was waiting for a 'smartass' or a 'there's a reason behind everything' explanation or anything science related. But there was nothing."

Her face was blank. It took her a second to catch up. Blinking slowly, she shook her head, eyebrows furrowed, all emphasis on the word. "Why?"

Her tone was truly confused. It was like she, in her heart of hearts, for the life of her, could not believe he was concerned.

"Y/N you're my friend," he chided. "Why wouldn't I be?"

She averted her gaze. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I don't know."

"Look," his voice was soft. "I know you know everything and you know my mannerisms and micro-expressions and you know when I'm lying and whatever else 'cause you're a genius psychologist. But is it really that hard to believe that, after all the time we've known each other, I know you a little too? That I saw you for once instead of you always seein' me?"

"I think you're the only person who sees me."

The words leaked out before he thought to analyze them, tone lower than a whisper.

"Well I can't seem to look at much else."

He had never felt such potent silence. Did he just fuck up majorly? They just sat, on the floor, eyes glued to each other like twenty year old dried cement. He didn't think he could move away if he tried.

"I see you now," she whispered.

"What do you mean?"

"Blue," she breathed. "Your eyes are so blue. I don't... think I've ever seen that shade of blue."

It happened exponentially slowly, but the closer her face got to his, the more his chest felt like it was going to burst in the best way possible. As if liquid light poured into his lungs, inflating his chest and igniting every nerve with adoration.

Her lips hovered over his so lightly it was as if it wasn't even happening, like her affection was a ghost. But it was happening, and he could feel it. He could feel the softness in her lips and the smell of the rum she drank as they combined into the wondrous dual sensation that permeated throughout his brain.

They weren't kissing by any stretch. Their lips were hardly touching. However, in that moment, he was at her mercy. He was prepared to bend the laws of nature to her will if she would allow the continuation of this feeling for even a fraction of a second more.

Until it stopped and she waned away like the moon bidding adieu to the morning sky.

Her voice shook. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't... it's-"

"No. It's not okay. It's not okay."

He leaned back, examining her face. She looked confused and embarrassed and scared.

"Y/N, it's fine. It's okay, seriously, don't worry about it."

"I'm sorry, I'm... I'm drunk and I'm disinhibited and it's affecting my judgement and making me impulsive. I'm sorry."

He couldn't be exactly sure, but it sounded as if she was trying to convince herself more than she was trying to convince him.

Neither of them moved a muscle.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

She was silent, frozen. It reminded him of a past conversation about the fight or flight response.

Bucky stood up and offered his hand to the woman sitting on the floor in front of him. "Here."

She took it gingerly and stood up with him before wide eyes stared into his apologetically.

"Please don't feel bad," he pleaded. "Barely anything happened."

"Still..."

"Why don't you just get some sleep and we can talk tomorrow. I promise it won't seem like such a big deal when you're sober."

She nodded but they both remained motionless, hands still together. He knew they needed to let go, but her hand didn't move, and she just kept looking into him.

"Okay," she whispered.

She walked him to the door, hand still in hand, and until he was forced to let go of her to open it. He stepped, ever so slowly, out of her room and onto the grass outside. He looked up at her, the doorway between them suddenly feeling like worlds of distance. They stood on opposite sides of the open door like statues. Bucky didn't know what to do and he wasn't sure what to say.

He settled on a, "Goodnight."

He tried not to make it sound so weak and timorous but he failed entirely. He didn't want to leave her like this. Guilty and alone. God knows he knew what it felt like.

Her voice was dry and quiet. "Goodnight."

He wasn't sure when the door shut or which one of them had shut it. The only thing he was sure of was the feeling of formidable regret pooling in his stomach.

On one hand, there was regret for letting her lean in and get so close because now he was scared that their dynamic was ruined and worried that Y/N felt awful. On the other hand, there was regret that he just let her pull away. Regret that he didn't lean in more and shamelessly drown in her. Regret that he didn't unapologetically suffocate himself with the softness of lips, the inebriating smell of rum on on her tongue, and the utterly bewitching taste of her he was sure would follow.

He wasn't sure what he felt, to be honest. He was a muddle of emotions of which he had no idea how to sift through. Momentarily, he wished he was drunk so he wouldn't have to think so hard. Then, he remembered the saying, "drunk words are sober thoughts," and he was damn glad he was stone cold sober; he could only imagine the things he would say to her if he was drunk.

This lead him to pondering, it got the gears in his brain turning. It made him wonder. Maybe... just maybe... if drunk words were sober thoughts, then what if drunk actions were sober desires?

Thinking like this could cause him read the situation completely differently. Thinking like this could make him read the situation in such a way that conceived the slightest sliver of hope for emotions gone repressed. Hope is dangerous...

Hope is dangerous, so Bucky shoved it down into the deepest cavern of his brain, the very same cavern where his feelings for her resided. It was a monster in a cave, growling and hissing menacingly. Intensely.

It scared him, this intensity. It scared him so much that the only way he could fall asleep was by thinking about the way James Buchanan sounded when she said it with a winsome smile.

delicate taglist: ​@bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @nickkie1129 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @quxxnxfhxll @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf

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[joaquinwhorres]

Stitches & Blankets (Joaquin Torres x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› You find Joaquin Torres after he tries to stop the bank robbery.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› OK, why are there not more Torres fics? I'm legitimately confused about that. Also, I realized after writing half of this down, that a bank was robbed, so there were probably still police on the scene and the reader'd probably be speaking Swiss-German but uh...fan fiction.

There was a body in the street, which was not what you expected to see coming out to your car.

You'd heard the wailing sirens and shouting and the thunderous footsteps--they're what kept you pressed against the side of the building for the past ten minutes, avoiding the chaos as much as possible. It wasn't fear that kept you there though, it was experience. You'd become used to the quick riots and little skirmishes for resources over the past few months. You knew it was better to stay out of the way, wait out the storm, and then go about your life. They became nothing more than minor nuisances. Bits of unrest that were there and then gone in the next instance. They weren't supposed to leave a body behind.

"Meine Fresse," you murmured, racing forward to the person lying supine on the stones, arms out to their sides, the white of their sneakers reflecting the street lights. As you drew closer, you saw it was a man--about your age with blood around his eye and nose and lip. For a brief second, you wondered if he'd been trampled, but he definitely would have looked worse for wear based on how many people you'd heard.

"Bist du okay?" Your voice was loud as you checked over the rest of his body. He didn't seem to have any other injury, and there wasn't any blood under his head, so you decided it was safe enough to gently shake him.

He didn't rouse.

So, instead you knelt your ear down to his lips, laying your hand flat on his chest. You felt your hand rise before you heard the slow intake of breath, and you rocked back onto your knees. He was breathing. He was alive.

Still, something gnawed at the back of your mind, urging your fingers up under his jaw, gently pressing into his neck. It was only then that you felt a surge of relief. His pulse was there, and it was strong. He was really alive.

And then you remembered that you should probably call 112.

All things considered, it was a quick phone call--the operator seemed to know your exact location and vaguely what had happened as you explained where you were and how you found him. Instead, most of the conversation was spent listening to their instructions to roll him into a recovery position and check for any signs of life-threatening injuries. When they told you that you could hang up because they were close, you did so and found the man blinking at you.

"Hoi," you greeted soothingly. "Wie heisst du?"

He groaned, attempting to roll onto his back once more. You reached out a hand stopping him, and he looked up at you confused.

"Comment t'appelles tu?" You attempted, hoping he wasn't an Italian or Romansch speaker. You hardly knew enough of either language to tell him you couldn't speak it.

He winced and lifted his hand to his face. "Shit."

English. Good.

"What's your name?" you asked, and his eyes seemed to focus on you once more, this time a spark of recognition or maybe just awareness lighting up behind them.

"Joaquin," he informed, and you released an arm, allowing him to finally roll onto his back like he wanted. He had a strong American accent, even through the gravelly voice of barely regained consciousness. "Did they get away?"

"Ähm," you looked around at the empty street. "Yes?" you guessed.

He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna have to call some people."

"I think you should wait for the ambulance."

"Yeah," he agreed, the word breathy and pained. "That's probably a good idea."

"What happened?" you asked, and he raised his eyebrows, looking back at you.

"Flag Smashers."

"I didn't think the Flag Smashers hurt people."

"I'm just lucky, I guess," he answered, and you smiled, letting out a small laugh. He offered a small smile as well.

You could hear the siren now, the faint sound winding its way through the curving streets of Zürich and towards the two of you. Your head turned towards the sound, as if you could trace it back to the ambulance, and gauging the distance. "They should be close," you said, returning your attention to Joaquin.

"What's your name?" he asked, and the question surprised you. Then again, if the two of you were stuck waiting for an ambulance at nine o'clock on a Sunday night, maybe a bit of small talk shouldn't have been so surprising.

"Y/N," you answered, and he repeated it.

"You're very pretty, Y/N."

The laugh escaped you on instinct, although to call it a laugh might not be the best descriptor. It was more of a surprised noise, partially exhale and a tinge of amusement added through the slight smile at the corner of your mouth.

"Thank you," you said. "You are very pretty too."

And he was, underneath the dark red and rapidly purpling injuries. He had a strong jaw and kind eyes, and even the hint of a smile he'd given earlier had made something in your chest constrict.

"I don't feel so pretty," he responded, and this time your laugh was more of a laugh, and he reached up to feel at his face. You took hold of his hand, bringing it back down and trapping it in yours.

"Pretty enough for me to hold your hand," you joked, hoping to distract him from continuing to poke and prod and break all of the rules and instructions the EMTs had given over the phone.

"Well, I got that goin' for me, I guess," he said, letting his hand relax into yours.

Headlights bathed you in a warm yellow light as flashing blue lights bounced off the surrounding buildings, illuminating the rest of the street.

There were some shouts as the doors of the ambulance opened and people poured out, running towards you and Torres. The paramedic crowded around quickly, a blonde bearded man asking  quick questions in German.

"Er spricht Englisch," you explained, and he nodded, switching languages.

It became apparent as police officers pulled up and flooded out of their cars that you were no longer needed. You stood up, backing away and letting Joaquin's hand slip through yours.

"You're not going to stay and hold my hand?" Joaquin called out to you, and you let a smile curl across your lips. Around you, people were starting to come out onto the street, lured by the sounds of the sirens and lack of shouting and general ruckus. Your eyes fell back on Joaquin who was still looking up at you, even as a paramedic flashed a light into his face.

"Maybe he can hold your hand," you said, gesturing to a paramedic who had slid into your place. Joaquin gave half a smile as you turned and left him in the hands of the professionals.

As you rounded the corner, arms full of blankets, the last person you expected to almost run into was Joaquin.

Part of the surprise was the kind that generally accompanied running into someone outside of the context you know them in. A larger part of the surprise was the fact that he was not in the hospital.

Instead, he stood before you, face swollen, bloodied and bruised, with the small white bandages of butterfly stitches above his right eye. He blinked at you, as if he was caught in the headlights.

"Pretty Joaquin," you said, surprise ringing through every part of your voice.

"Y/N."

At least his memory wasn't affected by whatever the Flag Smashers had done to him. His response time was also quicker than it had been two and a half hours ago, and he seemed all in all more present and less hazy. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Your own surprise and mild confusion had not quite worn off. "What are you doing here?"

For a variety of reasons, he was not the typical person who stumbled into the Zürich GRC Refugee Camp. He was both too young and too old and far more put together than a normal incomer. He didn't have that haunted look behind his eyes that made your heart wrench. He looked battered and bruised but ok.

"I need a place to stay."

Your eyes ran over his form, from his fluffy dark hair and banged up face to his bright white trainers. You lifted an eyebrow. "The hospital wouldn't take you?"

He shook his head with a sheepish grin. "It's just a broken orbital. Not much else they can do for it." Your eyebrows didn't lower and he gave half a laugh. "Trust me I'm as shocked as you are."

"I'll need you to fill out some paperwork."

He winced. "Any way that could wait until tomorrow? My head is killing me."

You stared intently at his face. Over the past four months of working at the GRC camp, you'd gotten good at reading people. You had an eye for knowing who was going to be trouble down the line and who would need some extra comfort and care. You knew who to push about their stories, and who to wait for--to be there as they slowly unraveled their tale.

So while there was a lot about pretty boy Joaquin that just didn't add up, you could see in his eyes that he could be trusted to stay the night. Just not here.

"You can't stay here without going through intake," you shook your head. "But if you really need a place to sleep, you can come with me."

"Really?" Joaquin asked, turning to follow you as you set back off towards your car, and you nodded.

"It's nothing special--just my couch. But I've been told it's very comfy."

Joaquin faltered a step, slowing down. "You're sure you want me coming and bloody-ing up your couch? I could just stay here and leave before--"

"I'll put down some papers," you said jokingly in an attempt to cut off the subject of him staying at the camp.

"Ok," he said, his voice distracted before there was a quick shuffle of footsteps and he caught back up with you. "Ok, thanks."

The two of you arrived at your car shortly thereafter, Joaquin moving to sit in the passenger seat as you dumped the blankets in the car. You came around to slip into the driver's seat, quickly backing out of the spot and setting off back home.

"So what's with all the blankets?" he asked, pulling his attention from the streets and buildings and back to you.

"We got a late donation tonight," you answered, flicking on your turn signal. "They needed someone here to help organize the drop off and then our washing machine broke, so I have to take work home with me." You smiled at the joke, but he just nodded, leaving you to wonder if maybe your English was off. The next few moments passed in quiet before you checked over at a traffic light to see if he was still awake. He was, but he looked dazed. Maybe he had been telling the truth about his head. You eyed his injuries which looked even worse in the red light. Like his entire right side of his face had been smashed.

"So what brought you to Switzerland?"

It wasn't the question you wanted to ask. You wanted to ask him what had happened with the Flag Smashers--why had they beaten him up so badly. But you weren't sure you were ready for that answer or if he'd even give it. So you asked a question you didn't care if he lied to you about.

"I was looking for someone," he said, and the light turned green, causing you to turn away and focus on your driving rather than him. Still the sentence seemed to end earlier than his thought as you could feel the weight of more words hovering between you. It was a familiar pressure in your ears and your chest, and you'd long grown accustomed to the discomfort.

Like many, Joaquin didn't give the thought words to escape on.

"A refugee?" you asked, and he wobbled his head.

"Yes and no. She survived the Snap."

"She?" A small feeling like a tight wire cord wound its way around your chest and a  warmth of embarrassment flooded the back of your neck. "Your sister? Your wife?"

"No," he shook his head. "My grandmother."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him look at you for the first time.

"What's her name?  If she came to the camp I should know her."

"Mariana Torres," he answered, and you ran through the array of faces you'd met. There was a Mariana Böschl , but she was old enough to be his mother, not his grandmother.

You shook your head slowly. "I can check the registry tomorrow, but I don't think she's with us."

"Thanks," Joaquin said, looking back out the window at the passing city. "Were you Blipped?"

"No," you shook your head, pulling into your designated parking spot by your apartment. "I was lucky." The two of you climbed out of the car, and he met you by the trunk, pulling the blankets out before you could reach for them.

"Thank you," you said.  And he gave a small grin.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you."

You gestured with your head up the stairs, heading to your third floor apartment.

Joaquin trailed behind you, arms laden with the blankets, waiting patiently as you stopped and opened the door. "Welcome to my home," you greeted, allowing him to enter before you. Your small apartment was dark, and you flicked on the light so that Joaquin could walk further inside without running into a wall or your table. "You can put the blankets by the couch, I'll wash them tomorrow," you instructed, and he did as you suggested before wandering over to the couch.

"I think I have an extra pillow in the closet," you said.

"Great," he thanked, dropping down onto the couch.

It took a few minutes to find the pillow and put a pillowcase on top of it. By the time you walked back out to the living room, the light was still on, and so were his shoes, but he was passed out. You walked over to the sleeping boy, placing the pillow down next to the couch in case he woke up and pulling the blanket over his body, your eyes once more tracing over his injuries.

You would have to speak to Karli about the violence.

#joaquin torres x reader #torres x reader #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquín torres #lieutenant torres #lieutenant torres x reader #fatws #tfatws

[yanderenightmare]

If this isn't allowed I'm super sorry, but could I request Enji with a (Male/GN) darling that's scared of him. Like he always thought Enji was super scary as a hero and now that they're captured, he can't even stand to be around Enji without shaking or crying.

YANDERE ! ENJI TODOROKI x MALE ! READER

This is not what you asked for… I’m sorry this is all just… absolute filth… I got too excited, hope you like, sorry if some of these themes are triggering

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, degradation, feminization, spit-fetish, Enji being an ass, yandere, profanity, abuse, anxiety, manipulation, misogyny

FEAR

He doesn’t know exactly how to explain what replaces Enji’s presence when he leaves for work in the morning. He wants to say that it feels good, that it’s a relief, but that would be a bittersweet lie that leaves him feeling guiltier than it should, because when Enji’s not there to fill the space of the giant mansion, all that’s left is cold tiles, soundless rooms, and somehow… a lack of safety. He thought about it while finishing cleaning the second to last room, dreading entering the next, knowing how he’d find nothing there, just more emptiness, just more stale unmoving shadows on walls, more cold, more void, more loneliness, more fear.

He needed to shower before Enji got home. Enji would bathe with him later in the day too, but it would be after… after they played. He’d been talking and teasing that very soon he was going to be doing more than just sucking cock. Yesterday, he was made to sit on Enji’s face for half an hour, all while Enji fisted his own cock furiously in the same beat he lapped at the tiny budding butthole so ripe for the taking on top of him. But, he hadn’t done it, he hadn’t pushed a finger inside, he had barely wormed his tongue into the hole, only made to suck on it, before pushing him off and down into the sheet so he could cum all over his pretty little face, his white thick seed running and mixing in with fat globs of tears. But today, he wasn’t sure if Enji would still spare him being impaled on his fat thick monstrous pole. The thought had him nearly whining as he removed his clothes, padding over the clean reflective cold marble floors to step into the shower that seemed so strangely massive without being filled with both himself and Enji’s intimidating build.

It was as though he could already feel Enji’s warm hands holding onto his hips, steadying him as he was sure he would be uncontrollably quaking. It was as though he could already feel it filling him up, lifting him off the ground, off his feet, hauling him up into the air.

He turned the temperature too high to imitate what heat Enji would emit when thrusting into him, the shower-droplets stinging on his reddening skin. It hurt, but he needed to prepare himself, only physically if not mentally. He wiped a hand up between his butt-cheeks, stroked a finger over his hole a couple of times, teased to see if he at all wanted to slip it inside. He whimpered upon facing the inevitable fact that Enji’s massive thick pole would soon push inside him, push all the way inside him, fill him up so snugly and painfully and inescapably, holding him still as he crammed himself inside, probably even chuckling that gruesome snicker when seeing how he would try and wiggle out of his death-grip.

Enji is too big for it to possibly feel good, it’d be too painful, too painful to feel anything else, except fear. Fear would always survive. Fear of choking to death on his cock filling up his tight throat, more so than the pain of it actually happening. Fear of the feisty flames licking his skin more so than realizing how they only tickle not sear. Fear of being trapped, so much so he forgets to humor the idea of running, of fighting, of saying no. Fear of how he was going to be impaled, split in two on the hero’s cock before the day let up.

His own size wasn’t bad, but probably not what one would call impressive. He wondered if Enji would ever ask for him to penetrate him in turn. If… perhaps he could bargain to do that instead of the other way around, but he knew that was a foolish thought. He didn’t want to touch it, even as he felt it twitch against his stomach, because he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to touch it while Enji fucked him. Instead, he pushed one finger inside the comfort of his ass, worming the digit inside the tight space, his forehead soon pushing against the shower-wall to steady himself while he tried to get deeper. It was nowhere near what would be happening later, he knew that, but with the thought, the imagery of what would no doubt be happing later, it still managed to make his toes curl. The thought of Enji’s large warm gravely hand coming to stroke up and down his cock while penetrating him from behind, the sounds of his husky gruff voice huffing and grunting into his ear, letting him know what a perfect little pet he is.

He felt ashamed, and so utterly confused. How come he still turned on, even with the amount of fear and trepidation that pumped the boiling blood through his system? Why wasn’t he pissing himself instead of standing there, fingering his own hole, fantasizing about how much pain he was going to be in later, and getting off on the fact? Was it true what Enji had said? Was he really a submissive little masochist that would soon be worshipping the ground Enji walked on?

The questions were answered as he felt himself explode all too abruptly onto the glass, seeing his cum splattered onto the dewy steamed wall, watching it run down, creating paths that were slowly being washed away by the ongoing spritz of the showerhead.

He made then to shave his chest first, then the rest, all the rest, everything except the hair on his head, he knew Enji wouldn’t be pleased with anything but perfection, and even though the razor nicked him in sensitive places he was still extra careful to not miss a single spot, going over the same area several times to achieve complete smoothness. He turned the water too cold to stop the bleeding and to ease what soreness and irritation had been awoken by the activity, muscles tensing and flexing under the pressure, thinking that perhaps the freeze would encourage getting dressed… though he doubted it.

He got dressed slowly, having to talk himself down from crying as he clasped the lacy white bralette on, dragging it into position even though it had no real position on his chest. Then the dress. Splayed out so prettily on the bed, Enji’s declaration. White and patterned with pink poppies, a real housemaid’s frilly skirt and sweetheart neckline and thin shoulder-straps and everything pretty and dainty and feminine, one that worked so perfectly as an underdress for an apron.

The dress was nice and all, nicer than most things he’d ever worn before, but the apron was a real work of art. Frills decorating the edges, sweet swirls and flowery embroidery working its way up the white cloth, still with white thread, looking handmade yet with precision and delicacy. The stocking matched to some degree yet not carrying the same ornate expensive-feel to them, also adorned with a frilly edge were the sock stopped mid-leg. The shoes were plain enough: white with an easy button-over contraption, only slightly high-heeled, yet high enough to make that clicking errand sound when he walked across the marble floors each time Enji rung his service-bell, calling on him from where he sat on his knees with his hands folded neatly in his lap, supposed to wait patiently at Enji’s every beck and call, even though the large man was only a few meters away with a voice that could easily reach him no matter which room he found himself in the mansion, Enji insisted on using the bell. Loving to see how the boy skittered to his feet, hands running timid fingers to smooth over the fabric of his apron, shoes clicking together at the heels. His wintry voice so fragile and scared half to death as he answers Enji’s steely cyan glare: “Yes, Daddy?” His eyes falling sullenly to the floor to watch the cute rounded curve of his glossy shoes instead of looking to meet the fiery yet ice-cold eyes of his captor.

He avoided the mirror, even though he knew he should look over himself one more time for Enji’s sake, or for his own. He was given no boxer, no underwear, no measly thong, nothing, and therefore was subjugated to walk the empty halls in his flowing skirt with the cold air wafting in between his legs, kissing his limp cock each time he made a swift step, his shoes clicking, clicking, clicking, like the clock counting down the minutes until Enji came home.

“Welcome home, Daddy.” He needed to force himself to smile. Crooked in its execution, broken, yet still a smile, a smile Enji was pleased with as he kicked off his shoes, even happier to see him bow down to pick the pair up and place them neatly in the stacked shoe-compartments, despite the stink of them being drenched in sweat after his day of patrolling. His cock was already growing heavy with hunger. “How was your da-” He wasn’t given the time to answer before Enji wrapped both his hands around his waist from the back, slotting his massive warm hard chest against what felt like his paper-thin back, but he didn’t need to be able to carry Enji’s weight as he did most of the lifting himself.

A gravely sigh erupted from the man’s chest, rumbling against the boy’s back. “It’s so nice coming home to someone so appreciative and sweet.” He mumbled up against his spine, nose gliding up his neck, followed by a heavy inhale, breathing in the scent of the shampoo he’d told him to use, seemingly content as he pushed his crotch better against his ass. “I’ve tried getting hard for that slut breeding-cow all month…” Of course, his little experiments. He was a good fuck, but he couldn’t carry children, and producing children, or rather heirs, was something Enji and his fucked-up need to be number one was obsessed with. “You should see her, fucking begging for my cock, like my cock is her god. Pathetic.” He was glad he didn’t have the ability to get pregnant. He could only imagine what those wives of his were feeling, so insignificant, only a means to an end… but… that was rather what he was too. “And you just look at me and my cock is already twitching.” He smelled him again, nose blaring, hands trailing over the fabric of his apron and dress to feel up his thighs, grabbing at them before guiding him out of the entrance and into the living room. “Strip.”

It seemed so unnecessary for him to even be wearing clothes at all when they always ended up on the floor, especially such intricate clothes as well that needed to be removed with elegance and not shaky unsure fingers like his. But that was rather the point. It was a show, he guessed as he reached behind his back to undo the bow of the apron. A rather clunky graceless strip-tease, he mused when the apron fell unceremoniously to the floor, the dress following shortly after.

That was it, he’d learned, the rest Enji wanted to do on his own. He couldn’t understand how a man could still look so intimidating even when on his knees removing his shoes. Large, large hands cupping the small clothed feet, unclasping the buttons and sliding them out of their enclosure. He left the socks on this time, they were going to be part of the show, them and the bralette, and nothing else.

“Bend, I want to see that perfect little ass of yours.” His voice would be casual if it weren’t for the dripping boiling-hot lust that stuck to his tongue as he spun his toy around and pushed him over the back of the white couch, liking how it was too tall to meet his hips for a proper bend and instead aided in lifting him up on the very tips of his toes. He licked his lips, tugging on the crotch of his pants.

Scorching fingers grabbed the ample flesh of his ass, kneading it up like dough before he felt the wet sludge off his tongue gliding a trail up his spine, only stopping once he came to his neck where he began kissing wet, so very wet, drooling kisses up behind his ear. Again, inhaling through his nose as his clothed cock nuzzled neatly between his presented ass, humping into the welcoming heat.

“You smell good, did you shower like I asked...” Asked? They both knew it wasn’t a request, but yet he nodded his head from where he felt the blood beginning to pool where he was resting on the sofa-cushions upside-down. “Such a good pet.” His hips curved into him so he pushed his bulge up into his plushie backside, hands rubbing circles into his midriff, pulling him back to meet his mellow thrusts. “Is your throat still sore from choking on my cock?” His fingers, laid steadily on the softness of the couch, bending to grip the surface in order to hold himself back from crying. “Answer when you’re spoken to, pet.” Enji sounded bored, slightly bitter as he pressed his growing cock harder into his breakable little hostage.

He felt the tears begin to fall despite his efforts. “Sorry.” He pipped, half his face now buried in the couch. “My throat is fine, thank you for asking.” Enji’s hand went back to carelessly wandering, instead of gripping his hips so harshly.

“Good, I’m glad.” The statement didn’t seem heartfelt. “Spread your legs. Give me your hands.” His suspicion was answered through the heartless commands, Enji didn’t care.

He moved his feet away as much as he could without losing contact with the floor, which wasn’t really far at all, but he guessed Enji would steer him into the right position when the urge fell over him. Letting go of his grip on the couch-cushions proved more difficult as he was left sinking even further into the plushie surface without any support, yet he still managed, bending his elbows to fold his arms on his back, making it easier for Enji’s massive hand to grip both his wrists at the same time.

“I’ve been looking forward to taking this ass for so long…” He groaned, his hand giving the ass a rough squeeze. “Perhaps that’s why that slut can’t get me hard anymore, since I know what a perfect little pet I have waiting for me at home.” It was as though he used the fat of his ass as a handle to pull him up, lifting him briefly off the couch before dropping him back down again, hearing him give a little yelp at the action, again causing him to groan in satisfaction as he bumped his erection into where it fit so perfectly between his ass-cheeks. “I’ve been waiting so patiently… and so have you.” Enji mused, as though the boy at his mercy was having any of the same cravings. “I think today is the day we both get our reward.” Enji pulled on his wrists, dragging him off the couch, his feet meeting the cold floors again and quickly yanked into Enji’s hard chest. “I know you’re excited, but let’s get you to the bedroom first.” He taunted when he gave another squeal, looking up to see Enji’s unforgivingly hungry cerulean gaze, having tears and fears and swirling panic brimming in his own. “Wipe those tears, you can comfort yourself with having your face stuffed, use my cock like a pacifier.” The comment did far from comfort him, instead evoking a whimper as he swallowed thickly in a way of suppressing the hiccup that wanted to hitch in his throat at the dark promise.

He must have blacked out or zoned out or something alike it as a form of preparing himself for Enji, for when he came to he was upstairs, already placed on the bed, on his knees, in front of a naked Enji and large thighs made up of pure muscle and scares, and hair. Then of course the centerpiece, Enji’s large intimidating cock standing proudly up against his ripped stomach, with its angry mushroom-shaped swollen head puckering right into his face.

Enji’s hand rubbed lazily over the tip, smearing what precum had already beaded in the slit. Yet, he wasn’t given too long to just stand and admire it as Enji’s other massive hand come up to grip the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his short locks to form a better hold, pulling him down to level with the beast, pushing him further, head mushed and buried to cuddle with the manhood. Enji’s hips leaning in on repeat to meet how his hand pushed his face against the sensitivity of his sex, balls slightly swinging up against his chin.

“Come on, use your tongue.” Enji didn’t waste any time, starting to pull at the roots of his hair in order to frighten him into obeying. He succeeded, as the boy opened his mouth and laid his tongue out flat to taste the salty skin it was pressed against. “Lick from the base.” Enji commanded and the boy listened, dragging his tongue up with the guidance of Enji’s hand steering the back of his head up the entire length of his cock. Pulling him slightly away from the activity, making the boy wince at the sharp stinging off his roots being yanked. Enji’s other hand gripping the base of the giant pole to tap it in a slapping fashion against the lips that seemed so welcoming and warm, the boy shutting his eyes allowing some more tears to drip from where they had been welling. “Open up.” He did as he was told, lips parting to accommodate for Enji’s weeping cockhead. “There you go, taste me.” He groaned as he pushed his head further onto his cock, traveling into his mouth, filling him up and prodding at the back of his throat. The boy knew better than to think he was any less than half-way done, yet he couldn’t hold back the reflex of gagging. Not that Enji paid any mind to the complaint, only placing his other hand to control his chin as he continued nudging himself deeper, sinking down his throat. “Come on, swallow all of me, I want to feel that cute nose buried in my belly with your tongue licking my balls.”

He tried relaxing his throat, choking his length and girth down and down, sniveling as he held back the urge to pull away, knowing how the hand Enji placed at the back of his head wouldn’t allow him to move anyway.

His eyes traveled backwards when the lightheadedness of being barely able to breath got to him, which was when Enji let up, freeing him as both hands took their leave from holding him steady. “Such a good pet, do as your told.”

He coughed into the bedsheets while Enji’s hand pet over his head, his own fingers tightly gripping the fabric beneath, knuckling the textile into his palm, trying to compose himself before his head was guided to look back up at Enji again, who seemed to tower over him even though the both of them were on their knees, though the boy was rather bowing for the giant red-headed man.

Enji’s fat fingers came to pry open his mouth, pushing past everything with little regard. “Suck these fingers for me.” Shoving the digits down his throats and fucking the soreness for a while before retracting them. “Spit in my palm.” He didn’t argue, unless the sniffling cough he gave were to be considered a protest, before spitting all the saliva his mouth had produced when being attacked by the mass that filled him up before. “Get back on that cock.” 

Again, he didn’t waste any time, adamant on making sure Enji knew that there was no need for him to be using his hands to force himself down his throat as he guzzled down on his length, bobbing up and down with his head, letting him kiss the back of his throat as he glugged with his lips forming a tight circle around his girth, using his tongue to slide out to cover what areas of his cock he couldn’t reach when swallowing him down at the pace he was going. Desperately trying to please the beast.

Enji gave no warning, pushing his fat digit into his puckering hole from where he was being such a good boy with sucking him down like he’d asked. Filling and stretching his little ass, dragging an adorable whine from his throat, a whine Enji received on his cock, the unrestrained voice giving nice little tremors to vibrate alongside his girth, settling somewhere at the tip of his cock before traveling down into his heavy balls, making him buck deeper into his face. “Wouldn’t want that cute butt to get lonely while I fuck this pretty face.” He explained, as he sank the finger even further into his ass, listening to him mewl a panicked whine around his cock, simply fucking even deeper into his face, hand clasping around the back of his head to better rut into his skull, finger roughly stretching out the tender tight muscles from behind.

He cursed gruffly once he let up, admiring as his pet drooled and spluttered to breath at the absence of his cock in his mouth, spit slobbering down his chin and landing in thick puddles dampening the bedsheets beneath them. 

“Look at me.” He whimpering as Enji once again grabbed a tight hold on his chin, rough fingertips planted into his cheeks, sliding in saliva as he forced him to look up, lifting him upright, so much so his hands needed to leave their station on the bed in favor of supporting himself against Enji’s chest or else he’d simply be held up by Enji hand like a noose. “Open that mouth up.” He did his best to comply with the demand with how his hand seemed to pressure his jaw shut, though he managed, having his cheeks squeezed and lips puckering like a duck out towards him, a perfect parted hole he could aim and spit right into. “Swallow that for me pet.” It came as a shock having Enji’s warm liquid shot onto his tongue but he quickly recovered, letting it slide down his jugular before he swallowed. “Good boy. What do you say?” He could feel him quenching his pride and all hopes of fighting back in the whimper that ran up beneath his fingers on his throat.

“Thank you, Daddy.” There was no spite in the words, just wholehearted defeat and surrender, and the potency of it all sprung right to Enji’s ego, making his attention-craving cock throb with neediness.

“Good pet.” Hand tightened around his throat to lift him even higher up to meet with his face, kissing his slick face roughly, stiff lips setting the motion, bloated lips following suite, before the hand around his throat once again took advantage of its power and threw him back down on his hands and knees. “Now finish your meal.” The statement held nothing but hungry cruelty, followed by a long blob of spit dripping slowly from his tongue onto his cock, sliding down its length. “Lick it up.” Unsure eyes looked up through stinging saltwater, finding no hint of mercy, encouraging him to do what he was told before earning himself a punishment. Mouth promptly taking the large cock into his mouth again, yet he felt the sting of a slap to his cheek all the same. “I said lick, not suck.” He resisted the urge to soothe the red stinging flesh of his cheek and did as he was corrected, tongue lapping up the underside of the angry cock in his face. “Yes… good… there you go.” He was praised, and though it made his stomach sink, he also felt relief, for at least praise was far away from disappointment and the punishment that followed such a resolution.

What followed was simply Enji’s rumbling groans and moans as his fingers played with the short locks of hair at the back of his head, somewhat steering where his head would go, how far away and how up close and personal, whether to suffocate him with cock or not. He compliantly slurped up and down his length with his tongue hanging out from his mouth, spit dribbling down his chin, down his neck, dropping to the bedsheets beneath them, before Enji groaned again, this time signaling that he was bored, hands yanking him away from the wet activity.

“Lie down on your back.” He wasn’t given much freedom to do so on his own as he was pushed down and kept down as Enji swung his leg over his chest where he laid beneath him, trapping face between his thick deadly hairy thighs, threatening to squish his head until it popped from the pressure. “Open your mouth up pretty.” He gaped, feeling the slick of Enji’s balls slide on his chest as he sat down on top of him, pushing much air from out of his breakable ribcage and the lungs beneath. Cock laid between his nipples, cockhead touching his chin. Again, a blob of his spit met his tongue, accompanied by a light playful slap against his cheek. “Keep it open.” He couldn’t hold up to Enji’s command as rough fingers pulled at his sensitive nipples, squeezing them and tugging at them through the thin lacy fabric of his bralette, rubbing on them, making him whine in discomfort, yet with his hands locked to his side underneath the contraption of Enji’s thighs, he was given no room to fight back. “So pretty.” Enji admired, tweaking the nibs tenderly as he rocked his hips forwards, cock sliding up and down his chest, balls squished against him, before he sat up again, kneeling with his cock and balls hovering over him, threatening to sit down and suffocate him while riding his face.

Enji gripped his cock and tugged it up and down to dance his balls on the pretty face beneath him, though the wet cavern he wanted to dip into shut into a thin line before he could.

“I said keep your mouth open.” He growled and the boy was reminded of the former command, promptly opening wide. “Tongue out, play with these balls, Pretty.” His tongue rolled out, at once met with the size of Enji’s nuts as they slid up and down his wet muscle. “You get to decide today: do you want a face full of cum or do you want me to fill that belly up?” He wasn’t given much air to retort with his mouth being filled with cock and balls, Enji’s hand resting on his forehead to keep him perfect and still for his manhood to abuse. “Come on, pick one.” He made him gag as he forced his entire pole down his throat, allowing him no chance to reply. “That’s fine, you can have both since you’re so spoiled.” Again, he stuffed his mouth with his balls, making him gargle and suckle on them, before he took his shaft in one hand and slapped the side of his face, liking how his eyes squeezed even tighter shut at the sharp contact. His face covered in spit and smeared with precum, slick and glossy, with pretty wet lashes. “Let’s paint that face first.” He slapped his face with the weight of his cock again, before placing it on the middle, balancing the slug on his lips and nose, resting between the bridge between his eyes, chin buried in his ball-sack. “Smile for me, smile for Daddy.” 

He forced on a broken uncomfortable smile where he laid beneath the brute man, eyes still kept shut. Enji smeared what oozing precum had breached his tip onto his lips, as though requesting him to open up, which he did, being met with the entire mass of his cock stuffing his mouth, tickling the back of his throat as he fucked into his face. 

“Swallow me down, Pretty. Stay right there.” He choked and gagged at the feel of him continuously pushing into the tight canal of his throat, yet wasn’t allowed to move as Enji’s hand still balanced his head by tugging at the hairs over his forehead, pushing him into place. He coughed and spluttered desperately once Enji let go, though was given minimum time to collect himself again before Enji gave another growling and ruggedly desperate command. “Smile.”  

He fisted his length in his palm, finger rubbing over the tip, pumping furiously into the face beneath him before thick ropes of white cream came shooting out of the tip, hot and wet and sticky when it landing all over his face, running down his cheek, into his mouth, letting him taste bittersweet salt on his tongue.

Enji continued rubbing himself, though slower now, eyes scrunched close as he held onto the euphoric feeling of exploding, feeling himself gradually and too quickly for his liking, coming down from the high, though as he opened his eyes and looked down at what pretty artwork he’d made on his pet’s face he found that he was far from finished.

“What do you say?” His hand’s movements were slow and calculating as he rubbed himself tenderly, without rush.

“Thank you, Daddy.” He hiccupped, relieved to get some rest even as the stench of Enji aided in his discomfort, feeling his stickiness begin to dry on his skin. The rest didn’t last long though as Enji’s cockhead bumped into his lips, demanding he open up to take him inside his mouth again.

“Clean the tip.” He sucked on the mushroom-head, tongue swiping up to clean out the weeping slit. “Such a hungry spoiled pet. Does Daddy taste good?”

He let go with a pop to answer, knowing it was better to just play along. “Mmh, yes, Daddy.” He kissed the head, strings of slime connecting his lips to the thick pole. “Thank you, Daddy.”

Enji reached his hand behind him to find the perky perfect nipples he played with before, pulling at the nib to retract an open-mouthed whine from the boy, allowing him full access to the welcoming wet hole. “Suck some more, get all your spit out on me, get my cock nice and ready for your little butt.” He felt him whine and whimper on his cock at the sound of his words, the panic feeling delicious as it came out like vibrations tickling alongside his length, settling in his balls as he once again fucked into his little face, with him having no chance of escaping, being trapped so perfectly between his thighs. But, his face had gotten used and abused enough, and it was high time he buried himself balls-deep in the no doubt tight hole of his ass and fucked him into a crippled stupid mess.

“Come on, up on your knees.” Strong hands grabbed his hips as he moved off of him, dragging him up into position before he even knew what was happening, with no strength of his own to support himself, falling face first into the pillow to rest, an agonizingly cute display to the man standing behind him, lining him up. “Little boy is gonna get his ass stuffed by Daddy.” He started to jerk himself off, holding his hip and pulling him close. The hand ascending to his mouth so that he could spit into his palm, gathering wetness before grabbing the limp cock of his pet in his massive warm hand, resulting in the boy jolting out of his resting pose, surprised by the sudden touch of his sensitive member. Though he was pushed back down again by Enji’s other hand, it having left his own cock leaving it to rest between his ass-cheeks. “No, no.” He scolded. “Posture, Babyboy, face down in your pillow.” The massive hand pet over his head, pressuring him to simply lie there and take it. “Get this ass up.” He corrected his stance by pulling his hip up into position, back arching like a cat stretching, ass pulled close into Enji’s crotch. “Hands on your back, give me those hands.” He fished for the limp arms, folding them behind his back, letting go once he was assured the boy knew to listen to the order. “Now spread those knees.” Enji took hold of his thighs and shuffled his knees further to the side, the boy feeling the wetness of cold spit on the sheets, as Enji continued stroking the cock between his thighs so lovingly and tenderly, rubbing over the sensitive tender velvety cockhead again and again, feeling him leaning back and shivering under the touch. “There we go, perfect.” The hand pressed against his back dragged down his spine slowly, before it stopped to cup the ample soft dome of flesh, his thumb swiping over the unprotected tight butthole, all ready for the taking, helpless and broken and all his. “Are you excited?” Enji shuffled back on his knees, giving a quick glance over the perfect ass in front of him to inspect the face that was neatly and snuggly squished against the pillow, happy to see the pretty concoction of fear, surrender and anticipation displayed on his face, just like a submissive pet should look.

He shuddered as he felt Enji’s warm breath on his ass, the exposed sensitive ring of tender flesh slightly burning at the feeling.

“No one’s ever taken this ass before, have they?” The statement was rhetorical as he already knew the answer and was instead a gesture made simply to gloat, as it was followed by a satisfactory hum and a set of warm wet lips pressing a sloppy kiss onto the puckering opening, hand still jerking his cock, having him shivering for him. “You’re all nice and ripe for me?” Another wet kiss was placed at the entrance, though this time the lips remained tightly locked, mouth sucking on the skin, tongue laid out flat as he dragged the rough rigid texture up over the hole, before poking through the sensitive rim, pumping the fat wet muscle in and out of the tightness. He let go with a smacking pop, lips quitting their suction.

His thighs were shaking by the end of it, his cock still held firmly in Enji’s hand, allowing him no room to move away, in fear he might just rip his dick off. Enji balanced his own cock between the perfect set of plump ass-cheeks raised up for him. Putting his thumb into his mouth before he once again rubbed it over the now wet hole, pushing through the tight rings of muscle to bury the digit inside. “So tight.” Came his rugged breath as he groaned, beginning to rock his hips forward while pulling the boy back to meet him by the thumb he had hooked inside him, his thighs meeting with the back of his ass, as his cock stroked through the crack, where large heavy balls clapped against smaller ones.

The thumb was removed, though not the hand handling his cock as he was left drooling into the pillow he was pressed against, his own hands going numb where he’d managed to keep them perfectly folded behind his back. Though the absence of the thick thumb was soon replaced, doubled even, as two fingers sank into the hole, promptly curling them, forcing him to whine like a cat, a moan so wet it stuck in the drool in his throat. He whimpered as the digits parted from each-other inside him, stretching him out, before pumping them in and out slowly, working the tightness.

Enji groaned at the sound of the boy’s measly whimpers, wet and pathetic, perfect. “I think your pretty ass is ready.” He gripped his cock, tugging on it up against his stomach, spitting onto the glistening wet hole presented to him, the one he was soon going to plant himself deep within. He slowly and carefully, taking his precious time, as though savoring it, lined his manhood up at the puckered opening, gently pushing his twitching cock into the back entrance, forcing a cry out of the smaller creature at his mercy. “That’s so tight…” He moaned, closing his eyes, focusing on the tight snug fit pressing around his cockhead, hugging him close. His fingers had definitely made it easier to enter, but it wasn't enough to make it easy by any means. “Does it feel good?” The tone was patronizing, as though he was talking to a child, looking over at the drooling mess he was burying himself inside, feeling his butt twitch around the fatness of his tip, as though sucking on it. “Want me deeper?” He started slowly sliding in inch by agonizing inch. Breaching each ring of muscles that surrounded his fat length. “All the way?” Watching as his hard sex disappeared into the ample ass until he was completely engulfed. The view alone had him pulsing inside.

One hand steadied the ass, making it easier to sink into place without any interruptions or split-second fearful protests, acting as a represent and fear-tactic, threatening to land a sharp painful smack against the soft flesh if he were to go against what Enji had made clear was going to happen one way or the other. The other hand had more or less the same purpose, where it laid slow attentive strokes to the unsheathed throbbing cock. Though as he bottomed out inside his ass, the hand moved from playing with the painfully tender pulsating pole in favor of fondling the balls at its base, gathering both his own and his pet’s in his warm palm and messaging them together before he slid slowly out of the clenching tight hole, enjoying the tremors that seemed to wreck though the frail body he had positioned in prayer-stance before him.

“You like that?” Enji purred, having pulled almost all the way out before pushing back inside the warm walls of his slave. “You like getting taken in your tight little ass?” He wasn’t necessarily fishing for any response, most likely the opposite, simply wanting to prove how right and good and perfect their dynamic was, how this is something they both wanted, both needed. “Nothing to say, pet?” He snickered as he once again stuffed him completely full with his cock, listening to the wet choked moans that were whined into the pillow beneath him. “Is my little pet enjoying himself that much, is my cock that good?” He picked up the pace, only a little, rocking faster, fast enough for his balls to begin swinging to hit the other pair of balls it met with each soft thrust. “Tell me how good my cock is.” The hand steadying him squeezed the plush doughy flesh, a pain sharp enough to bring him to his senses, allowing him to formulate what words he knew Enji wanted to hear.

“Fe- feels good, Daddy, thank you Da- Daddy, feels so, so goo- good.” He croaked, face hugging the pillow close, buried in the fluff of it, the plush sucking up what drool seeped from out the corner of his mouth, and what tears spilled down from the corner of his eyes. The cover wet and sticky and itchy against his skin as he rocked softly further into it each time Enji filled him up and pushed him down.

“That’s right.” Enji drawled with a smirk, gorging at the submissive wet mess he had wrapped around himself. “And you thought you were scared.” He chastised. “When we both knew you were just hungry.”

#yandere #yandere todoroki #yandere enji todoroki #yandere enji x reader #yandere enji #yandere todoroki enji #enji thirst #bnha enji #enji todoroki #todoroki #bnha todoroki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia

[robininthelabyrinth]

(Uh. You're bio says prompts are open but your ask button says prompts are closed? I'll send a prompt anyways, feel free to ignore me.) The Burial Mounds are not made for people. It's not willing to change this. So as people eat it's food, drink it's water, breathe it's air... /they/ change. They're still human, technically, probably, but they're... different

It affected the strongest first, Wen Qing found.

Strong was, of course, a relative definition – no one at the Burial Mounds was ‘stronger’ than Wei Wuxian, of course, but all his power was borrowed, not his own, not after what he’d done to his golden core. So rather than being considered the strongest, he was considered among the weakest, right up there with A-Yuan: the rest of them, despite being civilians, had at minimum been civilians in a cultivation sect, meaning that they either had golden cores or had made some progress in developing their qi.

Of them all, Wen Qing and Wen Ning had always been the best; it had been that which had made them Wen Ruohan’s favorites.

So, to no surprise, it affected them first.

It wasn’t that they didn’t know that the Burial Mounds was full of resentment: a battlefield so bitter that it had poisoned the earth and water and air, left without purification for years upon years, and eventually the resentment had solidified, turned into a rotten lump of it.

It was that they hadn’t realized that it had started resenting anyone who tried to change it, and that it instead sought to change them.

It was a little like Stygian Tiger Seal, Wen Qing reflected in those years where she had too much time to reflect. That had been a regular sword, once – some cultivator’s treasure, no doubt, right up until they stabbed it into the corrupted Xuanwu’s side as they did, leaving their mark on the beast even as it ended their life – but years and years of being near resentment had made it resentful itself.

Had given it power, but also – malice.

The Burial Mounds had malice to spare, and it did not like them when they were just – human.

When they were still cultivators, trying their best to purify what little evil they could before they planted their crops.

So it changed them.

Wen Qing was the strongest cultivator left alive from their Wen sect, but Wen Ning – Wen Ning was something else, of course. Literally, thanks to Wei Wuxian’s demonic cultivation.

Perhaps the Burial Mounds saw what he was – a fierce corpse, living and conscious and shot through with resentful energy, not needing to eat or drink or sleep, no ability to purify anything – and thought that it would be much happier if the rest of them were like that too.

Wen Qing was the strongest, and so it went for her first.

At first she thought it was her own strength showing through. She’d always refrained from meals when possible to allow her family to eat more, especially A-Yuan, because the amount they were able to buy or grow was simply not enough for all of them. But she’d closely monitored her inedia to ensure that she was not growing weak – that was equally unacceptable, someone had to protect them – and eventually she noticed that her ability to refrain from regular food had grown rather impressive, to the point that she barely ate a bowl of rice once every fortnight.

Meditating in a small cave seemed almost like it was enough.

It wasn’t until she was there, drawing in what she thought was natural qi, and something living came in – a bird of some sort, she though – that she began to realize that something was wrong.

Did realize.

It was hard not to, not with the way she had torn at the bird with her teeth and swallowed the heat of its blood down her throat, leaving it rich in meat but without any blood.

After that Wen Qing had quietly panicked – though of course she’d brought the bird back for the rest of her family to cook and eat the normal way – and she’d vowed that she would eat only rice and radishes, just the way the rest of them did, and not resort to her cultivation any longer.

It was too late, though. The rice tasted spoiled in her mouth, even though everyone else ate it easily; the radish made her gag even though it was fresh. She could not eat them.

Only blood was sufficient.

Wen Qing wasn’t sure what to do about it – she couldn’t just go and hunt all the time, there weren’t enough living things on the Burial Mounds to make that practical, there was a reason they’d tried growing food instead – but around that time Wei Wuxian got the idea of making a blood pool for his experiments.

She didn’t know where he got the blood or how he kept it fresh.

She didn’t ask.

In the beginning it was only a spoonful here and there, enough to keep her energized and healthy while she tried to force herself to live on human food again, but after a while she found that a single cup of blood each week was enough to sustain her entirely, meaning that her aunts and uncles and poor little A-Yuan could eat a little more.

(Wei Wuxian ate too much, just as much as he might if he were a normal human who had never practiced inedia or couldn’t because his core was gone, but he was their benefactor. Of course they had to feed him before all others, except maybe the growing A-Yuan.)

After a while, Wen Qing noticed some of the others – Fourth Uncle was first, but others weren’t far behind – also leaving food on their plates, unable to eat, only they were wasting away for lack of it. She should have let it happen, maybe, but they’d worked so hard to survive, gotten through so much together, and so she decided to slip them a little blood in their tea, just to see if it would help.

It did. It was like night and day, the way their faces filled with life again – animated and cheerful, the way she remembered them best.

So she kept doing it.

(She’d once had medical ethics that forbade experimenting on those who did not know or consent, she recalled vaguely. She’d thrown those ethics into Wen Ruohan’s face, refusing to do his bidding even if he killed her, and he’d rolled his eyes and given in, assigning her only to hospital work for his soldiers and a management position in a supervisory office – he’d been nasty and cruel, but also practical, at least when it came to members of his family; he preferred to boast of having an excellent doctor as part of his clan over yet another corpse in his Fire Palace, and she’d made it clear that was the choice.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t accepted her refusal, though, and once you decided there was something worth breaching your ethics one time, it made it so much easier to make the same decision again – and again – and again…)

And then, before she knew it, the end came.

Wen Ning struck down Jin Zixuan on Wei Wuxian’s sloppy, badly-designed orders – however unintentional it had been on either of their parts – and the Jin sect demanded blood, whether Wei Wuxian’s or theirs. And Wei Wuxian was their benefactor, and that meant it had to be them.

Wen Qing told the Fourth Uncle about what she’d been doing with the blood before she left, not wanting them to starve because she wasn’t there any longer, and then she went to Jinlin Tower to die, seething with resentment about the whole thing. And they took her brother away, and they killed her and scattered her ashes in the Burial Mounds, probably as a final fuck you to her.

They also killed the rest of her family.

She knows they did, because whatever they did to kill her, it didn’t quite – stick.

It was about a year before she fully reformed herself out of the ashes, piecing each ash together back into a physical body like they were all just puzzle-pieces, and crawled out of the ground. Her family was waiting for her: their bodies had been thrown into the blood pool, and the blood of the pool had interacted with the blood already in their bodies – the blood she’d fed them – and they hadn’t stayed dead, either.

“We’re going to need to be careful,” she warned them, settling into the role of leader as easily as always. “We’re living off resentment, now – I’m not quite sure if we’re mo or gui, depends on when we count it as having happened, but either way, we’re now the things that cultivators night-hunt. We can’t allow ourselves to become known, or we’ll be targets.”

Nods all around.

She looked around, reviewing the crowd. “…where’s A-Yuan?”

“I think he’s still alive,” Granny said. “I hid him away before the battle, and the place was empty when I checked it again. No corpse.”

“Good,” Wen Qing said. She hoped he stayed that way, alive, the way they weren’t. “I don’t know what happened with Wen Ning – they didn’t kill him along with me. Maybe we can try to find him, later.”

Maybe they could find A-Yuan, too.

Maybe they could finally make themselves the home they’d been trying to build for so long.

#mdzs #wen qing #wen sect #my fic #my fics #vampires #because why not #that-one-fangirl-in-the-corner

[hieludoboi]

Okay okay hear me out,,, Todoroki x a nb!reader,,, He finally actually confessed to them and the reader is just like cannot accept that Todoroki Shouto actually likes them. They're in total disbelief

A/n- Reader’s just standing there like “Me? Oh. That’s right, who else here is named Y/n” and Shouto’s kinda just standing there like ‘....’

A/n- Also! Just the thought of Pro Hero Todo getting like a scone or something sweet every morning before a patrol (I headcanon Shouto liking sweets, just idk, something about it just works for me) and slowly falling for the baker at his favorite bakery

A/n- I did a little research for how to write non-binary readers and such, and I feel like it’s kinda difficult to write for them unless specifics are given! Some non-binary individuals are masculine, other’s are feminine, some go by they/them, some by she/her or sometimes by zie/zim. I didn’t feel like it was right for me to write for these individuals specifically until I do a bit more research and learn to properly write for them!

A/n- Non-binary is a blanket term encompassing a whole list of genders/identities that don’t exactly follow societal gender norms! Sometimes non-binary individuals have gendered pronouns, sometimes they don’t! Since you didn’t specify I’m going to label this as a more gender neutral thing! 

A/n- Update, I researched like two hours and I still don’t understand. My brain very fried no work from online classes brainrot but not by bokuto by staring at screen all dy. Someone pls give my pigeon brain examples on how to properly write for nb! readers rn or I’ll pull out the glock >:(

Pairing- Pro Hero! Shouto / Gn! Reader

Summary- So he was serious? 

Warnings- not really?

It was a mundane Tuesday morning. The sun had yet to rise, slowly peaking over the city’s skyline, yet somehow getting lost among all the trees and towers. As with every morning, Y/n started off their day by preparing for their day. A quick shower, followed by washing their face and brushing their teeth. Before they knew it, they were trudging out of the house and making their way to the bakery to prepare for the morning rush.

Y/n was quirkless in a society plagued by quirks, an average day to day citizen if you will. They didn’t mind, in fact, life even seemed a bit easier when they didn’t have to worry about controlling some strange and odd power. The rest of the world, however, couldn’t begin to fathom how they even managed to lead a life without a quirk. 

Stifling a yawn, they made their way to the front door, unlocking it before closing it and locking it behind them. If the day went as planned, which normally it didn’t, they’d have scones, muffins, and croissants all out and freshly baked by six. Bear claws, donuts, and danish pastries would be out by eight, all the rolls and loafs would be done by ten and by eleven they could hopefully get started on the sugary sweets that their younger costumers seemed to enjoy so much. 

Their morning dragged on as usual. One by one the rest of the employees pooled into the back kitchen, kneading dough and making batters to pour in to tins or mold into shape. Grunting, Y/n picked up a tray chocked full of scones and made their way towards the display cases, setting the tray atop the display and carefully arranging the scones inside. Looking up at the pretty light blue clock, Y/n hummed. Their day rarely went as planned, but they could always count on Shouto coming in once the clock hit six-thirty. 

“Waiting on Mr. Pro-Hero?” Y/n turned around, feeling the heat begin to seize the apples of their cheeks. Sputtering, Y/n turned around, ignoring their coworker and instead focusing on arranging the last of the scones.

“Come onnnnnn! How are you so oblivious!” Y/n huffed, quickly standing up before thrusting the empty tray into Hina, their coworker’s, hands. “Y/n. He likes you!!” Hina groaned, following a wordless Y/n back into the kitchen. 

“Hina. No he doesn’t!!” Y/n mocked Hina as they slid a tray of muffins into the oven. Hina grunted, pulling out a giant bowl of risen dough before letting it fall onto a flowered counter top. “Besides, he’s rumored to be dating Creati,” Y/n pointed out, dusting their hands off on their apron.

“They’re just ru-” Hina rubbed her temples, watching as Y/n made their way towards the front at the sound of the little bell ringing. When would they stop being so oblivious?

--------------------------------

Nothing seemed to go right that morning. While on his usual morning patrols, Shouto had run into Momo. While it was a welcome surprise, the situation was not. They had run into each other while battling a lowlife villain with a disastrous quirk. Damages were not kept to a minimum, and all Shouto wanted to do after being chewed out by local authorities was to go bite into a delicious scone at his favorite bakery. 

“This could have gone better,” Momo sighed, rubbing her temples as they both surveyed the damage they had done to the small plaza. Shouto nodded, he couldn’t agree more. “We should probably go out west, right? If there were robberies here, there’s bound to be some in the shopping centre,” Shouto nodded, Momo had some nice ideas. 

“We can stop by a bakery there too, I know a place that makes some nice scones,” Shouto explained as they walked, a subtle smile on his face at the thought of the baker that awaited him every morning. “What time is it?” SHouto asked, turning to look at Momo. 

“Oh, it’s around seven-thirty, why?” This morning could not have gone any worse for Shouto. First, he has to stop villains at the crack of dawn, and now he’s going to miss out on scones? Admittedly, they didn’t sell fast, but the bakery didn’t make a lot of them either. 

“No reason,” Shouto shrugged. He hoped he wouldn’t miss Y/n.

-------------------------------------

Y/n sighed, watching as the seconds ticked by on the clock overhead. It was eight already. Shouto was never late, ever. The man had a thing for punctuality, and even when everything was going wrong, Y/n could always count on seeing their favorite customer before the sun fully rose.

“Pretty boy ain’t here yet?” Y/n stood up, turning to look at the smug grin on their co-worker’s face. Curling their lip and rolling their eyes, Y/n went back to slouching over the counter, resting their chin on their palm as they zoned in on the glass door ahead of them. “C’mon boss! Cheer up, we’ll never make any sales with a grumpy face up front!” Y/n frowned seemed to become deeper, rooting itself in their brows and lips. 

“And I suppose having a super buff woman who looks like she can pop your head off with a squeeze of her biceps at the counter will allure customers like nothing ever could?” Y/n teased, grinning as Hina flexed her biceps. 

“Children adore me. They see me and are amazed by the ‘big muscle woman’,” Hina gloated, wiggling her eyebrows while continuing to pose behind the counter.

“Yeah yeah, go help Kohaku before he breaks an arm trying to knead the dough,” Y/n grumbled, pushing Hina into the kitchen so they could focus on the sales upfront. Kohaku liked decorating cakes, but every once in a while he’d have to knead dough while Hina helped Y/n arrange things up front.

Picking at their nails for a minute or so with boredom, Y/n’s head instantly popped up as soon as the bell on the glass door chirped. Their eyes instantly attatched themselves to the blue suit before them, almost completely ignoring the red latex that stood beside it. 

“Shou! I was starting to think you’d... never get here,” Y/n’s voice was filled with excitement at first, immediately dying off at the sight of Creati, who stood right next to him. Offering the pro hero a pleasant smile, Y/n grabbed their gloves and tray, their tongs hanging off a little hook on the display case.

“What can I get for you two?” Y/n asked, the bright smile that usually reached their eyes seeming to drown before it could fully rise. Shouto frowned a bit to himself, wondering where the usually happy and bright baker he had grown so used to had gone. Was he maybe reading too into it? 

“Oh! I’ll a pumpkin walnut muffin! They look so good!” Momo praised, delicately pointing to her preferred muffin through the glass case. 

“Thank you, made the recipe myse-”

“And we baked them!” Y/n winced at Hina’s booming voice, opening their eyes as soon as it died out. 

“Sorry about that, you’ll come to find that this bakery comes alive after a certain hour,” Y/n explained with a giggle, placing the muffin on the tray they held. “And you, Shouto?” Y/n asked, tilting their head a bit as they awaited his answer. 

“The usual,” Shouto made sure to offer them a grin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his suit as he watched Y/n set the tray on the counter. 

“Lucky you, I made sure to save one just for you!” Y/n hummed happily, reaching for the last scone before placing it on the tray. Shouto could feel the shy smile subtly spreading on his face, did they really save on just for him? 

“I’ll pay, it’s the least I can do after you helped me out earlier today,” Momo said, turning to give Shouto a smile. 

“Right, thank you, Momo,” Shouto gratefully accepted his scone, waving goodbye to Momo as she left the shop. Shouto preferred to eat his scones at the shop anyway.

“Are you not joining me today?” Shouto looked up, a confused look on his face as he watched Y/n fidget behind the counter. They would always snack on a danish pastry and sit with Shouto before he had to leave again. It was routine at this point. 

“Oh! Right, sorry,” Y/n muttered sheepishly, snagging a pastry from the display case before heading over to Shouto’s usual spot by the window. For the umpteenth time that day, Shouto could feel himself frowning. He wondered what was wrong. 

“S-so you and Creati?” Y/n asked, taking a small bite from the sweet bread that sat in their hands. Shouto looked up, eyes widened in surprise, midway through a bite of his scone. Was that what this was about?

“She helped me stop some villains this morning, that was all,” Shouto explained. Y/n hummed, nodding their head as they started to pick at the jam filled sweet in front of them. “Oh, uhm...” Shouto mumbled, his brow furrowed as he began to search his pockets. Where had he left it?

“You okay, Shou?” Y/n giggled, amused by the way his face had contorted when he began to search for his little mystery item. 

“Yeah, fine... Oh! Found it,” Shouto muttered, pulling out the small box that had resided in his pocket since the day prior. “Here, for you,” Shouto mumbled bashfully, sliding the velvet box across the table to Y/n.

“For me? Shou... That’s sweet, but you didn’t have to,” Y/n explained, gently sliding the box back to Shouto. Accepting gifts felt odd, especially if they were from Shouto. They could already imagine what ridiculously expensive gift sat inside.

“Please, open it?” Shouto asked, sliding the box back across and making sure to set it in Y/n’s hands this time. Y/n gasped, eyes wide as they felt the heat rush to their face. Open and closing their mouth in a flustered fit, Y/n finally decided to delicately pry open the box, eyes tripling in size at the sight of the gold chain anklet studded in pearls that sat in the box. 

“Shouto... No, I can’t accept this,” Y/n insisted, shaking their head profusely, shutting the box and trying to put it back in Shouto’s hands.

“You can, and you will. Can we go out sometime?” Y/n could feel their jaw drop to the floor. First the anklet and now he’s just asking for a date like it’s a regular Tuesday?

“M-me?” Y/n asked, looking around the shop, the confusion settling in their eyes, locking their mind in some sort of fuzzy haze. 

“Yes, so, will you?” Shouto asked once more, amused by their cute little reaction.

“Uh, sure... Sure...”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at seven,”

“But we don’t close untill-”

“THEY’LL BE READY BY 4!”

“Hina-”

“I SAID YOU’LL BE READY BY FOUR DAMNIT!”

“I’ll be ready by four!”

#bnha #bnha fic #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #bnha oneshots #bnha imagines #mha #mha fic #mha x reader #mha x y/n #mha oneshots #mha imagines #mha shoto #bnha shouto #mha shouto todoroki #bnha shouto todoroki #mha todoroki #bnha todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki x reader #todoroki imagine #shouto x reader #pro hero shouto

[paper-cloud]

i. the crushing weight of what happens next

part of "(there will be a) tomorrow"

fandom: prospect (2018) characters: ezra, cee rating: T words count: ~3K context: post-canon general warnings/tags: see series masterlist warnings/tags for this chapter: ezra's pov. angst. not graphic descriptions of wounds, blood and amputated limbs. mentions of minor characters' death. (probably very) inaccurate but anyways vague descriptions of medical treatments and post-anesthesia symptoms. taglist: @ravensmutty @buttercup--bee @thegreenkid (again, thank you all for your interest and encouragement! :3) @krissology @ezrasarm @bonktime (please forgive my nerve, i won't tag you in the next chapters unless you'll explicitly ask me to! just thought about someone else who might be interested and you guys are AMAZINGLY talented and inspiring "prospect"/ezra writers. it's not my intention to waste precious moments of your time! 🤡

[SERIES MASTERLIST] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

He'd have thought it was almost ironic – opening his eyes to the light only to see nothing. To feel pain.

He'd have laughed about it, most likely. A bit later, he'd have acknowledged it was a reasonably fair compromise; for him and any other wretch that'd ever dared play dice with darkness and miraculously made it out alive.

And in the very end he'd come to laugh at himself, too.

He knows the drill. Someone who trades their own life with the contract of the highest bidder doesn't see the universe in black and white, let alone is in a position to draw the hypothetical line between the two of them.

Must be an even more wicked universe than he's ever cared about, then.

At least, that's where the struggle of opening his eyes made him stumble upon; when a blade of light thrust through that hint of a gap he'd pushed himself to create in the middle, resonating through the dark coils of unconsciousness like a harsh, unforgiving bell.

A skilled mariner over silky rivers of natural redundancy and rapids of professional edges, Ezra is a man who can appreciate a sharp wit when he recognizes one.

That was too much even for him.

Floundering in between a blinding whiteness and a black hole that wasn't even completely black, but permeated by a thick, suffocating haze that filled every ghost haunting his mind with its stench. With the color of diabolically lush leaves.

Forest— spores— poison— death.

It hadn't been enough to let him dangle in apnea above a roaring vortex of lifeless emerald; take him away from the grey flow whose elusiveness he'd come to appreciate more than he'd ever hated to endure its chaos— from the bubble built on the routine series of one last jobs that, in the end, never really were.

There'd been a moment when, from the higher parts of the room, his pupils tumbled down, tripping over a patch of green discreetly lurking in a corner.

He almost threw up.

It had taken him a while to clear out the misty grit clotted in his corneas— focus on white walls, light wood paneling... a harmless seedling in a pot.

He'd breathed heavily, deeply. He sure hadn't got much relief from it. Still, he'd been able to hear its sound, louder than he'd ever heard it before, the musical, cooling mesh of oxygen particles in and out of his lungs almost begging his fingers to be touched.

Oxygen.

Fresh air.

Had he been less sore – less convinced it was just the residual effects of anesthesia pulling pranks on him –, he would have burst out laughing. Even more so if some poor soul of the medical staff nearby would have called for reinforcements from the other side of the space station before storming into his room.

He'd be laughing now, too. The best he can manage is sitting on his bed, leaning his back on the headboard – which is what he's struggling to do right now— and well, sometimes the room lighting still slightly bothers him. Of course, with all the painkillers and antibiotics they've given him, he wouldn't feel like the wound on his stomach is swallowing the entire arsenal of stitches and bandages.

He just wouldn't like her to get the wrong idea.

He blinks several times, like a man who no longer trusts his eyes. How can he, when they're burning like that, in such a different fire from the one from days before – damp and flickering? For reasons he can imagine, she seems to be faltering. Totally beyond his comprehension, he could swear she's smiling at him. Something inside his ribcage creaks oddly, while the curve of his chest arches upward.

"Birdie."

It's just a huff of breath, weak and hoarse, yet scratches his throat all the same, in a way that its walls feel studded with rock spurs. Actually, Ezra doesn't remember talking since they left the Green behind – which, being him, is saying something – and it's like an eternity has passed since their pod docked up there.

The nurse who let her into his room has just left and Cee sinks her hands into the pockets of her sweatpants. She's still smiling— just the faded shadow of a smile, now that he takes a better look at her.

"How's your wound?"

It sounds a lot less plain than he expected.

She hasn't moved towards him any further, and for now she's not showing any hints at wanting to. In her irises, Ezra recognizes thumping stars and cerulean clouds, all clustered in the black circle cut by the large porthole next to his bed. All before catching the thin mist veiling them. As if she did want to reach those stars, let herself get carried away by those streams of bluish dust, but she had no idea how or what to do there.

He looks down, the borders of the bandages over his abdomen slightly raised under his black short-sleeved tee. He clears his throat.

"S'healin' nicely", he says, with a deliberate lightheartedness that costs him a sharp, bizarre inflection in his voice. He closes his eyes soon after, tilting his head condescendingly. "That's how the nurse feels about it, anyway... S'not like I can feel much more right now."

This reminds him of those vacuous moments between brief, chaotic waking states and delirious dreams. When he'd managed to reconnect some essential key points scattered around in the talks of surgeons and nurses; the weariness he felt from simply gathering he was on a space station due to enter the orbit of Mesos in three cycles and something standard hours. All while his only solid reference point – the only indisputable proof he was still alive – was the sequence of beeps chirped by the medical monitor perched nearby. Constant, not monotonous. Friendly, even. Sometimes, he actually comes to miss it.

"A trust fall to the extreme, I'd guess", he snorts, a sly laugh as weak and heavy as the words trudging out of his mouth. As the whole rest of him.

Whatever answer she's considering, Cee freezes it in a quick purse of her lips – maybe a nod, but for his own good he'd rather be doubtful. Then she starts looking around.

There's a chair under the board firmly anchored to the opposite wall – probably a desk or something he's never needed to test, whatsoever. She grabs it and puts it next to his bed. She sits down, bringing her legs to her chest, squeezing them in her arms.

Waiting for what, Ezra has no idea, and he's afraid she doesn't have any, either.

He doesn't speak, though, nor does he encourage her to do the same. Her pearly gaze roams steadily but unhurriedly from him to somewhere beyond him, her nose buried in the gap between her knees. He studies her carefully, two purple crescents above her cheeks, a few hair strands swinging down her face without her wiping them out. The nights she's slept through haven't been any more peaceful than his.

Trust, he recalls in the meantime.

It sure brings an odd taste to his mouth. Something close to sweaty spacesuits, grimy paths and gone-off ration bars. A single word for two human beings forced to share the same air filter for days; that, and the image of a dead body left to rot miles behind and the desperate commitment not to end up in the same way.

His gaze just happens to trip over his right side, taking in the deflated sleeve over the emptiness that saved his life. When he lifts it back to the girl, meeting her eyes just before they can flutter away, he realizes they were both looking at the same spot. And he realizes something else— something he's already understood, yet not quite.

There is no tube binding them now.

"Why d'you do it?", he mumbles a split second later, almost like somehow the thread of his question has immediately knotted to the one of his previous thought.

He huffs. He shouldn't even have asked her, in all honesty. Seeing her like this, at least he should have put it in another way, danced around it, it's not like he’s never been good at stalling, after all—

"Comin' back", Ezra says instead, and when he swallows, he mainly does it to send his heart back down his throat. If he'd died without being given the last chance to be this straightforward on this matter, he would have probably kicked his ass all the way to the other side. 

This time, Cee doesn't avoid his gaze. He shouldn't be surprised by how collected she looks, given the calmness she handled his infected arm with and then told him about when she used to slip into Jata Bhalu carcasses. But he can't help it when he thinks she can't be much older now than what she was then.

He watches her breathing in, wobbling her pupils here and there, seemingly considering his words. She's not afraid, not any more than what she seemed to be when she walked into his room. Maybe she's just better than him at playing pretend – but this, he can't tell whether it's more of a good than a bad thing. Especially for her.

One thing he can tell is that she's not the same girl who pointed a trembling gun at him before running away into the woods. He knows she's not afraid.

He knows...

So is it the hunter's instinct he has to blame if he feels she is?

"Guess I've seen too much death on that forsaken moon to just... turn my back on one I can help– one I can do something about."

If he was standing in front of an entire mountain crumbling down into the ocean, he wouldn't hear its sound. ‘Wouldn't even be the worst he deserves. She did hesitate before adding the last few words, but Ezra refuses to believe she did that because she was afraid of hurting him. He may be a wretch, but not a fool.

Kevva, for a man who's always managed to untwist himself from far tougher situations with the tangles of his tongue alone, he's sure having a deal of trouble – and he wishes he could put all the blame on his current physical condition.

There is no word he doesn't have to weigh carefully now, to prevent it from taking too sharp edges once out of his lips. He may float around it forever. But once he's let her go without saying anything, he'll hardly find the courage to look within himself again, more than after any other job that hardened his hands with calluses and tarnished his eyes with blood.

He doesn't know for sure. In fact, everything he was sure to know – about the turning direction of the universe and the one of the wheels in his head – has already collapsed in front of him, tracing a flaming tail. An unforgiving meteor following a trajectory far beyond his grasp.

He just knows silence scares him, in a way that a wrong word will never do again. It terrifies him. More than as a talkative person, as a castaway on a hostile moon for too many cycles to keep their count – with the only company of a mute. Silence is green; the green of the most poisonous pollen, lethal in his brain just like toxic spores enveloped in his lungs. The green of snake scales ready to stand and scratch his flesh until liquid crimson pours out of it.

And at the end of the day, this is the only fucking thing he can tell himself to know without having his guts churning and chest heaving a beat later.

"Stop looking at me like that."

It's more of an exhausted prayer than an annoyed remark. Ezra blinks, stunned by the sudden return from the shapeless stream of his thoughts.

"Like what?"

"Like you're looking for the words to thank me", Cee settles back into her chair and this time she lets one leg touch the floor, "Tell me you owe me, and you– you're sorry about what you did."

Ezra sniffles. "Would it be bad?" 

"No, it—". She closes her eyes for a moment, clenching her jaw. "Just no good", she breathes out, calmer.

And the discordant note in those words conjures up ghosts not yet vague enough for Ezra to be able to tolerate them without something twinging inside him— like a violent flutter of wings. Voices groping their way up ravels of compromises. Damon, deep in the forest. Himself, with the mercenaries in the Queen's Lair. Cee, days before that. After he—

She's right— those words she hasn't said yet, but whose shadow he feels looming every time he catches her wetting her lips.

Some things just can't be split evenly.

"This is not the Green", she states, suddenly more confident but no less exhausted. "If you're going to hang around just because you need to, once we reach Mesos¹ you'd better be on your way."

Ezra doesn't interrupt her. A faded echo starts making its way into his ears. A former prospecting partner, many years ago. An easy job on a forgettable Fringe moon.

Gems don't have an expiration date. Deals do. Strike 'em if you need to, get rid of them as soon as you can. Unless you care to dig a quicker way to your grave.

He didn't pay attention to it, then. He'd thought it was just the empty rhetoric prospectors drop absentmindedly to fill the time between an unrewarding digging and the next. All the more so under the rickety advice of a couple too many.

His eyes still wide open, hands shaky, he merely reciprocated the awkward bottle lift of his partner, whom he didn't know more than the meanders of that quarry. A toast to a faceless future – a nothingness still more reassuring than what was all around and behind them. Not to the darkness of the cave, basically unbreakable if only for the red halo thrown by the twinkles of sharp, sinister Prystines². Not even to the two poor bastards that had set out with them, ending up skewered a few hundred paces behind – one by mistake, the other to return the favor of saving him from the clutches of a furious Aiu³.

Like an idiot.

Several contracts later preventing him from missing a beat in front of similar hiccups, the logic of that statement no longer sounds so absurd to Ezra. Luckily for him, Cee understood it long before him.

"I was just lookin' for the words to tell ya you'll be better off without me—"

Half a truth. Half a heartbeat. After all, she isn't the only one of them who knows how to sell it.

He leans his head back against the headboard, eyes half-closed, a sly grin baring a couple of his upper teeth. It would almost be intimidating, except that the glint hitting them doesn't quite match the dying one in his eyes.

"—But you beat me to it", he finishes, and he sounds like he's about to fall asleep.

He slowly turns his head away, looks through the porthole. His gaze clutches to the passing asteroids outside, distant nebulae spraying the sidereal black with hues of purple, blue, red— then green, again. A climbing plant squeezing him from the inside, discomfort starts creeping on him an inch of his body – what's left of it – at a time.

He doesn't want her to think he's angry at her, and it's the only concrete foothold emerging from the fluid, magmatic chaos in his mind.

How could he be, when she came back to get him?

She didn't have to.

She doesn't have to be here, either...

"I'm sorry", she suddenly blurts out.

He meets her eyes again, a mix of bewilderment and disapproval shading his own. He shakes his head.

"Don't."

"I just—". She starts fiddling with the extra fabric created by the folds of her sweatpants. Then she sighs deeply. "I have no idea what I'm gonna do now."

He snorts. "Not that it's s'pposed to make you feel any better, but... neither do I."

He doesn't have a hazy helmet choking the glimmer in his eyes, an air filter breaking some frequencies in his voice— maybe just those making him sound sincere, while saving those trapping him into the swamp of self-loathing.

He was nothing but honest when he told her the rules of the game on the Green. When he openly admitted he was a killer, and when he assured her he wouldn't trade her for the Sater's Aurelac. And she's always seemed to believe him, maybe for that kind of desperate inertia that washes over people when they need something to cling to. Whatever the case, Ezra can only hope she wants to believe him now. But she doesn't speak, and for a moment his fear of not saying enough overcomes that of crossing her boundaries.

"But w—", he immediately bites his tongue, "—you still have three cycles to figure things out. Someone up here will be able to help you. Even so, please know you'll always have my most sincere gratitude."

The effort of lining up all those words and so few pauses to catch his breath casts a thick fog over his ears. His eyes suddenly hurt again and he finds himself squinting.

What happens next, he just records it, hardly managing to follow each cause-effect relationship. A series of events softly raining on him without making a noise, while he can quite imagine them to be way more prolonged in time. Cee leaning towards the lighting panel on the wall, sliding her finger counterclockwise, and the white coating the walls turning less painfully bright; her getting up, walking away, dwelling just before the door. "I'll come to check on you tomorrow", she says, sniffling.

She tilts her head, holding his gaze in her watery one for an agonizingly slow while – Please, don't ask me why.

He blinks once – Of course.

Then, the automatic door is once again engulfed by the wall, closing behind her with a metallic rustle.

Tomorrow.

His heart is taken by a spiraling jolt that leaves an empty cave behind. When it falls back into place, Ezra finds something has tripped in there, shapeless and quivering like the nucleus of a newborn star.

Hope, terror and everything that lies in between. 

___________________

NOTES:

1) Mesos — Invented planet. Its only raison d'être is that "mésos" in Greek means "middle" and my intent was to frame this story in a moment of transition (after those of movies) for both Ezra and Cee. 2) Prystines — Invented kind of crystals. They're implied to be huge, red and very sharp, thus endangering the path through the cave. 3) Aiu — Invented predator, ideally a big feline.

A/N:

Yeah, uhm... at this point, if someone was ever to give me any kind of feedback, constructive criticism or random thought, I think I'd just melt into a puddle for the attention alone. And to all those who came all the way down here, your bravery shall not be forgotten. ♥️✨

In my defense, it's (almost) all P**** P*****'s fault & of his habit of taking orphans under his wing from one planet to another.

I know people in the fandom generally tend to make Ezra and Cee go along straight away after the movie, so this will be a slightly different take on things, I guess... But even if I don't know if I'll keep this series going atm (life & maturity exam suck), a final reconciliation is definitely on the way. ;)

Oh, and any beta reader that should feel like helping me out for when I'll have the next chapters ready is warmly welcomed! My DMs are always open and I swear I don't bite! :3

#prospect (2018) #prospect movie #ezra (prospect) #cee (prospect) #pedro pascal #sophie thatcher #my writing ☁️ #geez what tf did i write this so long for? #it's all sadness and insecurities and introspections #hopefully i'll fit more dialogues in for the next ones... #which means kevva help me when i'll have to put my hands on that verbose space rascal's dialogues #i already know i'll ruin him but i really don't want to but he's so fucking intimidating but— #*goes hiding in her cave*

[spicycreativity]

Intertwined - Chapter 2

Chapter: 2/9

Additional Notes: Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick"

Chapter Content Warnings: N/A, ask to tag

Excerpt: Patton watched, endeared. Seeing Janus laugh was like catching the green flash at sunset, a rare and beautiful sight he never thought he would be lucky enough to see.

Despite last night's promise, Janus was different. Or rather, he was the same: flashing only a token smile at Patton as he draped himself artfully over the kitchen island.

From the moment Janus had set foot in the kitchen, Patton could feel the regression. It was written in the gentle boredom resting atop Janus' features, in the way he made a show of fussing with his capelet. Like he had better things to do, and anything, even the drape of his clothing, was higher priority than Patton.

It hurt, but Patton swallowed it down because it was the only thing he knew how to do, and did his best to make Janus feel welcome.

"Morning!" he said brightly, already reaching for the coffee pot. Despite last night's lack of sleep, he had awoken to his natural rhythm (which was, much to Logan's curiosity, separate from Thomas' own), and immediately set about consuming as much caffeine as he could get his hands on. It had worked its magic, to a certain degree, and Patton found the day much easier to face. "Coffee?"

Janus nodded without making eye contact, glancing instead over his shoulder, then leaning forward to look into the white fog where the hallway turned back into the subconscious. "Don't tell me the others are still sulking?"

That stung. Patton tugged at one of the friendship bracelets encircling his right wrist, reminded himself to be patient. "They're allowed to be upset," he said, polishing his tone to a gleaming, brassy shine.

"What about Virgil?" Janus asked. Patton frowned, remembering how distant he had been, and turned away from the coffee pot to face Janus.

Patton wasn't sure what he'd expected. Janus' face gave nothing away, but... could he be worried about seeing Virgil? Why else would he ask? "Virgil might wander in," Patton said cautiously. "He's a late sleeper."

Janus nodded, studying his nails with a nonchalant expression even though he was wearing gloves. Patton squinted, opened his mouth to speak, remembered something. "Right, coffee." He took a mug down from the cabinet by the refrigerator, choosing a pale blue one with a pink heart on it. They had lots of mugs because that was how a home should be. Extra everything for guests and travelers and family.

"I had forgotten about Virgil," Janus said quietly. "So he's still practically nocturnal?"

"Only sometimes," Patton admitted. Hopefully Virgil wouldn't mind his saying so. It wasn't like Janus was a stranger, after all. "Milk in your coffee?"

"I'll take care of it," Janus said. He was smiling and sitting up when Patton turned to hand him the mug, and although he was no longer draped over the kitchen island, he seemed more relaxed, somehow.

Patton sighed, relief coursing through him at the return of this Janus. His Janus. "Did you sleep okay?"

"Yes," Janus said, and Patton wasn't sure whether to believe him. He was so guarded all the time. He never seemed to give anything up by accident. "I suppose you did as well?"

"Actually, I did," Patton said. He leaned over the kitchen island so he could face Janus, who had put his head down, staring fixedly into the shimmering black of his coffee. The set to his jaw was familiar, the refusal to look up. He looked embarrassed, although Patton couldn't fathom why. He decided to continue talking, to make the space more comfortable. "Yup, I fell asleep pretty much as soon as my head hit the pillow. Guess you could say I was frog tired." He winced, grateful that Janus wasn't looking at him, and pressed on. "Anyway! Want me to make you breakfast? I can do happy face pancakes better than Denny's."

"Better than Denny's?" Janus said, finally looking up. All traces of embarrassment were gone from his face; he turned his human side to Patton and gave a crooked smile. "Why, Patton, are you boasting?"

Reflexive shame warmed Patton's cheeks at the call out, but Janus was still smiling. Oh. He was teasing. "Better than Denny's," Patton affirmed. This was new territory, but it felt safe, somehow. Janus was being… Well, nice. Smiling and relaxed, he looked as at-ease as any of the others would. Like he belonged here.

"Who could say no to that?" Janus said. His snake eye lit up when he smiled, Patton noticed suddenly. It wasn't the same as the human side, but then, it was probably hard to get any expression at all out of the left side, what with the scales getting in the way.

Patton smiled, too, and for a moment, all his troubles seemed like distant things. But the respite didn't last and guilt turned in his stomach. He would make enough pancakes for everyone, and deliver them to Roman and Logan if they didn't show up. None of them technically needed to eat, being imaginary; none of them needed to do anything at all. But Patton liked to cook, and the thought of Roman and Logan sitting alone with nothing made his breath hitch. Yes, he would make enough for all of them and then some.

Neither Janus nor Patton made any attempts at conversation while Patton got all his ingredients together. Logan had told him the name for that, some Italian phrase, or maybe it was French. That sounded right. "Hey, Janus?" Patton called over his shoulder, tossing a bag of butterscotch chips onto the counter.

"Yes?"

"Do you know what this is called?" Patton asked, already transitioning to the fridge for the whipped cream.

There was a pause. "...The kitchen?" Janus said.

"No, no." Patton set the whipped cream down on the kitchen island and popped the cap off. "When you get all your stuff together before you cook. I think it's French?"

"Oh," said Janus, his face growing thoughtful. " Omelette du fromage."

"No!" Patton turned away to laugh, one hand still on the whipped cream canister.

"Scout's honor." Janus held up his gloved right hand, facade not cracking for even a moment.

"It starts with an M, I think," Patton said, twisting up his mouth as he tried to remember.

This bubbled over into laughter when Janus said, deadly serious, " Momelette du fromage." That was when he finally lost it, and hid his mouth behind his hand, shoulders shaking with suppressed mirth.

Patton watched, endeared. Seeing Janus laugh was like catching the green flash at sunset, a rare and beautiful sight he never thought he would be lucky enough to see.

His palm began to ache with cold, and he realized he was still holding onto the whipped cream. Remembering his idea, he waited for Janus to surface from behind his hands before brandishing the canister. "Open."

"Shut," said Janus, eying him with obvious doubt.

"Open!" Patton insisted, shaking the can a little.

"Absolutely not!" Janus said. "Here." He finished his coffee in a few swallows and held the empty cup out to Patton. "They do this for dogs at drive-throughs, you know."

"A puppaccino for you," Patton said, filling the mug with whipped cream. He was just about to tilt his head back and spray some into his mouth when Virgil rounded the corner all cloaked in shadows, with his hood up like the Grim Reaper. Patton flinched so hard it almost hurt. "Virgil! Good morning, kiddo!"

"Not with him here," Virgil said, jerking his hooded head at Janus.

The change was nearly instantaneous and it came down in front of Janus like heavy iron bars. He leaned back in his chair, resting one elbow on the back of it so he could toy with what few strands of hair peeked out from under his hat. "Now, Virgil , is that polite?" he asked, affecting shock and offense. His eyes flicked to Patton, but he stopped short of making eye contact and directed his gaze downward instead. "Here I am talking with my friend--" a pause-- "and you come in here and insult me."

“Seriously.” Virgil looked at Patton. “What is he doing here?”

“Sitting,” Janus said before Patton could even think. “Is that allowed?”

"Uh, since you're asking my permission, no. It's not allowed. Get lost."

"Yes, that obviously wasn't a rhetorical question. You're so clever."

Panic welled up in Patton’s throat and he couldn’t control it-- they were just bickering now, but it would spiral and someone’s feelings would get hurt. He didn't even realize he was backing away until he hit the wall behind him. Oh, god, he wouldn’t have to choose, would he? He couldn’t. Just the thought made his breath hitch like croaking in his throat and no no no--

"Virgil," Janus said, a touch too loud. "Truce."

Patton looked at him, panic falling away in the face of his confusion.

"What?" Patton watched Virgil's posture open a little, shifting from defensive to something a bit more neutral, versatile. "What are you trying to pull?"

Janus waved a hand, flashing yellow in Patton's peripheral vision. "Patton can fill you in the gory details as he sees fit. Here's what you need to know: I'm in."

"You're in?" Virgil repeated.

"I'm in," Janus said again. "Quid pro quo." He paused in between each syllable, his gaze intense and never wavering from Virgil. "I gave up my name--"

"You what?"

" Please interrupt me; that will make this go so much smoother." Janus paused, but Patton and Virgil remained silent. "I gave up my name, and in return, was given a voice." He turned his face downward and began to fuss with his right glove, and it took Patton a moment to realize that he was taking it off. For what? Another vow? What else could he possibly have to swear to?

"What are you doing?" Virgil asked, drawing back as Janus stepped away from the kitchen island and approached him.

Janus held up his bare right hand like a magician at a street show, then held it out for Virgil to shake. "Truce, Virgil. You don't like me, I don't care about you, blah blah blah. That doesn't have to change. But for Patton’s sake, for everyone’s sake, we can at least be civil."

Patton watched them in wide-eyed silence. For his sake? Janus was doing this for him?

The silence stretched on.

"Look," Janus said, clearly losing patience. "There's nothing I can do to make you trust me--"

"Uh, you could start by losing the attitude," Virgil sneered. Something clicked in Patton's head, but he had no time to pursue it as Virgil turned toward him with a hard look in his eyes. "Patton."

"Yeah, Virgil?"

"What's his name?"

Patton pressed his back harder against the wall, letting it take more and more of his weight. That was all he wanted, someone to hold him up for a while. But he had nothing, nothing but the turmoil before him and the cold, white wall behind his back and friendship bracelets like circles of fire around his wrists. "It's Janus."

Virgil scoffed, and something akin to a smile flashed on his lips for just a moment. And then, to Patton's surprise, Virgil shook Janus' hand.

“Am I interrupting something?” Logan’s voice came from the doorway sounding as cold as the air around them, though Patton was reasonably sure that was poor Roman’s doing.

“‘Morning, Teach,” Virgil said, withdrawing his hand from Janus’ and shoving it in his pocket. “You’re not interrupting anything. What’s up?”

“Why don’t you sit down?” The words left Patton’s mouth in a frantic yelp, all high-pitched and desperate. He didn’t care. He just needed Logan to be okay; it was his job to make sure Logan was okay.

"No, thank you," Logan said firmly. "I only came to invite you to a meeting." He lifted his head and looked at Janus. " All of you."

"What kind of meeting?" Patton asked.

"A meeting regarding Thomas' functioning from this point forward. I believe we have cause to reassess some matters and re-examine some notions that were previously regarded as truths," Logan said "Please meet me back here at precisely 9:30. That is one hour and 23 minutes from now. I am telling you this now so you have adequate time to prepare and do not keep me waiting." Logan turned to leave.

"Wait!" Patton said, throat aching with the urge to cry. "Don't you want-- I can make toast or, or you can put Crofter's on the pancakes. The batter’s almost done."

“No, thank you,” Logan said, just as firmly as he had turned Patton away last night, before he’d gone to see Janus. And he turned and walked away.

“Jeeze,” Virgil said, his face still half-hidden under his hood. “What happened to him?” So Patton told him what had happened the night before.

And when he was done, Virgil had knocked his hood back, angry tears glimmering in his eyes. He rounded on Janus, practically shouting. “That was completely out of line!" Janus was silent. "It wasn't enough to completely shatter Roman's trust in himself, no , you just couldn't handle the insult to your precious pride , could you? God, you're such a jerk. I should drag you down to Roman's room right now and make you apologize, you-- you snake. "

"Virgil!" Patton interrupted, feeling the shards of his broken heart shatter into smaller pieces. "That's not fair."

"Not fair ?" Virgil repeated. He had gone bright red, both his hands clenched into fists. "What's not fair is that Roman's all alone in his room thinking that Thomas doesn't care about him!" He rounded on Janus again, angry tears still sparkling in the corners of his eyes, "It should be you; I wish it was you. You just fucking break things, don't you? You keep trying to tell us you're not the bad guy, so why is it that everything you touch ends up like this, huh? Why can't you just leave us the fuck alone?"

“Enough, Virgil,” Patton said, shooting an apologetic look at Janus. But Janus seemed unperturbed, standing with his arms crossed and a pitying expression on his face, like Virgil had just made a gaffe at a dinner party.

For some reason, that only made Patton feel worse. He was supposed to be their shepherd, the light to unite them and guide them through troubled times, and all he had done recently was cause fights and make people miserable. He would have to try extra hard at Logan’s meeting. They could all be friends again, for Thomas’ sake. They just had to work together.

--

"Aww," said Patton, desperate to break the chilly silence the only way he knew how. "It's nice to all be together, isn't it?"

He scanned everyone's faces for some trace of happiness, grasping for something, anything. Eye contact, half a smile. Just some hope that he hadn't broken things beyond repair.

Virgil raised an eyebrow at him, which was… Well, it was something. It was more than Logan's sickening lack of expression, it was more than Janus' closed-off scowl. Roman made a noise that Patton recognized at once as a choked sob, and continued to stare into middle distance.

Logan had gathered them into a conference room, evidently of his own invention; Patton had certainly never seen it before. Sitting down felt wrong, since they usually had these conversations standing and facing each other, but there wasn't really anywhere to stand. So they all sat in the high-backed leather chairs, spread out around a massive wooden table so varnished and clean that it reflected the fluorescent lights overhead.

Patton, not Logan, sat at the head of it. He hadn't noticed, at first, until they were all seated and everyone had turned to face him. The ensuing case of nerves made his stomach turn. What did it say about him, that he had taken the seat at the head of the table without even thinking? No one else had gone for it… Had Patton trained them all so well, manipulated them into being obedient for him?

Over to Patton's right, Janus planted his elbow right on the lacquered tabletop and rested his chin on his knuckles. "Alright, let's see Paul Allen's card."

From Patton's left, he heard Virgil snicker and clear his throat, but when Patton turned to look, he had gone back to glaring at Janus.

"American Psycho?" Janus continued, evidently unbothered by the lack of response. "No? Tough crowd."

Patton frantically tried to think of an American Psycho quote to answer back with, but he hadn't been paying attention when Thomas had watched the movie. All the blood made him feel queasy, not to mention the drug use and sex.

He was paying for it now, with no way to support Janus. Not that Janus seemed to mind; he was lounging in the stiff leather chair like it was his own personal throne.

"Let's begin," Logan said. He was sitting straight upright in his own chair, all the way down at the other end of the table. He sat across from Roman, the two of them as far from Patton as they could possibly be. "As you all know, Thomas doesn't know what to do in his immediate future. He is currently lying in bed staring at the wall, a behavior which was previously considered unacceptable. The purpose of this meeting is to determine how we should guide Thomas through this… fraught time."

Logan stopped speaking, and what Patton had thought would be a pause stretched out into an awkward silence. "Uh, don't you have any suggestions, Logan?"

"No."

"Well, um. Shouldn't he get up and make breakfast or something?"

"If you feel that is the best course of action, I will write it down." A legal pad and a pen appeared before Logan and he began to write.

"Roman?" Patton said. "Anything? Maybe he could watch Parks and Rec while he eats? Or, uh, something else. Whatever he wants to watch."

"I don't care," Roman said in a hoarse, ragged voice.

"What?" Patton's heart wrenched, and the sensation was painful enough to make him twitch.

"I don't care," Roman repeated. "Whatever you say."

The scratching of Logan's pen seemed to echo in Patton's ears and he swore he could feel a physical weight on his chest. "Wh-whatever I say?" This wasn’t right; they were supposed to contribute… They were supposed to help...

"Oh," Janus' voice cut through the fog. Patton focused on him, the only light in this storm. "You've got to be kidding me." He laughed, all his features lighting up in a parody of mirth. " That was your takeaway from last night? That Patton should be in charge of everything?" He lifted his head and shifted in his seat, bringing up his hands in tandem like an orchestra conductor. "I'd love to know what factored into that decision. Was it the part where he cracked under the pressure you already put on him? Because that makes perfect sense. What do you do when a bridge is collapsing? Put more weight on it, of course! How very logical!"

"And I'm sure you'd prefer it if we all put you in charge?" Virgil snapped. Patton turned his head to look at him, not wanting to be rude, but Virgil didn't seem to notice. He had somehow found space to draw his knees up to his chest and wrap his arms around them. Only his eyes peeked out from behind his legs, and his gaze never wavered from Janus.

" Yes , Virgil, that's my point! Take all that pressure off Patton and put it on me, that's exactly what I want. Congratulations, you uncovered my evil scheme to work myself into a nervous breakdown. I wonder what video game character I'll turn into."

"Like you haven't been aiming for a total takeover this whole time! Patton's probably your next target."

Janus actually laughed at this, which Patton almost couldn't conceive of. How could Janus laugh when Virgil was throwing such terrible accusations at him? They were both being so-- so ugly . The idea that Virgil might be right-- No. Patton couldn't even consider it. He had made the choice to trust Janus and he had to stick with it, right or wrong.

He slammed his palms onto the tabletop, marring its spotless surface with his touch. "Just stop! Stop arguing!" Great, everyone was looking at him now. "I can't be in charge of Thomas all by myself. Please help me."

Roman planted his forearm on the table and buried his face in it. Logan made a note on his legal pad. Patton had never been a violent soul, but for a moment he was nearly overcome by the sudden urge to grab Logan's rollerball and snap it in half.

"Patton," Virgil murmured.

"Just help me," Patton repeated, staring at the smudges his palms had left on the lacquer.

Janus stretched one arm across the table and stole Logan's legal pad and pen. He tore off the first page and began to write, speaking aloud as he did so. "Breakfast. Cereal, something easy. Parks and Rec. He gets three episodes, then he's getting up to brush his teeth, then going for a walk around the neighborhood. With headphones."

"Without," Virgil said. "In case someone tries to sneak up on him and jump him."

Janus paused in his writing and stared at Virgil. Then his gaze flicked to Patton and, to Patton's surprise, he nodded and went back to writing. He was honoring the truce after all. "No headphones." He pursed his lips, as though physically holding back whatever comment he wanted to make. After a moment's pause, he added, "In fact. He's putting his phone on 'do not disturb.'"

"But what if--" Patton blurted before he could stop himself. He covered his mouth with his hand until he noticed Virgil glaring at Janus. He shook his head at Virgil and dropped his hand. "What if someone needs Thomas?"

"And they think he's ignoring them," Virgil added. "And they get mad and stop trusting him."

"Any point on this list is negotiable," Janus said, and Patton had known him long enough to tell that Janus was only setting up the pins for the sake of knocking them down, "but only if your argument is reasonable. Hypotheticals are not reasonable arguments."

"Told you so," Virgil said to Patton. "He wants total control."

Janus slapped the pen down on the table with an unpleasant crack and pushed the legal pad toward Virgil. "Behold! My nefarious agenda."

Before Virgil could move, before Patton himself could be tempted to look, he flipped the legal pad over and slid it back to Janus without reading a single word. "I believe you."

"Patton--" Virgil protested.

"We can work this out like adults," Patton said.

"Well," Logan said frostily, standing up from his chair. "It appears as though you have matters under control without the need for my further involvement." He sank out before Patton could even start thinking of something to say.

Roman lifted his head, revealing tired eyes. At least he hadn't been crying at the table, Patton supposed. "I'm going to go, too," he said, and sank out without another word. The temperature rose noticeably, but remained uncomfortably cold. Poor Roman. It wasn’t often that he got so upset that he lost control of his imagination.

"You next," Virgil said to Janus. "Me 'n' Pat have got this handled. We can do this on our own." He looked expectantly to Patton, gesturing with his head for Patton to dismiss Janus.

Patton sighed. Why was Janus the only one who didn't seem to want something from him? Janus, who Patton even a day prior had suspected of puppeting them toward some bleak apocalypse, was the only one not trying to get him to do anything. Patton almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it. Everything was wrong.

"I don't think I can do this," Patton murmured, staring at his palm prints. Even after his colossal screw-up last night, they were all looking to him. He had failed, let them all down. He was the one who had manipulated everyone into seeing him as a good person, a leader, a father . And even after watching him fall, they all still trusted him to make it right.

Everyone except Janus.

Patton never could have guessed that the idea of not being trusted would be so comforting.

"You have to!" Virgil said.

"I know."

"Anytime you want to wrap up this little soap opera," Janus said. He was lounging in his chair looking supremely unbothered, spinning Logan's pen across his gloved fingertips. "We need to decide what Thomas should eat for lunch. He just bought a bag of granola--"

"No!" Patton and Virgil shouted in tandem.

"Don't we have to worry about, like, nutrition or whatever?" Virgil continued, smoothing his hair back.

"Logan would know all about that," Patton said, staring at Logan's empty chair. "I wish…" He let the sentence go unfinished. It didn't matter.

" One day of mindless self indulgence isn't going to kill him," Janus said. "See what I did there?"

"Read the room, dude," Virgil said.

Patton let them bicker for no other reason than that he no longer had the mental energy to tune in. They were only arguing, after all, and he was here if they needed him.

He really hoped they didn't need him. That ugly desire dominated his mind, the sudden, selfish urge to be completely unavailable. It was wrong . It was wrong to be selfish, it was wrong to shut down like this when the others were depending on him.

Suddenly the walls felt like they were closing in. He wished Logan had included some windows or something, some decor. Anything other than this sickening seafoam green paint.

"Thomas can put his phone on 'do not disturb,'" Patton announced. He wasn't sure if Virgil and Janus were even still arguing about that, but they were definitely arguing about something.

"What?" said Virgil. "You're seriously taking his side?"

Janus said nothing, but the splotches of yellow and black in Patton's peripheral vision had gone very, very still.

"Virgil, I need you to understand, I'm not taking anyone's side. It's just that… Well, you heard what happened when I tried to guess the right answers."

"But you're--"

"Fallible," Janus interrupted. "As are we all."

"Except you, right?" Virgil said.

"When have I ever said that?" Janus demanded.

"It's obvious! You don't have to say it. Every time you come waltzing into one of our discussions, you just bring it with you."

Patton sighed and sat back in his chair. He couldn't fix it. Everything he said and did was wrong . Everyone was at odds, and it seemed they all wanted Patton on their side.

He stared at the legal pad and thought,  seemingly out of nowhere, of the Judgement of King Solomon. "We'll do it half and half," he said.

"What?" said Janus.

"Virgil decided that Thomas won't listen to music when he goes for a walk. Janus gets to decide whether Thomas puts his phone on 'do not disturb.' Virgil gets the next decision. And so on."

"Fine," Virgil said. "He's going to have salad for lunch."

"And then he's going to take a long shower and sing as loud as he wants without worrying if anyone can hear him."

"Fine, but then he's going to watch true crime videos and start working on a strategy for what he would do if he ever ends up getting interrogated by the police."

"He's watching cat videos afterward to cheer himself up."

Patton sighed, seeing that they had forgotten about the legal pad, and started writing.

The plan they settled on was a lazy one. If Thomas stuck to it, he would ultimately accomplish nothing with his day. But Logan wasn't there and Roman wasn't there, and Patton barely had the will to advocate for himself . He just wasn't strong enough.

He wondered, briefly, if there was some way he could split himself up, and give a little bit of support to Roman, to Logan, to Virgil. They really seemed to need it, and it had to be hurting them that Patton wasn't there. And the rest of him, whatever was left, could seek comfort in Janus and his total lack of expectations. What else was he supposed to do?

"That's a wrap," Janus said, pulling Patton out of his morbid fantasies.

"Good job, you two," Patton said, and the praise sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Great teamwork."

"Don't get used to it," Virgil said.

Janus stood, sending his chair rolling back until it bounced off the wall. "I'll be going, then. Virgil, it was a pleasure ."

"Wait!" Patton yelped, suddenly panicked. "I wanted-- I…" He faltered and looked at Virgil, who was watching them closely. "I want to talk to you."

"I'm not gonna leave you alone with him," Virgil said, and Patton wasn't sure whether Virgil was addressing him or Janus.

"It's okay, Virgil," Patton said.

Virgil shook his head, and Patton's heart dropped when he noticed that Virgil was shaking a little, his breaths coming shallow (but thankfully, even). "It's not okay. He's dangerous, and I… I couldn't protect Roman. I couldn't protect Logan. I can't let him get you, too."

Patton thanked all the stars in the sky that Janus had the good sense to keep his mouth shut and not wind Virgil up when he was clearly upset. "It's okay, kiddo. That's a lot of pressure to put on yourself. And… I know you don't trust Janus, but I need you to trust me. Can you do that?"

"I-- I guess so." Virgil bit his lip, looking like he wanted to say something else. He dropped his voice to a murmur, so much that Patton had to lean in to be able to hear him. "I just want to help. I spent so long causing problems; I just want--" he sighed "--to be good."

"You are good, kiddo," Patton said, reaching out slowly. Virgil didn't flinch or shake his head, so Patton put his hand on Virgil's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. "But if you really want to help out, maybe you can go try to cheer up Roman? I haven't had much luck with him, but he might listen to you."

Virgil nodded. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? I'm never gonna forgive myself if Janus hurts you."

"Ah, your ol' pop star will be just fine," Patton said. "Better than fine! I'll be gay-OK."

Virgil didn't smile, exactly, but the corners of his eyes crinkled a little and that was good enough for Patton. "Alright. I trust you." With one final dirty look over Patton's shoulder, he stood and sank out.

Patton turned around slowly, suddenly nervous. Part of him knew it didn't make sense. Logan had created this space; he and Janus were on neutral ground here.

"Parley?" Janus asked from the far end of the table. He had summoned up a chessboard and was evidently playing a game against himself.

"If we're gonna parley, should we do it in a par- lor ?" Patton joked, chuckling weakly.

Janus' smile was crooked and Patton couldn't tell if it was sincere. "You're absolutely right." He vanished the chessboard with a wave of his hand and stood up. "Follow me."

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #moceit #spicywrites #spicywrites intertwined

[wastelandlovingscenarios]

Yeash! Another react blog! Your first was super cute!!💕 I thought this idea was pretty cute too. How'd the guys react to a usually expressionless and stoic survivor who always has a blank expression one day burst into heartfelt, gut clutching, knee slapping laughter till the point they're adorably flustered, gasping, and in tears at some random off handed comment the guys' made(they have surprising hilarious random dialogue in game), and still girlishly giggle to themselves long afterwards?

what a cute request! i love it!

thank you for requesting & i hope you enjoy this one. i couldn’t find all of their dialogue from the game so i kept it very general and left it up to your imagination. <3

these are preromanced partners and i’m going to assume that they’re strictly just professional. no romance or crush.

-

he didn’t know whether to find it uncomfortable or relieving that their partner was expressionless and strangely stoic since the day they first introduced themselves to him. on one hand, he found a tad bit helpful when he wanted nothing more but to kick back and relax while on the other, he wanted more than just a one sided conversation and silence. he shrugged it off eventually, coming to acceptance that regardless of what the wanted, that was just who they were in the end. it wasn’t until one day where he muttered an off handed comment while exploring the cabin that he got his first ever reaction from his partner. at first it was quiet as per usual but the silence was soon replaced by a snort that soon turned into loud laughter that resonated within the empty room. his eyes widened, looking over his shoulder to find them clutching their stomach with one arm while the other held the wall for support as they broke out in a fit of chortling. their face was flushed and tears peeked out of the corner of their eyes as they attempted to catch their breath. well this was new.

Danse:

he was absolutely dumbfounded at the sudden reaction his partner had exhibited right in front of his very eyes. he’d be unsure of why the hell sole was laughing and would raise a brow at their peculiar behavior, trying to ignore the blush creeping on his cheeks. even if he tried to act serious, he knew that their laugh was utterly adorable and he unbeknownstly let the sounds that escape their lips etch into his mind. danse turned around slowly to face them and waited for them to cool down, trying to maintain his professional attitude to avoid the risk of saying something he’d probably regret. he would be unsure of what to do, clearly distracted by their change of character and would instead stare at them intensely as if he lost all sense of ability. sole would wipe the tear off their eye, looking up at danse before straightening themselves out, “sorry paladin, i couldn’t help but laugh at what you just said.” what he just said? he didn’t mean for it to be a joke but fuck, he wasn’t complaining. this was probably gonna be the first and only time they break out of their character and he secretly wanted nothing more but to indulge in the moment. with flushed cheeks, he’d respond firmly, attempting to shake off the events from earlier, “it’s fine. should we continue our mission?” they’d nod, continuing to giggle under their breath from time to time as they rummaged the room together. danse would be completely out of focus for the rest of the day, unable to keep his guard up as their laughter replayed in his mind for hours on end.

Deacon:

his confusion would turn into shock which immediately turned into a sense of satisfaction that was clearly written all over his face. with a cocky grin, he strided over to them, patting their shoulder as they continued to laugh loudly. “guess the good ol’ deacon charm finally hit ya.” as he observed sole, he’d feel a sense of pride and joy build up within him with every second that passed. they’d catch their breath after a minute or so, staring up at deacon with tears eyes and a goofy smile. “don’t get ahead of yourself. it was only one time.” his grin grew much wider. oh, he loved those words coming out of their mouth. even if it wasn’t directly given, he knew damn well that it was a challenge waiting to be conquered and who was he to turn down such a task? deacon crossed his arms as sole raised a brow with a curious expression. “that look on your face reads bad intentions.” he chuckled at their comment, readjusting his sunglasses. “me? bad intentions? why i would never do such a thing! besides, we both know that this won’t be the only time i’ll make you laugh.” sole would roll their eyes and shove him playfully to the side so they could walk past him. “we’ll see about that.” he’d hear the small giggles that left their lips as they continued on with their mission. “doesn’t seem like you’ll last long with all that giggling, charmer.” they’d throw a pencil at him in response to which he dodged without breaking a sweat. “shut up deacon.” silently, he built up all the one liners and jokes he was mentally capable of creating and knew that sole was in for one hell of a fucking ride. this was his biggest challenge yet and he was determined to make sole laugh again, one way or the other.

Hancock:

he’s very good at hiding his astonishment and would instead wrap an around around soles shoulders, happily smiling at their newfound personality he never knew they had. he loved the way their lips curled upwards and how the blush on their cheeks looked as it grew more evident. the way their laugh echoed was music to his ears and he instantly knew that he preferred this side of his partner rather than the other. now that he’s seen it, he didn’t wanna live with the idea of never experiencing it again. “if i knew there was a funny bone in ya, i would’ve made you smile a long time ago, sister/brother.” he jested, his eyes unable to leave their face that he secretly admired up close. they’d turn their head to stare at him, their blush only firing up more at their closeness. he’d flash a friendly grin at them, signaling that he meant no harm whatsoever despite the sudden contact. from the looks of it, it seemed to ease sole as they released the tension from their shoulders. “shit, i didn’t mean to laugh. sorry.” with a shake of his head, he’d immediately shush them, “an apology isn’t needed. if anything, i find this side of you charming as hell and i definitely would want to see this side of you again.” they’d become embarassed, trying to fight the blush that painted their cheeks. “thanks, hancock.” he would pull his arm back from their shoulders and nod in response as they both continued to venture the house further. he’d hear the small giggles that left their mouth every here and there and he’d tease them without hesitation. “glad to know you’re taking up my offer, sister/brother. would be shame if i never got to hear that sweet laughter of yours. it’s music to my ears.” it would only make them giggle more and hancock would chuckle back, feeling a sense of contentment linger in his chest.

Maccready:

he was having a bad day and let out a comment to express his annoyance. he only expected it to get worse as sole laughed carelessly at it, disregarding the irritation in his voice that was clearly obvious. instead, he felt all the weight on his back lighten as he gazed dumbly at sole who didn’t even bother to hide the expression on their face. maccready bit back a smile of his own, feeling his day grow a little less shittier the more their laugh rung in his ears. guess happiness was contagious after all. he’d approach sole with a softer expression, his fingers fiddling nervously with the gun that relaxed on his hands. “here i was thinking if i was running with an emotionless and crazy psychopath,” sole would slow down on their laughter and notice the small smile forming on his face despite his attempts on concealing it, “glad i was wrong.” even if it came out as a joke, he knew damn well that he did secretly feel that way but always brushed it off in the end. it was a damn relief his assumptions were proven false. sole smirked at him, “if i was a psychopath, you would’ve had a bullet between your eyes with all that complaining you do.” usually a comment like that would annoy the shit out of him, especially on a day like this, but he took it lightly, a snicker leaving his mouth. “can’t say you’re wrong there, boss.” as they carried on with their duties, he found himself smiling everytime sole let out a soft giggle under their breath. that’s one way to brighten up his mood.

Nick Valentine:

“well isn’t that wonderful.” nick grinned at them and stretched out a hand to assist them on their feet. they accepted his offer and dusted off their clothes with a huge smile on their face. “nice to know an old geezer like me can make you smile.” it would take them a moment to collect themselves before responding, “you always make me smile, nick.” his eyes would widen in surprise at their confession and tried to remember a time he’s caught them smiling at anything he’s said and done. no matter how deep he dug through his memories, nothing would surface. man, old age was really starting to hit him. “guess i haven’t been paying enough attention to notice that. i thought you were ready to drop me with how bored you look.” sole would deny that accusation immediately, waving it off as they continued to stray away from their usual character. “not at all. everything you say entertains me. whatever you just said now really got to me.” nick would tip his hat, “glad to be of service then. i’m pretty sure i got more of those in mind if you’re willing to lend an ear every once in a while.” sole would bring a fist to their mouth, chuckling to themselves, “of course.” he’d definitely be sure to bring up any comments similar to that fashion in hopes to brighten up soles day, even just a little.

Gage:

he was grateful sole was distracted enough to miss the pure shock plastered on his face as he watched them over his shoulder. he’d immediately shake it off to avoid getting caught with such an expression and to save him from the embarrassment if sole were to taunt him. gage would attempt to act normal as if their reaction hadn’t fazed him, but if sole were to squint hard enough, they’d notice the soft crimson dusting his cheeks. thankfully, they had absolutely no intentions with doing so and continued to laugh loudly at some random shit gage had sputtered out to himself. “if you laugh any louder boss, someone’s bound to hunt us down.” sole would stifle their laugh, slapping a hand against their mouth in attempts to quiet themselves down. gage would snicker at them; he didn’t actually think they would take his words to heart but here they were, choking back a laugh that was bound to release sooner or later. he let out a chuckle, “i’m just jokin’, boss. laugh all ya want, just make sure we got the job done. alive preferably.” sole tittered as they nodded, the blush still bright as day on their cheeks. he turned his back on them, a half smile forming on his face. seeing the overboss all tough and shit made him feel at ease, but this side of them wasn’t too bad either. he wouldn’t bring it up after that, but would secretly be waiting patiently for the next time his partner were to have a similar reaction.

#fallout 4 companions react #fallout 4 #fallout #fallout 4 companions #fallout 4 reacts #fallout+4+companions+reaction #fo4 reacts #fo4 #danse #paladin danse #hancock #john hancock #maccready #robert joseph maccready #nick valentine #nick #porter gage #gage #deacon #fluff #react

[giorno-plays-piano]

You were all I wanted Part 3

Pairing: mob!Peter Parker x plus-sized!Reader

Warnings: yandere, obsession, swearing, human trafficking, mentions of non-con, minor character’s death.

Words: 1600.

Summary: You are bought by the head of Stark crime family for a kid he cares about.

Part 1

Part 2

P.S. Peter is an adult!

This chapter turned out to be shorter, but it's still pretty eventful. Hope you're going to like it <3

___________

"But what... what if he won't like me? What if he'll take me away?" You sobbed, panic taking over you as you imagined Tony Stark pressing a gun to your forehead.

"No, he'd never do that." Peter left a little kiss behind your ear. "Mr. Stark doesn't take the gifts he's made back. You don't have to be afraid of that."

You sniffed at his words. That's what you were now. A gift. A possession. A pet whose job was keeping its master happy. You had to be grateful you were given to someone like Peter, at least. You didn't know whether he would always treat you kindly, but as of now he had never threatened to hurt you. You could only pray for him to fancy you so he wouldn't throw you away like some garbage - apparently, Tony Stark treated his women exactly like that.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up in the first place. Of course, you got upset." Peter cuddled with you some more, but you weren't sure whether he was being sincere. Wasn't he sending you a clear message?

Don't go against me or you'll end just like her.

"Oh, I have an idea. Let's go out! Do you wanna see the movie or something?"

You did your best to wipe away your tears and stared at the boy, perplexed. "What?"

"We have a nice little cinema not far from here. We could go right now, just let me check what they've having today."

"But didn't you say I can't leave this place?"

"I meant without me." He showed you the same smug smirk Stark was wearing all the time, and you lowered your gaze to Peter's chest instead. "With me close you can go wherever you want to."

Funny thing to say. In thruth, you could go wherever he wanted to take you.

"Wow, they're having Beyond Darkness in 30 min! We gotta go, you'll loooove this."

"Sure."

In five minutes you were already hurrying after Peter and trying to look nowhere but your shoes. Regardless of what was there in Stark's Tower, you didn't want to see it, not even mentioning all those guys with guns scattered across the building. Peter was saying his hello to each and every one of them as if he were some mafia's social butterfly.

Whatever. You knew Peter was Tony's favorite not because he had a pretty face. You had never particularly asked what his role in all this was, but it was obviously something way bigger than running errands for the gang. Maybe it was better to never figure it out.

"Hey girl, wanna have fun?" Somebody to your left asked you, and you flinched involuntarily, keeping your head low.

Peter stopped in the very same second and sent the stranger a hard look.

"Mike, you offer my girl drugs one more time and I'm gonna shoot your cute little brother in the leg, you hear me?"

You raised your eyes to Peter's smiling face and regretted it immediately. There was something so dark in his gaze you wanted to turn around and run until you were back to your room, hiding somewhere in the corner.

"Shit! Sorry, Spidey!" The guy's high-pitched voice sounded frightened. "Didn't know you got a girl!"

"Yeah, yeah, see you later, we're kind of busy now." Peter grabbed your hand and pulled you away, heading to the exit. "I forgot to mention before that we don't do drugs. At all. They're good for business, but not for us, ok, Baby?"

"Yes, Peter." You answered and kept chewing your lips, thinking of all the things he had just said. You suspected him to be more ruthless when you weren't around, but never to such extent. How damn scary was real Peter Parker?

"And don't worry, I'd never shoot his brother in whatever part of his body." The boy said it like it was something obvious and you didn't even need to pay attention to it.

Why then did that guy look completely horrified?

When you had finally stepped outside and felt the wind playing with your hair you were ready to cry. Just walking out of the Tower was a fucking torture.

It was already dark, and you pulled the zipper on your pretty blue jacket up, going almost shoulder to shoulder with Peter. Normally you'd be at least a little scared to walk the streets of a big city at night, but the guy your mother had warned you about was already holding your hand.

The place the boy brought you to was truly small but cozy with nice vintage red seats, the delicious smell of caramel popcorn spreading everywhere. It turned out that the movie was something in between Star Wars and Star Trek, which wasn't surprising because Peter was a sucker for anything related to sci-fi. Anyway, it wasn't bad and you actually enjoyed watching it. The movie helped you to keep your mind off your earlier encounter with the drug trafficker and the words Peter said.

The only way to live like that and stay sane was to turn a blind eye to anything that happened around, you thought. It was cowardly and revolting, but what could you do against one of the most, if not the most, dangerous gangs in New York? Surely, even if by some miracle you could flee the Tower and go to police, would they really be willing to help you? No, they would return you to Mr. Stark. You were a hundred percent sure he got it covered.

"Are you feeling tired, Baby?"

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at Peter who smiled at you so lovingly it could make any girl cry.

"Just a little bit."

"Want me to give you a massage when we gonna get home?" His expression quickly turned devious, and he winked at you.

Yeah, great, now you'd have him fucking you before your knees were giving out. The kid had such stamina he could be an Olympic athlete, no less.

"Aw, I love when you blush like that." Chuckling, he put his arm around your shoulders and inched closer to give you a quick peck on the lips. You forced youself to enjoy his little signs of affection and start thinking you ought to be thankful he wasn't into heavy BDSM practices or something like that.

While you two were kissing again, you heard someone's loud footsteps as if this person just jumped out of the corner, and then there was a hateful outburst, "Stay were you are. Your wallets, quick!"

You froze, your hands getting cold as you stared at the face of a guy standing in front of you with a knife in his hands. He was clearly unstable, sick - you could see the dark circles around his eyes, the unhealthy color of his skin, and his greasy hair sticking to his forehead. You didn't know what was wrong with him, but he was twice bigger than Peter. The guy would probably have no problem with slicing both him and you into pieces if you didn't comply.

"I said g-"

"You gotta be fucking kidding me." Peter let out a frustrated sigh before you heard the loud sound of the gun firing.

There was a little black hole in the guy's chest, blood seeping through his dirty white t-shirt and coloring it in a beautiful deep ruby color. You could see the confusion in the eyes of the stranger, his mouth half-open. Slowly, he went down before his legs gave out and he landed at the ground with a loud thud. He didn't move after that.

"Come on, attacking a couple of high shoolers? You're such a psycho, man. Who were you gonna go after us? Kids?" Peter rolled his eyes and hid the gun under his bomber, turning away from the man he murdered and shouting to someone behind him. "It's ok, people! It's just me, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Calm down, go home, it's late!"

You were still staring at the large pool of blood spreading beneath the body of a stranger - lack of light made it look like it was an odd black liquid. Before you could take your eyes elsewhere, you felt bile quickly going up your throat and vomitted, moving to lean your hand on the wall of a building. He killed him. Peter killed him. You didn't even see him pulling out the gun.

"Oh Baby, I'm so sorry." The boy gently held back your hair when you threw up again, feeling scared, disgusted, feverish and cold at the same time. "That's why I don't like drugs and what they do to people. That shithead lost his mind, you see? No sane guy would ever jump on me or my girl like that."

Despite him being so tender, you couldn't even turn your head to look at him as you started shaking from his touch.

You kept emptying your stomach a few more minutes before Peter softly wiped your mouth with his handkerchief and took your arm, walking you back to the Tower and saying all those unnecessary things about how terrible some people are and how everyone has to take care in the dangerous world they're living in. You didn't hear half of that, but you cared little for his chattering.

Peter had shot the man without showing even the slightest regret. He'd shoot you the same way if you ever turned against him - he was Stark's favourite, after all.

__________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki  ​@helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @msruchita @opheliadawnwalker3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #dark peter parker x reader #dark peter parker #spider man #spiderman #yandere #tom holland