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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

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Show me where it hurts (part 1)

Miguel O'Hara x spiderwoman!reader

(AO3 Mirror), Part 2, Main Masterlist

summary: Miguel's acting weird, and you make it your mission to find out exactly what's going on.

warnings: no warnings for this chap, pg-13, swearing and canon level violence. smut next chapter xoxo

a/n: this is a combination of 2 asks and this post I saw on here a while ago: flirty/ snarky fem reader, Miguel during a ""rut"" (I don't know if it counts as a rut really, but its to do with his animal instincts/DNA) and Lyla playing matchmaker. I had so much fun writing this, enjoy :D

(i wrote this pre seeing spiderverse 2, so i think characterisation is a little off, esp for Lyla, apologies! I'll fix it in my upcoming fics)

edit: I use the term "bichita" which I have been informed can be read not as I intended in Spanish. I'm not a native speaker so I want to apologise in advance. I'm doing more research for my future fics and leaving this up as a testament to my stupidity. Spanish speakers, feel free to correct me / clown my ass in the comments. My bad guys :(

wc: 3.6k

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You think Miguel is avoiding you.

One of your closest friends, giving you the runaround for months, it seems. Calling the two of you close friends is a little extreme, sure. You've only known O'Hara for two years, and been in love with him for slightly less than that, thank you very much. And yes, he refuses to call you by anything but your last name. And the last time you saw him he wouldn't so much as look at you, but that was besides the point.

"..the point," You tell Lyla, in between exasperated bites of cereal, "... is that aren't elite forces of spiderpeople supposed to, you know, have some spiderpeople kick ass once in a while? And where exactly is our fearless leader? I haven't seen O'Hara's scary ass in weeks, and I'm starting to miss it."

She gives you a look, one that says this isn't what I'm programmed for , but you pointedly ignore it.

"His ass, by the way." You clarify. "I very specifically miss his ass. Remind me to get his routine. I know girls that would kill for…"

"How the fuck did you get in here?" A voice croaks. You turn behind you and see Miguel, not in his suit, but wrapped up in a blanket like he's just woken up. And he looks rough, like a train ran him over on the way here: puffy eyes, splotchy skin, tension kneaded into his brow.

"Wow." Your spoon drops into the milk. "You look like shit.."

He furrows his brow even deeper, if that was possible. " Mierda. You shouldn't be here."

"This isn't quite the welcome party I was expecting, man. I'm the only one to actually turn up to one of your meetings, and this is what I get?"

"I thought I told Lyla to cancel," He mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Cancel? Since when do you miss a chance to talk about rules and protocol?"

"I don't have time for this-"

"-and I'm not leaving without a proper explanation. Is everything okay?"

"It's actually way worse now you're here." He deadpans.

"Haha ." You turn to Lyla. "You drop everything to travel halfway across the multiverse and this asshole won't even say thanks."

"Thanks, but this asshole needs you to leave. Now."

This is the most he's spoken to you in forever, and you hate that you like it. You just want his attention, however it comes. If that means dragging this out so maybe he acknowledges you, touches you, looks at you - then so be it. Squinting, you get closer to him. You scan his face for anything to latch onto. You put a hand on his shoulder, still searching.

"You sure you're alright? You know you can tell me if-"

"Si, si." He grits his teeth, looking away. "M'just fine. I'll explain…. later."

"...because I'm your right hand man?" You grin, poking at his brow. "Stop frowning so much Miguel, you're gonna ruin that pretty face of yours."

He flushes, nervous, and swats you away. "-what? N-No. You're not my right hand man and I like my face just the way it is. Now, leave. "

Making your way to the door, you tap your nose teasingly. "You know where to find me!"

When the door closes with a click, you make your way down the corridor, and stop in your tracks when you hear it. It's muffled, but with the strain of your supersenses you can make out Miguel's voice just beyond the wall.

"I just…. don't want her to see me like this… Lyla, it's not happening… I can't tell her…." Tell her what, exactly?

Resolutely, you make up your mind. Miguel O'Hara's got a secret. And before you leave for home, you're gonna do everything in your God given power to wear him down and find out.

~~~

Despite his insistence otherwise, you liked to think of yourself as O'Hara's right hand man - and most of the other spiderpeople thought so too. You were one of the very first he recruited, after crash landing onto your earth like a spiderman-shaped meteor; the two of you were inseparable. Miguel was stubborn and headstrong and thought he was right all the time. Infuriatingly, he was, but that didn't stop you from telling him to get his head out of his own ass when his ego grew too big.

He was different around you, you think. Softer, sometimes. Harsher, other times. He told you what you needed to hear whether you wanted to or not; the result of mutual respect and agonising persistence. Slowly, you had chipped away his hard exterior; the one he built because he thought he needed to push people away. In that regard, you were similar, but this need manifested in you like a weed - an awful, awful compulsion to joke and laugh at your own expense, to keep others at an arm's length. You had spent your whole life picking and pruning away at yourself, looking for perfection. Even after all this, multiverse-hopping and fighting alongside people who were the closest things you had to friends , it wasn't enough. There was still something missing.

Ironically, Miguel had told you something similar the one of the last times you had spoken. You had fucked up a mission, well and truly. In the aftermath, all you can remember is coming back to base, limping on Jessica's arm.

"She's hurt!" She cries out. Lyla materialises and leads you both to the med bay, inspecting any visible wounds. There's a deep laceration, sticky with blood, at the base of your stomach. You shift onto the bed and hiss with pain.

Miguel is quick to follow, face twisted with confusion, pain, sadness. Even in your haze, you feel the tension radiating off of him as he drags over a cart of supplies.

"What happened?" He strains.

"I don't even… it happened so fast. We got ambushed, and all of a sudden I'm on the ground. I wasn't thinking straight and… " She sobs. "...she jumped in front of me. God, she saved my life-"

"-wasn't your fault, Jess." You croak, trying to sit up. "And I'm fine. Just need to walk it off…"

"Sit, bichita," His nickname makes you frown, despite yourself, and you settle back down. "Lyla, what's the damage?"

Your vision goes spotty, and Lyla's voice barely registers. All you can feel is searing pain in your side, but Miguel is warm, oh so warm. You clutch his arms, and force him to look you in the eye.

"M'ready, Miguel." He nods weakly, but you don't think he understands. "I mean it . I can lead, j-just need another chance and I won't let you down… Jess, tell him that I can-"

"It's okay. I believe you. You just need to relax for me, hmm?" He clutches at your hand, tight, and it's like you're the only two people in the world. "You did good. I promise."

Faintly, you nod. You feel a pinch at your arm, and Jessica's there, with an empty vial of something in her hands. The pain washes over you, and you fight to keep your eyes open. In those last few moments of light, you swear you feel a shaky kiss pressed to your temple.

"Sleep, mi bichito amoroso. Sleep."

When you come to, you're still in the medbay, moonlight streaming through. Well, artificial moonlight. Time worked a little differently here, something Miguel explained to you a while ago - God knows what about dilation and quantum interference. It makes you smile now, remembering his frustration as he tried to explain to no avail. You were the only spiderman this side of the multiverse without a degree in quantum tech, you had said with a lopsided smile.

You move to sit, and pain shoots up your side. Groaning, you push through it, determined to get out of this bed and find the others. As if on cue, Miguel walks in, almost leaping towards you.

"You should… mierda ! You should be resting in bed."

You pout as you stumble into his chest. He hooks an arm around you and leads you back. You clamber in, sighing. "M'fine, O'Hara."

"Your guts were halfway out of your body less than 24 hours ago. So stay put, or you might give me another heart attack."

You scoff, incredulous. "You were worried?"

He shrugs. " 'Course I was."

"Why? You know I'm practically indestructible." You give him a shit eating grin, and poke the frown appearing at his brow. He doesn't bat you away like he usually does.

"Famous last words, bichita." He sighs. You can't speak a lick of Spanish, but you know he only calls you that word when you've frustrated him to his limit. So you take it as a win, for now.

He drops into the chair next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"Just peachy, dollface." You wink, and he doesn't so much as groan.

"I'm being serious. You went through something pretty traumatic…"

"You want me to tell you it hurts, so, so bad, daddy? " You pout and flutter your eyelashes mockingly. Miguel shifts in his seat, unable to make eye contact.

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, O'Hara? I feel fine. And in a couple of days, I'll feel even better, and I'll be up and about. I can finish what we started and-"

"-no, absolutely not." He frowns. "A couple of days? I'm sending you home-"

"You can't do that! On whose fucking authority?"

"On the authority of you almost fucking died ! Keeping you safe is our priority right now-"

"God, is this my punishment? This is a low blow, O'Hara. You know how hard I've worked for this: months of surveillance and intel a-and I did everything by the book, just like you told me to." You croak. "I fucked up . I know that, and I feel terrible. Give me a chance to make things right; that's all I'm asking. I can do it, I know it. "

He looks at you for a moment, something heavy in his expression. His face contorted, he strips you down to the bone with just his gaze. His voice is so quiet, you almost miss it.

"....you're still trying to prove yourself, aren't you?"

Honestly, it catches you off guard. You don't even know what the fuck that means, let alone why he said it.

"I don't… I d-don't…?"

"They all love you. Respect you. More than me I think, sometimes." He chuckles at that. "You're good at what you do. The best . What else are you trying to prove? What else do you need ?"

Your throat goes dry. You couldn't speak if you wanted to.

"I'm not punishing you. You made a mistake, but you don't need to be crucified for it. I just want to keep you safe. I can't… we can't lose you."

"Miguel-"

"-this isn't a discussion. And I'm not trying to argue, although I know how much you like to argue." He inches closer, cupping your face gently. You try to move away, blinking back tears. But his hands are steady and he strokes your jaw with so much tenderness you think you hear your heart break. He's pretty, so pretty. You don't deserve him, you think. "There'll be time to fight, bichita. Rest. That's your mission right now."

"C-can't sleep." You breathe. "It hurts."

Miguel pauses, head tilted like he's thinking. He taps your shoulder. "Scoot over."

You do as he says, and he slips into the bed with you. It's a tight fit, but he manages, placing you on his chest with an arm gently around your shoulders. You bury your face in his hoodie, sniffling and hoping he doesn't notice you choking back sobs. Absentmindedly, he settles into a rhythm, gentle breathing and playing with your hair, soothing you softly. He pretends he can't hear the tears.

"M'gonna stay here until you're asleep. For as long as you need."

You nod, unable to speak for fear of breaking down.

~~~

The days after felt like a blur. You woke up to Miguel gone, and an ache in your heart. Jess visits as much as she can, and Ben calls you a couple times, to see if you're okay. Peter B brings Mayday, and she clambers all over your bed, bringing some life into the room. Miguel doesn't visit per se - you hear whispers of him, Lyla visiting in his stead for comprehensive status updates. Once, you wake up in the night to see him on the adjacent chair, head lolling in deep sleep. He looks peaceful, calm - one of the first times you haven't seen his brow furrowed with worry. Of course, he's gone by the morning.

The very last time you saw him, he opened the portal home. It was weird, after everything, but if Miguel felt the same you wouldn't know. Talking at a thousand miles a minute, he alternates between assuring you they'll be fine without you and situation reports from spider people all across the multiverse. Things you'd missed whilst bedbound, asking for advice before you left. He trusted your judgement and the thought warmed your heart, almost making you forget that he completely brushed past the previous nights before.

You still remember the last thing he had said to you, which would've been weeks ago, now.

"...and if you need anything, and I mean anything, you call me directly. Not Jess, not Ben, and certainly not Peter B. Call me, and I'll answer, I promise. You need help, you need advice, you just need someone to talk to, then-"

"-I call you. I get it, O'Hara. Will do." He opens the portal, watching as you walk towards it. He can't take his eyes off of you, even though you can't see him. At the last moment you turn, and run towards him. You almost knock him over with a hug. Burying his head in the crook of your shoulder, he hugs you back, ever careful of your injury. Separating, your smile almost knocks him over again. Weakly, he smiles back as you head through the portal, back home.

You're left with that feeling, of his arms around your body - warm, so warm - as you putter about by the switchboard. After careful deliberation (you were really, really bored ) you'd taken to manage the Multi Modal Multiversal Switchboard - as aptly named by Miguel. Everyone else called it the Big Red Phone of course, but he had insisted on calling it by its proper name . Every. Time.

The thought makes you chuckle as you call up Peter B. His icon flashes on the screen in front of you. With a click, he picks up the call, his face materialising holographically in front you. A little hand reaches up and tugs at his ear.

"Ow… ouch … Dad's on the phone, honey."

"Aww! How's my favourite Parker doing?"

"Not bad, actually! MJ just made us probably the best burger this side of New York-"

"-sorry, Peter? Me and May are trying to have a conversation." You hear her giggle in the background. Her gap toothed grin pops into frame and she babbles excitedly. "...yeah, exactly May. That's literally what I said."

"Okay, okay, that's enough." He puts the toddler down and watches her scurry away. "You're feeling better, I see."

"Yeah, back in action. Thought I'd check in."

"All good here." He squints, trying to take in your surroundings. "You're at HQ?"

You hum.

"Could've sworn Lyla cancelled…"

"Yeah, didn't get the memo. But I think something's wrong with O'Hara."

He gives you a weird look. "Uhhh, what makes you think that?"

"He won't even look at me. Was it something I said? Something I did?" Your eyes narrow. "...what do you know, Peter?"

"Nothing! Absolutely nothing!" He scoffs, a little too quickly, clutching his chest like you've offended him. He's stared down some of the scariest villains around, but the look you give him is truly chilling. "Just… uhhh. You didn't hear this from me."

"Naturally…"

"We tracked 'em down, the guys that ambushed you and Jessica."

"The Sinister Six? From Earth-215?"

"Yeah, but by the time we got there, it was just Kraven and some of his goons. Miguel got there first, and…." He gulps. "He was pissed. Trashed the whole place looking for the rest of 'em. Beat Kraven half to death and we had to pull him off."

"Shit."

"Yeah, it was pretty rough. Never seen him like that before. And just generally? He'd been weirdly quiet, a little grumpy, more aggressive on missions. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Hmmm. Thanks, Pete."

"No problem, sweetheart. And if the big guy asks… "

"...this didn't come from you, I know." Weakly, you smile. "Say hi to my favourite Parkers, for me."

" 'Course I will. We should celebrate, if you're back officially. Mine and MJ's is always open."

"Good to know. I'll see you around."

He waves goodbye, and the hologram clicks off. Sighing, you try to piece together what you've just heard.

Miguel: acting weird. Well, you knew that already. Aggressive was new. And Lyla? She had canceled, but not for you, for some reason. An honest mistake, perhaps. But Lyla doesn't make mistakes…

You stew for a couple of hours, puttering about the switchboard, twiddling your thumbs. Something's wrong, and for some reason you're afraid to see him. To have him look straight through you, again, when you ask to do the same. Show me where it hurts. Tell me how to make it better.

On the way there, you chew your lip in anticipation. In the corridor, you're outside the door to his place, hand hovering above the door. To knock, to call. In the harsh fluorescent light, you hesitate.

"Lyla?" Nervously, you sink down onto the floor. It's hard to explain, but you don't expect her to actually come; to materialise in front of you.

"How can I assist you?" She says with a ding.

"Uhh… hi. Just wanted to talk." You pause, clicking your tongue. "Can you be honest with me?"

"I can only be honest with you. It is not in my programming to lie, unless specified by my owner."

"Sure. Cool. It's about him, actually. Is Miguel okay?"

She tilts her head, as if processing your request. "Okay is a subjective term. Is Mr O'Hara alive? Yes. Is Mr O'Hara physically well? Yes. By those terms, he is okay ."

Too vague for your own liking. "I guess I meant more… his emotional state. To the best of your knowledge… in your opinion , Lyla: is Miguel okay?"

"...I believe Mr O'Hara is experiencing some emotional turmoil."

You frown. "Oh. Do you know why?"

"Mr O'Hara has instructed me not to disclose that information with you."

"Fair enough. But you don't have to tell me… I could just ask questions?"

She nods. "There is nothing in my programming that prevents me from answering some questions within certain parameters."

"Did I do something? Not just today but… last time I was here. Did I say something to hurt or upset him? Is that why he's acting weird?"

"No." She says blankly. "And yes. I suppose it is… complicated." She gestures around that word.

"I'm a little confused, Lyla."

She sits next to you, on the cool tile. Not that she could feel it, but it feels more intimate - like two friends talking. The extent of Lyla's consciousness, you weren't sure of. Was she alive? To you, she might as well be. Could she think, feel, emote? Maybe, maybe not. You weren't smart enough to understand the nuances of her programming. But you were human enough to see it in her - something glittering beyond the surface.

It could be projection, but you swear her voice is softer. "He has a name for you. When he speaks about you, and to you. I have it logged in my memory database. Do you know what that is?" You shake your head.

Lyla opens up her palm and projects videos and images - little Miguel's popping up in her palm, tinny and gruff voices ringing through the hallway. They say your name, shout your name, whisper it. Some say other things in Spanish. Curse words had always been your assumption, and he had given you no reason to think otherwise. Now, having it played back to you, you hear a tenderness in his voice you would've missed. Words and phrases that come up again and again…

"Bichita." She repeats. "Bichito del amor. Mi bichito amoroso. "

You shake your head, still confounded. "...I don't speak Spanish, Lyla."

"Little bug. Sweetheart. Lovebug. My little lovebug." She clears her throat. "I believe they are terms of endearment."

Steadfast, she directs you towards her palm. Another small Miguel appears, and you think it's him from this morning.

"I thought I told you not to let anyone in, Lyla?"

"I did not let her in. She let herself in using the code you previously gave her, Mr O'Hara."

"Yeah, for emergencies. Fuck. Mi bichita, too smart for her own good."

"...If you are in distress, I believe she would understand, Mr O'Hara."

"I just think it's too much. I don't want her to see me like this."

"According to Alchemax files, previous subjects showing this kind of aggression benefitted from-"

"Lyla, it's not happening, no chance. I can't tell her."

The figure blinks out of her palm. "Mr O'Hara has forbid me from telling you about certain things."

"...but not from showing me." Your eyes meet hers. You give her a watery smile. "Thank you."

With a hint of a smile, she nods and is gone from the corridor. You are left alone, with nothing but your thoughts of little lovebugs rattling around in your brain.

#miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #across the spiderverse #kat_writes😼#this gif is fucking crazy btw

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neckromantics · 4 months

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I don't think enough of you are seeing the potential in letting Astarion drink from your wrist??

(Brief warning: this got a little more sensual than I'd intended? I think I am possessed.)

The way you could still sit as close as you want, plastered to his side even– one leg thrown over his lap while the other is outstretched behind him. It would take a little bit of maneuvering to get the angle just right, but once you do it, it quickly becomes one of your favorite ways to feed him.

You'd have a better view from this angle as well. Would be able to see the glint of bared fangs just before they sink deep into the tender skin of your wrist with a soft pop. To watch the shiver that rolls through him as the taste of you finally meets his prodding tongue– his throat working as he takes that first, careful swallow.

You trace up the curve of his spine as base instinct takes over. His body forms a shield as he hunches, pale digits digging into your outstretched arm as if you'd ever have the heart to take his meal away from him before he's anything less than sated. Happy.

Your fingers comb through the sweet little, silver curls at the nape of his neck, nails scrubbing at his scalp as a form of encouragement so gentle he practically purrs.

Gods, the noises he makes when he's enjoying himself. You can't help but squirm in anticipation when his breathing begins to pick up. Each quick inhale becomes choked off with a little moan of satisfaction– or a whine so high and strained, as if he's hurting in the best possible way. It's as if you taste so good that he doesn't know what to do with himself. His legs kick up a bit. The heels of his boots drag the ground before he settles back down. He jerks away and then towards you once more. Practically writhes in ecstasy. You have to turn your head away just to stare at something far off in the distance. A pathetic attempt to focus on anything else before you lose your mind.

Eventually, you feel your offered arm begin to grow colder. A slight tingle at the tips of your fingers slowly creeps its way up and prompts you to wiggle in an effort to lessen any discomfort. The movement pulls him out of his trance just a bit, and you can feel it.

The length of pause between each swallow starts to become longer. Every pull of your blood becomes a little more shallow, a little less desperate as he braces himself for the moment you say you've had enough.

Admittedly, you always wait a bit too long than is comfortable. It's really hard to ask him to stop when you can physically feel the satisfaction radiating off of him in waves, but you know you have to say something the second you feel that all too familiar floaty sensation begin to sneak up on you.

The moment your temple hits his shoulder, he's pulling away with a sharp gasp of unneeded air, a sad, little whimper escaping his open mouth before he has the chance to muffle it. It's only now that his eyes flutter open. A more vibrant crimson now that he's properly fed, all hazy and soft with a wonder that you'll never grow tired of seeing. He turns to meet your half-lidded gaze from where you're slouched against him.

It'd be so easy for him to slip, to give into the urge to clamp down and drink and consume until you've got nothing left to offer. Especially when you're hanging off of him this way, eyes filled with warm adoration and body so willing to let him take and take and take.

Oh, how he must be careful, now.

The vampire's eyes get a certain headiness that you know all too well, locked onto your own as he allows himself one last taste. You can only watch as he chases a rivulet of blood all the way down the length of your forearm, petal soft lips creating artful smears of crimson with each sloppy press, only to be cleaned away a moment later by the gentle swipe of his tongue.

Your thighs clench automatically around his waist in response, and if he notices, he thankfully doesn't tease you for it. Yet.

After so many feedings, he's really got the hang of biting you in a way that doesn't do any lasting damage. So, it isn't very long before the marks his teeth have left behind no longer weep openly. The familiar, dull throbbing that resonates from the twin punctures is soothed by the soft press of his mouth. Then, the cheeky bastard makes it worse by giving a harsh, cheek-hollowing suck.

It's your turn to whimper.

He pulls away with such a smug smirk. It'd have your eyes rolling if you had any sort of brain function left.

His fingers are now warm as they knead against the numb skin of your drained arm, wiggling it about for you, and bending it the elbow a few times in an effort to get the blood flowing. It's a small act of kindness that you find ever so endearing, and you thank him with a tiny smooch to the very corner of his jaw.

He thanks you right back for the nice meal, with a loving stroke of his knuckles against the side of your face. Gives you a kiss so eager that you're left in shock.

You can taste the copper you've left on his tongue as it swirls against your own, and can't stop yourself from deepening the kiss a moment later. You swallow down his responding groan like he swallowed down all those mouthfuls of your blood. Eager. Just a little desperate. Happy.

Anyway, what was the point of this post again?

#bg3 #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 tav #astarion headcanons #astarion drabble #astarion fic

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fangswbenefits · 5 months

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Backfire

(amazing art by @dopepoisonivyoncrack 🥺🩷 thank you so much!)

Summary: You should have known better than to make Astarion jealous, and now you are left to deal with the consequences.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Jealous/Possessive Astarion. Orgasm denial. Fingering. Edging. PiV. Creampie. Knife (dagger) play. Body worship. Innuendo.

Word count: 3.4k

You vaguely wondered how long it would take to set Astarion off.

He was glancing at you from across the camp, leaning against an oak tree as he twirled a dagger in between his masterful fingers.

The fluid motion broke your concentration for a moment.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and you quickly realised he was aware of your attempts.

Shit.

So much for subtlety.

Maybe you should have picked Wyll to test his jealousy as you reckoned it would have been more effective.

But now it was too late.

You feigned innocence as you patted Gale's arm, mindlessly nodding as he happily explained the intricacies of a chicken broth that he was preparing for later.

“See, the essence of this dish lies in getting the proper ingredients,” he went on, dipping the ladle into the steaming pot and stirring it gently before bringing it to his lips. “Hmm. Definitely lacking something, as I suspected.”

“Really? It smells very pleasant,” you said truthfully as the soft breeze wafted the delectable fragrance your way.

Gale raised one finger. “Mushrooms.”

“What?”

He nodded. “It requires a touch of mushrooms to fully bring out its flavour.”

You patted his shoulder with a warm smile. “I’m sure we can do without it.”

But Gale’s enthusiasm immediately wavered, his brows sinking. “Absolutely not. We require a proper meal and a proper meal is what I shall provide.”

Oh.

He stirred the broth again before rummaging through a satchel at his feet. “Well, I don’t suppose you could fetch me a few?”

Glancing over your shoulder, you found that Astarion had vanished.

Shit.

Your plan shattered into pieces as the object of your teasing was nowhere to be seen.

“Could you?”

Gale’s voice snapped you out of your frustration and you found yourself frowning slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I need some mushrooms, my friend.”

Your frown deepened, but you really had no choice now and a refusal would most likely break his heart.

“Where can I find them?”

Gale beamed with a wide grin. “I spotted a few on the side of the road and near some trees as we were setting up camp. I was foolish enough not to pick them and now I’m burdening you.”

You shrugged with a sigh. “It’s no bother. I was the one who asked you to teach me some of your cooking tricks.

“Ah! You should have trained to become a wizard,” he said with an approving nod. “A hungry stomach and an equally hungry mind.”

As much as you wished to return his enthusiasm, you couldn’t help but to feel annoyed at yourself for the appalling attempt at riling Astarion up.

Maybe he had seen right through it and merely walked off, probably chuckling.

But maybe you had stirred something inside him that ultimately caused him to leave.

Maybe.

Hopefully.

You followed Gale’s instructions, nearing a forest area, shaded from the sun as the canopies of the surrounding trees grew denser and branches intertwined with each other above you.

It didn’t take you long to spot a conglomerate of a few rounded caps by the protruding roots of a large and thick oak tree.

Unsheathing your dagger, you squatted down and began dicing through the spongy stalks.

You were halfway through your task, when you felt the cold press of metal resting on the side of your neck, freezing you in place.

A smile crept across your face.

“I don’t suppose you value your life enough if it’s this easy to sneak up on you.” The blade moved upwards and along your jaw, causing you to turn your head. “Darling.”

You flinched away from Astarion’s grasp and both of you rose to your feet in an instant.

“I doubt any foe would be as delicate as you should they intend to truly harm me.”

He twirled his dagger, offering a devious smile. “Point taken.”

As expected, praising him always did wonders.

And it was absolutely true and equally expected that a skilled rogue could move in the shadows with unmatched prowess.

But then, the mood shifted as he deepened his smile. “What were you doing back there with Gale?”

Oh?

You cleared your throat, sheathing your blade once again at your hip. “I was merely observing his cooking skills.”

He took a step in your direction.

“Were you, now?”

“Yes.”

He scoffed. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are, darling.”

You allowed yourself to move back with each step he took. “And you’re not as perceptive as you think you are.”

“You weren’t trying to deliberately make me jealous, were you?”

You shook your head, feeling your heart drumming hastily in your chest.

Astarion’s feet only came to a brief halt once your back hit the rough surface of the tree trunk behind you, effectively rendering you immobile.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

A shameless lie that he immediately tackled. “A lousy liar who’s even worse at vexing me,” he tutted before pressing one knee right in between your legs. “I taught you better than this.”

The air in your lungs stilled momentarily as his arms were now on either side of your head, caging you.

“Gale was the one offering his teachings.”

He dropped one hand below your chin, tapping it teasingly with the side of his blade and tilting your head back. “Please. I highly doubt that dullard could offer anything of value where it really counts.”

“Astarion…” you drawled in delight. “Are you actually jealous?”

His brows furrowed together. “Obviously not.”

Inside, you were thoroughly enjoying how your fleeting attempt had indeed been successful, despite Astarion’s denial.

You could see it in his narrowed crimson eyes and how the faintest of scowls deepened the lines on his handsome face.

That stroked your ego in a way that almost made you shudder.

You tried to ignore how he was now pressing his knee harder.

His lips almost brushed against your and, for a split second, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he tipped his head to the side and you felt his cold touch on your cheek.

A shiver ran down your spine and you gripped his arms.

“What are you doing?”

He chuckled. “Showing you what really counts.”

“And what is that?” you asked, words coming out shaky.

Astarion adored taunting you with words, but he excelled at rendering you speechless with his skilled touch.

So it came as no surprise when eventually sheathed his blade and had his hand tug your shirt free from the waistband of your trousers, sliding his hand underneath.

This was bad for you.

Terrible, in fact.

He had the upper hand.

And he fucking knew it.

His fingers brushed along your lower abdomen and his voice was raspy in your ear. “If I slide my hand inside… what will I find?”

Your body was too used to him by now to the point that he could have you throbbing for him with little effort.

The knee dropped and you almost whined at the loss of friction against your swelling clit.

“Answer me,” he said, tugging at the waistband.

You swallowed. “Nothing much…”

Was there even a point in deceiving him now?

Expert fingers tugged at the lacings, loosening the fabric just enough for him to be able to slip underneath, his fingertips gently gliding in between your folds, avoiding your clit altogether.

But you were wet enough to draw a pleased grunt from him.“What is this, then?”

You gasped, involuntarily clenching around nothing and feeling a gush of wetness spilling as your body reacted in anticipation.

“Use your fingers properly and find out.”

Your taunt didn’t go amiss. “Maybe an apology is in order,” he said, arrogance dripping from each word. “It seems that your foolish attempt at making me jealous has backfired.”

Much to your frustration, your hips rolled into his touch, silently wishing he would stop avoiding your swell.

“How has it backfired?” you managed to say as one finger teased your entrance.

He ignored your question and began trailing kisses along your jawline, his other hand working hurriedly at the front of your shirt.

Of course.

You knew all too well that you’d feel his cock hard enough if he was already this eager to expose your breasts.

One by one, he undid each lacing, and he pulled back just enough for his gaze to drop as the fabric parted and he gently pulled down the binding that held your chest in place.

Your nipples quickly hardened and you rolled your hips once more, causing one of his fingers to slide inside.

He hadn’t intended for that to happen, but he was so transfixed with your breasts that he was caught off guard.

It was the vicious clenches around his finger that snapped him out of it and his lustful eyes met yours. “Give me one reason not to slide out of you.”

You smiled in between gasps as he sank deep inside. “Should I ask Gale what he’d do in your position, then?”

And just like that, Astarion snapped.

A second finger slithered past your tightness and he brought his lips to your ear. “Careful, darling. Choose your words wisely or you’ll be riding your own mage hand instead.”

Oh, this was delicious.

Astarion was visibly annoyed and it did wonders to your confidence.

It wasn’t easy to get him all worked up, but it only fueled your ego and made you quicken the pace.

Your whimpers increased in intensity and you looped your arms around his neck for added support, lifting one leg to wrap around his waist. The new angle allowed him to go knuckle-deep and you shuddered as his strained erection pressed against his hand nudged him even deeper.

He groaned first, clearly enjoying the newfound friction, and you clenched hard at how his face twisted in pleasure.

“Look over my shoulder,” he suddenly said, his half-hooded eyes finding yours.

Somehow, and in between each roll of your hips, you complied, realising just how close to camp you truly were. Close enough to make out the silhouette of Shadowheart who was now at Gale’s side as he worked on his broth, probably wondering what was taking you so long to bring him some mushrooms.

“What about it?” you asked, a bit louder than intended when he sank all the way in once more.

His lips brushed against yours this time, dragging his fingers back as you clenched desperately around him. “You either keep it down or we’ll have an audience soon enough.”

“Would you mind?”

He stilled abruptly.

“What? Having Gale hear you coming undone for me?” he taunted as you tried to have him back inside, your hips following his retreating hand. “That he would soon realise he could never provide such bliss to his lover?”

You whined in responde, frustrated that you were now faced with an agonising emptiness.

“See, darling,” he continued, sliding one finger back inside, but not quite deep enough to fully satisfy you. “I can be quite generous when I want to.”

“But what?” you groaned, trying to have him sink deeper to no avail.

There was always a ‘but’.

He placed a kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling back. “But I am not willing to share your cries of pleasure with anyone else.”

“Then silence me.”

The most devious grin settled on his face and you knew you had just offered a challenge he would gladly take.

And with his other hand, you watched as he brought the handle of his dagger close to your lips.

“Open.”

Your eyes widened and your heart immediately skipped a beat. “Astarion…”

“As much as I’d love to have your lips wrapped around my cock,” he said with a click of his tongue, parting your lips for him. “I am more interested in finding out how quiet my dagger can make you.”

You clenched around him so fiercely he actually growled.

Your teeth sank into the handle and you readied yourself for what was to come.

Astarion trailed your lower lip affectionately as it wrapped around the leather wrappings and a second finger joined the first, the heel of his palm rubbing against your clit as he pumped in and out, never breaking eye contact with you.

The moans and whimpers and gasps that slipped from you were being effectively muffled and you were thankful he had decided to silence you this way, because when the third finger nudged at your entrance, you could only roll your eyes shut as your bit hard around his dagger.

“Surely you can take one more,” he teased, his voice low.

You eagerly nodded, rolling your hips into him, knowing you were more than ready for the added thickness.

It slid inside painfully slowly and the stretch had you gasping and nearly dropping his dagger, which he promptly secured in place.

“Now, I know it’s not as thick as my cock, but I am sure you can keep those pretty lips wrapped around it,” he taunted.

You groaned with a nod eager to please.

Eager to come undone for him.

The combination of being so full of him and how he allowed you to rub your clit on his palm was too much. The lewd sounds were almost too obscene and you gripped both hands together, holding onto the remainder of the sanity you had left.

For a brief moment, he allowed you to ride three of his fingers, giving you the illusion that you’d reach your peak easily and rather quickly.

But Astarion wasn’t forgiving even if he had been rather generous thus far.

And you should have known that your actions would have consequences.

His generosity came to an abrupt halt just as you felt the familiar coil down below becoming more and more overwhelming, your body quickly reaching the point of no return.

Your gasps were now becoming more erratic and you were visibly struggling to keep a hold of the dagger in your mouth.

And then you felt a painful emptiness as he pulled out from you at once.

He chuckled when you groaned in sheer frustration, not allowing you to spit the dagger out and curse him to the Nine Hells.

You felt the urge to cry as he denied you from reaching your high, your hips still moving on their own accord in the hopes of finding his fingers again.

“Now, now,” he tutted, caressing your flushed cheek with his thumb, a single tear streaming down your face. “You didn’t think I would be that generous, did you?”

Fuck you!

Your words came out muffled, but he understood enough to continue his taunt. “I know you want to, but not before I have some assurances first.”

Impatience took over you, but you managed to arch an inquisitive brow at him.

He pressed his lips where his thumb had been, kissing your tear away. “Tell me no one can make you feel like this.”

Your eyes widened once more as he pulled the dagger from your teetering teeth.

“I’m all pointy ears, love,” he urged, meeting your eyes. “Go on.”

Astarion adored being praised, but this was just cruel.

Your teasing hadn’t been solid enough to warrant such punishment. You had been so close to your peak…

“Astarion…”

He shook his head with a frown. “No, no, no. You do not get ‘cuddly and sweet Astarion’ after what you’ve pulled, sweetheart.”

Your hands came to grip his shoulders almost pleadingly, but you knew you had no other choice if you were to reach your climax anytime soon.

“No one can… no one…” you whispered, your voice cracking.

But he wasn’t satisfied.

Of course he wasn’t.

It took more than that to fill his ego.

“I’ve ruined you for anyone else,” he said with an intense smile. “You know that, don’t you?”

You immediately nodded, fully agreeing and not out of despair.

“Can you be good for me, then?”

Another nod as you tried to nudge him closer with the leg wrapped around his waist just to prove your point.

“Your pleasure is mine,” he said, bringing the handle of his dagger back to your lips and, this time, you quickly wrapped them around it. “My pleasure is yours.”

He removed his hand from inside your trousers and he pushed your leg down so he could tug them down your legs to give him better access.

Once you had slipped out of them, he eagerly wrapped you around his waist as he tugged at the front of his own trousers, until he freed his cock.

You gave it a quick glance, pleased to find the tip glistening with precum.

“Bite down hard, darling,” he warned, aligning you with him. “I know you adore how my cock stretches you.”

You did as you were told and he sank into you in one swift thrust of his hips.

He was all the way in and your back arched as he steadied you with both hands.

The first clenches around his cock made him mumble a string of curses as he tried to adjust to your tightness.

It didn’t take long for him to set the pace, slowly fucking you against the oak tree.

You weren’t going to last long from this new angle, and neither was he. It would be rather easy to get him to lose all control if you lost yours first. Astarion was rarely able to withstand your contractions as you rode out your climax.

His eyes were locked on yours, but something caught your attention.

Suddenly, your hazy eyes managed to focus on the camp nearby and you watched as someone seemed to be approaching in the distance.

Oh… fuck…

Was it Gale?

No.

It was Wyll.

You clenched around him almost panicking, until you realised he wasn’t coming any closer and had simply taken a turn down the hill, waving at Gale.

Your mind was too overtaken by how his cock felt inside you to care about the context of that exchange.

Having Astarion being so eager to prove you that no one else could fuck you this way, had you undulating your body against his, always making sure he could bure himself fully inside you with each thrust.

Oh.

You were too close.

“Eyes on me,” he hissed, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips.

Dangerously close.

Especially when you met his crimson eyes again.

And you almost topped over the edge at once when you saw him doing something you had never witnessed before.

He finally broke eye contact and his gaze was once again on your breasts and hardened nipples.

And then…

With his free hand, he pulled his own shirt up the length of his body, securing the hem in between his own teeth, fangs digging into the fabric.

What…

He wrapped his arm around your torso and pulled you into him, your breasts pressed against him. The sight was breathtaking as you felt your nipples rub briefly against his, earning a guttural groan from him.

Astarion allowed you to sink all the way down his cock and you could no longer hold back the intense wave of pleasure that came crashing down as you felt his balls pressed against you.

You were biting down so fiercely on the handle of his dagger, you feared youd snap it in half as your first contractions tore through your body.

He pressed your back hard against the tree, and with a final grunt into the crook of your neck, he began spilling inside you, allowing you to squeeze his cum with each of your rhythmic clenches.

You clawed at the back of his shirt, feeling your mind blank as you came down from the overwhelming height of your pleasure mixed with his.

It was hard to steady your breaths and you weren’t sure you had ever come this hard in your life, but it felt like a shared sentiment as Astarion remained buried inside you even when his cum began to spill and drip.

The dagger fell to the ground and you gasped for air, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a soft kiss to the side of his head through his messy curls.

“Gods…” he eventually groaned, showing no intention of pulling out.

You grunted in agreement, caressing his damp hair.

“Should I tease you again?” you almost chuckled in between heated pants. “Wyll next?”

He pulled back and shot you a murderous glare. “Don’t you dare…”

Masterlist

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader

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yok00k · 27 days

Text

¿can you kiss me more?

pairing: hellokittylover!oc x boxer!jk

genre: smut

“baby, hold me ‘cause I like the way you groove”

summary: jungkook’s lust and love for you becomes insatiable

warnings: MATURE— cockwarming, slight somnophilia [consented], jk jerks off in front of oc, jk is a pervert and hella possessive (& mentally obsessed w/ oc), unedited, lowercase intended

word count: 900

author’s yap: i’m kinda back bc I’m in my jobless era🥸. I wrote this a few months ago and just kinda abandoned it -_- it’s also far from the initial scenario that I was gonna write but meh.

“koo..so deep inside me” you softly cry as for the fact that his entire length is buried deep within your aching walls. you can feel how hard Jungkook is inside you.

“yeah? you’ll keep me warm, right?” he lowly said while smirking underneath you. he firmly shoves himself more, resulting you gently tug on his long hair as he further sucks one of your perky nipples, making it swollen.

—

this particular action is what 's been keeping him occupied for the past thirty minutes as soon as he came back from his 2-hour morning boxing session. jungkook spotted you in the same position you were in before he left. the only difference now is that his thick comforter graped your whole body is no longer covering every inch of you. which makes your baby pink see-through lingerie on display for him to see. only for his sight to enjoy.

what a drooling view

he goes up to your sleeping figure, taking a closer look of your exquisite physique. your cleavage almost flashing him because of how low cut the piece of cotton fabric you’re wearing. not forgetting to mention those curvy hips of yours and naturally thick and tender thighs that only he can touch. nobody else. not on his watch

jungkook feels like some perverted man lusting over your unconscious frame. you’re so sweet, too fragile. seems like in one touch, you’ll break.

however that’s all facade. you may seem too innocent but he knows every tiny detail of yours. including those dirty secrets that turn you on and wild kinks that nobody would’ve guessed you’re into. to him, you have the face of an angel with devilish preferences.

you initially woke up with a pleasurable sensation that jungkook had caused you: a storm of wet kisses from your neck to the valley of your breast accompanied by a pair of muscular arms roaming around your figure. it’s a habit for both you and jungkook to be touchy to one another in the morning. you love showing your love and affection to him, so as he does to you. therefore you allow him to express physical intimacy towards you.

as much as you’d love to show your love back to him, you’re still sleepy and lack energy to move. a few seconds later, you fall back to sleep.

on the other hand, jungkook is getting even more aroused by this situation. his fully tattooed arm moves its way down to your backside, giving your plumpy ass a tight squeeze before proceeding to knead your cheek.

your sleeping figure doesn’t help with his high sex drive. how would his sexual urges decrease when the person in his fantasies is laying on his bed. you.

before he could ever comprehend what he’s doing, he found himself kneeling in front of your ass cheeks. jungkook lowers his light gray sweatpants, just right down under his balls, setting his erected cock free.

he leans down towards you to plant a tiny peck in your temples. jungkook locks his attention to your angelic face as he begins pumping his member toward your ass that’s covered by transparent lace fabric. he smudges his oozing precum around his til using his thumb while thinking how pretty your swollen lips would be if he smeared his fluid around them.

he continues to ejaculate, tightening his rough palm around his cock trying to imitate the tightness of your pussy when he nests himself inside you. your tight walls are 100% way much better than his fucking hands. it’s no doubt that nothing and nobody can compare to you. not even a bit

jungkook fails to be soundless and slips out quiet groans, cursing by how good and light headed he feels right now. he hopes that he could stay in this scenery forever. having you comfortably and peacefully sleeping on his bed while he jerks off in front of you. plus you wouldn’t mind just laying there and looking effortlessly pretty for him, right?

he’s almost there, he’s starting to feel the anticipated satisfaction coming towards him. by the moment, he shuts down his eyes as he throws his head back, savoring the intense feeling of pleasure as he reaches his highest peak.

jungkook spills ropes of hot white cum, aiming his oozing tip over the thin baby pink fabric that barely covers your ass. he releases a few more moans as he fully emptied himself to the cloth of your lingerie.

he arrives his desired destination, his paradise

you rise from your sleep by a familiar faint noise, more like a series of whimpers. you lift your head and catch that those breathless sounds are coming from none other than your boyfriend, jungkook. you also notice that he’s weakly pumping his hand around his cock, slowly coming to a halt.

“kookie?” you softly call, which brings him back from heaven to reality.

once he opens his eyes, he locks eye contact with your beautiful eyes, an innocent smile is painted on your face. his appearance softened, as if he wasn’t lusting over you a second ago.

he lifts his upper body and leans closer to your face, giving your lips a smooch.

“good morning baby”

series_m.list

#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagine #jungkookxreader #bts jk #jeon jk #jungkook ff #jungkooksmut #jungkook smut #jeongguk x reader #jeongguk smut #jeongguk fic #jeongguk x you

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thewritingofamadwoman · 6 months

Text

Billy’s Girl

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Cheerleader!Reader (reader’s last name is Emmerson; no reason, just cuz)

Warning: Fluff, making out, Billy realizing he’s in love, and Jason Carver being the dick that he is.

Enjoy & let me know what you think! 💙

“Dude look at Emmerson, she looks fucking hot in that cheerleading outfit.”

“Nah man have you seen Chrissy? She looks amazing.”

“Yeah but have you seen that skirt on Emmerson? If she jumps a little higher, I’ll be able to..”

“Finish that fucking sentence Carver, and the only thing you’ll be able to do is drink your lunch through a fucking straw.”

Billy Hargrove turned around from his seat on the bleachers to glare at the boy seated directly behind him, who was objectifying his girlfriend. Now, dont get it twisted. No one loves cat calling more than Billy Hargrove. But now that he’s a taken man things have changed. He only had heart eyes for his girl. Little Ms Emmerson was one of the first people he met in this shitty, bumble fuck town when he first moved here with his fucked up family. She was beautiful, kind, and sweet, the love of his life. She was the light to Billy’s darkness. He promised her and himself that he would protect her at all costs. And he intended to keep that promise.

Jason Carver visibly gulped at Billy’s threat, knowing that the Hargrove boy wasn’t kidding. Billy’s glare deepened and it his nose flared, almost like a bull ready to charge.

“Sorry Hargrove, didn’t see you there. Just meant to say that your girl is gorgeous.” Jason said, attempting to calm the situation.

Calling her gorgeous? Strike two.

“Yeah I know she’s fucking gorgeous Carver, I’ve got eyes. Just keep your fucking eyes on your own girlfriend and shut your fucking mouth,” and with that, Billy turned back around, eyes back on his girl as she practiced with the rest of her team.

As if feeling his gaze on her, she turned and found Billy’s eyes immediately. She smiled wide and blew him a kiss before getting into the next routine formation. Billy pretended to catch the floating kiss and brought it to his heart. One of the girls around her whispered something and Billy watched as his girl smiled and blushed, the girls around her obviously teasing her about her their relationship. Her bright eyes found his again and Billy’s swore that in that moment, he’d never felt a love stronger than that. His heart tightened in his chest and he felt like he could explode with pride.

Practice ended an hour later and Billy found himself outside, leaning on his Camaro and patiently waiting on his girl. With anyone else, Billy would have driven off, angry at having looked like a fool for waiting an hour for someone. But for his girl? Billy would wait until the end of time. The gym doors opened and the sound of a gaggle of girls made its way to Billy’s ears. He looked up, arms crossed in his denim jacket as he waited to spot her, a smirk immediately forming on his lips when he did. She locked eyes with him and said goodbye to her friends, making her way towards him with a huge smile on her face.

“Hey handsome. Thank you for waiting for me,” she said, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzled her nose against his.

“Anything for you. Just don’t make it a habit. I barely wait for Maxine when she’s late,” he teased giving her a genuine smile, his deep voice rumbling in his chest.

“That’s mean, you should wait for her more often. It’s going to get chilly soon,” she gently berated him, her fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. Billy suppressed the shiver he felt coming on, and pulled her closer. She giggled in his arms, pressed so tightly against him, and loving every moment of it.

“I’ll think about it. But I don’t want to think about my little shit head sister right now. I want to think about you in that little uniform of yours,” he whispered against her lips, barely touching. She played along, whispering a reply against his lips as well.

“Oh? And what about my uniform?”

“Just that it’ll look way better on my bedroom floor,” he growled and closed the space between them, pressing his lips hungrily against hers. He swallowed her gasp and slipped his tongue into her mouth as he devoured her. One of his hands slipped down to her behind, using his large palm to give her an impromptu squeeze. She squealed into the kiss and Billy laughed against her lips. When they broke apart, they were both panting.

“Woah, where did that come from?” She asked breathlessly. Billy grinned and nuzzled his nose against her again.

“What, can’t a guy show his girl just how much he’s missed her?” She smiled back at him and pulled him into a sweet embrace.

What she didn’t see, however, was Jason Carver’s car behind her as she and Billy were making out.

What’s she also didn’t see, was that while Billy was hugging her, he was sporting the biggest shit eating grin; his arm around his girl’s waist and middle finger up at Jason as he drove by, a scowl on his face.

#billy hargrove x reader insert #billy hargove imagine #Billy Hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove x reader

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dandylovesturtles · 17 days

Note

Using a random number generator for the angst prompts: 20 Starved + 30 Dangerous Temperatures

... and Leo, of course.

OH GOD OK

uh so. I had an idea. and I decided to write it for this ask I got forever ago. And then, uh.

it really

really got out of hand.

This is a pretty dark fic (even for me) and at the current moment in time it is hurt/no comfort. I do intend to write a part 2, probably tomorrow, but as of the time I'm typing this author's note I've been writing for around 5+ hours straight and I need to take a break! So please, if you don't want to read all this without the comfort included, feel free to wait for the next part before reading! I'll link it and the end once it's posted.

Content warnings: Kidnapping, confinement, psychological torture, nonconsensual voyeurism (I guess this is the best way to put this; Leo isn't doing anything sexual but it's still violating), mild violence, HEAVY ANGST, Leo just having the shittiest time possible.

I HOPE?? YOU ENJOY??? hahahaha....

btw this is set between S2 and the movie (though tbh its canon compliance is... /waves hand)

-----

When Leo imagined himself getting captured by some kind of shady, quasi-governmental agency intent on imprisoning mutants, it was never anything like this.

When he let his mind go there, he always pictured that he would be strapped to a table. Maybe muzzled. That scientists would stand over him, scalpels and drills in hand, and start to take him apart. That they'd examine him piece by piece, and wouldn't give him any anesthesia while they did it.

But there is no table, no muzzle, no restraints at all. He's just in a room.

Well, a cell, technically - the steel door is locked, and there are no windows, no furniture but a bare cot in one corner and a lone toilet in another. But it doesn't really look like a cell. It looks like a room.

A very, very white room. White walls. White ceiling. White tiles (with white grout, even). The toilet is white, a roll of white toilet paper on the floor next to it. The only things that aren't white are the cot and the door and Leo himself.

They took his gear and his weapons, because of course they did. Since the door is steel, he already knows he's not breaking it down; he gives it a half-hearted slam anyway, just to say he tried. He should be able to just portal out, except he hasn't learned how to use his portals without his swords to channel his ninpo through, and there's nothing in here with him that he can use to make new ones.

So he's stuck. He's going to have to wait until someone opens that door for some reason. Or, of course, until his family swings by to pick him up. Though, if possible, he'd like to escape before that happens. The image in his mind, of sitting outside his cell and grinning at them as they arrive to rescue him, is too cool to pass up.

He's not sure how long it's been already. He knows that they knocked him out after ambushing him, and he doesn't know how long he was unconscious. The heavy molasses feel of his head and arms when he woke up suggests that he was drugged. It's wearing off now, though, which means he has a clear head to take in the all of nothing that's in the room with him.

He sits on the cot he woke up on and waits for something to happen.

There's no way for him to tell time, but he thinks it's an hour or so later when there's a sudden beep, and then the sound of a metal panel sliding up. It's a slot near the door that has just opened - inside the revealed alcove is a bottle of water.

He comes to it curiously, taking a long look around the bottle. The slot doesn't open straight through, and even if it did, it's not big enough for anything more than his arm or a foot to fit through. He thinks it must function like an airlock, or maybe they slid the bottle down from somewhere above - he feels around just in case, and finds that the slot is enclosed on all sides but his. Probably his airlock theory, then.

As soon as he removes the bottle, the panel slams shut again.

"You're really determined to keep me in here, huh?" he says to whatever hidden cameras are watching him. He carries the water bottle back to his cot, but doesn't open it, instead setting it down on the floor by the wall. The paranoid part of his brain, the one that doesn't miss a trick, is reminding him that drinking the water is probably a bad idea. Who knows what they might have put in it?

He sits on the cot for awhile longer. Still, nothing happens.

"I'm getting pretty bored in here," he says for the audience that must be somewhere. "Come on, you have a one of a kind turtle in here, and you don't even want to talk to me?"

Time passes, slow and quiet. Leo goes through periods where his anxiety spikes and he starts to wonder if he's been abandoned by whoever brought him here, before the boredom eventually numbs the anxiety back out. Another bottle of water is eventually delivered, and this one he keeps in his hands after retrieving it. It's completely unlabeled, not even a "Use by" date printed on the bottle itself, so it doesn't provide much mental stimulation. He spins the bottle to make little whirlpools inside, because it's something to do.

He's trying to make the fastest whirlpool he can when he hears a sudden click, different from the beep of the water bottle hole, and he looks up just in time to see a large section of the wall in front of him turn black, and then light up to show the room beyond his cell.

He jolts, setting the bottle aside. He knew they must be watching him, but somehow he didn't catch that part of the wall was a whole window.

His audience isn't very large - five people, unless there are others he can't see. Two wear lab coats, two wear fatigues... but the one who comes to stand directly in front of the window is wearing a black suit, with steel rimmed glasses. He leans forward, and speaks into a small microphone.

"Inmate 24365," says the suited man. "I am Agent Bishop, of the Earth Protection Force. My subordinates tell me that you can speak and understand the English language. Is this correct?"

"Qué?" Leo asks.

Bishop does not look amused. "Inmate 24365," he says, "you have two options. You can cooperate with me, answer my questions, and we will make your stay here more comfortable. Do not cooperate, and we will make your stay uncomfortable. Do you understand?"

Leo pretends to hem and haw over this. "How comfortable are we talkin'?"

"I'm sure you would like some dinner."

"You know, I'm not really hungry." He says it to be difficult, but it's actually true - the uncertainty of the situation has put his stomach in too many knots to want to eat anything. "Maybe if you offer me some comic books? Or a TV?

To Bishop's credit, his face doesn't so much as twitch. He keeps his steely eyes locked on Leo. "Answer our questions, and you will receive food. Do you understand?"

Leo stays noncommittal. "What are the questions?"

He's expecting Bishop to ask about his family. He's not expecting what comes next.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave?" he asks. "How are these gateways accessed? What kind of defensive capabilities do the yokai have?"

Leo keeps the surprise off his face. Bishop thinks he's a yokai.

This is, overall, a good development. Bishop might not know about Leo's family, then, or at least not know that they live on the surface. This means the Earth Protection Force likely isn't pursuing his brothers, which means they will be safe until they can help Leo get out of here.

He doesn't let the relief show through, either. Bishop doesn't know anything, and now Leo just has to ride out the next few hours until the calvary arrives.

"You know," he says, "I think I'm good with my current levels of comfort."

If Bishop is mad or frustrated or dismayed by this choice, he doesn't show it. His expression stays stony as he stares in at Leo, sizing him up.

"Very well," he says after a few more seconds. "I will see you tomorrow, then."

The window goes dark, and then turns stark white to match the walls. Leo wants to go over and tap at it, see if it feels different when he touches it, but knowing that Bishop is surely still there, watching him, keeps him rooted to the cot.

He goes back to making whirlpools with the bottle. If they aren't going to entertain him, he isn't going to entertain them, either.

-----

Another water bottle comes some time after his talk with Bishop. He finally opens this one and takes a cautious sip. Nothing tastes off or strange, so he drinks more. They don't want to feed him, but they're fine keeping him hydrated. No reason to stay thirsty, then.

He wishes the water calmed the anxiety still roiling in his stomach, but if anything it just makes him feel even more energized. He bounces his foot and surveys his room again, looking for any weak spots or access points. He can't see anything, though, other than the areas where he knows the water bottle hole and window are; even the vents that relentlessly blow cold air into the room are well hidden.

Knowing that there are people standing just outside his cell watching him, like some kind of zoo animal, puts him on edge. The window is so big that he's pretty sure the only blind spots are either directly underneath it or right by the door on the same wall. After debating it, he leaves his cot and sits on the floor underneath the window, surveying the room from a different angle now and still coming up empty. At least they're going to have a harder time staring at him.

His eyes catch on the toilet in the corner, directly across from the window. It's not in the blind spot, and realizing this makes his insides lurch uncomfortably - hopefully he has a chance to bust out before using it becomes necessary.

Though, he's not sure when that chance is going to come. If they have a slot to pass him water, they could use that to pass him food, too, so it's unlikely that anyone is going to open the door unless they need to take him out.

So maybe his fantasy of being outside when his brothers arrive isn't going to happen. Well, that's okay; he'll just be sure to make some other part of their escape totally rad. That will make up for the embarrassment of getting kidnapped a block from Run of the Mill.

(Seriously, some kind of ninja he is, to let a bunch of human soldiers sneak up on him.)

He drains the water bottle, then starts to roll it back and forth across the floor, like a cat batting at a toy. Leo's not sure what's worse right now: the worry or the boredom. There's nothing to look at and no one to talk to, just an empty room with him and his water bottles.

He's too keyed up to sleep, and the fluorescent lights are still on, anyway. He has no way of telling what time it is, so maybe it just isn't that late yet. And even sitting here, in the blind spot, the idea of closing his eyes while people are watching makes unease crawl up his spine. Staying awake is the easy choice. He'll sleep after he's out of here.

So he sits under the window and rolls his bottle back and forth, back and forth, with only the sound of plastic on tile to keep his thoughts company.

-----

The first three water bottles came pretty regularly, but now there is a very long stretch where nothing is delivered. Leo is starting to think maybe it really is night now. They don't turn off the lights in his cell, though, and he has no controls to do it himself. At least it helps with the whole "staying awake" thing.

Just in case they've decided to suspend his water privileges along with the food, he holds off drinking any more for now.

Speaking of food, his appetite has finally decided to return. His stomach starts to growl at him after several hours (he thinks) of sitting in the floor, an annoying emptiness in his stomach. Knowing there's no food accessible just makes the hunger sharper, but he puts it out of his mind the best he can with nothing else to focus on. He can eat once he's free.

Which should be soon. Seriously, his brothers have to be on their way by now, right?

He's pretty sure it's been the better part of a day, if not a whole day, since he was kidnapped. And, okay, he's willing to give them some leeway; it's understandable if they got a late start. He did storm out of the lair after his latest fight with Raph, and no one ever came to check on him when he did that. Understandably, he thinks, because who wants to be around Bad Mood Leo? Not even Leo wants to be around Bad Mood Leo!

But he'd already turned back into Good Mood Leo by the time he left Hueso's, so surely they knew it had been more than enough time. They would have noticed when he didn't come home. They would have realized something happened. They would be looking for him.

And if they're looking for him, they'll find him! Obviously.

His stomach growls again, and Leo leans his head back against the wall behind him. Maybe he shouldn't think of being at Hueso's. Now he just wants pizza. Pepperoni and mushroom, maybe, or Hawaiian. Mix it up a little with the barbeque chicken.

Another growl. He groans out loud.

He stays awake, twisting and crinkling the empty bottle in his hands, until another full one finally arrives.

-----

No chance to escape comes before using the toilet is necessary.

He tried to hold out, he really did, but he ended up drinking more water to stave off the growing hunger, and it's lowkey cold in here, which doesn't help. Still, the issue of the window sends an uneasy shiver up his spine, doubting that any people outside will feel the need to turn away and give him some privacy. Maybe he should have gone while he suspected it was nighttime.

(Maybe he shouldn't assume they ever aren't watching him.)

He stands up and walks over to the cot, giving it a light nudge with his foot. In a stroke of luck, it isn't bolted to the floor, and it's light enough that he can lift it. The black mesh it's made of is tightly woven, enough that not much is visible through it. It will have to do.

He picks it up and drags it over in front of the toilet, propping it up on its legs so it makes a small wall between himself and the window. It's hardly ideal, but the semblance of privacy makes him relax somewhat.

(He can't think about how there are surely cameras in the room watching him from all angles, making his attempt at a barrier moot. He knows better than anyone that sometimes pleasant lies are necessary.)

After he does his business, he leaves the cot propped where it is; it's not like he's sleeping on it. There's no sink for him to wash his hands, but he's never been the strictest about it, anyway (much to Donnie's disgust). He returns to his spot under the window, squeezing the water bottle to the rhythm of the first song that comes to mind.

Only two verses and a bridge later, the window above his head turns black, then goes clear. Thinking that Bishop might have been watching him just now makes a cold, slimy feeling roll down his spine. Creepy!

"Inmate 24365," comes Bishop's voice through the unseen speaker. "Stand."

Leo doesn't. He stays right where he is, under the window.

Bishop waits only a few seconds. Then Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

He gets up at that, turning and leaning his arm against the window. It strangely doesn't feel like glass, even though it must be. "It's already cold enough in here," he says. He wonders how they can hear him, when he doesn't see a microphone on his side.

"You were told your conditions would only be made comfortable after you answer our questions," Bishop informs him. "The same as before: how many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways-"

"How about you answer my questions first," Leo interjects. "You keep calling me "inmate," but I haven't been charged with anything. Pretty sure you can't detain me without cause."

"The EPF is authorized to detain non-human inmates for as long as deemed necessary for the security of the United States," says Bishop smoothly. "Probable cause doctrine does not apply in this case."

"That's gotta be unconstitutional."

"The constitution does not recognize the rights of yokai. You have no right to counsel, no right to a speedy trial, and no right to protections from cruel and unusual punishments." Bishop's stare is colder than the temperature in the room. "But I am not an unfair man. Answer my questions, and I will provide you with food and clothing."

Leo tosses a glance over his shoulder. "How about a private bathroom?"

Bishop's expression stays ever in place, unimpressed and stoic. "Food and clothing," he repeats.

Leo gives his head a shake. "Then nope," he says, popping the "p". "I plead the fifth."

"As I have already explained, the Bill of Rights does not apply to you."

"That's such crap." Leo bangs his fist on the window. "You can't just keep me here forever for no reason!"

"I do have reasons." Bishop leans closer to the window, his eyes narrowing. "Let's try a different question. What is your relation to Baron Draxum?"

The surprise is fast and sharp, but Leo just manages to keep it from showing on his face. "Who?" he asks innocently, even as the panic sets into his chest. If they know about Draxum, what else do they know?

"We know you are acquainted with him," says Bishop. "What is the nature of your relationship?"

Leo knows they aren't bluffing - why would they bring up that very specific name otherwise? There's no lie he can tell that won't reveal something.

So he doesn't say anything. Instead, he turns his back to the window and sits down, staring resolutely at the opposite wall.

Bishop clicks his tongue. "Very well," he says. "I am a patient man. I can wait." Then, more muffled, like he's facing away from the microphone, Leo hears him say, "Temperature down two degrees."

The window goes dark, then turns back to white. Leo doesn't move for a long time.

-----

The third water bottle arrives, so he guesses that's the end of day two.

He's shaking as he gets up to retrieve it, adding it to his growing water bottle hoard. He's gone through three and a half by now, but he's trying not to drink them too fast.

As promised, no food is delivered, and his stomach growls and rumbles in protest. The water helps, but only slightly. He needs to eat.

He also needs to sleep.

The panicked adrenaline spikes that have kept him awake this long are starting to die down, with more and more long stretches of exhaustion between them. The shaking is near constant, bringing with it the weird jittery feeling he gets when his insomnia gets particularly bad.

The window is still unnerving him. The idea of sleeping while they're watching him feels staggeringly unsafe.

But he doesn't think he can hold out now until his family gets here. Sure, they're probably getting close (they have to be getting close), but they're sure taking their sweet time. And he's just so tired.

After a long internal debate, he lays down on the cold tile floor. It's not at all comfortable, but somehow he doubts the cot would be any better. Besides, even if he moves the cot under the window, he thinks it would be easier to see him if he uses it. So on the floor it is.

He presses as close to the wall as he can, curling up into a ball for warmth. He wishes he had a blanket.

He wishes he was home.

He squeezes his eyes shut tight and forces back the sudden wave of overwhelming homesickness. There's no reason to feel this way. It's only been two days! What is he, a baby?

It's fine. It's all fine. They're definitely on his trail now. Raph is leading the team. Donnie is using some kind of invention to blah blah blah nerd stuff. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative journalism skills to find clues.

They're on their way. He just has to hold out a little longer. He can do this.

He sleeps, and in his dreams, something grabs him tight and drags him down and down and down where he can't escape.

-----

The same routine plays out over the next two days.

Leo gets two water bottles delivered, spaced, if he had to guess, about five hours apart. Bishop comes to visit him some time after the second bottle. Leo refuses to answer his questions. Bishop turns the temperature down and then leaves. A few hours later his last water bottle comes. Then nothing for the whole night.

They still don't turn off his lights, but exhaustion is starting to win over the brightness.

More than a few times, Leo tries to summon a portal on his own, without his swords. If his family is going to take their sweet time in coming, he might as well try to help them out. He tries to summon his ninpo (without glowing), tries to feel the tug inside of him that he always does when he teleports, tries to envision the place he wants to go and tunnel through space to get there.

Nothing. Always nothing.

(Donnie can make his constructs independent of his bo staff. Raph can send his projections away from his sai. Mikey's learning to use mystic powers without his nunchucks. So why does Leo need his katana? Why is he the only one this useless?)

It probably doesn't help that he's so damn hungry. It's a constant companion now, a low and hollow ache that chooses inconvenient times to turn into white hot stabs of urgency, into seizing cramps that steal his breath. The water only helps so much - it keeps him alive but doesn't satisfy, doesn't soothe. In some ways it just makes the feeling worse.

And he's always shaking, too, but he doesn't know if that's the hunger or the cold.

Maybe the cold wouldn't bother him so much if it were at least still. But the vents blow fresh air inside relentlessly, and no matter where he goes he can't seem to get out of the direct stream. The cold wind batters his tired body, and there's places his skin is starting to turn dry and flaky. His nose won't stop running, and he's allowed himself a small section of his one roll of toilet paper to blow it, already stiff and congealed and disgusting.

It's miserable.

And there's still nothing to do.

He stacks a pyramid out of his empty water bottles, knocks it down, then stacks it up again. He tries to come up with some new and exciting ways to demolish it, but it's only new and exciting for so long.

He spends a few hours of day three singing karaoke as obnoxiously as possible. He hopes everyone outside enjoys the performance.

He recounts every issue of Jupiter Jim he knows to himself, then the plot of every movie. Then he goes through Lou Jitsu films, then anything else he can think of. That eats up a good chunk of day four.

By the time he gets his first water bottle of day five, he's out of ideas to entertain himself. He's never been good at this. He doesn't know how introverts like Donnie can go multiple days without talking to someone.

But when Bishop comes back with his daily offer of conversation, Leo once again impolitely declines.

-----

Something new happens on night five.

It's been a long time since the last water bottle. Leo has been trying to sleep, but it's not coming easy; he's exhausted, but the floor is so cold and he's so sore from staying on it night after night. Not to mention, his nightmares have been getting worse, and he isn't eager to return to them.

Add on the hunger, and sleep is elusive.

Suddenly, there's the telltale shadow of the window above him turning dark - this time, though, it doesn't light up as much as normal. Confused and curious, Leo sits up and takes a peek.

The room beyond is dim, only the glow of a green EXIT sign and a small desk lamp lighting the space. But it's enough for Leo to see a man standing there, looking inside. It's not Bishop - in fact, he doesn't recognize this person at all. They're wearing fatigues, but it's not anyone he's seen in the room during Bishop's normal interrogations.

The man catches sight of Leo, and the grinning leer on his face makes Leo regret looking.

He beckons for Leo to stand up. Warily, Leo does, unable to help but keep his arms folded tight over his chest. Not for the first time, he wishes he had some clothes - his gear, at the very least. Anything to not feel quite so exposed.

The man reaches down and picks something up, holding it aloft for Leo's inspection. "Want a sandwich?" he asks into the microphone.

The sandwich looks like white bread and bologna. No cheese, no other toppings that Leo can spot. Maybe some mustard, if anything. Overall, the most boring possible sandwich he could have been offered.

Leo's mouth is watering.

He has to swallow hard before answering. He doesn't trust this. Even if his stomach is slamming up and down at the promise of food, food, food.

"I'm not hungry," he lies.

The man laughs. It's not a kind sound. "Sure you ain't," he says. "You spend every night curled up on the floor like the dumb animal you are. Can you even eat this?" He waves the sandwich for emphasis.

Leo doesn't answer. He takes a step back from the window, like that will put any kind of distance between them. Like that will save him.

The man watches him with a sleezy grin. He waves the sandwich again.

"You want this," he says.

Leo shakes his head.

"You really sure?"

Leo shudders. Stands tall. Nods.

The man watches him for a long, long moment. Leo fights the urge to hide.

Finally, with a shrug, the man says, "Suit yourself."

Then he starts eating the sandwich. Right where Leo can watch.

Leo's stomach growls, loud and angry in his ears, and he has to physically hold himself back from crumpling.

After several bites, the man suddenly reaches out and taps the window, indicating the cot stood up in front of the toilet.

"That," he says, giving another tap for emphasis, "doesn't do shit."

Leo wants to crawl out of his own skin.

The need to hide is suddenly too great. He rushes to the cot, grabbing it and dragging it back to the blind spot under the window. He sets it down on all four legs, so it's as close to the floor as possible.

Then he lies down on his belly and wriggles underneath. It's a tight squeeze, and the cot ends up pushed up by his shell, suspended in the air, but he doesn't care.

He curls up in his pleasant lie of privacy and bites his hand to keep from screaming himself hoarse.

After an eternity, the window above him turns white again. It doesn't matter. Leo knows he's still there. Still watching.

-----

"You look tired," Bishop greets him. Leo answers with a dead-eyed stare.

"I keep telling you, if you want your conditions to improve, all you have to do is answer my questions."

Leo says nothing. He just stares, arms wrapped tight around himself to try and keep his body heat in.

"How many gateways are there between New York City and the hidden yokai enclave? How are these gateways accessed?"

For a moment, Leo considers just... telling him.

His family doesn't live in the Hidden City. The yokai have never exactly greeted them with open arms. What does he care if these military guys go after them? At least then, maybe he can finally eat something.

That's not what a hero does, Leo! echoes Mind Raph disapprovingly. Innocent people will get hurt!

Right. He's a hero. And heroes don't give into the demands of shitty guys like Bishop.

Leo swallows hard. "No comment."

Bishop's face changes ever so slightly: his brow creases. Leo wonders if that's good or bad for him.

"You understand that Baron Draxum is a known threat, don't you?" he asks. "We are aware of his plans to commit mass murder on the human population. We also know that he has been dormant for some time, and we need information on what he is planning."

Leo thinks of Barry's ambitions to be recognized as the best lunchperson in all of America and can't help but laugh. It comes out cracked and wheezing.

Bishop's furrow gets deeper. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Little bit," says Leo.

Bishop has a chasm to rival Raph's now. Leo knows he shouldn't, but he grins. It's his one moment of triumph - only he can be this aggravating.

And then Bishop says, "Temperature down seven degrees," and that wipes the smile right off Leo's face.

-----

The plastic of the water bottles is soft and pliable and feels weirdly good under Leo's teeth.

He chews the top of the bottle, gnawing at it until it's completely flattened out, pockmarked with little tiny indents from his incisors. It's not eating - it won't fill his belly or ease the persistent hunger pains. But something about the motion is soothing. The place-bo effect.

Pla-ce-bo, corrects Donnie's voice in his mind, sounding testy.

Where are you? Leo thinks back.

There's no answer.

He's gnawed his way through four water bottles. There's eighteen in total now, two and a half still full of water. He thought about using one to wash up a bit, but decided against it in the end. He knows he stinks, but the last thing he wants right now is to be wet. Not when he's starting to see his breath.

Oh well. It's not like he has anywhere to be.

He turns his attentions to the lids next. These are harder and thus tougher to chew. Still, if Leo uses his molars, he can eventually crack the lip, and then bend the plastic in and in, chewing until he ends up with a flat disc.

It's just small enough that Leo could swallow it, if he wanted to.

He thinks he remembers watching some kind of wildlife documentary. Or maybe he didn't watch it himself, but Mikey told him about it. Or maybe April? He doesn't know. His thoughts swim in and out and get lost on the way.

Point is. Sea turtles in the wild die all the time because of plastic in the water. They cut open their stomachs and find trash inside.

Well, Leo is a turtle in captivity. Maybe that means he's immune. Maybe he could swallow this plastic lid, and then he'd finally feel full and the pain pain pain of his empty stomach would go away.

He does not swallow the plastic lid. But it's more tempting than he'd like to admit.

It's going to be okay. When his family gets him out of here, they'll have a big pizza to celebrate. Maybe he can even talk them into letting him have the last slice.

It has to be any moment now, right? It's been a week. They have to be closing in. Any moment now, the door will open, and there they'll be to take him home.

The air conditioning blows relentlessly against his skin. He sneezes, then rubs the snot on his arm. He's given up on the tissue paper.

It'll be over soon. It has to be. Just hang in there, Leon, just a little longer.

He picks up another bottle and starts chewing.

-----

He's playing a mindless little game with his flattened bottle lids the next time Bishop comes.

"I'm surprised you still have any energy at all," says Bishop, and Leo wants to punch him.

(Really, he wants to do more than that. But those kinds of thoughts always make him feel weird and bad, so he pushes them away.)

"You should have learned by now," he says, pushing to his feet and trying not to show how badly he's trembling, "you can't keep me down."

"This is all unnecessary," says Bishop. "I'll feed you as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo barks out a laugh. "Sure you will."

"I will," says Bishop. He turns and says over his shoulder, "Bring it here."

One of the men in fatigues steps forward and hands a tray with a covered plate over to Bishop. Bishop uncovers the tray and holds it where Leo can see.

Baked chicken, broccoli with cheese, mashed potatoes.

Leo's stomach twists and cramps so painfully he has to bend at the hips and clutch his midriff.

"This is yours, as soon as you answer my questions."

Leo pointedly keeps from looking at the food. He shakes his head. He can't. He can't.

"Such persistence." Bishop's voice is scolding now. "You understand that you are a known accomplice to a terrorist, don't you? But if you become a cooperating witness, you will be granted some leniency."

Leo barks a laugh, lifting his eyes to look at Bishop's face, and pointedly not the food. "What's the point?" he asks. "If I'm not... protected by the constitution, or whatever. Are you going to let me go?"

"No," says Bishop. "But as I have told you, your conditions will become more comfortable." He waves the tray of food.

Leo stares at him, before a manic smile splits his face.

"You... stupid bastard. I can't even answer your questions." He slams a shaking hand against his plastron. "I'm not even a yokai! Do you get that? I'm not a yokai!"

Bishop looks skeptical. "Obviously you are."

"I'm not!" Leo rages. "I'm a mutant! I'm from New York! I don't even live in the Hidden City!"

Bishop's eyes flash. "I see," he says, "so you do know of it."

Leo falters, his body going slack.

What an obvious, stupid mistake.

(Some face-man he is.)

It takes Leo a long moment to answer. Bishop stays right where he is, holding the food so tantalizingly close and yet still out of reach.

"...I don't know about the gateways," he says finally. "I don't know about their defensive capabilities. I don't know what Baron Draxum is planning."

"Your lies are obvious," says Bishop. "You really don't want this? It's your last chance today."

Leo stares at the food. His mouth is watering so hard it might start to drip. Would it really be so bad to answer? They don't live in the Hidden City. And Draxum dropped him off a roof.

Draxum is trying to change, says Mind Raph. You see what these guys are like. You can't turn the yokai over to them. They'll hurt them!

What about me? he asks. Is it okay if I get hurt?

You're a hero, Leo, says Mind Raph. You can deal with it for a little longer. It's just a room. Just a little cold. Just some hunger.

He's a hero. He can deal with it. He can. He can.

He'll make them proud. Show them they can trust him.

It takes everything he has, but he shakes his head.

Bishop tuts. Then he throws the entire plate in the trash.

"Tomorrow, then," he says. Then the window is gone.

Leo collapses on his cot and tries not to cry.

-----

After his third water bottle on day eight, one of the fluorescent lights over his head flickers and then dies out.

It's not surprising, since they keep them running twenty-four seven. The blessedly dimmed lighting is actually nice, for once. Leo thinks maybe he could get some sleep, if the gnawing hunger and the constant shivers don't keep him awake.

He's just closed his eyes and snuggled up under his cot when it occurs to him: they may come in to fix it. If keeping the lights on day and night is part of their plan to torture him, to keep him exhausted and anxious and on edge, then they have to.

Which means his chance is finally here.

He has to be careful about this. He has to be ready to move, but he can't let them know he's ready to move. He has to let them think he's too weak, too exhausted, to make an escape attempt.

(He can't let himself think that, though. He can't give up before he tries.)

So he stays under his cot, but subtly shifts it so it won't restrict his movement. He has to be ready to burst out as soon as he gets a chance. Get past whoever comes in, then get out the door. It's after the last water bottle, so it's nighttime. There will be fewer people. He can do this. He can do this.

Find his swords. Make a portal. Get out.

Just as he was thinking, after a long time has passed, there is a loud warning beep, different from the water bottle beep. An automated voice says from somewhere unseen, "Inmates clear the door. Security personnel entering. Stay still and you will not be harmed."

Then the door slides open, and someone comes in.

It's a man wearing fatigues. Leo thinks this is the one who "offered" him a sandwich the other day. He's holding some kind of gun with a long barrel. He does a sweep of the room with his eyes, coming to rest on Leo under his cot. He gives Leo the same leering grin, and waves the barrel of the gun in his direction.

"Now you behave, and we'll get along just fine," he says.

He steps to the side, and another man enters, this one wearing the kind of jumpsuit Leo sees janitors in on TV. He's carrying a stepladder in one hand and a long tube in the other. Is that what fluorescent lights look like? Leo didn't know.

The man walks to the middle of the room and sets up his stepladder. Then he walks up and pulls off the light casing. When he unhooks the old bulb, it causes the other bulb to flicker, just for a few moments.

Leo explodes out from under the cot, grabbing the man in fatigues by the legs and yanking as hard as he can. The man yelps in surprise, and Leo hears the sound of the gun going off in a random direction. The janitor shouts and drops the light bulb - the sound of shattering glass joins the cacophony.

Leo jumps to his feet and runs out the door they had been too stupid to close, sprinting toward the EXIT sign. He's exhausted and shaky but he's coursing with adrenaline, and he leans on it hard to keep him moving. Don't stop, don't stop, get out of here. He'll figure out what to do next once he's free.

Past the exit sign there's a large open room with desks and computer monitors. Most of them are off, but one lingering woman in a lab coat, seated at her desk, screams when she sees Leo dash through the middle of the office space.

"Security!" she screams into a device on her chest. "Inmate is escaping! Inmate is escaping!"

Leo doesn't have time to shut her up, he just keeps moving. He pushes through the next door and arrives in a hallway; he only has time to glance one way and then the other before scrambling to the left, hoping it was a good choice.

He rounds a corner and sees another green EXIT sign up ahead. It's not where he meant to go - he meant to find where they're keeping his swords first. But he hears shouting behind him and doesn't stop. Fine, so no portals - he'll figure out something else once he's away from here.

He throws himself forward into the exit door, which leads him into yet another hallway. Another long sprint, with shouting and slamming doors at his heels, and then finally, finally, a third EXIT sign, and he crashes outside.

Where there's snow on the ground, snow on the trees.

It steals his breath away. There shouldn't be snow. It's May.

Where is he?

He takes a breath of air so cold it seizes his lungs, then takes a step forward. He'll worry about that-

BANG!

A piercing pain in his shoulder nearly sends him toppling over. Leo shouts, grasping for the wound and feeling something sticking out of his skin. He grabs it and yanks, pulling it free.

It's a dart.

Damn it, he thinks, before his vision goes woozy, and he collapses into the snow.

-----

"Are you proud of your little escape attempt?" comes Bishop's voice.

Leo looks up from his cot. Bishop has to get so close to the window to see him that his nose is pressed flat against it. It should be hilarious, but Leo doesn't really have the energy to laugh. Or to do much of anything.

He's hungry. He's tired. He's cold. He's still sluggish from the drugs.

And they threw away all his water bottles. Fuckers.

Leo rolls over on the cot and covers his ears.

"What a childish response," says Bishop, and that's funny, too, because Leo literally is a child. Or a teenager, anyway. He doesn't feel like it will help him much to point that out, though.

"All you have to do is answer my questions, and all this will be fixed."

That's the funniest thing of all. The idea that he spills his guts and Bishop treats him to a five course meal to make up for all the pain up till now. Hilarious.

He says nothing.

Bishop sighs.

"You are likely still affected by the tranquilizing agent. I'll return tomorrow."

Before he leaves, he says, "Temperature down five degrees."

-----

The same man is back that night. He opens the window and looks down at Leo with the same leering smile. Leo can't even take satisfaction in the bandage on the side of his head.

"Neat little trick you had yesterday," he says. "Almost got me fired."

Leo wishes it had gotten him fired. But he clearly has no luck in this situation.

"You know, I respect the attempt. And you probably would have gotten farther with a little food in your belly." The man reaches down, then retrieves a sandwich, as mouth-wateringly unappetizing as the last time. "You sure you don't want this?"

And Leo knows he shouldn't trust this guy. Leo knows he should say no.

But he's just...

so...

hungry.

So he gets up. And he turns to the window. On shaking limbs that can barely hold him upright anymore. With a body that is laced with pain and aches and cramps.

And he nods.

The man's smile gets wider. "What do you say?" he asks, in the sing-song tone of a parent scolding a child.

It makes a sick nausea rise in Leo's throat. But he wants the sandwich.

"Please," he gasps out.

"Mmm... not good enough." The man waves the sandwich. "You want this? You beg for it."

Leo stares, eyes wide. But the sandwich... the sandwich...

He gets down on his knees. Feels a searing flush of humiliation. His stomach is rolling and gurgling and cramping with pain, a hollow, empty chasm inside him desperate to be filled.

He lowers his head.

"Please," he says. "I... I want the sandwich. I'm... begging you, please."

The man laughs, loud and long. When Leo finally finds it in him to raise his eyes, the sandwich is already half eaten.

"Hey, good job," says the man, licking a bit of mustard off his thumb. "That was real convincin'."

And then he takes another bite.

Just like that, Leo forgets about the pain, the aches, the cold, the hunger. All that's left is pure, white hot, screaming rage.

Leo lunges at the window and slams his fist into it so hard it cracks. Not enough to break the glass. Not enough to free him. But enough that the man startles and steps back.

And Leo starts to laugh. High and manic and unhinged even to his own ears.

"I'll kill you," he says, and his voice sounds almost joking, and yet- "I'll kill you. You're dead. You're dead, as soon as I get out of here, you're dead, I'll kill you, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The man has dropped the rest of his sandwich. He fumbles for his gun, left somewhere on a table to the side. For one satisfying moment, Leo sees a flash of genuine fear on the man's face.

"Shit," he says, his voice far away the further he gets from the microphone. "Pretty scary, frogboy."

Then he slams a button, and the window goes black, and Leo gets a glimpse of his own reflection.

His face is gaunt and drawn. His eyes are ringed by deep circles, so dark they look like bruises. His body is shaking like a leaf.

And his stripes...

His stripes are lit up like when he uses his ninpo, but they aren't their usual Neon Leon bright.

They're almost black.

Leo gasps and stumbles back just as the window goes white. The full body quakes he feels now aren't from the cold or the hunger or the exhaustion.

He turns and sinks onto the cot. Puts his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Tries to will his ninpo to stop rolling and snapping and to go back to normal.

This isn't what he wants. This isn't him.

This place is breaking him. He's letting it break him.

He pulls his legs up onto the cot and buries his face in his knees. Wraps his arms around them and rocks gently, the way Donnie used to do when things got overwhelming. Maybe he understands that better, now.

This isn't him. He's Leonardo, Neon Leon, the face-man, the jokester! The one who's always ready with a quip and a laugh. The one who can do anything!

Except portal out of his room. Except escape from this building. Except resist begging for a sandwich like he's a dog.

Leo's breath hitches, and for once he doesn't stop himself. He knows the guy outside is probably watching. He knows there are cameras recording this. He hates giving them the satisfaction.

But he's tired, and hungry, and he...

He wants to go home.

He cries, silently, until he's completely rung out.

-----

Maybe they aren't coming.

That's the thought that pops into his head, just a bit after the first water bottle of the day.

He knew they would have gotten a late start, because he stormed out. And he knew it would take them awhile to figure out who took him - he hadn't heard of the EPF before, so why would they? And he knew it would take them time to figure out where he had been taken, which must have been pretty far out if it's snowing outside. But the EPF got him here within a night, he's pretty sure, so unless they have a super fast jet, he must still be on the continent somewhere.

So... so surely they must have figured it out by now, right? Raph is leading the team. Donnie is doing science things. Mikey is razzing his tazz. April is using her investigative skills.

Unless they aren't coming.

Maybe... maybe it's true. Why would they want him back, after all? Leo took Raph's leader position, and since then all he'd managed to do was piss Raph off. Mikey and Donnie hadn't been happy about it, either, and he'd noticed that they'd been avoiding him more and more. April claimed she wasn't taking sides, but she always seemed to be on Raph's anyway. And Dad... well, he was probably disappointed that he made Leo leader only for him to do nothing and then get himself kidnapped.

He doesn't bring anything to the team. He doesn't bring anything to the family. And no one likes his jokes.

So. Maybe they just... aren't looking. Maybe they aren't going to come.

Maybe he's held out this long for no reason. Maybe he's been cold and starving for no reason at all.

Maybe it's time to give up.

---

Don't give up, says a new voice in his head.

You are not alone.

-----

He has no energy left to stand when Bishop comes. The man looks down at him, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You don't look well," he observes.

No shit, Leo wants to say.

"This has gone on long enough. Answer my questions, and we will provide you with food, clothing, and medical care."

The list is getting longer. Leo's fuzzy eyes stare up at Bishop. Medical care. Does he need that?

"You already know what I want to know." Bishop has a furrow between his eyebrows now. "Will you talk to me?"

He could. He could do it. He could finally have some relief from all the pain. All the hunger. All the cold.

But they might hurt the yokai in the Hidden City.

They might hurt Draxum.

They might hurt his family.

And maybe, if nothing else... if Leo could just keep his mouth shut, just this once...

Maybe that would finally make Raph, Dad, and everyone proud of him.

Maybe they'd finally trust him.

Maybe, at least, he can have that much.

Leo shakes his head.

Bishop scowls.

"Temperature down ten degrees."

-----

Leo isn't shivering anymore. That's probably a bad sign.

He can still see his breath, each time he exhales. It rises like smoke, before disappearing into the air.

He doesn't have any energy left, not even to chew on his new water bottles. He hasn't even collected the last two, and they sit crowded together in the slot, untouched.

He kind of wishes they had just dissected him from the beginning. It would have been faster. Freezing to death, he's decided, is a real zero out of ten. Starving to death isn't any better. No stars.

Even though the damn lights are still on, he feels extremely sleepy. It's probably the cold. He wonders what will happen if he brumates. He's never done it before, not like his little cousins, and he has no idea if it's even safe.

Probably not, given he has no calorie reserves left. All it means is he won't be drinking water, either.

But he's so sleepy.

It's going to be time soon for Bishop to come back. Leo doesn't know what the point is anymore. Maybe he'll just sleep through it. Yeah, that would really make him mad. And making Bishop mad is all he has at this point.

And he'll get to sleep. It's a win-win.

So thinking, Leo rolls himself over onto his belly. Then, one by one, he pulls his limbs into his shell.

He doesn't do this much anymore, not since he started growing. His body just doesn't seem to fit his shell like it should - a side effect of the mutation, probably. It's not really comfortable to be inside for long.

But Leo is sleepy. And his shell feels like the best place to be.

So he pulls in his legs, then his arms, and then, finally, his head.

It's not any warmer in here. But at least it's dark.

At least he's not shivering.

Leo sighs, content, and closes his eyes, and drifts to sleep.

-----

(Outside his cell, there's a bang, and shouting, and a gunshot.

The sound is muffled, and Leo sleeps on.)

-----

Part 1 (here) | Part 2

#rottmnt #rise leo #agent bishop #cw: psychological torture #dandy fanfiction #I want it to be clear that any time Leo is hearing “Mind Raph”#that's just his own inner voice manifesting #please don't be mad at Raph himself lol

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merakiui · 2 months

Text

RABU.

yandere!jade leech x (female) reader cw: yandere, brief nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, implied murder/death, implied cannibalism, pregnancy, obsession note - i chatted with @heyyy11 and we discussed noodle shop owner jade!! :D this fic is the result of our thoughts. additionally, it's inspired by maretu's "binomi" and lyrics featured are from mitski's "me and my husband."

i. i steal a few breaths from the world for a minute. and then i’ll be nothing forever. and all of my memories and all of the things i have seen will be gone. with my eyes, with my body, with me.

There’s a pot of perpetual stew sitting on the stove.

It fills the small shop with savory scents, enthralling all who catch its delicious aroma on the air. Your husband of twenty years tends to it every now and then, lifting the lid to stir through its contents with a large wooden spoon. Regulars stop by for a fix of his food and comment much the same thing each time: “That husband of yours sure loves his stew.”

“Oh, he can’t get enough,” you would always reply, giggling at their observations.

You would then scrawl their usual orders in your notepad and they’d give you a knowing look. Still so infatuated even though two decades have passed—aren’t you the sweetest? But you can’t help it. Your husband is everything: affectionate, attentive, a masterful chef…

His forever single twin brother often groused that Jade got all the good fortune. “Y’know, if you’re ever tired of Jade, I’m here for ya,” he’d say, leaning over the counter with a sleazy smirk. “Shrimpy’s free to visit whenever she wants. My arms are always open.”

And Jade would smile tightly at him, brush him away with his broom, all while saying, “I’m afraid the shop’s closed now. You’ll have to come back tomorrow, Floyd.”

He acts in jest. Mostly.

Shortly after your wedding, on your first night as newlyweds, the two of you made a compromise. Jade wanted a family; you weren’t ready to start one. And so, in order to work through this dispute, you came to an agreement: He would be in charge of the prep work for the noodle shop he intended to open—a metaphorical child more than anything. In return, you would take orders and chat with customers. A fair deal, one you thought was attractive in its own right. Jade, ever so patient and understanding, lounged beside you in bed, gesturing towards the ceiling as if attempting to spell out the vision before your very eyes. He spoke so eagerly of his dreams. It warmed your heart.

Naturally, just as passionately, you would support him in his every endeavor.

“What do you think of this name? Rabu Rabu Ramen.”

You rolled over on your side, snuggling closer. You couldn’t snuff the overwhelming elation and tenderness that wrapped itself around you whenever you looked at him. And he was all yours—your husband to love forever, to grow old with, to experience life’s highs and lows together. Your wedding night was just the beginning of what would surely be a riveting romance.

“It’s silly.”

“It’s lovey-dovey.”

“If you like it, I like it.”

“Truly?”

You pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t long before fantasy bled into reality. The both of you found a quaint spot in a quiet neighborhood. It was more hole-in-the-wall than you would’ve liked, but Jade didn’t seem to mind. Sometimes tourists stumbled in, commenting that they would’ve missed it had they not ventured down the narrow path. Jade liked that aspect. It was secretive, peaceful, off the beaten track…

By the end of your first year running the shop, plenty of praise had spread throughout the neighborhood. You learned the locals’ names and faces quickly, committing each to your memory as if there might be an exam later on. They thought you were the cutest, the way you’d take charge of the front while your husband worked diligently in the back. Grandmothers adored you, and they made sure to point out the obvious at every opportunity.

“Omago-san, it’s too quiet in here! You’re still so young. Plenty of time for a family. Tell that husband of yours to get busy!”

You could only offer an awkward smile. “Maybe one day.”

When that ‘one day’ would be, you couldn’t say.

It’s become something of a widely-held belief that Jade can’t make a single bad dish. Everything on the menu is scrumptious. From the homemade noodles to the variety of broths to the additional ingredients, each prepared by Jade’s adroit hand, it’s a feast for the ravenous.

Sometimes customers ask for recommendations, and if you aren’t careful you’ll end up fawning over every dish.

“It’s all so amazing, but I like my ramen with bone broth. My husband makes it better than I do.”

It was true. You couldn’t possibly replicate Jade’s skill in the kitchen. At the very least, when it comes to tea, you’re on an even playing field.

“Just what’s his secret anyway?”

To that question, you could only offer a shrug. “Maybe it’s love?”

Jade told you it was a family recipe—a cherished secret passed through the generations. You thought he’d confess at some point now that you’ve been part of the family for so long, but he’s yet to do so. It hurt at first. You’re married! Family! Jade is smooth about the entire thing, promising to tell you one day, easing all of your worries with sugared sentiments. You’re impatient and oh-so-curious, but you force yourself to wait for his sake.

It must be a special secret.

The pot on the stove is an heirloom. It’s old, yet reliable and sturdy. Jade’s mother gifted it to him in the wake of your engagement. Sometimes you think he treasures it more than anything. He’s always hovering near it, having forbidden you from lifting the lid, lest you unintentionally tamper with whatever it is he’s cooking. It smells hearty like meat stew most days, and according to Jade the process is long.

You linger near the stove. A tiny taste wouldn’t hurt, right? After all, Jade cooks things in excess to cure what appears to be an interminable hunger.

But then someone pokes their head inside the shop, calling out a greeting. You move to the front just as Jade returns from the storage room, carrying a crate of vegetables. That taste will have to wait.

Detective Azul Ashengrotto lowers onto a stool at the counter and heaves an exhausted sigh.

“If it isn’t Azul! What brings you here? Tired of the big city?”

Weary hues flick over your face. He manages a smile. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, (Name). You’re still as energetic as ever.”

“You know it. Every day’s sunny over here.” You rest your elbows on the counter and hum. “Although it’s been awfully slow today.”

“I envy you.” He lifts his hat off of his head to card a hand through tousled hair. Now that you’re looking at him, he seems to have lost some weight. His face is thinner. His eye sockets appear hollow, heavy with shadows. “They’re running me ragged over there. Too many cases. Not enough answers.”

“You ought to take better care of your health.”

“I am—will. I plan to as soon as I wrap up this current case.”

“What’s it about? If you can tell me, that is.”

“A young man went missing near the port. They think he might’ve fallen in and drowned. His wallet was brought up from the seabed, but they haven’t recovered his body yet.”

“How unfortunate… I’m sure his family’s distraught.”

Azul drags a hand down his face and sighs again. “A mess.”

“My, my. It’s been some time since I’ve heard that familiar sigh.”

Lowering his arm, Azul fixes him with a sardonic grin. “How kind of you to join us. I was starting to wonder where you were hiding.”

Jade hums and adjusts his bandana. “Forever confined to the kitchen. My wife is eating for two now.”

A minute ticks by before the realization flashes on Azul’s face. He looks between the both of you, stunned.

“Oh, you’ve—wow. I wasn’t expecting… Ahem. Congratulations.”

“Don’t listen to him. He’s talking about his stomach. I’m not pregnant.”

Azul’s countenance shifts through a catalogue of emotions before landing on a scowl. “To think I actually believed you for a moment. I rescind my congratulations.”

“My poor hara, endlessly empty without your sweet sentiments to fill it.”

“And my hara is telling me that you’re going to starve our guest if you keep being silly.” Clicking your tongue at him, you turn your much softer stare on Azul. “The usual, right?”

“Oh, thank you, but I ate before I came. I only intended to stop in and say hello since I was in the area. I really should be leaving now that—”

“Nonsense! You’re already here and Jade has nothing better to do. You should go back on a full stomach.”

“Indeed. A delicious bowl of tonkotsu ramen has your name on it,” Jade adds from his place in the kitchen. “And I do so love busying these idle hands of mine. Should they remain idle, I fear the devil may just find work for them…”

“I really shouldn’t…”

“You look so withered, Zuzu. You’ll feel better after a hot meal. I promise!”

The platonic affection twined through the nickname catches him by surprise. Huffing, his cheeks colored pink, he stuffs his hat on his head to veil the darkening blush. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt…”

“Yay!” You clap your hands together. “I’ll get started on tea.”

You weren’t going to give him much of a choice. Azul probably knows this by now, well-acquainted with your proclivity to play caretaker.

“This winter is particularly brutal,” he comments after you’ve fetched him a cup. It’s more of a change in subject than an observation. He shudders and burrows further into the warmth provided by his coat. “The worst time to die.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Winter is full of mistakes. Drunken mishaps at night, in which the victim slips on ice and falls into the sea… Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. I can’t begin to imagine how painful that must be—to not know where your loved one has disappeared to, only to find them just as the winter frost melts away to usher in spring.”

“Oh, that’s horrible!” You set the kettle down, and Azul watches steamy tendrils curl up towards the ceiling. “Does it ever scare you—the things you find?”

“I’ve seen so much it’s difficult to know what real fear even is.”

“Ah.” You glance over your shoulder at Jade as he opens the lid on the pot of stew. Your eyes drift over towards Azul once more. “You work hard. You deserve a break after your next case.”

“I could sleep forever when that day comes.”

“Retirement isn’t too far, is it, Ojiisan?”

Azul chokes around his breath. “Do I really look so old? Oh, my heart… If these sleepless nights don’t kill me, that assumption certainly will.”

You giggle. “Sorry, sorry. I meant to say you look as spry as ever.”

“You’re too happy to hammer nails into my coffin.”

“I do it with love. It’s our secret ingredient, you know!”

“So I’ve heard.”

The rest of your conversation stalls out. You wipe the counter with a fresh rag in hopes of giving yourself something to do while Azul reads through the newspaper and sips at his tea. You watch him in your peripheral vision. Is he taking care of himself? It doesn’t look like it, but you’ve known Azul long enough to be familiar with his level of responsible efficiency. Maybe this particular case has him in the trenches.

Just how hard are they working him over there?

As his friend you worry. In fact, you worry yourself sick. Every time he visits he’s in poor shape. Though he masks it with confidence, you can see the toll life is taking on him.

“Have you ever wanted to get married, Azul?”

“If I find the right person, sure.”

“But?”

“But, seeing as that has yet to happen, I have no interest in pursuing something that might waste my time and money. Emotions are exhausting, even more so when invested in something like romance. It’s better to put them towards something that will yield solid results. Like work, for example.”

“That outlook is so frigid! Don’t you wanna fall in love?”

“Love isn’t going to crack these cases,” he grumbles at the paper.

Jade appears at the little window cut into the wall. “Someone sounds like a love killer.”

“I’m only being realistic.” Azul scoffs. “Besides, you have no right to speak as a married man.”

“Envy is a wicked vice. I’ll gladly help you overcome it.”

You take the bowl of tonkotsu ramen from Jade and set it in front of Azul. “Okay, enough of that. Let him enjoy his meal in peace.”

“But I haven’t yet had my fill of fun.”

You reach through the horizontal window to gently tug on Jade’s ear. He rumbles with laughter. “Don’t bully the guests.”

“Why, I would never, my dearest.”

Azul watches this back-and-forth with a forlorn longing in his pale blues. Wordlessly, he sinks his soup spoon into the broth and lifts the noodles between his chopsticks. He eats with such zest it makes you wonder if this is his first meal of the day. Sensing your stare, he attempts to pace himself.

You smile sadly. He looks like he needs this.

“As always, it’s delicious,” he says once he’s made a sizable dent in the portion.

Jade basks in the praise. “I’m pleased you enjoy it.”

“But… Well.” The ghost of a frown settles on his weathered features. “The broth tastes different. You must’ve used a new seasoning. Or perhaps this is an expensive cut of pork? Whatever it is, it’s different. Not bad, mind you. I’m sure if it were anyone else it would’ve been difficult to catch.”

“Is this the impressive power of Detective Ashengrotto’s taste buds at work?” you joke, to which Azul flashes you a proud grin that’s more teeth than lip.

“Well, I have been using ingredients with better qualities as of late… I’m not very fond of serving cheap products to honored guests.”

“Isn’t my Jade so considerate? He’s too cute.” You stand up on your toes to kiss his cheek. “He even grows some of the vegetables himself. Green onions and mushrooms and the like.”

“Ah, of course. How could I forget that dubious green thumb of yours?” Azul muses, recalling the time in which Jade served him a new dish in exchange for valid critique. He had conveniently neglected to inform Azul that it contained mushrooms, something he has eaten plenty of in the time that he’s known you and Jade. So many that all varieties have been spoiled for him. “In any case, what’s the secret ingredient? Imported pork? Some sort of flavor that’s seeped in when left to simmer? No, not that… It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t place it!”

Jade chuckles. “There is no secret. It’s just love.”

Azul pokes around the bowl with his chopsticks, his eyes narrowed with an intense scrutiny. “I can recognize every other flavor. The meat, the green onions, the egg, the noodles… And I can parse the broth well enough. There’s just something else—a hint of something I’ve never tasted before. This profile is missing from my gastronomic lexicon.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “Well, it’s the same broth, isn’t it?”

The both of you turn to Jade for his input. He nods. “My recipe and method haven’t changed.”

“So it’s still the same as before?” Azul’s nose wrinkles. “Strange. I was certain there was a taste of something more…”

Before he can dwell on it any longer, the radio at his hip crackles to life: “Sir, you’re needed at the port. We’ve got something you should see. Over.”

Azul detaches it from his belt and lifts it to his mouth. “I’ll be there soon. Don’t touch anything if you can help it. Out.” Releasing the button, he deflates briefly and then addresses you and Jade next. “It was wonderful seeing you again, but I’m afraid I must cut my visit short.”

“Then we won’t keep you.”

He moves to pull money from his wallet, but you stop him.

“On the house. You deserve it.”

Despite your generous offer, he still places the exact amount on the counter. “You won’t make profit if you’re giving food away for free.”

“Wha—but you’re a friend!”

“That makes it even worse. It’s not very fair to favor me to this extent.”

“Azuuul, don’t be so stubborn! You did this last time, too.”

“I surmise it will be much the same next time he graces us with his presence,” Jade says, eyeing you sympathetically.

“Ugh. Really… If you won’t let us treat you, at least promise you’ll take better care of yourself. No more skipping meals. Get a full eight hours. Prioritize yourself, too, okay?”

Azul starts for the door, so you miss the way he flusters up to his ears. They’re all very valid concerns, of course, but then he’s never been able to swallow the embarrassment that accompanies being unduly fussed over.

“I’ll do what I can,” he says instead and steps outside into the snowy afternoon.

You fold your arms over your chest and huff noisily. “What are we going to do with him? He’s in bad health and he still insists on being difficult. Must he faint before he realizes it?”

Jade emerges from the kitchen, sliding easily behind the counter where you stand. An amused glint shimmers in two-toned eyes. “I suppose we can only hope he’ll fix his bad habits sooner rather than later.”

“If only there were two of me… That way one could tend to the shop alongside you and the other could help him with his work.”

Jade embraces you firmly. With a giggle, you crane your neck to look at him.

“Two is much too troublesome.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Because then I wouldn’t have you all to myself.” His lips curve into a practiced pout. “What if (Name) Number Two finds Detective Ashengrotto more desirable than her own husband?”

You reach up to pinch his cheek in light scolding. “You know that would never happen.”

“It’s a possibility.”

“I would never. If I did, that wouldn’t be the real me. I love you too much.” You twirl out of his arms to collect the dirty dishes. “Hey, since he’s no longer here, what was really in Azul’s ramen?”

“I haven’t the faintest inkling, my dear. I used the same ingredients I always do. Perhaps he was tasting something that wasn’t actually there?”

“Maybe… He looked pretty tired, Jade.” You peer at your reflection in the broth. “I wonder if he’ll be okay.”

“I’m sure he will.” Jade follows you into the tiny, compact kitchen. “You do know his penchant for smoking has worsened. I fear his sense of taste may be compromised from so many cigarettes. That, and age. Oh, but these are merely my own theories. He might have caught flavors of a love he’s never known before on those ruined taste buds of his.”

“Ah, right. Because everything you make is filled with love.”

“Not everything. There’s still something I’ve yet to fill with my love.”

He presses himself against you, his hands settling on your waist. You roll your eyes at his very obvious flirting.

“I’m assuming that something is actually a someone?”

“Indeed. And she’s standing right in front of me.”

His arms snake around your front so that you’re effectively trapped between him and the countertop. His hands close around your breasts to grope you through your shirt. You shiver against him when his fingers brush against the precise area of where your nipples are. It’s when he pinches both between his thumb and index that you finally shut the faucet off, surrendering to his touch instead of the dishes piled in the basin.

“At least close the front. What if someone walks in?”

“Unlikely,” he murmurs, his lips hot on your neck. His fingers slip under your shirt to undo the clasp of your bra. “It’s slow today. We can manage.”

You brace yourself at the sink and gasp when he grinds against your ass. “T-Ten minutes.”

“Only ten?”

“Would you prefer five? Your mouth is so smart today.”

“My love, I need only seconds to unravel you. You’re quite easy.”

You bark out a sharp laugh. “I’m not the one with the hard-on, my darling.”

“You’re too alluring, even in uniform. So beautiful, always and forever, my sweet wife.”

“Flattery isn’t going to get you out of dirty dish duty.”

“How cold… You rival the snow outside.”

You shift slightly to face him, offering him an impish grin. “I’d hate for my Jade to freeze. Let’s warm up together, all right?”

You don’t have to tell him twice.

And all the while, your voices filling the kitchen in unison, bodies pressed close, the pot continues to simmer on the stove.

ii. and i am the idiot with the painted face. in the corner, taking up space. but when he walks in, i am loved, i am loved.

“Can I ask you something, Floyd?”

“What’s up?” he answers around a mouthful of udon. A few strands hang out from between his lips, and he slurps them up in a motion so fluid it leaves you impressed. As for the mess he makes… Not so much.

“What’s the secret thing that’s been passed through your family?”

Floyd blinks at you, lost. “The secret thing?”

“It’s some ingredient or flavor or…whatever that Jade says is a family secret. I have no idea what it is. He won’t tell me no matter how many times I ask.”

“Ohhh, you’re talkin’ about Mama’s pot, right? That thing’s been in our family forever. She gave it to Jade cuz I didn’t want it.” Floyd points with his chopsticks, playfully accusatory. “What? You into cookware now? I can getcha somethin’ if ya want.”

“What’s this about cookware?” Jade asks, poking his head inside. He looks warm and comfortable in his nagagi and haori, a pleasant sight for your eyes, but the broom clutched in his hands tells a threatening tale.

Ignoring the fact that he so clearly eavesdropped, you wave him forwards so that you can straighten his scarf. Jade props the broom against the doorway before striding closer. He leans into your touch with a smug smile, which is shamelessly directed at his brother.

“Oh, you’re freezing! Let me fix you a cup of tea. You’ll catch your death if you spend any longer sweeping out there.”

“Thank you, my dear. I fear the chill is rather paralyzing…”

Floyd rolls his eyes. “He’s fine. Nothin’ he can’t handle.”

“I might just die.”

His dramatics don’t faze Floyd, but they do draw a chuckle from you. “We can’t have that.” You duck into the kitchen and return minutes later with a warm cup of chai. “Floyd was just telling me about your mother’s pot.”

“Was he now?”

“Only cuz Shrimpy asked.”

Jade blows at the steamy beverage to cool it before bringing it to his lips for a sampling. He hums his approval. “It’s quite special.”

Floyd slumps against the counter. “Whatever. It’s boring!”

“I suppose there isn’t much to discuss regarding an old pot.”

“Nothing we haven’t already mentioned.”

“Speaking of that… You thinkin’ about closin’ up the shop for the holidays? Pops’s been on my ass. He and Mama want you to visit.”

Jade gazes at you, but you’re already looking at him. “Should we?” you ask. “I’m not opposed. I just know you like running things here.”

“Not like you’re gonna get crazy business on Christmas.”

“No, but there are a fair amount of regulars who might stop by.”

“We should visit your parents, Jade. It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, listen to Shrimpy. Mama’s been missin’ ya.” Floyd shovels more noodles in his mouth. “And afterwards we can all do somethin’ fun on New Year’s Eve.”

“That sounds great! Let’s do it!”

“S’no fun spendin’ the holidays workin’ yourself into the ground.”

“Exactly. Your brother makes a good point. What do you say, Jade? We’ll make the trip to see your parents and then come back in time for New Year’s Eve.”

Jade smiles, approving of the idea. “In that case, I should call Mother so she knows when to expect us.” Taking a final sip from his tea, he rises from his seat and disappears into the kitchen. Seconds later, you hear soft footfalls on the floor above.

“You really don’t know?”

Floyd shrugs. “No idea. The only thing that kinda fits the whole secret ingredient vibe is Mama’s pot. That’s been passed through the family. Other than that? I’ve got nothing.”

“Well… Yeah, that’s true. Maybe it really is nothing.”

Floyd laughs. “This sure means a lot to ya.”

“Of course it does! We’ve been married for two decades and I still don’t know what this ‘family secret’ is. Decades, Floyd! Surely he would’ve told me by now.”

“Is it really that important?”

“It is to me.” You gaze sidelong at the broom and inhale a steadying breath. “It feels like I’m not a part of the family if he won’t tell me something as simple as this. You’d think twenty years qualifies you as—”

“Hey, you’re always gonna be family to me.” Floyd’s hand reaches to cover yours. He hesitates and instead grabs another napkin. “Jade’s just bein’ a hard-ass. Gets it from our old man.”

“Do you think this ‘family secret’ is real?”

“Who knows? I’m sure he’ll fess up once he gets tired of playing this game.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my Jade. He’s really too much sometimes.” You shake your head and sigh. “Thanks for saying that, though. That part about me being family. It… It means a lot.”

“It’s the truth.” Floyd sets his chopsticks and chirirenge down, lifting the bowl to drink what’s left of the broth. He whistles, supremely satisfied, and slouches on the stool. “You ever need anything—doesn’t matter what it is or how much trouble you think it might be—just gimme a call. I’ll be there to help.”

“Thanks. A-Again. Truly.”

Floyd flashes you a toothy smile. “Don’t mention it.”

You collect his bowl, intending to bring it to the sink, but Floyd’s next words stop you in your tracks.

“Hey, Jade’s got that pot on, yeah?”

“The pot? Oh, yes, the pot! What about it?”

“Has it been stirred lately? You gotta do that once in a while, right?”

Your nerves, which had previously been pulled taut, smooth out. He’s referring to cooking. Nothing else. Just cooking.

“I’ll do that. Thanks for the reminder.”

“Mhm! Smells yummy, by the way.”

“Doesn’t it? Jade’s food is amazing.”

“Mine’s pretty killer, too. You gotta come over and try some.”

“If you’re cooking for me, you’ll have to cook for Jade as well.” You giggle to yourself as you cross into the kitchen, only for the laughter to stick in your throat.

Jade stands at the stove. He lowers the lid onto the pot and sets the wooden spoon aside. He was so quiet you hardly noticed him. How long has he been there? When did he return from upstairs?

“Oh, good timing! Floyd and I were just saying the pot needed to be stirred.”

Jade smiles and takes Floyd’s empty bowl from you. “Did we all have a collective thought just now?”

“Ooh, like telepathy?”

“Wouldn’t that be shocking? Three-way telepathy.”

You watch Jade set the bowl beside the others in need of washing. “That would be so noisy! Three times as many thoughts… I wouldn’t be able to hear myself think.”

“It’d be like watchin’ a show about the two of you,” Floyd pipes up from the front.

“Thankfully, that will never happen.” Jade guides you back out. You peer over your shoulder at the pot. “What a relief our minds aren’t connected. I don’t think I’d enjoy a stray listening in on our private affairs.”

You slap his arm gently. “Floyd’s not a stray!”

“Might as well be since it feels like he’s kickin’ me to the curb. So mean.”

“Not at all. I’m just making a distinction clear.” Jade’s smile is razored, his words catty. “You’re always welcome to visit so long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hands off the Shrimpy. I gotcha.” Floyd pops up from his seat and stretches. It seems as if all of Jade’s remarks, each born from petty possessiveness, roll off his shoulders. “I’m not gonna steal her from you if that’s what’s got you so worked up.”

“You couldn’t even if you tried.”

Floyd’s once easygoing expression sours. “You’re beggin’ for cement shoes, ain’tcha?”

Jade feigns offense, placing his hands over your ears even though it’s a pointless gesture. “For my own blood to threaten me in front of my sweet pearl… It brings tears to my eyes.”

“All right, all right! I’m goin.’ Geez.” Floyd struts out the door, not wanting to be manually shooed out by Jade and his beloved broom. “And don’t forget about New Year’s Eve!”

You wave farewell until he’s vanished out of sight. Only then do you turn to address your husband. “You ought to be nicer to him. He’s your brother.”

“I was. Very nice, in fact.”

“Really? How?”

“I didn’t charge him for the meal.”

iii. me and my husband, we’re doing better. it’s always been just him and me together. so i bet all i have on that furrowed brow. and at least in this lifetime we’re sticking together. me and my husband, we’re sticking together.

Everyone thought the odds were significantly slimmer than that of younger women—impossible by your standards—but somehow you’re pregnant at forty-four. You suspected it when you missed your period and then, just days prior, woke up with a terrible bout of morning sickness.

Standing in the bathroom, staring at the positive test like it’s a relic from Atlantis, you pinch yourself. Hard. It stings, and with this your disbelief mellows into something astonished.

Pregnant. You’re pregnant.

And this time you’re ready for a family. You’re ready to raise a child. Somewhat. Amidst every positive emotion there's anxiety and fear, and they reign so tyrannical that you almost forget you’re meant to be excited. Tamping down insecurity, you turn the test over in your hands.

I’ve got to tell Jade.

But before that you think back on the timeline in an effort to pinpoint the fateful day. After mapping it out for a brief while, you arrive at what’s possibly the least romantic way to conceive a child. Going at it raw and reckless in the kitchen, bent over a sink filled with dirty dishes and pressed against the wall… At least it was in a place both of you treasure.

Not the worst place, you think. I guess it doesn’t have to be a typical rose-petals-on-the-floor situation.

You’re practically vibrating out of your skin when you tiptoe out of the bathroom. Jade’s already downstairs. You can hear him humming as he works to open the shop. Hastily, you change into your work clothes and stuff the test in your pocket.

Jade’s notorious for his surprises, but it’s never been easy to return the favor. You mull over this facet of his character as you skip down the stairs. How can you shock him with this good news when he makes it so difficult? It’s as if he’s always two steps ahead, expecting the unexpected before it can even happen.

Jade brightens when you walk into the kitchen. He meets you halfway, lifting your hand to his lips. “Good morning. How did you sleep, my pearl?”

You squeeze his hand. “Like the dead.”

He chuckles. “I’m pleased it was so restful.”

You glance at the pot then and an idea sprouts. “Is there anything else that needs to get done? Is the front opened?”

“Just about. I need to prep a few more things here and then—”

“I can do it! It’s just stocking up on what’s low, right? That’s not very hard.”

“Do you mind?”

“Of course not.” You claim the spot he had once been standing in. He was in the process of filling a container with chopped green onions before you came down. “Go on and open the front. I’ve got things handled here.”

“I do so adore you.”

“I adore you more.”

“I adore you most.” He beams and stalks off through the doorway.

Now left to your own devices, you move to the sink and turn on the water to wash your hands. If all goes according to plan, you’ll open the lid, pretend something’s wrong with its contents, and when Jade comes over to investigate you’ll act as if you’ve pulled the positive test from the pot. It’s a harmless surprise. You’re sure he won’t be expecting it, especially since he’s the one who does all of the cooking.

After confirming Jade’s still busy with the front, you creep over to the stove. That infamous pot awaits. You slide your hand into an oven mitt and grab hold of the lid, lifting it slowly. You’re immediately hit with the delicious scent of bone broth, so fragrant it almost has you salivating.

Focus! I can eat after the big reveal.

You open your mouth to call Jade over and then pause.

Has he stirred it yet? It looks a little… No, it’s definitely murky. Is bone broth supposed to be this dark? Maybe I just need to stir it.

You lower the wooden spoon into the broth and, scraping along the sides and bottom, mix expertly. The bones knock into each other from the disturbance, and you inhale deeply. It reminds you of the tonkotsu ramen Azul fancies so much. You could go for a bowl right now.

You’re about to take the spoon out and cover the pot when something floats to the surface. Without meaning to, you recall Azul’s words from last month: Sometimes we miss them, and so they aren’t found or retrieved until they start to float to the surface after everything thaws. Curiously, you scoop the object up onto the spoon. Broth spills over into the pot and then you see it.

A finger.

A human finger.

What the fuck is a finger doing in Jade’s pot?

The nail has been plucked off and the skin is sagging away, turned to pliable mush from sitting in the pot for so long, but it is undoubtedly a finger.

A very real, very human finger.

Bile slithers up your throat with thick, acidic fingers.

Fingers.

There’s another one and then another. Three fingers. You poke around in the broth, dreading what else you might see. You don’t want to find a full set of ten. Anything but that. You count five and that’s all you can stomach before you’re shakily covering the pot with the lid. You set the spoon and oven mitt down next, your mind reeling.

You want to vomit.

You’re about to vomit.

You’re going to—

“(Name)?”

You whirl to look at him. Your husband. He stands in the doorway, a dark look on his face. You can’t describe the emotion, or lack thereof. It’s more of a shadow. An oppressive shadow. An intimidating shadow. A shadow that seems to say: You’ve seen too much.

“J-Jade!” How long has he been standing there? How much does he know? “Sorry. I… I felt sick just now. I think I should…rest a bit more.”

The gloom fades away into perfect placidity. “My, my. That’s not good.” He takes a step towards you and pauses when you jerk away. “Is everything all right?”

��Y-Yes, of course! I’m just…not feeling it today…or something.”

“I suppose it can’t be helped.” His eyes slide towards the stovetop. “I do so dislike getting into disagreements with you. So to avoid that I’ll ask once and only once. What did you see in the pot?”

Your spine stiffens, straight and still as a board, and you hang your head guiltily. “I… I’m sorry. I saw… W-Well, I don’t want to believe it. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding or a mistake of some kind. It’s just that—um… I… I saw…”

Fingers. Human fingers!

“I saw what I think is y-your secret ingredient. The thing—” your voice cracks, and you swallow thickly to push rising bile back— “Azul tasted that day…” “And that secret ingredient is…”

Tears brim and spill over in silent, horror-struck waterfalls. You risk a glance at your husband, and a wobbly smile pulls your lips apart.

“Love.”

#yandere twst #yandere twst x reader #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere jade leech #yandere jade leech x reader #yandere jade #yandere jade x reader

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cradle-quill · 2 months

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Forever - AB/DL Story by CradleQuill

This content is intended for consenting adults aged 18 and older. All characters depicted within this material are fictional and at least 18 years of age. _

I'm done letting you fool yourself. I mean, who are we kidding? We both know you can't keep your pants dry. You wake up in soaked sheets most mornings, and now you're having your little "accidents" during the day as well. Whatever semblance of an adult life you once had, it's quickly on its way out.

Soon enough, you won't even recognize your old life. You'll just be my little baby, ready to accept your place. You'll be beneath me, just where you belong. I mean, who would respect an "adult" who can't even make it to the potty on time? That's right, I don't consider you an adult. You're nothing more than an overgrown baby who's failed at potty training and who needs to be reminded who's in charge.

That's right, kiddo. No more big kid underwear for you. In fact, I think we should throw all your undies away. Or maybe I'll even cut them up while I make you watch. You won't be needing them anymore, after all. We might as well make use of them. I can use them as rags to clean you up during diaper changes.

Yes, that's right. I'm putting you back in diapers, full time. I don't want to hear any more fussing, I won't tolerate it. Keep it up and you'll find yourself over my knee with a very red bottom. Little babies who can't stop wetting themselves need diapers, and that's just what you are, isn't it? A little baby.

Go ahead. Admit it. You want me to treat you this way. You get off on it. And the more I mock and humiliate you, the tighter my grip on you will become. Because you crave this. You need it. You need to be dominated completely—mind, body, and soul. That's what you really want, deep down.

Did you think I didn't realize it? That I couldn't tell, just from looking at you, what a pathetic baby you are? I mean, honestly, I don't know how everyone else around you doesn't see it. The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you'd end up like this. I knew you'd be on your knees at my feet, begging me not to tear you down and make you even more pathetic than you already are.

But it's too late, honey. This is your life now. And there's no going back. Maybe at one point you could have undone all this, salvaged what little adulthood that was left, but I'm not letting that happen. I'm going to see that you are treated exactly as you ought to be, like a helpless little infant who can't do anything for themselves.

There will be no more big kid potty. No more "adult" activities. And don't think I'm letting you hide this from your friends. Everyone is going to know what I've reduced you to, and how much you like it. Anyone who wants to play with the baby is going to get a chance to, whether that means your friends or mine. I'm sure they'd all love to see what you've become, what you've always really been.

I can see those tears welling in your eyes. The red-hot embarrassment on your cheeks. Better get used to it, baby. There will be a lot of this in your future. I mean, you might as well wet yourself right now, sitting there on the floor. It's going to happen sooner or later anyway. And I bet the store clerk will think you're so cute in your soaked pants. Come on, be a good baby for me. I want everyone to see exactly why I'm putting you back in diapers forever.

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charmercharm3r · 10 months

Note

YOU WILL WRITE THIS

SO IMAGING ABT how your a 9th skz member (who always wears baggy street wear or just the really cutsie member who does aegyo and isnt rlly sexual and lit has never showed any skin )and you all go boxing for fun - you decide to wear a baggy white shirt and a white bra under it and once you arrive to the gym your acc really good at boxing like your sweatiinggg and its showing your skin and clinging onto u - thowing jabs at minho like your life DEPENDS ON IT!! the members admire you from the side of the ring with a good view; after that tiring session you or your member dump water on you to quench your thirst but end up dumping wayy more than intended which causes you all to laugh but iykyk white clothes + water = see through jit going thru your shirt and kinda your bra so the members are just staring at your bare boobs (you can also write the baddie moment where you take off your shirt bc your agitated at it clinging onto ur skin)

i’m such a sucker for 9th member fics

Masterlist

warning: gn!reader, 9th member, suggestive

next: two

☆ﾟ

“That’s it, Y/N’ie! Now I can actually feel your punches. Put a little more weight behind it.”

Minho had you dancing around the elevated boxing ring like it was rehearsed. Your couldn’t feel your hands or arms anymore from how long you’d been chasing him in circles to hit the padded target he always held just a little out of reach. Honestly, sports weren’t really your thing, dancing was the only thing you truly tried to do well in front of and behind the cameras. You had no idea what possessed you to tag along with Minho to his boxing session.

The news of your outing traveled fast within the group and before you knew it, everyone was piling into the two cars together. Minho and Chan had been giving you pointers the whole car ride and even tried to show you how to wrap the bandage around your wrist for support until you shooed them away and told them to stop hovering.

Felix was giggling watching the whole preparation take place, only when he said your full name did you realize he was narrating with a mini vlogging camera pointed your way.

Maybe promotions and practices and life in general were starting to take an emotional toll on you, every ounce of your frustrations from the week you took it out on Minho.

You couldn’t feel your feet now, too. The numbness let you move a little faster, only able to feel the sweat dripping down your temple and chest. As you picked up the pace and threw your punches harder, Minho stumbled slightly from the sudden burst of energy. You couldn’t hear the other members whooping and cheering your name, all focus pinpointed on the black target.

Harder, quicker, more than enough weight behind the punches that forced Minho to misstep and trip into the rope. The others rushed to hold their hands out in case he slipped through them, while also torn between being in awe or laughing at the older boy literally falling for you.

You tried to catch your breath and aggravatedly unwrapped the boxing glove from your hand as Minho stood and looked at you with surprise.

“Was that enough weight?!” You huffed, throwing the glove at him with almost no power now that you expended most of it trying to hit the target.

Giggling from the side of the ring made your head snap in its direction, “you want some, too, Kim Seungmin? I’ll come down there and—“

Just as you were about to throw the other glove at him, Changbin stepped into the ring and stole it from you, physically picking you up and waltzing you backwards with your rubbery limbs not putting up much of a fight. “You can beat him up later. Drink water first, you sweat like a fucking fountain.”

“Y/N’ie!” Felix and Hyunjin ran around to help you out of the ring, water bottles at the ready. You let Hyunjin tip your chin up and place the open bottle to your lips, it was gone in under a minute. “Slow down, you’ll drown,” he chuckled.

“Lix, you’re staring again,” Changbin threw his hand over his eyes until he realized what the younger was ogling.

The baggy white shirt you’d worn was completely soaked and sticking to your body like a second skin, showing through the sports bra that kept you safe. You were never one to show much skin at all, but right now, you didn’t have the energy to care. In fact, it was suddenly feeling suffocating. When you started to strip away the drenched shirt was when the rest of the members made their way over to you, all with mouths dropped slightly at the view of their adorable member suddenly shining in a new light.

“Hyung, maybe you should get Y/N’ie mad more often,” Jeongin whispered to Minho, who had a stupidly smug smirk on his face.

“I’ll take—“ huff, “—every one—“ puff, “of you fuc—“

“Hey now! No swearing in my vlog!” Felix rushed to stop you mid sentence.

“But they’re cute when they’re mad! Look,” Jisung pinched your cheek lightly and you frowned, raising your fist, “oh, so scary!” He feigned fright and stepped back with his hands up in surrender.

“You looked really cool, though. Who knew you could actually do physical activity!” Seungmin patted you on the back a little too harshly and you slumped forward with a wince.

“I hate all of you.”

“You love us!” Chan rung out your wet shirt and all of you stopped to watch how much of it was squeezed onto the floor. “That’s disgusting.”

Felix laughed menacingly and turned the camera towards himself, “I think Y/N’ie needs a shower.”

The eight of them made eye contact and smiled deviously. You spotted the bottles of water they each had and moved a second too late. Minho grabbed you by the waist before you could run, and suddenly you were being blinded by water running down your face and getting covered from head to toe. Minho was nice enough to wipe your strayed hair from your eyes so you could see the glee in your member’s eyes as if they’d accomplished an important task.

“Are you cooled off now?” Minho asked, peaking over your shoulder and brushing more hair from your cheek.

“Ice cold.”

“Oh, they’re definitely mad at us!” Felix kept laughing along with Hyunjin and Jisung.

“You all owe me one meal each. Dessert included.”

“I’ll even throw in a dry towel.” Chan handed you a itty bitty hand towel that you snatched away.

You patted down your exposed skin starting with your arms, your face, and when you got to your neck and chest was when you realized they’d all gone quiet. “Have none of you seen a chest before?! Virgins, all of you.”

None of them moved, unabashedly and unashamed that they were still staring.

“It’s just—“ Hyunjin said softly and pointed at your chest again. You looked down to see your nipples hard, and you lost any patience you had left.

There was almost no force behind your fists slamming into his chest, but Hyunjin cowered away and pretended to be hurt just for sympathy’s sake. Minho cheered you on while Chan was pulling out a spare shirt from his gym bag, sneakily slipping it onto you as your adrenaline drained back down to zero.

“Two. Meals. Each. And I’ll be keeping track.” You breathed heavily, finally giving up on being upset.

“Dessert included,” they repeated back.

When you’d finally calmed down, Felix threw his arm over your shoulder and pulled you in close, “how was your first time boxing with Minho hyung? Care to share with sunshine vlog?”

“Next time, it’ll be you and me in that ring, Lixie.” You cheerfully threaded with a tap of your finger to the tip of his nose and smiled.

The seven of them trailed behind you as you leaned on Felix for some support. Not even an ounce of annoyance left in you, the sleep was wanting to take over before you could make it to the car. You climbed into the back seat and made yourself comfortable before the rest of them could file in, careful not to raise their voices too loud. You could tell it was Changbin next to you just by the smell of his cologne, still strongly lasting after a decent work out.

Entirely passed out, you didn’t get to hear Felix end his vlog with, “look how cute they are, already asleep. Stay, shhh, don’t tell Y/N’ie that Minho hyung only tripped cus his shoe was untied. See you next time!”

tags: @sensitiveandhungry @babebatter @changbinluvr @epiphanynaffit @fawnpeaks @linovely @dumplinbokkieracha @finnydraws @naturules @djeniryuu @skzhomiehopper @yesv01 @hyunjinsamdl @dazzlingligth @lvrhyuka @alexis-reads-fics @linaliskz @0002linoskitten @chillichillicrabcrab23 @zerefdragn33l @straycrescent @binnies-donuts @soldierstangirl-blog @bakedlilgoonie @levanterlily @shelbyyy44 @yeetmehome @in2heartz @astroodledream @the-sweetest-rose @goblinracha @lilbugs-things @viviennenstan @staurdvst @alex--awesome--22 @imzenning @jeyelleohe @kaitchan @iadorethemskz @skyvastbunny @mamabymychem @katsukis1wife @woozarts @noellllslut

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ellemj · 6 months

Text

Time & Temptation - Roommates w/ Benefits Pt. 2

Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Please read part 1 first if you haven't!

Summary: Living with Bucky Barnes just keeps getting more difficult, and it's been less than 24 hours. Now, he's unexpectedly sent out as backup on what was supposed to be your solo mission. What happens when you insist on putting yourself in danger, as you always do?

Warnings: profanity, mention of wet dream from part 1, teasing, strip club, mention of weapons (firearms), use of firearms, drive-by shooting, gunshot wound, jealous!Bucky, protective!Bucky, some use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: I'm sorry for the long pause since posting part 1 of this series! I got caught up with life and had a lack of inspiration for writing this, but I found some motivation/inspiration the last two days so here it is, finally. I'll be better about pushing out the next few parts of this in a more timely manner. If you'd like to be added to the taglist you can add yourself using this Google doc. Please use it responsibly.

You really thought an early morning run was going to clear your mind. You thought you could drown the details of the wet dream in sweat and pain and never think about it again. So, you were especially pissed off when the make-believe sound of Bucky making you ask for what you want began replaying in your mind with every step that you took down the chilly trails. Tell me what you need. As you continue along the dirt path, you can almost feel his hands on your thighs. Fuck. You know it means nothing. It was just a stupid dream. It probably only came about because you ran into him in the kitchen last night. If you’d run into a big, purple, infinity stone-wielding cretin in the kitchen you would’ve been just as likely to have a wet dream about that, right? Well, maybe not. But you can tell yourself that in hopes that it’ll ease your internal rage over having a wet dream about your new roommate.

An hour later, you’re catching your breath in the elevator on the way back up to your floor. You tug your hair out of its snug ponytail and run your hands through it, massaging your scalp with your fingertips. You’re planning to take a nice, long shower, lock yourself in your room and do a little prep for the solo mission you have later tonight, and then meet up with Sharon for lunch. You repeat the plan in your head over and over as the elevator slowly carries you upward. It seems like a solid enough plan to help you avoid Bucky for at least half the day. Or so you thought.

You’re as quiet as possible when you unlock the front door, unsure if Bucky may still be asleep or if he’s even home at all. Of course, the first thing you see when you step inside is Bucky, shirtless and in the kitchen yet again. He seems to love that little space beside the kitchen sink. The sigh that leaves your lips is a little more audible than you’d intended it to be, and the way Bucky lifts his gaze to your direction and raises an eyebrow at you lets you know that he not only heard it, but he wants to know what it was about. You didn’t mean to blurt the words out, you really didn’t. But the way he stood there both last night and this morning, looking so fucking hot that it makes your head spin and your cheeks feel warm…you just had to speak up.

“Do you ever wear a shirt?” You ask exasperatedly. You push the door shut behind you and lock the deadbolt with a resounding click. When you look back at Bucky once more, he’s fucking smirking. You’re simultaneously annoyed and turned on, and all you want is a cold shower.

“About as often as you wear pants.” He retorts. You don’t miss the way his eyes roam over your figure, taking in your slightly disheveled post-run look. He takes a sip from the glass of water in his hand as he wonders how the hell you still look so put together after a run. Your hair is down and somehow looks perfectly windswept, your cheeks and nose have the slightest pink tint to them from both the cold weather outside and the heavy exercise, and your leggings are hugging your legs and ass so tightly that you may as well be wearing nothing at all. His gaze makes you feel like your skin is on fire and it sets off alarm bells in your head. You need to get out of here. You make a beeline for the fridge, pulling it open and retrieving a cold bottle of water before quickly exiting the kitchen again, refusing to give Bucky a second look. Once you’re in the bathroom, you waste no time stepping into a cold shower as fast as possible.

Bucky remains in the kitchen for another minute, almost laughing at his current living situation. The man has had only the most minimal associations with women outside of a professional setting for years now, and he sure as hell doesn’t remember any pleasurable interactions with women during his time as the Winter Soldier. Now, he lives with one. And not even just that, but he’s fucking attracted to the one he lives with. He created his own personal hell by suggesting you and Vision switch rooms, and now he has to deal with it. He tries to tell himself that you’re just physically attractive. He’d never like you on all of the levels needed for a relationship. He can’t stand the way you work in the field, you’re too unpredictable and too willing to put yourself at risk. It’s beyond frustrating. He could never like someone who doesn’t seem to give a damn if they live or die. So, he’ll focus on that. He’ll focus on that one thing until he finds enough things to dislike about you to make his cock start listening to his brain again.

You shut off your cold shower and quickly towel yourself dry before wrapping the towel snugly around your body. You didn’t last more than three minutes under the icy stream of water, but it definitely did its job. Your stupidly attractive roommate is the last thing on your mind now. Or at least he was until you realize you were so rushed to get away from him in the kitchen a few minutes ago that you forgot to grab a clean change of clothes to put on after your shower. Shit. You’re freezing your ass off so you sure as hell aren’t going to wait around until you hear his bedroom door shut. Without giving it a second thought, you glance in the mirror to make sure that the towel at least covers your ass before pulling the bathroom door open and stepping out into the hall.

Fucking hell. As Bucky stands in the hallway staring at you, he can’t seem to remember the one thing that he was focusing on to help dissuade his attraction to you. All he can focus on now is the way the skin of your neck looks so smooth and soft, the way your neck transitions seamlessly down to your collarbones, and the way your collarbones draw his eyes further down to your chest. He doesn’t let himself look any further once his eyes land on the cleavage that’s just barely peeking out over the top of the towel. His eyes flit back up to your face and suddenly, you don’t feel like the powerless one here. You’d think you would be feeling like the powerless one, given that you’re standing here in a towel and he’s between you and your bedroom door, but you don’t. You noticed the way he froze when he saw you, the way he couldn’t stop his eyes from tracing the curve of your neck and shoulders, and the way his eyes lingered on your chest a little longer than you would’ve expected. You have the power here. You straighten up a little and take a few slow, small steps closer to Bucky. He’s frozen right in between your two bedroom doors, so he’ll have to move out of your way or you’ll have to squeeze past him to get into your room. You’re sure he’ll move. You can feel your towel riding up your thighs and nearly exposing the curve of your ass with every step you take, but you fight the urge to tug it down, worried that the action would make you look insecure. Bucky stands firm in front of you, the eye contact between you two so intense that you wonder if he can see straight through you. God, you see why Sam calls him the bionic staring machine sometimes.

Just as you expected, Bucky turns and walks up to his own bedroom door once you’re just a foot in front of him. What you didn’t expect was for him to say something to you as you wrapped your hand around your own bedroom door handle.

“That’s twice now that you’ve tried showing me your ass in the past twenty-four hours.” His tone is calm and even but his words are taunting. You turn on your heel to see him standing in his doorway, facing you, and his blue eyes meeting yours instantly. You’re acutely aware of how short your towel is as it barely covers the curve of your ass, leaving little to the imagination. Apparently, Bucky’s well aware of it too.

“If you were nicer to me, you might’ve made it to three times, James.” You tease, pushing your bedroom door open and walking through it, refusing to look over your shoulder at him. It’s safe to assume he stole one last look at your towel-clad form before you shut your bedroom door and left him standing there with his cock as hard as it’s ever been.

---

Ah, fuck. Bucky rests his flesh arm on the inner wall of the shower and his forehead on his forearm, watching the water run into the shower drain at his feet. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you in that damn towel. Every time you took a breath, your chest would pull the towel up your thighs in the slightest bit. It was practically torture standing in front of you when you looked like that. He shakes his head and turns his chin up with closed eyes, letting the warm water splash into his face, trying but failing to wash the image of you away. He clenches his jaw and looks back down at his cock. Fully erect, and from what? Nothing. You barely did a damn thing. You just happened to be walking down the hallway in a towel, surely not even intentionally. You just forgot your clothes. But shit, the view from where Bucky stood is forever ingrained in his memory. The view and the way you said his first name like you liked the sound of it. He’d never heard you say his first name before. Hell, he liked the sound of it. But your fucking teasing? He didn’t like the sound of that. The way you insinuated, jokingly of course, that you would’ve continued finding ways to nearly show him your ass if he was nicer to you? Bullshit. This is all bullshit. Bucky desperately needs either a new place to live or a fan-fucking-tastic new method of letting off steam, before he says or does something stupid.

He wills himself to ignore his cock in the shower, and once he gets out and towels dry, he pulls on a clean pair of boxers and sweats. He utilizes the ages-old trick of tucking his boner beneath the waistband of his boxers so it won’t be as obvious when he inevitably runs into you again in the tiny apartment that you share. This time, he’s also sure to put on a t-shirt. Maybe him being fully clothed will inspire you to start wearing some pants. As he pulls the bathroom door open and heads straight for his bedroom, he thinks that maybe he should head out for the day, get away from here before he runs into you again and you have the chance to call him by his first name or nearly show him your ass for a third time.

You’re sitting on your bed, scanning dutifully over a few electronic files that Fury sent you regarding tonight’s solo op, when you hear Bucky finish up in the shower and quickly shut himself up in his room. Your mind starts to drift away from the task at hand as you replay his words from earlier in your head. That’s twice now that you’ve tried showing me your ass in the past twenty-four hours. Of course the little shit was keeping count. And the best response you could come up with was a tease. You scrunch your eyes shut and shake your head, attempting to clear your mind so you can focus on the mission details before you. This is not the time to be getting distracted. Tonight’s op is serious, and you’re going in with only two backup agents strategically placed in the club’s staff, so you need to be as prepared as possible and as on your game as you’ve ever been.

---

A not-so-innocent little black lingerie set adorns your figure, hugging your body in all of the right ways and accentuating all of your best features. You give yourself one last look in the tall mirror in your bedroom, making sure everything looks perfect, before pulling on a pair of black jeans, a black sweater, and then a black leather jacket over the top. You pull on a pair of sneakers before double-checking that your bag for the night is packed and ready. It holds a pair of black ankle-strap heels, body glitter, your most complimented perfume, your makeup bag, and a couple of choice weapons tucked away from prying eyes. You have everything you need to gain the attention of one particularly nasty underground vibranium dealer, Elias Leveaux.

In less than an hour, you’re downtown at the most high-end strip club in northern New York. It’s known for wealthy clientele, and it’s on SHIELD’s radar specifically because Elias is known to drop in at least once or twice a month. You’ve read enough about the guy to wonder why someone with so much money and such an illegal, secretive day job would choose to go to a strip club that’s more or less open to the public. You’d think he’d hire a few girls privately and enjoy his free time that way, but it’s like he gets off on the experience of being the richest, scariest guy in the place. So he goes, at least once a month, always sometime during the second week of the month, like clockwork.

The last thing you expected to see when you walk in the back staff entrance of the club is a text from Fury, letting you know that the plan for tonight has changed. It’s nonspecific and gives you absolutely no clue as to what might’ve changed, but you don’t have time to text him back and ask for clarification before you’re being directed to the dressing room and told that you’re supposed to be on the floor in less than five minutes. What the hell is Fury thinking?

Bucky initially thought that being called out for a last-minute op was a blessing. He thought it was exactly what he needed to get out of the apartment for a few hours and get his mind off of you. At least until he found out that the entire op centered around you. He breathes a heavy sigh as he stands outside the club, adjusting his black gloves and glancing at his watch impatiently. Sam is never late. Walker, however, doesn’t know how to be anything but late. Of course, Sam wasn’t going to be the one to wait around outside for Walker’s arrival, so he’s already in the club, seated somewhere at a table near the back wall to keep an eye on things. As Bucky continues to wait in the cold, he begins to wonder what kind of role you’re playing here tonight. Are you a cocktail waitress? A bartender? Fury didn’t give him much information when he called earlier, he simply said that the possibility of something going sideways tonight had escalated enough that he wanted extra hands on deck. Specifically, the undercover hands of the new Captain America, a super soldier, and America’s most hated: John Walker.

“I’ve got eyes on Leveaux, he came in through the private entrance on the west side of the building.” Sam’s voice reaches Bucky through his in-ear monitor, right as Walker is approaching.

“Sorry I’m late. Fury really doesn’t like to give us a heads up, does he?” Walker asks, clapping Bucky on the shoulder in greeting. Bucky shoots him a death glare and Walker quickly drops his smile and hand, remembering who he’s talking to. This is going to be a long fucking night.

---

When the lights go off and the crowd in the club gets quieter than it’s been for the last forty-five minutes, Bucky follows the turning of everyone’s heads to the stage. A few dancers have come and gone so far, a couple had the crowd going wild for sure, but whatever it is that’s coming next seems to have sucked the breath out of everyone’s chests as they sit on the edge of their seats with anticipation. Even Elias Leveaux has waved his henchmen away and he sits at his table close to the stage with all of his focus trained on the dark platform. When the lights on the stage turn on, they have a deep red hue to them. The low notes of a sultry song begin rumbling through the speakers in the club and as soon as the first bit of skin is visible on stage, Bucky’s mouth goes dry and his heart begins slamming against his ribcage.

Holy fucking shit. It’s you. You’re the girl that has the attention of every single man and woman in the club right now. You’re the girl dressed in the skimpiest little outfit that Bucky has ever seen. Even the bartenders across the room have their eyes on you. Bucky can’t breathe, he can’t move, he can’t think. You make it to centerstage and begin your routine seamlessly, transitioning from a suggestive dance in your heels to an all-out Magic Mike-level move that involves you crawling across the stage, perfectly in time with the music. When your eyes land on Elias, you maintain eye contact with him as you crawl forward, arching your back and flipping your hair over one shoulder. You watch as he adjusts himself in his seat and rests his right hand high up on his thigh, a tell-tale sign that he’s hard as a rock and it’s all because of you. You flash him an innocent smile before continuing your routine and scanning the rest of the club for his henchmen. You count two near the bar, and one near the main entrance. You’re two minutes in and nearly finishing up your routine, dragging your hands down your chest, over the see-through black lace corset that wraps around your ribcage, when your eyes land on the last person you need to be thinking about. Bucky Barnes. He sits at a table in the far back corner. You can’t even drag your gaze away from him long enough to see who else is at his table. Your eyes are locked on his as your skin heats up and the music fades away. He’s too far away for you to notice the way his jaw is clenched or the way a tent is forming in the front of his tactical pants. As soon as you’ve disappeared from the stage, Bucky stealthily adjusts his pants and composes himself before turning to Sam and Walker.

“What the hell? If this is what she does on all of those solo ops Fury sends her on, sign me up. I’ll be back-up for every single one.” Walker says, clearly not caring to hide his own arousal. Bucky imagines his fist colliding with the side of John’s face and it calms him a little before he speaks up.

“Say something like that again and watch where it gets you.” Bucky’s tone is like ice, sending a nervous chill through John Walker’s bloodstream and effectively softening the hard-on in his pants. Unfortunately, Bucky’s own hard-on isn’t going away. Sam isn’t paying any attention to the two men on his team, he’s instead focused on Elias Leveaux, who’s waving over one of his henchmen and whispering something to him. Bucky follows Sam’s line of sight and sees the same thing. The henchman quickly disappears backstage, going through a door labeled “staff-only.” This is either going to be exactly what you and Fury planned for or something that’s going to end badly, there’s really no in between. Your goal was to have Leveaux ask for a private dance, or at least approach you and make contact in some way. You need an in with him.

You’re just stepping into the dressing room backstage when a tall man dressed in all black, one that you recognize as an employee of Leveaux that was standing near the bar earlier, approaches you in a surprisingly professional manner. He keeps is eyes on your face, even though you’re still wearing an outfit that bares nearly your entire body for everyone to see.

“Miss, my employer would like a moment with you in private.” The man’s voice is low, and he keeps his tone hushed so the other girls in the dressing room can’t fully make out his words.

“Your employer?” You ask, easily playing dumb.

“Mr. Leveaux. He’s in attendance tonight and would like a moment of your time, if you’re free to meet with him now.” You pretend like you’re mulling over his words as you examine your makeup in the mirror.

“Should I change clothes?” You inquire, meeting the man’s gaze in the reflection of the mirror. He gives you a small smile and shakes his head.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” His answer gives you plenty of information. Elias Leveaux is interested.

Ten minutes later, you’re in one of the private rooms upstairs with the most ruthless vibranium dealer sitting on a couch in front of you. You’ve just walked in and already, his gaze is ravaging your body. He’s basically removing every little piece of your lingerie ensemble with his eyes alone.

“Mr. Leveaux…” His name leaving your lips brings his gaze up to your face. You study him for a moment. It’s the first time you’ve seen him outside of surveillance pictures in SHIELD files. He’s characteristically attractive, with a chiseled jawline and perfectly manicured stubble decorating it. His hair is black, so black that it matches the tattoos you can see peeking out from the collar of his button-up shirt. Your job is always easier when the bad guys are hot as fuck. “What can I do for you tonight?” You ask, an air of confidence surrounding you as you play with your hair and lean against the wall across from him.

“Come closer.” He says, cocking his head and spreading his legs slightly on the couch. He oozes confidence and masculinity, in a way that nearly makes you blush. You obey his command, and as soon as you’re within his reach, he grasps your hand and pulls you down to sit on his knee. “Tell me your name.” You’re learning very quickly that he never ends anything with a question mark.

“I don’t get your first name?” You ask, letting your left hand rest on his shoulder as his comes to rest on your bare thigh. He studies you in silence for a moment, ghosting his hand back and forth along your thigh as you stare back at him. The dim lights in the room and sultry music playing through the speakers only add to the tension.

“Come home with me tonight and you get anything you want.”

You made the decision on a whim. Knowing that Fury not only has an entire surveillance team watching everything that’s happening in the club right now, but that he also has Bucky and whoever is with him on site, you’re not very worried about what might happen. So, this wasn’t part of the original plan, so what? You were supposed to do whatever you needed to do to gain Elias’s attention because you needed an in with him. You needed to become someone he trusted so that you could eventually gain access to his phone. The original plan involved him noticing you tonight, maybe paying for a private dance the next time he sees you at the club, where you’d have the chance to drug him and access his phone to get the names and phone numbers of a few of his contacts. But as soon as he invited you back to his place, you knew that you could knock out the entire possibly months-long op in one night. So, you decided to take the chance. You stand on the curb now, with his long black coat wrapped tightly around your frame since Elias didn’t give you time to go back and put your clothes on over your lingerie. You didn’t want to risk bringing your bag anyway, not with your gun in it. Though you feel naked while not having a firearm within arm’s reach, you imagine this night would take a turn for the worse if he or one of his henchmen went through your bag and found a government-issued one.

Bucky stands with Sam and Walker inside the club, near the exit, as Sam tries to decide what to do in this moment. Sam sure as hell doesn’t want to let you leave with this guy, but no one has come up with a good way to stop you yet, not without breaking your cover. Everyone knows how stubborn you are, but they also know how good you are at your job. If you’ve decided to go home with Elias Leveaux, it’s unlikely that anyone will be able to stop you, while simultaneously being likely that you’ll successfully finish the mission on your own tonight. However, by leaving with him, you’re going to be taking yourself far away from any backup, from any chance of rescue should anything go awry.

After a few more seconds listening to Sam and Walker argue about a plan, Bucky sees the glint of a black car pulling up to the curb in the moonlight, and watches with silent rage as Leveaux’s hand dips down dangerously close to your ass before he reaches to open the back door for you. Fuck it.

“Y/n!” Bucky’s voice reaches your ears so unexpectedly that you freeze. You hope that he knows that your cover name utilizes your real first name, otherwise he just attempted to blow your cover. What a fucking ass. You and Elias turn around at the same time, with Elias taking one look at Bucky and then immediately looking over at you, raising one eyebrow in question.

“Ex-boyfriend.” You mutter to Elias, thinking on the fly. “Just give me a minute with him, then I’m all yours.” Elias glances back at Bucky one more time before nodding at you and sliding into the back seat of the car. You stalk over to Bucky, doing your best to mask some of your anger, stopping just a few inches in front of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Barnes?”

“Keeping you from getting yourself killed. You’re not leaving with him.”

“You might be a sergeant, but this isn’t the army and I’m not under your umbrella of authority.” You pair the words with a contemptuous stare, crossing your arms over your chest in defiance. Bucky smirks at you and licks his bottom lip before shaking his head slightly.

“So, what then? You’re going to sleep with him, drug him, steal the info you need, and somehow get out of his house unscathed? With no backup?” Bucky asks. When he puts it like that, you have to admit that your plan does sound a bit foolish. But still, you won’t back down.

“Yeah, and you’re going to go back into the club and find someone else to take your orders, because it sure as hell isn’t going to be me taking them.” You spit back. You’re waiting for his next retort when his eyes flit away from your face, to the road behind you and a little to the left. He sees something. You’re about to turn your head to follow his gaze when suddenly his hands are on your hips and he’s spinning you around, slamming your back against the brick wall of the club. The long coat that Leveaux gave you earlier falls open just as Bucky presses his body firmly against yours, shielding you from the ricochet of bullets flying around the street.

You’re holding your breath. Bucky hasn’t felt your chest rise or fall even once in the last three seconds since he slammed you against the wall. He glances down at you and sees your eyes scrunched shut and your cheeks flushed.

“Breathe.” He whispers gently, his warm breath fanning over your face. You draw in a harsh breath at his reminder, and he feels your chest rise and push against his own. You both turn your head to the side as the dark car speeds off down the street, each of you quickly memorizing the make, model, and license plate number. Within a second after the first car has passed, Leveaux’s own car takes off after it. There goes your villainous one-night stand. “Are you hurt?” Bucky asks, still keeping you pinned against the wall. You shake your head, but feel something warm and wet against your right abdomen. When you look down, you realize it’s not your own blood turning your skin red, but Bucky’s, seeping through his shirt.

He’s been shot.

Next Part

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