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ddarker-dreams · 1 year

Text

Hedonist.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan.

Continuation of Declawed.

Warnings: Not SFW, dubcon (Reader is under the influence of aphrodisiacs), yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, unbalanced power dynamics. Word count: 7.5k.

You are in a room with four walls.

How you got here does not matter. You know you may not leave.

Behind a closed set of drapes lies a window.

In this room with no past or future, there is but one choice you can make.

Will you peer beyond the curtains or leave them drawn?

For if you choose to look, there is no telling what you may see.

…

“... [First].”

“Hm?”

You’re someplace different than where your mind alleged. This is not your coveted room with four, blank walls, where no one can come or go. You’re sitting at a dining room table that tilts too far to the left. There’s an untouched meal in front of you, a cup of tea that’s gone cold, and a napkin folded over your lap just the way you prefer.

A man sits across from you — Chrollo Lucilfer. He’s staring at you, his fingers steepled, and his body leaning forward. His meal has long been finished. You blink, feeling like a computer that’s booting back up. The fog covering your senses lifts too slowly for your liking. Eventually, a blueprint of your surroundings solidifies in your mind.

There are three people in the surrounding area, excluding yourself. Two are a formidable threat. One is not.

“You seem distracted,” Chrollo’s voice gives nothing away. His eyes do though, just a little bit. Concern? Intrigue? You cannot pinpoint where each ends and begins. “That’s unusual for you.”

You hate when he’s right. “I’d pay more attention if you said anything worthwhile.”

His lips quirk up. “Is your health not worthwhile?”

He’s got you where he wants you.

“If you’re truly concerned about my health, then you’ll return my Hatsu,” you maintain unflinching eye contact. He exhales through his nose, belying slight exasperation. “The events of today should prove I’d do better with it from the onset.”

“In emergencies, yes. And I did return it. Long enough for you to dispatch the threat… and to hurt Feitan’s feelings, evidently.”

You ignore his last comment, seriously doubting its authenticity.

“One of the threats, at least,” you make a show of looking him up and down. He sighs, probably heavier than he intended, the chaotic past twenty-four hours undoubtedly weighing him down. Sensing that this particular conversation is better off over, he reclines back into his chair. Instead of mirroring his posture, you cross your legs, fold your gloved hands together, and rest them on your lap. You’re doing everything within your power to give the impression nothing is amiss.

Alas, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Something is very, very wrong with you.

It all began with an ambush on the car ride to this safe house. Assassins are par for the course in your line of work, it wasn’t your first encounter and you doubt it’ll be the last. The main problem was that for the first time in your life, you were fighting without your Hatsu in a situation that would’ve strongly benefited from its use. The group focused their attention on you and the Manipulator must’ve met his conditions for his ability to activate. A strange sensation swept over and temporarily debilitated you. Chrollo was quick to notice how you staggered — truthfully, you played it close to the chest to see if he’d risk returning your Hatsu should you be in mortal peril — a gamble that did and didn’t pay off.

It felt like a piece of your soul had been returned to you. Your conjured sword sliced down your three pursuers, they were entirely caught off guard by its appearance. That left you without about a second to retaliate with your briefly returned arsenal until Chrollo realized what you were planning. Ideally, you would’ve preferred to attack Chrollo, since your win condition lay in either killing him or removing his ability to conjure Bandit’s Secret. He was aware of this and kept just enough distance for that very reason.

It had been Feitan who risked getting the closest to prevent the assassins from doing you any major harm in light of your lackluster dodging. Both he and Chrollo must’ve recognized what you were trying to do and likely considered you more of a threat than the assassin trio. You tried not to be obvious about your intentions, but they’re too sharp.

The second long window you had felt like more than enough to seriously injure Feitan. While your physical strength had been on the lower side compared to the other Troupe members, you were faster; far outclassing the others in that particular skill set. This boon came with its own share of disadvantages, such as your tendency to tire faster in a fight if it dragged on for hours. However, you were finally in a uniquely advantageous position. You had conserved your strength in case an opening presented itself, and although it almost landed you in hot water to not go all out against three opponents, it ultimately worked in your favor.

You lunged forward at Feitan with what should’ve been a definitive strike. The speed was there, but the power was not; the Manipulator’s unknown ability weakened you far more than you’d anticipated. It was only recently that you realized his Nen must’ve strengthened in death. It felt mostly inconsequential when you first experienced it; you didn’t think to leave the Manipulator alive as a safeguard.

Feitan withstood the hit with some minor injuries. Your Hatsu no longer heeded your call, proof that Chrollo had taken it back. You were subdued, Feitan being far rougher than necessary and grumbling under his breath. For the past few hours, you’ve refocused all your energy toward keeping whatever that Manipulator did to you under control without giving your captors a glimpse of your weakened state. This control is steadily waning. Meditation aided you for a time, but you can tell it's growing in intensity, hence your current predicament.

Your body’s temperature is steadily rising. At first, you hypothesized the ability is supposed to make you mortally ill, but your gut tells you that isn’t the entire picture. Aside from feeling warm and not having all your strength, you don’t believe you’re knocking on death’s door. The symptoms don’t point toward anything that serious. It’s almost as if it made you want something — there’s this primal craving inside you, trying desperately to claw its way to the surface.

Whatever you’re currently riddled with, it's excruciating. You don’t know how much more you can take or how to put a stop to it.

There had been a fourth party whose tracking ability led the assassins to you in the first place. After watching his comrades get eviscerated, his Zetsu wavered, giving away his position. Feitan is playing with his new toy in the basement. It’s been in the back of your mind that this fourth man might know the Manipulator’s ability. That’s why you’ve been so desperate to keep the extent of your malaise under wraps, lest Feitan learns something imperative and keeps you in the dark about it. It’ll ultimately be Chrollo’s decision, but you know they’re both not happy with your little stunt earlier. If they learn it’s nothing too detrimental, they’ll let you suffer through it as a punishment.

“May I be excused?” You inquire with the politest tone you can muster.

Chrollo motions to your untouched plate. “You haven’t eaten.”

You knew this would be a point of contention. Not due to any rampant concern on his part, you both know that you’re capable of surviving without food for long periods. He’s just using this as an opportunity to see what’s truly wrong with you — he has to have his suspicions by now. You glance down at your meal. Grilled chicken, leafy greens, and a scoop of rice. The ultra-healthy regiment that Chrollo knows you favor and Feitan complains about. You still remember the look the latter gave you when you wrote chickpeas on the grocery list.

Lying is a useless endeavor when Chrollo’s involved, he can see past your poker face without issue. Telling the truth is your best bet. “I don’t have an appetite.”

He makes a show of looking at his watch. “You always have dinner at this time of day.”

“There’s nothing I can do if I don’t feel hungry now. I’ll eat it in the morning.”

You know how he loathes food being wasted and try to redirect his attention toward that. This time, you phrase it as a statement rather than a question. Chrollo gives you a long, silent look. His gray eyes pick you apart without any subtlety. He parts his lips, preparing to say something, when his attention shifts elsewhere.

A blur comes flying your way. From reflex alone, you catch it. A first aid kit? Feitan stands at the kitchen doorway where it must’ve been thrown, wearing a black sleeveless shirt. You stop yourself from frowning. You should’ve been able to sense his presence. Any other time, doing so comes as easy as breathing, but your senses are off-kilter. You can only hope that the ease with which you caught the first aid kit covered this blunder.

Considering the weight of Chrollo’s stare, that might be a far-fetched dream.

“Fix this,” Feitan nods at the untreated gash on his right arm, courtesy of your earlier attack. Cutting any synovial hinge joint would have proved helpful, especially against a swordsman like Feitan. Seeing the wound up close shows your aim was slightly off. The attack landed too low on his forearm. You can’t remember the last time you made a mistake like this — it must’ve been back when you were a child. If it weren’t for that Manipulator’s ability, you would be in a far better situation right now.

The chair scrapes against the floor when Feitan pulls it out. Not seeing the point in making his mood worse, you wordlessly take the steps to comply with his demand. You go to the kitchen sink, remove your leather gloves, and wash your hands. The cool water running over your skin feels heavenly. However, you notice a damning detail while you dry yourself off.

Your hands are shaking.

You don’t stare at the impending problem so as not to draw unwanted attention. Your body's homeostasis is deteriorating faster than you can manage it. Or, to be more accurate, the ability’s strength must be advancing over time. Any half-decent Nen user should be capable of controlling their body temperature, respiratory rate, blood pressure, and heart rate, or else your aura suffers. You’ll have to pick your poison here. If you focus mostly on your hands, you should be able to stop the shaking for a time. Consequently, that’ll leave your fever unchecked.

You need to get this over with quickly.

After putting on surgical gloves and a mask, you situate yourself next to Feitan.

“Planning operation?” He asks, amusement in his voice.

“This is far from a sterile environment. I’m taking the necessary precautions to prevent an infection,” you soak a gauze pad in saline solution then dab it against his wound. You’re glad the mask is covering half your face, since you’re unable to stop yourself from frowning. Beating yourself up over your past mistakes won’t do any good, yet you can’t help feeling mildly disappointed seeing your botched work up close. Who knows when you’ll get an opportunity like that again?

You’re about to wrap it in a bandage when Feitan speaks up again. “Need stitches?”

Your fingers twitch despite yourself. He’s intentionally trying to rile you up. You won’t let him.

“... No.”

He snickers, his eyebrows rising, adding to his air of condescension. “Why?”

“It’s too shallow of a cut.”

“Heh.”

What a bastard. You momentarily consider the merits of stabbing him with one of the needles in the kit. The temporary satisfaction wouldn’t be worth the trouble it’d cause you later on, you decide. You’ve endured several torments from Feitan up until this point without ever acknowledging his efforts. Truthfully, you don’t understand what exactly it is Feitan wants from you. Chrollo is easier to understand in that one aspect. Your (former?) boss wants your relationship to return to what it was before — he said so outright using words sweet enough to make your teeth ache.

Feitan has been far less forthcoming with his motivations. He barely talks to you aside from scathing remarks, doesn’t sleep in the same room as you and Chrollo, and frequently goes missing for days at a time. All you have to go off of is the conversation he had with Chrollo the night you gave up your Hatsu in return for Ash’s safe passage. He said he was ‘interested’ in you. It was Chrollo he told this, so you know he wouldn’t lie. He couldn’t have been vaguer if he tried.

Did he mean ‘interested’ sexually? Romantically? It’s no secret that Feitan is a sadist, but he’s never made passes at you. You don’t think he’d be the type to beat around the bush if he wanted something like that. You’ve caught him staring a few times yet always chalked it up to him thinking you’re about to pull a stunt. Then again, you’re entirely ignorant to whatever agreement Chrollo and Feitan have over you.

Outwardly, it looks the same as it’s always been. Chrollo gives orders and Feitan obeys them.

So why is it that your instinct whispers there’s far more to the dynamic than Feitan being an uninterested third party?

You secure a bandage around his forearm then turn away from him and Chrollo. It’d be nice if enduring the humiliation of tending to the subpar wound you inflicted is your entire punishment, but you somehow doubt that. You know your body well and your limits even better, loathe as you are to admit you have any. Exhaustion is nipping at your heels while the night is still young. The thought of lying down, even if it’s just for a few hours, sounds divine.

“I’m finished,” you tell Feitan, sensing his eyes on your back while you throw the mask and gloves away. “Was there anything else you needed?”

“Your hands. Show me.”

You stop turning the faucet on to spare him a glance over your shoulder. “May I ask why?”

“You can. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

Your eyes flicker to Chrollo next, who has remained uncharacteristically quiet throughout this interaction. The closed-mouth smile he’s giving you promises nothing good. He knows you’re hiding something — they both know you are. They’re worse than sharks smelling blood in the water. You’ve been delaying the inevitable to the best of your abilities, but this game of cat-and-mouse can’t last forever.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you take a step forward, only for a bout of lightheadedness to come crashing down. You’re forced to grab the kitchen counter to steady yourself, the granite splintering beneath the intensity of your grip, crumbling to the ground in a noisy cascade. You swear you’re seeing double when you stare down at the ground, your heart rate accelerating and breathing turning erratic. Deep breaths are taken in an attempt to steady yourself.

Immediately, there’s a presence by your side, then a delightfully cold touch against your forehead. You try not to lean into it.

“Burning up,” Feitan remarks. He moves his hand back, and you almost keen at the loss, a factor that is as mortifying as it is perplexing. You tell yourself it’s because your body wants to regain proper equilibrium by cooling itself off. There can be no other explanation. You’re coming down with a fever, you’ll rest, and this will be over. Simple as that.

Chrollo makes his way over to you like he has all the time in the world, his countenance giving nothing away. “He was telling the truth, then?”

“Guess so.”

“What… what are you both talking about?” You inquire, all the while trying and failing to push yourself up. You, a person capable of wielding an ax that weighs 4,000 pounds with ease, can’t even stand up straight. It’s a miracle your legs haven’t given out beneath you yet.

“Feitan has been interrogating the man in the basement,” Chrollo reaches into his back pocket to grab something, a napkin, by the looks of it. He holds it up at your eye level. You blink, having to strain so that the word scribbled on it can come into focus. The messy handwriting must belong to Feitan. “I wanted to wait and see it for myself before believing him.”

You almost get sick when the word finally registers.

Aphrodisiac.

Feitan must’ve scribbled this note down and handed it to Chrollo. You weren’t in a good position to be perceptive of your surroundings, otherwise, you would’ve surely noticed.

Chrollo reaches out for you, his fingers settling beneath your chin and lifting it. Your eyelids flutter shut, the simple skin-to-skin contact exhilarating, made even better when his thumb brushes over your lower lip. He gives a content hum over your willingness to accept his touch for the first time in several months. It’s a surreal sensation — how your senses can be both heightened and capable of blocking out so much — your brain is unwilling to register anything aside from the men before you. You’re backed against the now broken countertop when Chrollo advances impossibly closer, his chest pressing against yours.

“You must’ve been suppressing it through sheer willpower all this time. I’m impressed,” he sounds like it too. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear, but this won’t be going away on its own.”

Chrollo’s lips caress the shell of your ear, and his hands start creeping down your body while he speaks. “You need only say the word and we’ll satisfy you. Otherwise, it’ll progress to the point it’s unbearable. I don’t exactly enjoy watching you suffer, whether you believe me or not. So be a dear and—”

However he intended to end that sentence will forever remain a mystery. It stokes something inside you, rekindling the dying embers of your pride. Bloodlust radiates off you in tangible waves, cracking the glass of a nearby window. The miasma surrounding you is thick and potent. Harnessing the remnants of your strength, you press your hands to Chrollo’s chest, shoving him away with all your might. He stumbles back yet quickly steadies himself.

“Do not touch me,” you seethe, the words more of a growl than anything.

Aura envelops Feitan, who must be anticipating further resistance. The flow stops as soon as it begins when Chrollo puts a hand up to stop him. Silence loudly resounds in the tight quarters you’re forced to share with them. You feel akin to a cornered cat, hackles raised and teeth bared. There’s nothing practical you can do — it’s maddening to acknowledge that. You’re entirely at their mercy.

And you know neither of them have any to give.

Chrollo sighs, straightening the wrinkles on his shirt your outburst caused. “You’re making this needlessly difficult for yourself, [First].”

“Just… knock me unconscious until it subsides, or something,” you grit out through clenched teeth. The ghosts of Feitan’s touch against your forehead and Chrollo’s fingers upon your lips haunt you. It’s as if all levels of higher thinking ceased the second they came into contact with you. “I can’t… I refuse…!”

“Stubborn woman. Not normally this stupid,” Feitan clicks his tongue. “It’s Nen. Doesn’t work like that.”

You grip your head with your hands. It hurts. It’s hot. Lascivious need wraps its tendrils around you and squeezes. Your body is no longer heeding the orders of your mind. You can smell Chrollo’s cologne — sandalwood, amber — as well as the metallic scent of blood clinging to Feitan. You shouldn’t have pushed him away. You should’ve let him touch you, please you, satiate this voracious appetite that won’t go away on its own. It’s been so long, far too long. He said it wouldn’t go away on its own, didn’t he? How much longer can you fight it off?

More importantly, do you even want to fight anymore?

You take an unsteady step forward, your head hanging long, allowing for a shadow to fall over your eyes. Your hand reaches for Chrollo’s belt yet never meets its destination. An undignified noise leaves your lips as you’re scooped up, your cheeks burning and eyes shooting wide open. Your instinct is to struggle, but when you feel a hand press beneath your thighs to steady you, your brain turns to mush. The touch isn’t anything special, though your body acts like it is. You can feel an unnatural amount of wetness staining your panties. Consequently, you rub your thighs together, hoping to alleviate some of the desperate need for friction.

A deep, dark chuckle reverberates in Chrollo’s chest. “She’s precious, isn’t she, Fei?”

Feitan doesn’t confirm or deny, though you can feel his eyes boring into you. “Not mad at her?”

“That can wait for later. For now, though…” he trails off, his voice lowering in pitch and volume. “Aren’t you interested in savoring her to the fullest?”

You don’t remember the trip to the bedroom.

There’s the faint sound of rushed footsteps, creaky door hinges groaning, shoes being thrown aside, and the rustling of fabric. Your heartbeat rises to a crescendo when you’re placed on the bed, anticipation gnawing at you. The room is dripping with tension and a sick part of yourself relishes in it. You prop yourself up on your elbows only to find yourself getting pushed not so gently back down.

Feitan is leering at you from above, his eyes like that of a madman.

Not a word is uttered as you glare back up at him. Without his cowl, you can see every inch of his countenance, the cruel curve of his lips, and the upward incline of his eyebrows. There’s no time to dwell on the negative emotions such a feral stare instills, for you register movement coming from behind. Familiar toned arms wrap around your torso. Chrollo pulls you onto his lap, your back flush against his broad chest. His lips lovingly caress the shell of your ear, grazing the sensitive flesh with his teeth.

“Are you ashamed, [First]?” He taunts, his voice taking on a husky tinge. “A woman of your status offering herself over so willingly to two depraved men… I can’t fathom how bruised your ego must be.”

This compromising position must do something for him. You feel his hardened length poking at your ass, betraying his arousal.

“Neither of you are capable of harming my ego.”

You exhale sharply when he tugs your head back by your hair.

“Casuistry is unbecoming of you, dear.”

“Is that what that was…?” You trail off, trying not to show how good it feels when Chrollo latches his lips to your neck. “Are you so caught up in your own delusions that you fail to recognize this is about satisfying a biological function, not an expression of passion?”

You’re grateful for your high pain tolerance when Chrollo sinks his teeth into your skin, hard enough to leave a mark for the days that’ll follow. He lavishes his tongue against it afterward, his chest vibrating from a quiet chuckle.

“Talks too much,” Feitan grumbles. For a moment, you wonder if he's referring to you or Chrollo. “Gag?”

“Unnecessary. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the sounds she’s going to make, would we?”

This line of reasoning seems to satisfy Feitan. Unlike Chrollo, who treats undressing you as if it were a form of foreplay itself, Feitan is rough with your clothes. You’d almost think they offended him somehow. You wince at the sound of ripping. The black fabric covering your torso flutters to the side, revealing the swell of your cleavage. Perspiration clings to you in a thin sheen from your body’s meager attempts to cool down. You swear you hear Feitan’s breath shudder when his sallow fingers descend on your chest.

He’s far from gentle with his exploration of the soft flesh. He kneads and pulls, giving little heed to what you find pleasurable. Then his pointer finger and thumb find your nipple, visible through your nude-colored bra. A special sadistic delight is taken in twisting the nub and observing the subsequent parting of your lips in a high-pitched gasp.

“... Cute,” he comments. Your fingers twitch, indignation spurring you on to try and strike him, a rebellion Chrollo ends prematurely by holding your dominant arm in place. He uses enough pressure that you wouldn’t be surprised if the skin bruises in the shape of his hand.

“Now now, there’s no need to resort to violence, is there?” Chrollo’s voice is akin to nails on a chalkboard. The irony of a mass-murdering thief preaching this platitude isn’t lost on you.

Feitan quirks up an eyebrow when you jut your head to the side, your teeth clenching and cheeks burning. Damn them both.

“Ego hurt yet?” Feitan croons.

You recenter yourself to the best of your abilities, considering every cell in your body is screaming for a return to primal instinct. They’re both dead wrong if they think you’re going to roll over and take everything they dish out. Perhaps it’ll spell more trouble for you further down the line, but the logical side of your brain which normally dominates is waning. You wrench yourself forward with enough force that Chrollo has to lessen his grip on your arm, lest he dislocate it. Maybe there is some truth behind his earlier claim that he ‘doesn’t enjoy watching you suffer’, or maybe the lack of bloodlust clues him in that you aren’t up to anything nefarious.

Whatever the case, this momentum and easing up of your restraints grants the freedom to do what you plan next. Your hands, marred with dark lines along the veins from Corruption’s improper usage many years prior, hold Feitan’s face in place. His shock is evident by the lack of movement on his part when your lips press against his. Your clammy skin derives satisfaction from how unnaturally cold his body is.

This is the closest thing you’ve gotten to relieving the gnawing need that’s been threatening to devour you from the inside out.

In the millisecond it takes for him to comprehend what’s happening, he secures back what little power you temporarily held over him. His kiss is rough, demanding, and clearly inexperienced. You’re too far gone to care. You make a show of kissing him with every ounce of languid affection you once bestowed upon the man behind you, your head tilting to the side and back arching to press further into him. Something between a groan and a grunt leaves Feitan when your hand seeks out his clothed length, palming at it until it fully hardens.

This temporary rebalancing of power mixed with finally feeding the carnal hunger within you is invigorating, sending adrenaline through your veins. Feitan nips at your lower lip and you grant him access to your mouth. His tongue seeks out yours in a dance you never thought you’d willingly participate in. The world is fuzzy, an unintelligible string of blurred shapes and colors you can’t make any sense of. All that registers to you is an all-encompassing desire to succumb to lust’s bittersweet embrace.

Is this what it’s like to be drunk? Stuck in a pleasant haze where the slightest stimulation feels far better than it should, potential consequences be damned?

When you part for air, a thin trail of saliva connects you.

“Still wish to gag me?” You goad, unwilling to resist making a jab at his expense. He enjoyed that far too much for you not to sneak in a snide comment.

Feitan smirks. “Not with rag.”

He then looks to Chrollo, as if silently asking permission for something. Evidently, he must receive it, for the rest of your outfit is torn from your person. What would’ve irritated you in any other circumstance comes as an immense relief now. The heat enveloping you is stupefying. Cognition is overshadowed by a primal need you never could’ve thought yourself capable of. You’ll do anything to offset this unique torture, the likes of which you’ve never been forced to endure.

You’re left in nothing but your sheer black tights and bra, your chest heaving in a desperate bid to get enough oxygen. Sweat trickles down your temple.

Every inch of your body is so unusually sensitive, as if your nerve endings have multiplied. The science behind whatever the Manipulator’s ability did intrigues you. Did it decrease activity in your prefrontal cortex, making long-term planning near impossible? Excite the endocrine system in a way that encourages sexual arousal? Trick your brain into activating fight or flight if you’re not being stimulated?

The relationship between science and Nen has always fascinated you. Regrettably, you’re not in the headspace to conduct research. It’s growing increasingly difficult to form so much as a coherent thought.

Behind you, Chrollo undoes the clasp of your bra, revealing your chest in its entirety to both men. If there was ever any doubt that Feitan’s interest in you is lascivious in nature, his current expression dispels it. He looks at you like one would a piece of tantalizing meat. You never would’ve thought Feitan was sexually attracted to you by the indifferent air he normally held. In retrospect, you wonder if that was his way of trying to keep his impulses under control until the timing was right.

“Lift yourself up for me, dear,” Chrollo uses such gentle words, but his tone tells you this is an order. You do as he requests. From this angle, he’s able to help pull your tights down by the waistband. It’s a slow, tedious process; he acts as if he has all the time in the world, inching the delicate fabric down to reveal your thighs. You shiver when his fingernails scrape at your skin. It takes everything you have to hold back a sinful moan at the teasing contact.

“I hadn’t realized tights were so sacred to you,” you say. He had no objections when Feitan tore at the rest of your custom-tailored outfit.

You can hear the smile on his face when he replies, “There’s only this one pair, whereas we have other clothes for you. It’d be a shame to not see you in something that complements your features so well.”

“How very considerate.”

Feitan helps pull it off once it gets to your knees, using a degree of care you thought him incapable of. It must be because his boss willed the action. He spreads your legs without any resistance, his eyes fixating on your covered core. Evidence of your arousal seeps through. It’s a sight that causes Feitan to mutter something in his language that you suspect to be an expletive.

A silver streak soars through your vision. You go motionless, allowing Chrollo to slice through your panties with his Ben’s Knife.

You glare at him from the corner of your eye. “Are you trying to kill me? What strange paraphilias you’ve developed since we’ve last been intimate.”

“I was confident in your ability to stay still,” Chrollo’s fingers linger right above your clit, refusing to touch the one place you begrudgingly desire him most. “Besides, we both know a little poison wouldn’t put your life in serious danger. Give yourself more credit, sweetheart.”

The audacity of this man is astounding.

Chrollo spreads your folds for Feitan’s viewing pleasure.

“Isn’t she just lovely?” Chrollo practically purrs, his baritone voice causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin, despite the internal heat afflicting you. “You can touch her, Fei. She won’t bite.”

It’s an invitation he can’t turn down.

Without warning, two fingers are thrust inside you. You tense at the unexpected intrusion and have to tell your muscles to relax. Fortunately, there’s enough natural lubrication that it doesn’t hurt as bad as it could’ve. You suppose it should come as no surprise that the man with an affinity for torture isn’t tender in bed. He cackles at your visceral reaction, but you have no chance to retaliate, for he pulls his fingers back out and slams them back in. Dull discomfort quickly transitions to a deep, satisfying feeling. Chrollo further enforces it by finally rubbing precise circles just the way you like on your clit.

You squeeze your eyes shut and lull your head to the side. Digging deep into the recesses of your hazy mind, you try to block out who exactly is touching you like this, wanting to focus on the pleasure and nothing else.

Chrollo must have a rough idea of what you’re trying to do. He sighs, as if disappointed, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to face downward.

“Open your eyes, or we’ll stop,” he whispers. You bite down on your lower lip hard enough to almost bleed. “Oh, [First]. I know very well that you aren’t a prude. Come now. Don’t make me ask again.”

Your eyelashes flutter open like butterfly wings. From the position he’s holding your head, you have nowhere to look but at Feitan’s fingers slipping in and out of you, a lewd sight that makes you whimper. Maybe you’ll berate yourself for your weakness when you’re in a lucid mindset. For now, however, you’re starting to lift your hips to meet his relentless assault. You feel no better than a vacuous animal, yet embarrassment is the furthest thing on your mind. The word has been wiped clean from your lexicon.

With how sensitive your body is in this state, it doesn’t take long for that knot in your stomach to tighten. You’re panting, your head is thrown back, taking in each wave of overwhelming stimuli. Chrollo’s lips caressing your neck’s pulse, the friction on your clit, and Feitan’s fingers exploring your insides. It’s too much. The air is heady with the scent of sex, Chrollo’s cologne, and the metallic blood splattered on Feitan.

You’re so close, your walls clenching and the muscles in your thighs going taut—

—When they both abruptly stop.

Breathlessly, you murmur ‘wretched sadists’ in your native tongue.

“Him more so than me,” Chrollo replies. In your frustration, you forgot he was making good progress in learning your country’s language. Soon you won’t even have that to keep for yourself. He’ll have invaded every inch of your life and claimed it for himself.

Feitan brings his slick-covered pointer and middle finger close to your face. He parts them, observing the string of your arousal it forms with an amused expression.

“Needy thing,” he snickers.

He takes his fingers into his mouth, then gives a low hum, apparently enjoying your taste. When the digits slide back out, they’re coated in both his saliva and your essence. You grimace when he places them on your closed lips next, your obsession with hygiene temporarily triumphing over the aphrodisiac’s effects. Feitan frequently poked fun at how you wiped away blood and viscera should any have gotten on your person after a kill. You’ve never been partial to uncleanliness, although you could deal with it just fine when necessary.

Knowing Feitan, he’s likely getting off on your discomfort.

“Open,” he demands. You do with some reluctance, tasting yourself on your tongue. Your unusual obedience seems to please him. “Good girl.”

You narrow your eyes into slits then, warmth flooding your face. He’s the last person you’d ever want to give you a compliment like that. Condescension is an area that both Chrollo and Feitan excel in. Chrollo’s is often more subtle, taking a moment’s consideration to fully comprehend, whereas Feitan is cruelly blunt. You can’t decide which is worse.

The bed dips as Chrollo readjusts himself. Feitan moves to the side, giving Chrollo plenty of room to do whatever he wants with you next. Your former boss unbuttons his shirt and tosses it aside. His hands go to your shoulders, pushing in a silent communication for you to lay back. If it weren’t for the unfair condition you’re currently plagued with, you would’ve had some choice words at the ready. Especially when he strokes your cheekbone with the back of his knuckles, softly, as a lover would. You internally curse at how your traitorous body leans into his touch.

The distinct sound of Chrollo undoing his belt catches your attention.

After ridding himself of his remaining clothes, he lifts your left leg over his shoulder, an enigmatic gleam in his gray eyes. You feel his tip rub teasingly over your folds, gathering your abundant wetness. Proving to you just how desperately your body wants this — wants him. He’s trying to make a point. You imagine you must be quite the sight to him, all disheveled like this. Forcefully dragged out from your icy shell of propriety. Your hair which is normally styled in an updo is loose and forming twirls against the bed, your chest is rising and falling erratically, and your aura is a mess.

In this moment, you’ve essentially been reduced to a civilian.

You both let out content noises when he enters you. Your walls convulse around him, taking him in with ease, despite how long it’s been since you’ve had sex. It’s as if your body is telling you that it remembers him, no matter how hard you try to forget. In the dark of night, you sometimes wonder if Chrollo knows you better than you know yourself. He’s committed every little nuance about you to memory. Your preferences, likes and dislikes; he’s showcasing his mastery over you by providing the pleasure only he can.

You shudder when he fully sheathes himself inside you. It makes the aphrodisiac swallowing you whole slightly more bearable, quelling the fire just enough that you no longer feel you’re being burned.

Feitan lazily jerks himself off at your indecent expressions, breathing heavily as he pumps his reddened cock up and down.

“You’re a cruel woman, depriving me of this for so long,” Chrollo takes both your wrists in one hand and pins them above you. “I’ve longed for your body terribly, love. It belongs here — underneath me.”

By the way your face contorts, he must be able to tell that he won’t like whatever your reply will be, so he sets out to steal the air from your lungs. An undignified whimper leaves your lips at the rough pace he establishes from the onset. You’d almost think it was him under the influence of the aphrodisiac and not you. There’s no gradual, sensual buildup, just skin slapping against skin as he fucks you without mercy. You want to grab ahold of something, anything to steady yourself in the unforgiving onslaught of ecstasy, but his grip on you is unrelenting. Your limbs feel like jello, incapable of displaying your usual strength to break free from his hold.

Sensing your intentions, as he almost always does, he coos, “If you want something, then be a dear and beg.”

There’s a darkness in his voice that’s never been directed at you before. An underlying desperation. Chrollo craves you, longs for you, and you’ve denied him his greatest desire. He has no right to sigh and brood over your refusal to go back to how things were, before he betrayed your trust. You let him into your world. Granted him access to parts of yourself that have never seen the light of day, tentatively opened your heart bit by bit.

Only that alone couldn’t satisfy him. He needed more than your heart. Your mind, your soul, your body; your very being. And you weren’t willing to give him that. Not then, not now, not ever. So you purse your lips, glaring up at him with all the defiance you can muster in this weakened state.

He chuckles at the ferocity in your eyes, though it’s a humorless sound. Bitter, almost.

“My stubborn girl,” Chrollo whispers in your native tongue. “Try as you might, you’ll never be rid of me. I won’t even let you go in death.”

“I’ll— mm— have to test that theory.”

Something passes over his face then. Is it exasperation? Dismay? Hurt?

“Go ahead then,” he says. You’ve never seen this look in his eyes. “Do your worst.”

An odd sensation sweeps over you then. You furrow your eyebrows together, trying to place it, all the while Chrollo increases his speed. This is a phenomenon you’ve experienced and recently at that. It’s akin to puzzle pieces fitting together, everything falling back into its proper place. Then it hits you, the realization causing your eyes to widen and your breath to catch in your throat.

This bastard just returned your Hatsu.

You try (and fail) to lift your head. You can barely think straight, much less properly harness your mess of an aura. Being condemned to an eternity of hunger and thirst with food and drink receding from your reach would be preferable to this. It’s wicked; it’s Chrollo making good on his surname. His cock twitches inside you at your futile struggle. He hits a spot in you that makes you keen, you ruined orgasm from earlier growing closer and closer.

“What are you waiting for?” Chrollo challenges in between soft pants. “Have I rendered one of your country’s best fighters incapable of making a single strike? Hm?”

“That isn’t—” your own mewl cuts you off, “This is… not fair…!"

He shakes the hair covering his eyes so nothing can obstruct his current view. “I can’t be, darling. Not with you.”

If you didn’t know any better, you might think he sounds apologetic.

This is quickly disproven when his fingers find your clit and rub it just right.

When you come, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. Your back arches into him, your lips part in a silent scream, and you manage to exert enough strength to free your hands from Chrollo’s grasp. You scratch your fingernails down his back, leaving angry red streaks in your wake. Chrollo curses under his breath in a rare instance, given his proclivity for formal speech. Your walls squeeze down on him like a vice.

His hips stutter and his grip on you becomes bruising. He nuzzles his nose into your neck, quietly moaning your name as if you were a deity; and he, your most devout follower.

Warmth floods your insides not long after, a seemingly endless stream of cum painting your walls white. Chrollo holds you in place, absentmindedly rubbing circles into the skin he just bruised, a satisfied smile on his lips. You feel him go soft inside you, yet he still makes no sign of pulling out. To add insult to injury, your Hatsu slips away like sand between your fingers, back into his wrongful possession.

Then thick ropes spurt across your tits, accompanied by something like a growl from Feitan. Seeing you come undone must’ve pushed him over the edge. He pumps himself to completion while you struggle to make sense of what just happened. What you just did.

The aphrodisiac is still active in your system, you can feel it clouding your senses and diluting your judgment. However, it’s far less potent than it was earlier. At its peak, it threatened to fray your sanity. What a dreadful ability. You regret killing the one who used it on you. Had he still been breathing, you would’ve flayed him alive for doing this to you.

Feitan must not be the pillow talk type. He’s quick to redress, slinking out of the room after giving you an additional once over. He smirks and then leaves you to the whims of his boss.

Chrollo places the back of his hand against your forehead. “Your fever’s gone down.”

You avert your eyes and he tilts his head.

“Don’t tell me you’re upset,” he comments, while finally pulling out. You feel his release seeping out in thick globs. “You would’ve been far worse off had we not intervened. Our guest in the basement can attest to that.”

When you stay stubbornly silent, he sighs your name. “I know your vocal cords are working just fine. Whatever it is you wish to say, say it.”

Your head snaps back so you can properly stare him in the eye. There’s a trembling of your lower lip that takes him aback, although he smooths his expression to one of indifference almost immediately. You aren’t the crying type. If anything, he’s probably cried more than you have in the time you’ve known him. He goes to wipe at your lash line, but you smack his hand away. The hit barely has any force behind it. Unexpectedly, he stills, his gaze boring down.

“I can’t believe I actually l—” you cut yourself off with a shake of your head. You’re exhausted, not thinking straight, and you probably won’t be able to move without help. Whatever lapse in judgment that almost caused you to admit an intimately held secret closes as soon as it opens.

Chrollo studies you. Whatever he feels then is a mystery, though you hope it cut him deep. Through flesh and sinew, down to the bone.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he eventually says. “I know you hate feeling dirty.”

When he lifts you up, careful not to aggravate the bruise on your person, you mull over a single question.

Did he change the subject for your sake, or for his?

#yandere chrollo x reader #yandere feitan x reader #chrollo x reader #feitan x reader #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #reader insert #not sfw #dubcon #hell within reach #hell within reach yandere au #phantom troupe x reader #my stuff

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phoebe-delia · 2 years

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Odd request (also look my old url is back sjsksksk)

Can I have a Drarry fic where Draco just removes Harry's glasses, cleans it with his own soft shirt and hands it back to Harry? They're both just busy doing their own work but just this moment and it has Ron going, "Maybe I'd like to be Harry's best man at their wedding. And maybe mum would like to have Dravo over tomorrow for brunch" like sjaksjks

Silver, @silver-de-vonne my love! Thank you for sending this prompt.

I'm stressed and sick and feeling a bit icky, so I decided I needed a break and wanted to write some pure fluff, and then I remembered you sent this in! I realized it was just the thing. Enjoy some fluff!!

Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes, not caring that his glasses were now askew on his face. He let out a heavy sigh, which was apparently the last straw for Ron, who glared at him from across the office.

"Mate, I don't like being here this late any more than you do, but if you sigh like that one more time I'm going to hex you."

"Sor-" Harry started, the rest of the word getting lost in a yawn. Ron rolled his eyes but said nothing, only grumbled and went back to scribbling away at the case report.

Harry blinked wearily down at the paperwork in front of him, clearing the exhaustion from his watery eyes. The form, along with his own messy handwriting, was still a bit blurry, and he held back another sigh as he forced himself to add another sentence.

Just then, the sound of the door slamming open made him and Ron both jump in their chairs. "Potter, what time do you call—" Draco nearly shouted as he strode in, the last word, "this," said quietly when he saw Harry at his desk.

Concern quickly washed over Draco's face. He strode quickly over to Harry, running a soothing hand through his hair and bringing his head against his chest. Harry let himself close his eyes and nuzzle into Draco with a small, contented smile.

"Are you alright, love?" Draco murmured, creating just enough distance to look Harry in the eye. He tsked. "Darling, your glasses, they're all—here," he said, sliding the frames from Harry's face, leaving everything temporarily blurry before carefully sliding them back onto Harry's nose and tucking his curls around where the temple tip rested on his ear. "There you are," Draco whispered. "Now you can see properly, silly."

Harry's chest was full-to-bursting with love and the kind of affection that comes with being bone-tired and a bit delirious. Suddenly, the paperwork wasn't quite the priority it had been a few minutes ago, and he rose from his seat, kissing Draco on the nose. "Thank you, love. Let's go home." He turned to Ron, who'd put down his quill in favor of watching their interaction with a thoughtful, if slightly stunned expression. "We can finish the rest Monday, right? Robards can shove his deadlines."

Ron shrugged. "Fine by me, but I'm not talking him down if he goes off again," he said, standing from his chair and putting on his coat.

Harry smiled and took Draco's hand, kissing him on the cheek. "Shall we?"

The three of them walked out of the office in comfortable silence. Draco stepped into the Floo first, disappearing into green flames. Just as Harry was about to enter the fireplace, Ron stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, mate, remember, dinner Sunday. Mum's making roast."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, 'course," he said, grabbing a fistful of powder and stepping into the fireplace.

Ron held his gaze. "Invite Malfoy, too, would you?"

Harry blinked before letting a slow smile take over his face. "Really?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah. He's good for you. And mum wants to meet him."

"Yeah, alright," Harry grinned. "Thanks, mate."

Ron waved him off. "Don't mention it. Now get out of here before he comes after you again."

Harry chuckled and shouted his destination, letting the powder fall from his hand and take him home.

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bluejaysandblackbats · 2 months

Text

Traveler's Guide to Yesterday

Fandom: DC Comics, Flashfam, Flash Rogues

Summary: Owen is stranded in his present (a time he's never been to) while traveling through the past in search of his soul mate. He needs a con artist's help to repair his timepiece and return to the past.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Owen Mercer, Axel Walker, Leonard Snart, Meloni Thawne, Evan McCulloch, Mark Mardon

Relationships: Owen Mercer/Axel Walker

Additional Tags: Time Travel AU, No Powers AU, Dysfunctional Family, Boys in Love, True Love, Soulmate, Con Artists, Strangers to Lovers, Partners in Crime, Romance, Amputee Axel Walker, Not Actually Unrequited Love

Chapter One: Med Pod

I woke up in a battered med pod, which meant something had gone horribly wrong. I pressed my hand against the glass, knocking it until I heard whirring from outside the machine. The incubation fluid spilled onto the floor, making a gelatinous noise as it hit the pavement. I shivered as the cool air blew against my skin. Someone removed the breathing apparatus, and I gasped, taking in the sour taste of their oxygen. I spilled out of the machine, naked and exhausted. I couldn't see. The med pod temporarily blinded me, but I could feel and hear everything around me. "I thought you fixed the drain in the old med pod," a man asked. His voice was deep and cold. Almost detached from his present state of affairs.

"I was gonna get to it but couldn't find the right parts. Couldn't make the pieces either... Not without boiling the gestation gel and the occupants inside. Get him a towel. He's probably freezing half to death," a younger, sardonic voice commanded.

"Don't get sharp with me, Kid... And his belongings better be accounted for when he's ready to leave," the older man warned. I felt a warm, rough fabric wrap around my bare skin, and I couldn't speak to tell him thank you. The words were lost on my tongue as my heart beat quickly. "Don't worry, Kid. Your senses'll come back in a few days or so... Old machine's busted," the older man reassured.

"Give him this before he gets sick," the younger voice warned.

I felt a gloved hand slip under my chin, tilting my head upward. "Open your mouth," the older man ordered gently. I obeyed and was immediately met with the taste of orange and corn syrup. It was a disgustingly viscous fluid that made me want to puke the second I tasted it, and the older man must've sensed that because he squeezed my nostrils shut. "Swallow... Swallow." He used the same tone a parent would for a difficult child.

"He couldn't spit that up if he tried, Len," the younger one reassured him.

"Just to be safe, I'll wait until he's got it down... All the stuff we found in this old med bay, and we couldn't scavenge some of the good meds," Len complained, "Axel, all this stuff is pond sludge."

"Pond sludge that saved his life. You're the one who wanted to keep the time fugitive," Axel muttered. Len let go of my nose, and I gasped for air.

"What makes you think he's a time fugitive? He might be somebody important," Len replied in my defense.

They were both right. I was a fugitive, but not necessarily a time fugitive. I had a bad habit of looking for love in all the wrong places. Having dalliances with men in times where it was outlawed. This last time, I thought it'd be it. I thought I'd found the one. Charming. Bookish. Blonde. Rich. He was perfect, and we got along pretty well for a few months. That was until the maid caught us, and he turned on me. His father fired a shot at me. That was the last thing I remembered. Pain. He betrayed me as if I was only a simple pleasure of the flesh. I could've understood it had he not convinced me otherwise. Had he not snuck into my bed at night to whisper poems in my ear or indulge in the smoke from my mouth while I smoked. He loved me... And that made his betrayal all the more raw.

I must've lost my senses because I woke up crying. This time, I was clothed in a fabric I'd never felt before. It was strange, yet comforting. I felt the pillows around me and soughed relief. "How long has it been since you stepped foot in your own time?" Axel asked.

Time sickness. It happened whenever time travelers made a drastic jump forward. I was experiencing my memories in real time while blacking out in my present. It was a lot like hallucinating, except the moments were real. It was the mind's way of skipping like a scratched CD.

I reached for Axel in the dark, and he squeezed my hand. His hand was smooth, artificially warm. Not like a glove. I let my fingers travel to his wrist, and he pulled away. "Do you want something to eat?" Axel asked. I nodded. I still couldn't speak. He opened a container, and I could smell the savory aroma of seafood. "It's all we have right now until I can get money for the repairs I did on the shop down the street."

He placed the cup and fork in my hands, and I bit into it, screwing up my face. "Squid's the only cheap meat we can get here now... Especially in this area," Axel explained. The texture was strange, but I couldn't see it. So, I ate.

But eating made me remember. Maine in nineteen-seventy-seven. I worked in a restaurant on the shore, and he was a regular customer. I tried to shake myself free from the time, but I was too deep into the memory. I could taste the clam bake and blueberry pie. I knew he wasn't the one but ignored all the signs. I slept on his boat, kicking myself in the morning for falling into bed with him again. He was wrong, but he felt so good.

Someone punched me, and I woke up. I shook my head, still in the dark. "It's two to this bed, buddy. Try to have a memory that doesn't make me wanna take a green med pac," Axel complained. I ran a hand over my face, embarrassed and flushed from my memory. I turned on my side and tried to sleep. "You must've jumped two hundred years forward when you got shot..."

My breath caught, and I started choking. Shot. It never once occurred to me that I got hit. Axel rubbed my back until I relaxed. Fever. The time sickness shifted, and I was no longer in and out of consciousness. I'd reached the physical illness phase. Unlike most illnesses, time sickness had to run its course. There wasn't a cure for it. That's why time travelers rarely returned to their own times. The jump was enough to have a man bedridden for weeks. I shivered and violently trembled as Axel threw blankets over me. There was nothing else he could do. It had to run its course.

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ninjastormhawkkat · 1 year

Text

Mousebraingirl Au Episode 1: Of Pies and Lies - Part 1

(Disclaimer: Wordgirl and it's characters belong to PBS at Soup 2 Nuts. Dr. James Jenkins is an oc made by my friend Eris. The name Wordman and the Mousebraingirl au are mine.)

Steven Boxleitner never took to gardening before as much as a hobby. He never had a dislike of it per say, he just never had the time with his schedule to do it. Now if you asked Steven a while back if he wanted to try it with some others, Steven would have been normally hesitant being with a new crowd of people but would later end up eagerly getting involved and having a lot of fun with the activity. But now, Steven would view something like gardening as a frivolous activity now worth his time. Unfortunately for Steven today, his neighbor Tim Botsford did not share Steven's sentiment's about gardening.

"I'm telling you Steven, there is nothing like gardening to help you relax and relieve you from stress." Tim stated joyfully as he dug a small, linear, ditch in front of his rosebushes. "Uh huh." Steven absentmindedly replied, tuning out his neighbor's enjoyment over just digging in the dirt and planting flora that will just wither one day. Honestly Steven had better things to do today which centered around trying to figure a way to safely remove the mouse brain from Becky's head. Unfortunately Tim, in all his stubborn, overly cheerful, and annoying persistence, according to Steven, decided that his neighbor should spend this sunny day outdoors relaxing rather than having to work in a stuffy basement. Tim had also offered Mouse to join them but Mouse appeared very disinterested rather opting for one of her books and some cheese. Steven had also turned on the television for her to watch Pretty Princess as well before being led, "dragged" in Steven's mind, out to his neighbor's yard. Steven didn't want his daughter to come and start digging holes in the yard again. Tim then picked up a fertilizer bag he brought with him so he and his neighbor friend, and Bob who tagged along, could help their plants grow beautifully and brighten up the block. Tim examined the text printed on the bag as if he were reading a contract. "Enormogrow, it will help plants grow enormous. huh. Hey Steven, how much of this should I use for the plants?" Tim asked his science friend. Steven rolled his eyes. "Just pour the amount you think the plants need." Steven groaned annoyed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. He wanted to get done as soon as possible and not waste another minute with this dumb outdoors activity. Tim did not note his tone of voice and gave Steven a thumbs up. "Righty-ho." Tim responded as he poured the whole bag onto the flowers. A sudden tremor startled the two men and monkey as a giant, monstrous flower sprouted out of Tim's rosebush and towered over the three. Steven tensed, ready to try and escape with Tim and Bob before the monster flower could attack. Bob seemed to get ready to act as a distraction for Steven in Tim as the monkey prepared to fight the creature off with the shears he was using earlier to trim the bushes. Before the giant flower could lunge, a robotic foot appeared and squished the monster along with the bushes flat as pancakes. Just avoiding harm to the three individuals. "Holy anchovies and pineapple!" Tim exclaimed in surprise and shock, a feeling that Steven and Bob also shared. The giant robot whose foot crushed the monster earlier stared at them temporarily before walking away. Steven followed the robot's direction and saw it was walking towards the downtown area of Fair City. "Tobey." Steven grumbled with an angry scowl. It looked like Tobey was causing trouble again with his giant robots. Steven's ire for the kid ignited as he recalled his last encounter with the twerp. Steven looked toward Bob with a determined expression that was shared by the monkey. "Come on Bob." Steven said to the monkey as the two began to follow the robot. "Hey where are you going?" Tim called out causing to the two to freeze. Steven turned around towards Tim and tried to come up with an excuse so he and Bob could head off to transform without creating suspicion. "Well as a scientist it is part of my job to follow giant robots and observe what they do." Steven lied, giving a fake grin. Tim luckily bought the lie as he gave a smile in response. "Okay then." Tim said. Steven clapped his hands together. "Great. Um can you do me a favor and keep an eye on Mouse while I'm gone?" Steven requested. Tim nodded. "Can do buddy." he agreed. "Thanks." Steven said quickly as he headed off to transform into Wordman. "Don't let Mouse dig any holes to the Earth's core!" Steven yelled before disappeared from Tim's sight. Tim then looked down at his yard with a frown. "Darn it, I forgot to bring my watering can from the shed."

@drtwobrainsstuff

@melodythebunny

#wordgirl #wordgirl au #steven boxleitner #bob/captain huggy face #tim botsford #mousebraingirl au #mouse boxleitner #becky boxleitner au #angst #tobey mcallister iii #of pies and lies #part 1 #wordman

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sneezyminniejo · 2 years

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Hi!! I love your fics so much, I update every day hoping to see a new one hehe. I want to ask you for a fic where Felix from Stray Kids got a cold and he is in a mess of tears, snot (maybe a lot of snz?), etc. and is embarrassed by his appearance, and the members (mostly chan) prove to him that he is beautiful in any form. oh and sorry for the mistakes, english is not my native language

Here it is, hope you enjoy

Happy or Sneezy

Felix knew that he was sick when he had gone to sleep the previous night. He had had a sore throat the majority of the day and congestion had settled into his sinuses by the time night fell. He knows that the general progression of his colds are sore throat, followed by congestion, followed by a lot of coughing. So he planned accordingly with a box of tissues and lots of tea and cough drops.

When Felix had woken up, his nose was completely clogged, which didn’t surprise him. What did surprise him was the burning he was feeling in his nose. He brought his hand up to his nose and rubbed at the appendage.

"Heh-sdzzshhh, hih-stieshhh." Felix cringed at the spray that landed on his hand and the snot that was now dripping from his nose. He grabbed a tissue and blew his nose rather productively and noticed that there was still a lingering itch. The Aussie sighed as he got up to get ready for the day. Only the change in posture caused the mucus in his sinuses to shift, and Felix found himself grabbing more tissues as his nose became a faucet.

Getting dressed was far more difficult than it needed to be. His nose had quickly gone into the state of being extremely runny yet at the same time so clogged you couldn’t blow it. The congestion also caused his eyes to start watering. Basically, Felix was a mess and it wasn’t even ten o’clock. He quickly decided that he was going to wear a mask outside his room so that he wouldn’t be snotting everywhere. Felix left his room to go get breakfast and he stopped just short of the dining room.

“HEH-SHDZZZSHHH, HIH-STSCHHHH, HEH-STIESHHHH!” He groaned at the wetness he felt in the mask and used the now useless mask to blow his nose as he removed it. He then went back to his room to grab a new mask. When Felix returned to the dining room, he huffed in frustration as he sat down.

“Are you okay hyung, those sneezes didn’t sound good?” Jeongin said this as he placed his hand on his hyung’s forehead to check for a fever.

“Woke up with a cold. Don’t feel great. But I’m fine.” Felix’ voice was rather thick with congestion, showing just how ineffective blowing his nose was. Minho and Seungmin came in with breakfast and sat down at the table as well.

“Last night Chan-hyung texted me the times of our interviews today. It looks like management decided to add another interview since they’re all zoom calls. We’re interviewing with Cosmopolitan, iheartradio, SiriusXM, Zach Sang, and Elle Korea.” Felix felt his eyes widened, as he had completely forgotten that the day was going to be full of interviews instead of lessons at the company building.

Felix hadn’t even taken his mask off to eat yet. He grabbed the plate that was full of food and stood up. “I’m not doing the interviews today.” He then turned around and went back to his room.

“That was weird.” Seungmin said, staring in the direction of their bed rooms with a concerned look on his face.

“You heard those sneezes Min. He probably just doesn’t feel good. We can talk to Chan about him having a sick day.” Minho responded. Jeongin shook his head at that.

“Hyung, he told me that he doesn’t feel great, but that he’s fine. I’m pretty sure he was planning on attending schedules today, so it’s probably related to the interviews.” Silence fell over the trio as they ate, the subject temporarily dropped.

“I’m going to talk to him.” Minho said as he stood up. Seungmin and Jeongin started to clean up the dishes.

“Yongbokkie, why don’t you want to do the interview?” Minho asked through Felix’ closed door. The first response the dance got was a series of very congested sneezing followed by an attempted nose blow.

“I’m all snotty and gross. I refuse to appear on camera like this.”

“Felix, why not just wear a mask?”

“It’s not going to be helpful if I have to repeatedly remove it to blow my nose.” Minho sighed as it seemed that he wouldn’t be able to talk Felix into attending the interviews. He called Chan to get the younger Aussie the day off.

Chan was actually sleeping for once when he was startled awake by his phone ringing. It took a minute for the leader to fully register what had woken him up, then a couple of seconds to locate his phone.

"Hello," Chan tiredly said.

"Hyung, Felix is sick and doesn't want to do the interviews because of his current appearance. Anyway, he's currently locked himself in his room." Minho hung up before Chan could properly respond, leaving the leader to confusedly stare at his phone for a moment before his brain started working. He got up and made his way to the other dorm, sleepily greeting his dorm mates on the way out.

Chan was at the other dorm within a couple of minutes. After hastily greeting Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin, Chan made his way to Felix’ room.

"Lix, Minho tells me you're sick. What are your symptoms?" Chan was initially met with silence. After a moment of no answer, he tested the door knob and found that it wasn’t actually locked. He entered the room and immediately became concerned when he heard sniffling.

To Chan the sniffling sounded more like crying sniffles than sick sniffles, so the leader instantly became a bit concerned about the other Aussie. Chan quickly went over to his dongsaeng to comfort him.

“Felix, you don’t need to be upset about being sick.” Chan went to place his hand on the younger’s back, but Felix seemingly flinched away before he was able to do so.

“HEH-ZDTSHHH, HIH-STISHHHH, HEH-STZDSHHHH” Chan cringed a little at just how wet the sneezes sounded. He then watched as Felix grabbed some tissues and very productively blew his nose.

“So, aside from those awful sneezes, what are your symptoms?” Chan sat down next to Felix and felt his forehead, not feeling any unusual warmth.

“My throat hurts and I’m extremely congested. Also my nose won’t stop running.” Felix grabbed several tissues to blow his nose with, but seeing as he was so congested, all he managed to do was absorb the mucus that was laying on his philtrum and whatever was presently directly inside his nostrils.

“Lix, you know that the managers aren’t likely to give you the day off just because of a cold right?” Chan felt for the younger, but he was also well acquainted with the company’s sick policies. Unless he had a fever, was experiencing abdominal issues, or was otherwise sidelined by a doctor, everyone was expected to attend their schedules.

“I know that hyung, but today’s schedule is all zoom interviews. I’m all snotty and gross. No one is going to want to see me on camera. If we were j-just spending the d-day at the company, it would b-be different. HEH-SDZSHHHH, HIH-SDZSHIIEWW!” As if to prove a point on being snotty and gross, there was a visible strand of mucus going down past Felix’ chin as he hadn’t quite managed to cover. He quickly grabbed another couple of tissues to clean himself up.

“Lix, I assure you that you’re not as gross as you think you are. You can take some medicine that will hopefully lessen your symptoms at least a little bit. And you can wear a mask during the interviews so that no one can see your dripping nose.” Felix pouted a little at Chan’s words, but agreed to take some medicine.

Unfortunately, the medicine hadn’t helped much, at all. At most it relieved a small amount of the congestion. However, his nose was still dripping like a leaky faucet and blowing his nose still wasn’t helping. Seeing as Chan was correct in that management wasn’t going to give him a day off for a minor cold, Felix put a mask on and reluctantly got into the car.

Not even five minutes into the car ride to the company building, it became very apparent to Felix that his nose was far too runny for a mask to be useful. There was a visible wet spot on the outside of his mask where the mucus had soaked through. Felix took off his soiled mask and replaced it with a couple of tissues, which he knew would wind up soiled in a few minutes as well. He decided that even though he was being made to go to the company building, he wasn’t going to attend the interviews.

As soon as the group was parked in front of the building, Felix made a mad dash for the bathroom. Minho, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Chan didn’t look too surprised by this, as they already knew he didn’t want to be in front of a camera in his current state. However, Changbin, Jisung, and Hyunjin had no idea what was going on and they were all a bit concerned. The three members who didn’t know exactly what was going on chased after him before Chan or one of the others could take charge. Ultimately the others also followed the group.

Felix had gone into the very first stall of the bathroom and locked the door. He was adamant about not coming out. They all got to the bathroom at roughly the same time, and Felix was in the midst of a sneezing fit. Chan, Minho, Seungmin, and Jeongin were completely unbothered by how wet the fit sounded because they had been listening to Felix all morning. Changbin, Hyunjin, and Jisung on the other hand were visibly cringing at the sound.

“Felix, I already told you that you won’t be able to get the day off today. You have to go to the interviews.”

“I’m snotty and gross, and I’m not going on camera like this.” Felix said for the third time that day.

“Lix, I already told you, Stay is not going to care if you’re snotty and gross. The last thing they want is us freaking out about our appearances. They love your freckles, and they’re definitely not going to mind some temporary issue. If you’re a bit sneezy during-” Chan was abruptly cut off by Jisung

“Sneezy! That’s it! All of these interviews are going to be aired on Halloween right?” Jisung waited for confirmation from Chan before continuing.

“We just wear costumes. Specifically Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.” Felix opened up the stall door and blankly stared at Jisung.

“Yeah, Chan hyung can be Doc, Minho hyung Bashful, Changbin hyung Grumpy, Seungmin Happy, Jeongin Sleepy, I’ll be Dopey, you’ll be Sneezy, and Hyunjin will be Snow White.” It suddenly got very loud once JIsung finished explaining. However Felix was full on laughing at this.

“As much as that idea is stupid, it’s also hilarious. I’ll do the interview if everyone agrees to this.” Felix said before grabbing some toilet paper to blow his nose.

The others were quick to agree and Chan texted their manager telling him the slight change in plans. Thankfully, the company had the costumes on hand for themed dance practice videos, so it was just getting them out of storage.

All eight of them looked rather ridiculous in their outfits and makeup. Their first interview was with the Zach Sang show, and The group’s outfit was the first thing he talked about. The group introduced themselves as the character they were dressed as.

“Felix, since you’re known as the sunshine of the group, why aren’t you Happy?” Zach asked.

“It’s fairly simple Zach. I cau-STZSHHHH, HEH-SDZSHHHHIESHH. Sorry. I caught a bit of a cold, and with how sneezy I am it was decided I should be Sneezy.” Zach blessed him and wished him well before moving on to the other members and asking them why they were their character. He then moved on with the interview.

The other interview went a little bit similarly as the interviewer wasn’t expecting them to be dressed up. Otherwise the interviews went rather smoothly. By the time the last interview was over, Felix was feeling quite exhausted. Chanbin was practically supporting all his weight as they walked to the van.

“Chan hyung,” Felix mumbled in his half asleep state once he was in the van.

“What is it, Pixie?” The leader asked.

“Thanks for the pep talks, I don’t think I’d have gone along with Sungie’s plan without your reminders.” Felix said with a yawn

“No problem Lix.” Chan said before turning to his phone to review the following day’s schedule. Within minutes, Felix could be heard softly snoring through the van and the rest of the members agreed to be quiet so that Felix could get some rest.

#stray kids #sickfic #sneeze

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f1 · 2 years

Text

Bigger fish to fry: Hamilton welcomes jewellery reprieve before Monaco GP

Preparing for what is always a testing weekend on the streets of Monaco, Lewis Hamilton welcomed an FIA climbdown in a spat that is clearly becoming a tiresome distraction. The threat of Hamilton missing the race on Sunday due to the stand-off over whether drivers can wear jewellery under their race suits was lifted temporarily on Fridayy, with the sport taking a moratorium on enforcing the rule to examine ways to come to an agreement. The rule had been largely unenforced until this season when new race director Niels Wittich informed drivers he would be strictly applying the regulation for reasons of safety. He imposed a clampdown in Miami where checks were enforced to ensure compliance. Hamilton opposed the move, noting that he had piercings including a nose stud that could not be removed and that he had raced with jewellery all his career. The seven-times world champion pointedly observed that the rule made little sense given that wedding rings and bracelets were permitted, and his stance was supported by other drivers. He was given a two-race exemption to allow him time to remove the jewellery but he made it clear he had no intention of backing down. The exemption ended before this weekend’s meeting in Monaco but has now been extended to cover this meeting, Azerbaijan and Canada and will conclude before the British Grand Prix on 3 July. Hamilton welcomed the move on an issue he believed had already consumed unnecessary time. “The rule came in in 2005, we’ve all worn jewellery our whole careers in Formula One,” he said. “It’s not been a problem in the past and there’s no reason for it to be a problem necessarily now. It definitely is positive that we’re working with [the FIA] and I think they’re accommodating a little bit at the moment. But we shouldn’t have to keep on revisiting this thing every weekend. We’ve definitely got bigger fish to fry.” Lewis Hamilton tests his Mercedes during the first practice session in Monte Carlo. Photograph: Christian Bruna/EPA The intent is for drivers and the FIA medical staff to find a common ground to adjust the international sporting code so that jewellery can be worn in a way that is considered safe. The FIA have cited Romain Grosjean’s accident at the Bahrain GP in 2020 where his car was engulfed in flames as an example of fears where jewellery may cause problems in extricating drivers from stricken cars. Grosjean was fortunate to escape with only minor burns from what was a horrific accident. Hamilton however was pleased to put the issue behind him as he puts his energy into maximising his Mercedes team’s efforts in Monaco. “Honestly, I feel like there’s just way too much time and energy being given to this,” he said. “I’ve said everything I feel I need to say on it in the last races and that’s not what my focus is this weekend.” He and Mercedes will be hopeful of another strong weekend, having finally solved their car’s porpoising problem at the last round in Spain. Hamilton was consistently the fastest driver on track in Barcelona and put in a fine comeback from 19th to fifth after he was hit and took a puncture on the opening lap. Mercedes have struggled at Monaco in the past but there is some optimism that this time their car will be better suited to the slower corners. Current championship leaders Ferrari and Red Bull will almost certainly still be on top here. Charles Leclerc is confident Ferrari will go well at his home race in Monte Carlo – a meeting where has never finished – having shown great pace in Spain before an engine problem ended his race prematurely. With Red Bull’s Max Verstappen subsequently taking the win in Barcelona he has overtaken Leclerc in the title fight to move six points ahead. Red Bull have shown their best form in straightline pace this year so Ferrari may well be on top in Monaco. However qualifying as ever will be vital and more so than ever this year with the cars’ size and weight making overtaking enormously difficult. via Formula One | The Guardian https://www.theguardian.com/sport/formulaone

#F1 #‘Bigger fish to fry’: Hamilton welcomes jewellery reprieve before Monaco GP #Formula 1

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imaginingmarvelandeverything · 2 years

Text

Self Defence

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Warnings: Mild spoilers, injury mention

Word Count: 978

A/N: Here’s the first of the Convenience bonus chapters, but I think it can also be read as a standalone if you haven’t read the series. I hope you all like it!!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Headcanon Requests Open!

Y/N groaned as she hit the mat for what felt like the hundredth time in the last hour. Bruce had kept his word. As soon as she was fully healed, he converted one of the spare rooms into a sparring room. The floor was now covered in sparring mats and the furniture had all been removed, apart from the shelves in the corner which now held a collection of sparring equipment. They spent most late afternoons practicing before Alfred would call them for dinner and Bruce would leave for the night.

“What did you forget?” Bruce held out his hand and pulled her back onto her feet.

“To plant my feet.” She huffed out as she rolled her shoulders.

He nodded. “Okay, try again.”

She relaxed back into the stance he had shown her; raising her hands up to her face and making sure to plant her feet this time. He moved towards her and swung at her head. She ducked under him and elbowed him in the side, temporarily throwing him off balance. She aimed a kick for his knee but he twisted back round and blocked it. She moved forward and swung at him with her right arm, leaving her left side undefended. He took full advantage and before she knew it, she was on her back on the mat with Bruce on top of her. His hands pinned hers to the mat each side of her head and his ankles crossed over hers to stop her from escaping. She tried to get out anyway before she gave up and signed in defeat.

But then an idea popped into her head. She smiled before moving her head up so she could kiss him. He seemed taken back at her sudden move, but as always he relaxed and kissed her back. She nipped on his bottom lip and he parted his lips, giving her access to his mouth. She resisted the urge to smile as he released her wrists and let up the pressure on her ankles. That was all she needed to do three things at once; she moved her hands to his right elbow and pulled it out from under him, moved her right foot to his left hip and pushed up, and rolled to her left, successfully reversing their positions.

She pushed herself off him and back onto her feet before he had time to react and grab her again. He looked up at her with a slightly stunned look on his face as it hit him what she had just done. He huffed out a breath before smiling and sitting up. He held his hand up towards her.

“We both know what you’re going to do if I try and help you up.” She raised her eyebrows at him but he did not retract his hand. She shook her head with a laugh and took his hand, not at all surprised when he pulled her down into his lap. She readjusted her knees either side of his hips and moved her hands up to his shoulders as his moved his to her back.

“That was a dirty move.”

She hummed and tapped her finger on the end of his nose. “You forgot rule one: don’t get distracted.”

“I did.” He laughed. “You’re getting better.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m still spending most of the time on the floor.” She brushed his hair out of his face.

“Remember most of Gotham’s criminals aren’t as well trained as I am.”

“Does that mean I can be Batman’s assistant then?” She joked.

“You already are. Just from right here, so I know where you are.” His eyes flickered to where the top part of her scar was peeking out from the collar of his t-shirt that she was wearing.

She could tell he was getting lost in his own thoughts again. “Hey.” She said softly as she moved her hand to the side of his face. He met her eyes again and she could see the pain. He turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm before smiling at her. She shifted forward and kissed him again, running the hand that was not on his face down his bare chest before resting it over his heart. His hands on her back pressed her closer to him as he parted his lips for her again.

They pulled back to breath and he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She smiled, sometimes she still could not believe he was actually hers.

There was a knock on the door and they both turned their heads towards it as Alfred stuck his head in. “Dinner’s almost ready.” He disappeared without waiting for an answer.

Bruce turned back to Y/N. “You working on anything tonight?”

“No, but I’ve got a few things in mind that I need to draw up some blueprints for.” She told him. “What about you? Anyone in particular you’re going to be after?”

“Not tonight. I’ll just see who needs me.” He pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. “We better not keep Alfred waiting.”

She hummed in agreement and got to her feet. He reached a hand up to her again and she laughed before taking it. “You know, that was also a dirty move.”

He shrugged as he followed her out of the room. “Not really, you knew exactly what I was going to do. It’s not my fault you did it anyway.”

She elbowed him playfully in the ribs as he laughed.

Taglist: In the reblogs

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #the batman #battison #batman x reader #batman imagine #alfred pennyworth #robert pattinson

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frogtanii · 3 years

Text

but... why?

akaashi sighed as he put down his phone, his eyes trailing over the numerous bags and suitcases meiko had brought on the trip.

it wasn’t like he didn’t want to hear bokuto’s answer but... he knew it would be something so sweet and wholesome that another wave of intense guilt would overtake him.

keiji, despite what he seemed to portray, wasn’t an idiot. he knew he was neglecting his closest and oldest friend and he knew it was affecting the both of them. he couldn’t remember the last late night mcdonald’s cheat meal he’d gone on with bokuto or the last time bokuto had pestered him about the book he was currently immersed in.

instead, his days were primarily occupied with meiko and attempting to read books that he was meant to do reviews on for his channel. as of late, it was much more of the former, his lover (??) basically forcing him to spend time with her.

ok, so she wasn’t exactly forcing him but there were times where he wished meiko cared enough to accept that he didn’t always want to watch the bachelor (the lowest form of entertainment in his opinion) and talk shit about certain people in the house. sometimes, he just wanted to lie down in bed with a large mug of hot chocolate, a good poetry book and maybe, just maybe, the woman he loved pressed against his side allowing him to read to her.

once, akaashi had brought up his desires to meiko. she’d laughed (physically laughed!!!) in his face and told him that “if she wanted to listen to a boring man read a boring book, she’d just buy an audiobook of the bible.”

not once did he express his feelings to her again.

he realized the relationship he had with meiko wasn’t the healthiest, especially since he had the room next to iwaizumi’s and heard every single noise she made when he was with him.

keiji’s therapist (a dr kanemoto — he’d been seeing him since he was 11 for his test anxiety ((his parents had always been overly prepared))) had advised against entering this content house in the first place.

apparently, with his introverted tendencies and the resurgence of his anxiety, it wasn’t the smartest of decisions to move into a home with so many high energy, semi-problematic, super famous creators.

but by the time he figured that out, he’d already signed the contract and promised bokuto that he would follow through. it didn’t help that meiko was in his other ear, practically begging him to come.

so akaashi did.

and now here he was; sitting in his girlfriend(?)’s room, surrounded by her things while dreading a conversation with his best friend.

when did everything go so wrong?

a knock sounded at meiko’s door, making keiji jump a little at the sound. he could feel his heart begin to beat erratically, his palms starting to sweat, and his stomach tightening as he made his way to the door.

when did he get anxious at the thought of bokuto????

taking a final deep breath in, akaashi opened the door only to be met immediately with... a hug.

bokuto’s muscular arms wrapped around keiji’s shoulders, the taller man squeezing him tightly — not too tight but enough that akaashi could feel himself melt into his friend’s hold.

keiji hesitantly lifted his arms to reciprocate the hug, a large sigh leaving kotarou’s body.

“missed you,” bokuto whispered, so quiet akaashi almost didn’t catch it. the short phrase was so full with emotion that his eyes welled up with tears, his vision behind his glasses becoming blurry.

“i... i missed you too bokuto-san,” keiji finally responded, his voice thick with regret. the silver haired man didn’t respond, instead choosing to hold him tighter.

they stood there for what felt like hours but in actuality was actually closer to 2 minutes, just basking in one another’s presence for the first time in months.

they probably would’ve stayed that way too if it weren’t for kuroo awkwardly clearing his throat at the door. akaashi quickly removed himself from bokuto, missing the hurt look on his friend’s face entirely as he awkwardly waved hello to the small calvary standing outside meiko’s room.

“sorry to interrupt,” sakusa began, shifting uncomfortably at the entrance. “but we are here to help.” the rest of the group nodded in agreement and with keiji’s subtle nod of approval, they all dispersed into the room, collecting meiko’s stuff and throwing them (quite literally, in kenma’s case) into her bags.

bokuto shot akaashi a small smile before joining atsumu on the far end of the room, who was working on meiko’s hair products. it was nice to see him getting along with others and making friends but it was... bittersweet.

somehow, keiji felt like... he wasn’t a part of bokuto’s life anymore — like he was an outsider just looking in.

“he’s changed, hasn’t he?” a soft voice came from beside him, temporarily startling him until he saw who was speaking to him — you.

you weren’t looking at akaashi, your eyes entirely focused on bokuto who was now enthusiastically conversing with sakusa about various skin care products, waving about meiko’s as an example.

“bokuto is kind and he’s funny and he cares... he cares so much,” you continued, in the same soft, kind voice. “he cares about you—” keiji’s breath hitched in his throat, “and while at the moment i can’t understand why, i trust him.”

finally, you looked up at him, your gaze taking him completely off guard. “don’t hurt him, okay?” and with that, you walked off, moving to join kenma and kuroo, playfully ruffling kenma’s hair as a greeting while gently hip bumping kuroo.

akaashi couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in his eyes again but this time because of pride — pride that his best friend had a people who saw him for who he was and not just some empty headed himbo. instead they, no you, saw bokuto as intelligent, observant and oh so sympathetic.

he watched as bokuto approached you, wrapping his massive arms around your waist and pressing his nose into your hair, laughing softly at your giggles.

if you saw something in kotarou that no one else did, if you treated him with the respect and kindness that he so deserved, then maybe, just maybe, you deserved that kindness too.

and if keiji could try for anyone, he could do it for bokuto.

℗ poker face

try, for him

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - THIS CH MADE ME SO SOFT N a lil sad :( but WOOHOO akaashi’s arc!!!!! i rlly wanna know what y’all think abt this one por favor hehe <3

taglist - if your name is in bold, i cannot tag you

@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @sazunari • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @amberalisa • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @babierin • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

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starshipsofstarlord · 3 years

Note

Hey! Could I request a fic where the reader and Bucky like each other and she has to pretend she’s Zemo’s girlfriend for the Madripor mission? Bucky gets jealous and all that jazz and they confess their feelings :)

Madripoor Muse

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | Bucky harbours feelings for you, but despite Sam’s inflatable encouragement, refuses to inform you of them. However, seeing you pretend to be Zemo’s girlfriend whilst on a mission, more so when the criminal knows what strings he is pulling at, happens to infuriate him inevitably.

Warnings | jealousy, violence, references to sex work (there is nothing wrong with it, everyone is free to do what they want or need to do to get by, angst, mentions of death, grief, smut, unprotected sex, fluff, swearing

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

“I mean, if he looks like a pimp, then I look like one of his workers.” Sam snorted at your words, as Bucky’s eyes trailed down the skin that was exposed through the small piece of fabric, that in modern days, was considered a dress.

Zemo simply sighed at the pair of you, shaking his head as though the former winter soldier would understand his point. “It’s Madripoor, not an american graduation. You are not going to be clothed in long robes in this place, expression is in the body, and how it is clothed.”

“Or not clothed.” Bucky retorted, frowning at how you shuffled beneath the criminal’s gaze, crossing your arms, which definitely did not help the situation, considering that it did nothing more than make your breasts rise. Admitting defeat, you let them fall, holding them to your sides, outlining your hips, which once more, was not how you wished to be portrayed as you walked through the illuminated air, careful to keep pace in your heels.

“We all have a part to play, winter soldier.” Helmut spoke, his accent causing waves to ripple through the euphoria of lights that lay up ahead. “I am me, you are you, Sam is the Smiling Tiger, and...”

“I’m a hooker?” Once more, Zemo showed disappointment, pinching the bridge of his nose as he turned to you. It seemed that tonight, you, a smart and well coordinated avenger, was absolutely adoring testing his patience, but that was his trick.

He was the captive here, forced to help the forsaken superheroes that had prompted him with the idea of escaping from the government’s ensured facility. And it was without a doubt that he would mess with their minds each chance that he got.

“No, think of yourself as more personalised to one person than that y/n. Your as you people say ‘arm candy’.” He used quotations with his fingers, causing you to reach for Sam’s arm to assume the role. “Oh no, not his.” Zemo made a come here motion, making you gulp.

“You’re kidding, right?” Bucky huffed, glaring unimpressed towards the Baron, who only tutted in reply, implying that he indeed was serious. “This is stupid.”

“Stupid would be allowing this hurrah of new age super soldiers to continue their war path, don’t you think James?” Zemo asked condescendingly, holding his arm out for you to grasp onto, so that you would look more than an associate, or a serum induced bodyguard.

“Me posing as your sugar baby is stupid.” You muttered, as you walked, Bucky on look out behind you, as he glared frustratedly at where you and the mass murderer were touching.

Zemo tugged you by the arm for the comment, causing you to roll your eyes at the man that had tried his best and succeeded, at destroying your team; your family. Nevertheless, you followed his stride, well aware of the sharp eyes of the man behind you.

As you entered the club, a spectrum of blue lights illuminated your skin, as you stared around in wander. There was a variety of all didn’t people, born from different virtues, wealths and races all intermingling around in the space.

If Zemo didn’t have a leash on your arm, you’d have stared for a little longer, perhaps even gotten purposely lost in the sea of bodies that flashed with such ambition and prospect. All were designed to suit their surroundings, and you wished that you could fit in that easily too.

But you were lost, roped into this journey by the Falcon, the man that denied Steve’s wishes and passed on the shield to firmer hands, still uncertain of where you were planning on going. What you needed was a fight, a reason to keep roaming upon the earth. If you came up empty, you may have well have taken up Thor’s offer, and accompanied him with his new friends.

The avengers were disbanded, dotted with different services. You’d heard nothing from Wanda, it appeared that her phone had been cut off, leaving you gravely confused, but you understood that she needed time to mourn. But you couldn’t give yourself the same pampering, if you did so, then all purpose of life would slip through your fingers, and you’d be left vulnerable, a hero that willingly fell from their graces.

Finally you reached the bar, with the shadow of the winter soldier hovering over your shoulder, watching as Zemo’s untrustworthy hand trailed along your furthest collarbone, using it as his sway to grab your attention. He set his sights upon his touch, glaring harshly at it.

No one would question the expression that he wore, it was only natural for his reputation to be proceeded with such a dagger like gaze; he was supposed to be playing the killer that he once was after all.

“My lady, what would you like to drink?” Helmut asked, turning your gaze towards his, gripping your chin between his thumb and forefinger, forbidding you from even try to look away from his sly eyes.

“White wine will do the trick, my love.” The words felt like spew falling from your mouth, but you withheld the impulse to grimace, instead, flashing him a flirtatious smile, fanning his face with your eyelashes as you were still held to face him.

“Fine choice.” He smirked, nodding towards the bartender, who had just presented the Smiling Tiger imposter with a shot that had the intestines of a snake floating around in its liquid. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as Sam hesitated to drink it for a moment, before throwing it down the hatch, treating it as an old trick.

Madripoor, for an island trapped in violence, didn’t appear that bad on the outside. That was, until the shooting began, causing the lot of you to leg it from the citizens targeting their rifled hardware towards you, running with your lives depending on it.

You had temporarily lost Zemo, as you put head your own safety, your pace and spot being just between Sam and Bucky, as the first man’s arms flailed as he insisted that he could not run in the heels that he was wearing. Huh, you’d be running in heels all your life, maybe he shoulda learned how to do so earlier, it came as a great talent.

Gunshots rang out, as a hooded figure unveiled themselves, introducing the older face of a blonde that you had once knew. It had been quite some time since you had last seen her, all having gone your separate ways to evade the law, and its cruel jurisdiction. “Sharon?” Bucky spoke, instantly recognising the woman that had aided them in the past.

Once you were all reintroduced, and met with her annoyance, which was surely understandable, she led you to her property, where you were able to part from the Sokovian, and share your distaste to the man, as well as remove the skimpy dress.

It pooled at your feet as you tossed it from your ankle, leaving you in nothing more than your underwear. As you squinted, searching for some reason that you were continuing with this foolishness of thinking that the world still considered you a hero, an echo of a knock rattled against the door. It was metal upon wood; Bucky.

“Come in.” You spoke, as you tied a spare robe around your waist, watching as the super soldier, who appeared less stoic, and more human stepped into the room, closing the door behind his emerging shadow. “You alright man?”

Bucky’s eyes drifted down for a moment, before they splintered back up towards your face, his jaw physically tensing, the notion well visible. He breathed in a long breath through his nose, as he stepped closer, his brow harsh and lined upon his forehead.

“I didn’t like Zemo putting his filthy hands on you.” He admitted aloud, the words of Sharon, teasing him for pining after someone that he had once thought of as no more than a friend of Steve’s. But now that man was gone, and so was the one that he used to be. Instead, he was left standing on his own feet, having to find balance by himself somehow.

“Neither did I.” You informed him. “It was like he was pulling back the images of his collapsing country, pouring every ounce of pain and hatred upon me, evading my mind with guilt, and the memories of what it all amounted to. None of it had been worth it, living like this. We’re treated like animals, no longer idols or heroes, people under the big thumb that keeps pressing down on us.”

“Well we’re both pressed down, limited to our rules and the outlines they want us to obey.” He nodded, raising his flesh hand to your collarbone, wanting to mark his touch upon it to remove that of Zemo’s. At his action, your breath hitched, but you allowed him to sweep his pads over the flesh, shuffling indefinitely closer so that you were chest to chest.

“We’re dangerous in their eyes. That’s a mindset they have in common with our prisoner out there.” You whispered, frowning from the thought. Two monarchies, one still whilst the other already fallen, served the same opinions, though, only one could continue to take action. Zemo was a Baron, but of what country now?

Like all, his home had been vanquished into smithereens, the foundations collapsing into rubble, the history disappearing with its lands, having thrown its dusty remnants in your face.

“I’m fine with being considered dangerous so long as I’m not alone.” He pinched your chin, tilting your head, this time though, you felt in his grasp. It didn’t belong to that of an enemy, it was one of an ally, a friend. “Tell me I’m not alone y/n.”

“I’m here James.” You stared up at him with focused pools, biting your lip as your mind went haywire over everything. “The Wakandans will come for him, you do realise that, right?” He hummed in reply, briskly bringing his metal hand to toy with the belt of the white wrap around.

“Do you think that you could show me that I’m not alone?” He nervously asked, shuffling his weight from foot to foot, as he awaited a reply. But instead of words, he earned himself the sensation of your lips upon his, collaborating in a touch starved jumble of grunts. “You’re beautiful, like...”

“Like what Barnes?” You prompted, brushing your palms onto his shoulders, easing his tenseness. Expectedly, you watched him through half lidded eyes as you leant up to plant supple kisses upon his neck, sucking his skin into your mouth, as though you were trying to thread it gently with your teeth.

“A muse.” He sighed, thinking for a momentum, before dragging your hair through his vibranium fist, lightly grinning as he heard your breath wither from the sensation. “A beautiful muse, one that reminds me to be better everyday. I want to become someone better for you.”

“You shouldn’t.” You unlatched your mouth from him, frowning lightly at the brunette man. “You should become better for nobody but yourself Buck, each day, it’s about self growth, fixing everything that you have ever been taught so that you can learn to do better next time, so that no one else will die because of your expense.”

Bucky nodded, allowing your words to sink in. His fingers returned to playing with the waist band on your robe, his eyes gazing into your own, as he fiddled with the material. “Can I?”

“Go ahead.” You granted him permission, allowing him to push the coverage from you, his eyes widening at seeing you in nothing more than your underwear. His sight traced every curve and bump and dip that was upon your shape, licking his dry lips to make his gawking less subtle.

“You’re killing me doll.” He leant his head back, as he raked his contrasting fingertips down your shoulders, all the way to the small of your back. You smirked, grasping him through his jeans, earning yourself a moan from the elder man.

“I said it’s all about self growth, didn’t I? It seems that you are taking that in quite a literal sense.” You rubbed him through the denim, finding it unsurprising as the man backed you towards the bed, your knees hitting the end sending you falling onto the mattress.

Bucky crawled his way atop of you, rutting his hips against your own. It had been so long since he had been permitted to be this free, and he knew for sure, this would be a secret that he would not inform any therapist of. This was private, the sentiment making it close to his weathered heart.

His lips returned to your own, as your hands scaled beneath your shirt, lightly tracing the scars. He wasn’t as insecure as he thought he’d be about someone touching them, perhaps it was because many of your own materialised stories were written in your skin, or that you understood what it meant to be a soldier, serving under orders.

It didn’t matter too much, he wasn’t overthinking it. Instead, he was yearning as he grasped at the straps of your bra, trying to pull it over your head, as was done with the dames back in his day, but the effort seemed more difficult. Lightly leaning away from him, you reached around your back, unclamping the contraption before tossing it out of his sight.

He didn’t care to ask what the modern day had done to the garment, he was far too focused on your pert nipples, and how they stood to attention before him. The super soldier reached forwards, running his smooth hands upon the underneath of your breasts, before interacting with the present buds, softly tugging at them with his whimsical fingers.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Released from you as a sign, instantly becoming pleased as Bucky stripped himself from everything but his underwear, leaving a nest of his clothes upon the wooden floor, as he leant his head down, capturing your left nipple within the warmth of his mouth, moaning lightly as your hands weaved through his locks, tugging lightly at the short roots. “Stop teasing Buck.”

He didn’t miss the way your eyes roll from the slowness of motions, and thus, he reached down, and snapped the band of your underwear, the ripping noise audible, as he then pulled his boxers down, revealing his bobbing cock, that was directing its tip towards your entrance.

With a glance down, he lightly drooled at the way your cunt clenched around nothing, quickly swiping his fingers through your slit, as he brought them up to his lips, humming contently at the flavour that graced his tastebuds. “Need to be in you doll.”

“Need you in me soldier.” You taunted back, digging your knuckles into his shoulders as you pressed him against you, pushing your tongue into his mouth, as he suddenly bottomed out inside of you, waiting for a moment for the pair of you to adjust to the sensations.

He was in you, filling you to the brim, as you tucked your heels into the base of his back, lightly rotating your hips up, as your tongue chased his own, sucking on it as you nipped at the end, causing him to unintentionally jerk his rigid cock into you.

That had prompted him to start moving, screwing his hands into the satin sheets either side of your head, as your bodies succumbed the others to waves of pleasure. It was a luxury, having an outlet to all the stress that your duty brought. If you could just pass the mantle on like Steve had done, and Clint was in the process of doing, you would.

But it was all you had known; the gritty route, that had spanned the entirety of your tale. And Bucky now became a part of it, as he became a part of you, unravelling your vulnerabilities with sleek thrusts into your cunt, and smooth words that had swept you from your feet and had landed you in a bed.

A bed thats structure was creaking from the strength behind the animalistic carnage that you spent on one another. His teeth pulled at your lip, opening your mouth so that you could use him as an oxygen mask. Neither one of you had noticed the door opened, and an unimpressed Sharon standing in the entry way, her agent arms crossed unamused.

She cleared her throat, which made Bucky still inside of you, and you to clutch onto his back, to cover the decency of your chest. “You let me go on the run, then you fuck in my bed. It’s like I’m not allowed to belong anywhere.”

“Sharon-“ she halted your speech by raising a finger, her eyebrows pointedly telling you not to bother trying to speak, as sweat beading down your body. Bucky subtly rolled from atop of you, quickly pulling the sheets over you both, giving Sharon views that she neither wanted nor appreciated.

That was grittiness, she was a hustler, not a once avenger. A part of you wished she would understand that, as much as it would be painful to hear, she hadn’t been the top of anyone’s list. She had disappeared, and from so, she had became unreachable, practically falling off the face of the earth.

But she had been here, in Madripoor, the island of bones and whatever else Zemo had described it to be. “You two fucked in my bed. Okay.” She remained cool headed, her eyes trailing through the various fabrics among her floor. “Thought I’d tell you to get ready, and to blend in, though you two have that part already figured out. There’s some clothes in the wadrobe, and from what I can tell, you’re going to need new underwear.”

She bothered no longer once she had informed you of what she had told the other men. Instead she simply left, only for you to brace your head back into the quality pillows, slumping, and dreading the journey ahead.

Though you seemed restless, Bucky still thought of you as a muse. His hands grasped your chin, leading your lips to his own, as he sucked on your bottom one, his right hand grasping one of your breasts, as he pulled you atop of him, your skin flushed as you steadied your weight over his tough thighs.

“Now this is a dangerous sight.” He clicked his teeth, trailing his large hand down from your jaw, surpassing the middle of your chest, to your hip, which he grasp, as he shuffled you up just a little, so that you were seated upon the base of his cock.

“I can show you dangerous Barnes.” You smirked, adjusting the both of you so you were ready to sink down on his length. Your hands softly stroked his erect shaft, as you tapped his tip upon your pussy, before pushing down, filling yourself up one more.

Madripoor was a bad place, but good things could come out of visiting the skull island. This was the job, though, breaks were prompted, and were you glad that Bucky had became your little bit of calm in the arising trouble in the world.

“Fuck.” He groaned beneath you, his balls clenching as he felt you writhe all the way down to his base, beginning to bounce upon him, the years of training that you had endorsed coming in handy as it had helped your stamina. He was a super soldier after all, you were surely going to need it.

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thewayshedreamed · 3 years

Note

Congrats on the milestone!!! I was wondering if you could write a combination of the prompts 2 (“c’mere, you can sit on my lap until i’m done working.”) and 21 ( “i’m bored. come over and sit on my dick.”) from the smutty prompts for Nessian. Thank you and congrats again <3

Thank you for the prompt and the love, nonnie! I'm not going to lie, I shamelessly abandoned my word count limit for this one. I have no excuse other than I got carried away.

Hope you enjoy! This one's for you, lovely! (and everyone who enjoys a bit of Nessian smut. Except those of you in the gc. Y'all know who you are and why).

—

Nesta hated when Cassian's work ran late, especially when she hadn't seen him in days. She was temporarily placated by their active text exchange that afternoon, complete with work grumblings, friend gossip, and inside jokes. Cassian was her best friend and boyfriend all rolled into one deliciously built package.

His millionth text of the day interrupted her thoughts.

I'm bored.

I'm sorry, she replied. Me too. And I miss you.

Cassian: Miss you too, Sweetheart.

Nesta considered that. He must not have gathered her true meaning given the tone of his reply, but she supposed it was difficult to convey via text. What she meant was that she missed his callouses scraping over her skin, the heat of his kisses against her neck, his weight cradled between her thighs. They were several days overdue.

She typed a quick response to drive her point home. No, babe. I miss you, miss you.

The ellipsis pulsed, disappeared, and pulsed again. Nesta bit her lip to contain her smile. It seemed her boyfriend was on the same page.

Oh? he sent back. Then, almost immediately after, Come over and sit on my dick.

Nesta barked a laugh. Cassian wasn't shy in any capacity, especially in matters of sex, but his text was blunt even by his standards. She would be lying if she claimed it didn't make her core clench in anticipation.

I can't believe that worked, she admitted. Give me 20 minutes.

—

Cassian's door was unlocked when she arrived. Nesta was usually grateful that he worked from home considering the flexibility it offered, but she didn't particularly love how it interfered with her plans for the evening. He was seated at the dining table with his laptop in front of him, sitting on what sounded like a conference call and finishing up whatever data entry he needed to finish.

None of it was conducive to their arrangement.

He mouthed "sorry" over the screen of his computer, shooting her a wink for good measure. Nesta had already considered a number of possibilities on her way over, and the small gesture alone had her skin erupting in goose flesh. She tugged at the hem of her skirt and struggled to get situated on the couch nearby. Comfort seemed a distant goal when every movement she made riled her more.

A true test of her self-control came at hearing Cassian sign off of his call for the day, especially when every muscle in her body was poised to spring off the couch on a moment's notice. Rather than orient directly to her, his focus remained on the screen of his computer. His brows were furrowed in concentration, negating any possibility that he meant to antagonize her.

"You know," she challenged, "I didn't come over here to watch you work the whole time."

He glanced at her through his side eye, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah? What did you come over for, Sweetheart?"

Nesta's cheeks burned, but she squared her shoulders. "You'll have to refer back to our texts. It's not my job to remember your promises."

Cassian huffed a laugh and groaned as he leaned back in his chair. With his fingers laced, he reached his hands toward the ceiling in a long stretch. Nesta could see the impressive length tightening his pants, and her mouth went dry. At least she wasn't the only one affected.

He caught her in admiration and shot her a lazy smile. Her eyes trailed the handsome edges of his face, his broad chest.

"C'mere," he rasped. "You can sit on my lap until I'm done working."

His hand reached down to adjust himself, and he hissed against the contact. Nesta felt less self-conscious about her growing need to cross her legs to relieve some of the tension. Her voice was low, sultry.

"I didn't come over to sit on your lap either, Cassian."

His gaze darkened, his hand sliding beneath the waistband of his pants. "Then get over here and do as I told you."

A shiver ran down her spine. She sat transfixed by the movement of his hand and how he finally freed himself from his pants. Every part of her burned to touch him. The command in his voice had been her undoing; all good sense, gone. Her legs shook through her journey to close the space between them, but he didn't seem to notice.

Cassian groaned his approval as she straddled his lap, his large hand moving in a long stroke up and down his length. Nesta's position allowed him full access beneath her skirt, and he cursed under his breath when he realized she wore nothing underneath. Their lips crashed together, Nesta's hands poised against his shoulders. Cassian wrapped his arm around her waist to lift her over his cock and allowed gravity alone to ease her down until her hips sat flush against his.

Nesta moaned, desperate for friction. Her hips canted automatically until Cassian's rough voice and strong hands stopped her in her tracks.

He tutted his disapproval. "I never said you could move, Sweetheart. I still have work to finish."

"Cass," she whined, unashamed of her arousal. "Please."

"I'll take care of you, I promise." He pressed a kiss behind her ear, reaching behind her to resume his work. "For now, keep things warm for me, baby."

Nesta whimpered and gripped his shoulders. How could he ask that of her? Another couple of minutes, and her hips would be rolling whether she offered them permission or not. She took a deep breath and tried to focus on the sound of the keys working behind her.

But then she was thinking about his deft fingers, how they wrought pleasure from her in immeasurable ways. How his hands always knew where she needed firm pressure of a delicate, teasing touch to—

"Nesta," Cassian warned, his voice hoarse. "What did I tell you about moving?"

He nipped her ear in warning. She forced her hips to settle, silently cursing them for their betrayal. The last thing she needed was Cassian holding out on her any longer.

"Sorry," she gritted out, "I'm— I don't know." Her mind was all over the place, reduced to some primitive by the need between her legs.

He made no moves to remove her from his cock, and she breathed a sigh of relief. His fingers resumed their work, but they would no longer serve to distract her in the process. She needed to think of something less promising, but she came up empty any time she tried.

Cassian added insult to injury, running his nose up and down the length of her neck. Nesta opened up for him, careful not to move her lower body in the process for fear that he would pull away. His lips left a path of soft kisses where his nose had left fire in its wake, and Nesta was a single kiss away from snapping altogether.

"Fuck," he rasped. Her hold tightened on him at the sound of his voice. There wasn't a thing about the man that didn't affect her. "Nesta, you're—" He paused to gather his wits, buried his forehead against her neck. "You're dripping."

To her horror, she realized he was right. Her arousal coated her inner thighs and the skin just above where their bodies came together. She was making an all out mess in her boyfriend's lap, and he had yet to move.

Nesta moaned, tilting her head back to encourage his affections against her neck. "Please hurry," she breathed. "I've done what you asked. Please."

Cassian growled against her skin. How he always reduced her to a begging, pleading mess was beyond her. There wasn't another aspect of her life where she resorted to it, but for him, she would do it shamelessly.

He placed another path of kisses, rougher this time, down the side of her neck and over her collarbones. When he refocused his attention on his work, Nesta let her forehead hit his broad shoulder. Her fingers were white-knuckled against him as she fought her most base urges.

Blessedly, she heard some clicking of the trackpad behind her. In another number of seconds, Cassian stood to lay her roughly atop the table. His hands explored her body, gripping her possessively in all the right places until she was a writhing mess, his order be damned.

"So eager." He moved to grip her wrists in his hand, pinning them over her head. The other gripped her thigh at his side. "Go on, then. Fuck me, Nesta."

She didn't need to be told twice. Her hips rolled against him, taking him deeper than before. Her feet pressed into the strong muscles of his ass in encouragement, but he remained still while he watched their bodies come together. Nesta couldn't think beyond his name rolling from her lips and how badly she needed more, more, more. Before she could say as much, Cassian's restraint snapped.

He widened his stance, spreading her legs farther apart and changing their angle. His hand left her thigh in favor of pressing a supportive arch to the small of her back, his hips snapping roughly into hers.

They dissolved into a symphony of muttered curses and groans. Nesta cried out her pleasure when her release barreled through her, earning a string of praise from Cassian.

"That's it. You're so tight around my cock, Sweetheart," he murmured, his breath leaving him in huffs with each punishing thrust. His eyes snapped up to hers, and she fought to keep her heavy lids open for him. His brow was drawn together in pleasure, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. Fighting his release was wearing on him, and Nesta could tell he wouldn't be far behind her.

"Gods," he ground out. "You were so good for me, baby. You know that?"

His thrusts came faster, and Nesta cried out. Another world-shattering orgasm was close, so close, when she hadn't thought it possible so soon. Cassian noticed when her pleasure ratcheted up once more, and a look of determination crossed his handsome face. He slid his hand from her back, and pressed it to her lower abdomen, using his thumb to draw broad circles around her clit.

Her hands fought against his grip, but to no avail. She wanted to touch him, to drag her hands all over his body and run them through his hair. More than that, she thought she would need to secure her body against his to ride out another wave of pleasure like the one before.

"Pleasedon'tstop," she muttered, her eyes screwed shut.

"I won't," he promised, his hips pressing into hers and making her dizzy. "Not until that pretty pussy comes for me again."

It took only seconds for Cassian to get his wish. Nesta's cries echoed off the walls of his small apartment, her body shaking through the aftershocks of her release. His hips slammed home when he met his own, his large frame leaning over her body as he spilled inside her.

Once he released her hands, Nesta moved them to his shoulders to draw idle patterns over his skin. Cassian lifted his head to press a kiss to her mouth before separating them and standing to right their clothes. They surveyed the area, how his work was scattered about and his cup of water lay spilled over the floor nearby, and broke out into laughter.

"What am I going to do with you?" he teased, pulling her against his chest in a hug.

Nesta hummed, her first thought sliding past her lips. "Love me."

Cassian placed a kiss to her hair. "Yeah," he murmured. "I will."

#nessian #nessian au #nesta archeon #cassian #nessian smut #nesta x cassian #800 followers celebration #nonnie love #twsd writes #twsd fics

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agustdakasuga · 3 years

Text

Between The Bloodshed | Epilogue

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

At this point, what can be considered normal?

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

It was a nice late morning. The sun was shining but thankfully, it was blocked out by the dark curtains. It was nice and quiet, only the sounds of your breathing as you slept peacefully. There were no alarm clocks or phone calls-

*BANG BANG BANG*

“Yoongi hyung! You’ve been holding onto her for hours! She needs to come out!” Taehyung was banging on the door. You could hear Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok and Jin there too.

“Yeah! She needs to work!”

That was a lie. After coming back from performing Geumjae’s surgery yesterday, the boys had insisted you take a break since it was a long, gruelling surgery. But then again, the others would do anything to get the pale man to open the door for them.

“Just keep quiet and they’ll go away soon.” Yoongi grumbled, holding you tighter, totally unaffected by the screams.

“No, we won’t!” Seems that they heard him.

“Come on, I have to get up.” You patted his back. He tucked you into the crook on his neck like a mother holding her child. His cheek pressed against the top of your head as he huffed.

“You don’t have to get up. It’s your day off.” He murmured. You giggled, arm slinging around him in defeat.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed your head.

“That’s it! I don’t hear movement! Either get the keys or Jungkook, kick the door down.” You heard more commotion outside. Everyday was a chaotic day in the Bangtan household.

“Ugh, hang on a sec.” Yoongi got out of bed, ready to give them an earful. But the moment he opened the door, he was mowed down by everyone else as they approached you, who was on the bed. You welcomed them with open arms and they piled on, engulfing you in big hugs and smiles. Yoongi stood there, glaring at you.

“Yah! Get off!” Yoongi shouted.

“Okay.” They willingly slipped off the bed, which was surprising. Until Jungkook scooped you up into his arms, running out of the room. He cackled evilly while you yelped, arms tightened around his neck in fear.

“I’m hom- What...” Namjoon stopped in the doorway when he saw what was going on. You have him a pleading look.

“Kook, let her down now.” Namjoon frowned. As much as you liked to play around and have fun with the boys, sometimes, all you would like is a peaceful morning.

“With all due respect, hyung. If you try to take my baby away from me, I will actually fight you.” Jungkook said.

“Rich coming from the guy who took her from me. Fight him, Joon.” Yoongi snorted from the top of the stairs. Knowing that the boys will actually fight each other (which you do tell them is dumb), you pinched Jungkook’s pressure point, temporarily immobilising him.

“Ah!” He yelped as he let go of you. You fell onto the couch, standing up and straightening Yoongi’s your hoodie. With a sigh, you headed over to Namjoon to properly greet him after his early morning meeting.

“Welcome home.” You grinned.

“Thank you, my love.” He wrapped an arm around you, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“You’re bleeding!” Your eyes widened when you saw his knuckles. It looked exactly like Jungkook’s knuckles. Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. Grabbing his wrist, you brought him to the office.

“Love, I can patch it up. They’re small wounds. You’re supposed to be resting.” Namjoon told you. You shook your head while washing your hands.

“Small wounds that can get infected, Joon. And I don’t need to rest much more, I knocked out like a light with Yoongi last night.” You chuckled, grabbing your first aid kit. You pulled your stool to sit in front of him and began to clean his wounds. The first thing you did was remove some of the dried blood that crusted on the side.

“It’s gonna sting.” You said before putting the antiseptic. He winced slightly, his nose scrunching up.

“You guys never get used to it.” You laughed. Once the wounds were cleaned, you bandaged his knuckles. You placed his hand in yours, inspecting his hand for more injuries.

“You’re lucky you didn’t break anything again.” You lectured.

“Because I have a doctor that takes good care of me.” Namjoon grinned. You shook your head, kissing his cheek.

“Please, I already told you not to overwork them considering they just got better after you broke them. And you always scold the younger ones for not listening to me when you’re no better.” You teased. Namjoon laughed.

“If I have you to take care of me, I will get injured more.” Namjoon hugged your waist. You flicked his forehead.

“I dare you, Kim Namjoon.” You frowned.

“Alright, alright. Namjoon looks good and patched up! Now it’s my turn, I want my morning kiss. Come here.” Jin yanked you away by your waist, dipping you down and showering you in kisses. You burst out laughing, grabbing onto his shirt so you won’t fall back.

“I’m going to get a coffee.” You shuffled away to the kitchen. The maids prepared your usual iced coffee.

“Thank you.” You yawned and sipped before going back out. You sat on the couch and Jimin sat down, bringing your legs up to drape over his lap. When your phone buzzed, you took it out of your pocket to check.

“Ah, I have to go check on Geumjae. He just woke up.” You announced.

“But it’s your day off.” Hoseok said.

“I know. But it’s the day after his surgery so I have to make sure he’s feeling alright and not having any complications, considering it was a major surgery.” You grunted as you stood up. You quickly finished your drink and went to change. Yoongi would be accompanying you, of course, to visit his brother. The other boys decided to tag along... just to not be left out.

“You guys go grab a bite. I shouldn’t be too long.” You sent them a kiss as they dropped you off at the staff entrance.

“We love you.” They said.

“I love you all too.” You smiled and waved as they drove to the public parking. Slipping on your coat, you went to Geumjae’s private ward. He was awake, sitting up slightly and watching the television that was provided.

“Hey, got here as soon as I heard you were awake. Yoongi should be coming up soon, he’s parking the car.” You greeted.

“Hey... Thanks again... for everything. Not just the surgery... but for making me realise my mistake. I’m so glad Yoongi and I are close again. It’s really all thanks to you.” He smiled weakly.

“Don’t mention it. How are you feeling?”

“A little light headed. And sore.” His hand lightly touched his clothed chest where the surgery sutures were underneath.

“That’s normal, considering the effects of the anaesthesia is wearing off. I’ll still put you on IV painkillers for the next day or two, until the wound starts to heal more and cause less pain. Can I check your wound?” You asked. He nodded and you unbuttoned his shirt to check the sutures.

“Looks good. I’ll replace the gauze.” You removed the protecting gauze above the sutures and replaced it with a clean one.

“Good news is we managed to remove the affected tissue. You still have to be on your medications for the next week? We will do a follow up biopsy after just to make sure we have completely eradicated the cancer.” You instructed.

“Okay. Thank you.” He nodded as you buttoned his shirt up.

“Hyung.” Yoongi came in.

“Yoongi.” His brother greeted as you straightened up. You let Yoongi get closer to his brother as you removed your gloves and washed your hands. As they chatted, you checked his charts.

“Take your time, Yoongs. I’ll go find the others.” You smiled. Yoongi nodded, reaching to peck your temple before sitting down to speak with Geumjae. You gave them privacy, exiting the room. You went to the nurse’s station to update Geumjae’s file. Although the surgery was tiring, you learnt a lot and was glad for the experience.

“Mr Min in Room 32 should be in IV fluids until he’s no longer nauseated by the anaesthesia. Then move him to soft foods.” You told the nurse, who nodded her head and keyed in the instructions to the patient’s system profile.

“Thank you!” You smiled and handed the file to her. You went to the vending machine to get a can coffee.

“Hi, are you a doctor here?” Someone appeared.

“Kinda?” You chuckled, pressing the button for your cold coffee. You weren’t gonna tell some stranger the long story about you being a private doctor to singular patient here.

“I’m a new resident. Nice to meet you.” He held his hand out. You gave a small smile, shaking his outstretched hand.

“You’re Dr (y/l/n)’s daughter right?” He asked and you nodded your head.

“I look forward to working with you, sunbae. I know you did the recent lung cancer tissue extraction surgery, it was very knowledgeable and I learnt a lot.” He bowed.

“Thanks... But I don’t actually work here as a mentor so you won’t see me around anymore. The other doctors are just as good, I’m sure of it. Everyone is trained and of professional calibre, you will learn a lot from them as well.” You were starting to get a little awkward by his overly enthusiastic disposition.

“Baby, there you are.” A voice appeared and you saw your 6 other boyfriends there. They did not look pleased.

“You took so long so we came to find you. We had to stop Kook from ordering everything on the cafeteria menu.” Jimin laughed. You shook your head at the maknae, who pouted.

“I’m still a growing boy.” He argued. He wasn’t, actually.

“Who’s this?” Jin raised an eyebrow.

“Uh... He’s a new hoobae that works here.” You explained, realising that you hadn’t even learnt about this resident’s name. But it didn’t matter, you probably weren’t going to see him after this anyway.

“Come, jagi. We should go.” Taehyung grasped your hand, glaring at the now scared boy. You shook your head, knowing exactly what they were doing. Even before you got together, the boys always said you were their partner just to keep other girls away. Vice versa, they branded themselves as your boyfriends to scare other guys away.

“I-I have to go. Bye.” He bowed and scurried off.

“You guys are horrible, you know that?” You folded your arms with a shake of your head. Hoseok grinned, leaning to peck your cheek. You reached over to straighten his blazer.

“Oh, you’re still here.” Yoongi blinked, seeing the group of you there. You nodded your head.

“Are you hungry? We bought you guys sandwiches.” Namjoon lifted the bags up. Instead of sitting there to eat, you ate in the van as Hoseok drove.

“Here.” You gave some to Jungkook.

“But you hardly ate any of it yourself.” He told you. You just shrugged, not really having the appetite to eat anything. Jungkook leaned forward to eat the last bit of the sandwich out of your hand. You would much rather have your coffee instead of the sandwich.

“Shall we have barbecue tonight?” You asked the boys.

“It’s been a while.” They nodded their heads. Hoseok detoured and went to the big supermarket. You split into 3 teams, Jin and Yoongi buying the meat, Hoseok and Namjoon drinks and you with the maknaes for everything else.

“Buy a lot of meat, hyung!” Jungkook shouted to Jin as he placed his hands on your shoulders to push you to the other aisle.

“Hyung wanted coarse salt for his shrimp. This or this?” Jimin held up both the boxes. You looked at both of them before pointing to one. He happily placed it into the cart.

“Shall I make japchae?” You asked them.

“Yes!” Taehyung cheered. You sent a message to Yoongi to pick up some beef for japchae from the counter for you. After that, you picked up some vegetables that would go into japchae. Jimin trailed after you obediently while Taehyung and Jungkook disappeared. Jungkook had reappeared with loads of bags of snacks in his arms.

“Koo! That’s too much.” You chuckled at your now almost full cart, half filled with bags of chips.

“But we need more snacks for our movie nights! And besides, Jin hyung and Taehyung hyung keep eating my snacks. This is so they won’t take mine.” Jungkook pouted.

“Banana milk!” He quickly got distracted by the dairy section and ran off.

“You know, I can see why people don’t believe our line of jobs sometimes and how Jungkook is supposedly our best fighter.” Jimin scoffed.

“Well, take his banana milk and you’ll truly see how well he can fight.” You giggled as you placed some carrots and bell peppers into the cart. Taehyung came with 3 different ssamjang containers.

“Tae, why are you getting so much? We won’t be able to finish them all in one night.” Jimin scolded.

“But these are brands I haven’t tried before! So I wanna see which is the best. Then I’ll know to buy it next time!” Taehyung argued with his best friend. You shook your head and continued, Taehyung loved ssamjang. There’s no arguing in that. Jungkook came back with banana milk and cheese.

“You want cheese rice?” You asked.

“How did you know?!”

“Koo, even if I’ve only been your girlfriend for a short while, I have lived with you longer. You practically breathe cheese rice.” You scoffed, offended. Jungkook bunny grinned, wrapping his arms around you.

“Of course, you know me well.” He peppered kissed all over your cheek. When you were done, you went to meet the others.

“Boys, I may not be specialising in hepatology but that amount of alcohol is definitely not good for you.” You raised an eyebrow at the amount of alcohol that was stacked in Namjoon and Hoseok’s cart. Totally not in a helping way, Taehyung even got a few bottles of his and Seokjin’s favourite plum wine to add in. You laughed.

“We needed to stock the bar anyway. We promise not to drink so much.” Hoseok winked.

“Yoongi hyung and Seokjin hyung are ready. They’ll meet us at the cashier.” Namjoon informed. You nodded your head and you all went to pay.

“A big party?” He joked as he scanned.

“You could say that.” You smiled, waiting to pay with the card that the boys had given you for ‘house’ items like their groceries and meals. But honestly, they just wanted an excuse to give you a card to spend on yourself.

“You’re pretty.” He complimented.

“Oh... Thanks.” You blushed. A sudden clear of the throat made you jump slightly. You turned to see Namjoon and Yoongi with stern looks on their faces.

“Are you done yet, baby girl?” Yoongi emphasised on the pet name, which he never really uses at all. You blinked, still in slight shock. The cashier looked terrified suddenly, quickening his pace to finish scanning all your items. Namjoon wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Love, later let the others load the van alright? Wouldn’t want you hurting yourself.” Namjoon smiled sweetly at you.

“O...kay?”

“Uh, payment please?” He squeaked. Before you could hand the card over, Yoongi plucked it out of your hand and handed it for him to swipe. He gave it back with two hands and a deep bow.

“Let’s go.” Yoongi held your hand and led you away. The boys loaded the car and you were ready to head home. Suddenly, their phones all rang at the same time. Namjoon took his phone out to check the notification. It was quiet for a while.

“Everything okay?” You blinked.

“Yeah... But looks like we’ll have to return to work for a while.” Namjoon sighed. You nodded your head.

“We’ll drop you home. It’ll be safer.” Jin told you. Again, you nodded. You knew how these business meetings could go from bad to worse in only a couple of seconds. Hoseok pulled up to the house and you jumped out.

“Stay safe, boys.” You told the 7. They sent you in with hugs and kisses, waiting for you to disappear into the house with the maids before Taehyung pulled the butler closer to whisper something into his ear. The butler nodded his head, bowing deeply. He closed the door for the van, standing on the porch until the van disappeared.

“Agashi, I was told that there will be barbecue tonight? Shall I prepare the ingredients?” The butler smiled as the other staff brought the groceries in.

“I wanna help cook! Let me change first.” You smiled and went upstairs to the room. You changed out of your hospital clothes and into more comfortable clothes, aka Jimin’s lounge pants and Hoseok’s hoodie.

“Thanks for bringing this all in guys!” You said to them as you saw them clearing all the bags of shopping and keeping everything in its place. You really bought a lot.

“What do you want to make?” The maid asked.

“Taehyung likes marinated kimchi. And Jungkook was saying he wanted cheese rice to go with the meat. I also bought japchae ingredients.” You said.

“Alright.”

“You guys can take a break. Don’t worry, I would like to think I’m better in the kitchen than Namjoon is.” You joked and they all laughed, loving your attitude. The mansion’s staff loved working with you.

“We’ll help where we can.” The cook took the ingredients out for you, laying them out neatly. You started with the marinated kimchi, which was frying kimchi with garlic, spam and minced meat. While the rest of the staff attended to the things in the mansion, the cook stayed by your side in case you needed help.

“I think a bigger dice is okay.” He demonstrated.

“You can put it here to cool. Then I’ll close the container later.” He gave you the plastic container. You scraped the contents from the pan to the container.

“Are there some side dishes that go well with the barbecue? That the boys will like.” You asked him. He went to the fridge to look through what was inside to make side dishes.

“We have a few hours so we can do some pickled radish, spicy cucumbers, the fried anchovies that master Seokjin likes?” He suggested.

“Sounds exciting!” You clapped your hands.

The next few hours were spent cooking and preparing various meals to go with the barbecue for the night. You learnt a lot from the cook and your energy was mostly fuelled with iced coffee (of course). You were just happy to prepare so much food for your boys now that you knew what their tastes were like. There was even time to make grapefruit syrup for Taehyung’s sodas.

“I’ll help prep the shrimp too.” You rolled your sleeves up to prepare for Yoongi’s salt baked shrimp on the grill.

“Ah, agashi. Let me. Your hands may smell. After all, you’ve been cooking the whole day, why don’t you take a break? I insist.” The cook shook his head.

“Oh, alright. I’m only giving in because I need to make Koo’s cheese rice later.” You giggled. The cook nodded and you grabbed a snack before leaving the kitchen. You helped the staff set up the barbecue outside.

“Let me help.” You arranged the chairs.

“It’s okay, agashi. Please rest.” The maids shook their heads. Going to retrieve Kookie, you sat under the gazebo with a book.

“Kookie ah. Don’t do that.” You stroked his head as he began to nibble the corner of your book again. Looks like even without the boys here, you still wouldn’t be able to read in peace.

“Where are they?” You checked your phone, there were no calls or messages from any of the boys. As the sun set, you were seated in your designated seat, which was in between Jungkook and Hoseok. You checked your phone to see the time, it was getting late.

You perked up when you heard the door to the backyard open and footsteps. However, when you turned your head, the smile dropped from your face.

Ko-fi link

Series Masterlist

[If you are reading this, thank you for making it to the end. For now. I’ll see you in the sequel ‘Everything Between Us’]

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levi-my-beloved · 2 years

Text

Can You Fly With Broken Wings?

Chapter i

A seraph (/ˈsɛrəf/, "the burning one"; plural seraphim /ˈsɛrəfɪm/)[nb 1] is a type of celestial or heavenly being originating in Ancient Judaism.

Pairing: Canon!Levi x Seraph!Reader

Summary: You could never tell anyone. How could you? When the blood of an enraged, celestial being ran through your veins...

Warnings: heavy descriptions of torture, blood, thats all for this chapter

A/N: HI HELLO YES I AM STILL ALIVE I APOLOGISE PLS FORGIVE ME FOR SIMPLY PASSING AWAY. I don't know how many chapter this is going to be, but I have full intentions of actually finishing this one because y'all know me, love a bit of mythology, and the new obsession is biblically accurate angels. NOTE: the reader's seraph isn't a beautiful, sculptured creature. it is horrifying, and i cannot wait til the chapter where he's released ;) love you all and enjoy :3

also this has been proofread but we all know how great i am at that :,)

@sunshinedragonofthewest (you asked to be tagged, my dear. if anyone else wants to be tagged shoot me a message or an ask :3)

Terror.

Like a pebble disturbing the waters of tranquility, terror rippled through your system. Darkness extended before you like a beckoning void, and though you were sure you weren’t moving, the sensation of falling into disorientation tore holes in your frantic mind.

You were aware of the leather straps around your wrists, ankles and neck, binding you to a metal table. You were aware of the snippets of conversation you could sometimes hear if you concentrated hard enough.

“We d–... have much le–... We could only harvest–... uch from the specimen,” fragments of sentences wove their way to your ears, only fuelling the fear thundering in your heart. You didn’t know what was happening, so to distract yourself, you made a list of everything you knew to be true.

You lived in the small village of Dauper, just southwest of Wall Sina. You weren’t significant. You weren’t dangerous. And yet, on your way home, you’d been jumped by four men you’d never seen before. They didn’t say anything to you, and you hardly had time to scream before a sharp prick in your neck stopped you in your flailing frenzy, and everything went black.

You had woken up in that same inky well only a few minutes ago, unable to remember your name. All you knew was your village, those men, and paralysing terror.

Unfortunately, that was the end of your list. Since waking up, it turns out you really didn’t know much at all. Only that it’s more than likely this was where you die. With each approaching footstep echoing in your skull, your body only trembled more violently.

“Shhhh, it’s going to be okay. My name is… well, you can call me Doctor Ghost. You’re a very special girl, Subject 42. You’ve been chosen to harbour a power greater than any mortal could possibly possess. Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you,” the man above you soothed your fears, calming your racing heart. Something about his voice placated you, and you trusted his words, though the thought of harbouring such a power wasn’t something on your to-do list.

Torchlight temporarily stunned your senses as the blindfold around your eyes was removed. When the white had faded, you guessed you must be somewhere underground. Wide pupils focused on a taller, grey haired man who you’d never seen before, and didn’t recognise. A cloth mask hid his nose and mouth from view, but his eyes were kind. Crow’s feet crinkled at the corners of his light blue orbs. You took a deep breath, nodding a little timidly.

But the peace in your heart lasted for all of ten seconds before the arrival of another man startled you back to reality. Now your eyes were free, you could see exactly what was happening, and honestly, you didn’t know if it was better to be left in the dark. Both literally and metaphorically.

The rattling of a metal trolly screamed in your eardrums, the echo only worsening the sound as you tried to free your hands, desperate to cover your ears.

“Is she ready?” the other man’s voice wasn’t nearly as relaxing. Younger tones combined with staccato consonances had you cowering in fear.

“She’s a little shaken, but that’s to be expected. I’m going to need you to relax, little one. This won’t hurt, I promise,” you felt a hand gently smooth your forehead in another attempt to tranquilize you, but as soon as you saw what was in the younger man’s gloved hand, you began to shrash in your bonds. Though you couldn’t find your voice, your mind was shrieking in terror, begging for this to just be a nightmare.

The source of your alarm was passed over to the kind doctor, the tip of the needle glinting slightly in the low light. Warm, shimmering liquid almost writhed within the glass, an amalgamation of light gold and deep orange, as if they’d collected the blood of the sun itself.

Strong hands came down on your right arm, holding you still as they located the visible vein in the crease of your elbow.

“Take a deep breath for me, that’s it,” you finally found your voice as the needle pierced your skin, bullets of visceral agony shot through your nerves.

He’d lied.

But that was nothing in comparison to feeling liquid fire enter your bloodstream. You screamed your throat raw as your body began to seize and convulse, shaking uncontrollably as crucifying torment plagued every fibre of you being.

This was hell.

They’d injected you with the deepest pit of hell. It was like every particle of your body, every cell, was being shredded. Your back arched to the point of snapping, muscles tense as your whole body shuddered in sobbing agony. Your eyes screwed shut as whatever substance they injected you with burned its course through your system. You suddenly felt freedom around your binds, your throat no longer restricted, wrists and ankles no longer obstructed. Your body was free to quake and flail, and looking down you saw why.

They’d been burnt away, only charred stubs of leather remained, still connected to the table beneath. Replacing them, rings of fire encircled your wrists, flickering heatless flames up your arms. Around your ankles too rotated the same dancing glow as hellfire continued to consume your system, culminating across your back.

Without thinking, you sat bolt upright, head bent back almost unnaturally as your body seemed to still for a second, limbs freezing as anticipation hung in the air.

The doctors peered at you quizzically from behind their makeshift guard made of the overturned metal trolly. They seemed mesmerized by the display of twisted agony, before everything fell still.

Maybe you’d died and rigamortis had set in already...?

They quickly found their hypothesis to be false as your eyes flew open, bright golden light exploded from deep within your chest. Blood painted the wall as three pairs of silky, radiant wings burst from your back, feathers splayed open as an unholy scream of ancient rage tore from your bleeding throat. A whirling tornado of starfire whipped your hair, leaving you unharmed whilst the stench of boiling blood saturated the air.

As quickly as it all started, the light was gone. Flames petered out into nothing and you collapsed, limp against the now glowing metal table. Though the heat did nothing to you. Not a mark left on your skin. Your chest steadily rose and fell with shallow breaths, body shivering with the cold. The glow of your newly formed wings now faded, leaving behind a dull, brass like colour to the feathers before they disappeared altogether with a sick, wet crackle, back beneath the now badly scarred skin.

“Is… is she alive?” the young assistant asked, peeking out from behind the overturned trolly as Doctor Ghost came to inspect your unconscious form.

“Yes. The child survived.”

You awoke with a start, clutching your damp chest as you failed to remember where you were. The room was dark, and for one paralysing minute, you thought you were still there, in that room.

But slowly, your eyes began to adjust. You still didn’t instantly recognise the old, bookless shelf opposite your sweat drenched sheets. Nor the stone walls that surrounded you, providing very little warmth. You didn’t know who’s decrepit vanity sat by the wooden door, but you knew it didn’t belong in your old cell. Wide, terrified eyes relaxed, the grip on your own blanket eased as you steadily took yourself through where you were.

This wasn’t the cell, but this wasn’t HQ either. You slowly remembered the events of the last few days. A titan shifter emerging within Trost District. The trial that took place to determine his future, and the impromptu relocating of your squad to a castle in the middle of fucking nowhere.

Oh yeah.

Now you remember.

With a deep, calming breath, you look down to your bed, only for that calm to swiftly be shoved aside and replaced with unsettling dread.

Fuck.

Sweat wasn’t the only thing your sheets were drenched with. Fresh, crimson blood and black, ashy charcoal stained the white fabric where you assumed your wings had unfurled during your nightmare. And it wasn’t until you swallowed did you realise how raw your throat felt.

You’d been screaming.

Double fuck.

With a shallow hope that the castle walls were thick enough for your torment to go unnoticed, you bundled up the defiled bed clothes, throwing a quick glance to the inky blue night beyond the window. It didn’t look like the sun would be up for hours yet, thank god. You still had time to sort your bedding situation before anyone had to find out.

You cursed yourself for not bringing any form of comfortable footwear before tugging your military boots over your bare legs, cringing at the feeling. You’d made it a habit to sleep without clothing, in case of this exact eventuality. It often made sharing a room awkward, but you guessed that was just how things had to be. Crossing to the decrepit old vanity, you pulled out the drawers beneath the mirror, fishing for the nightshirt you knew you brought with you. However you paused, seeing that far-too-familiar golden glow from the nape of your neck. You reached back, gently tracing the mark you knew was etched into your skin as well as the spine-length scars on both the left and right sides of your back.

Fucking wings. Your tender flesh was confirmation they’d ruptured out without permission. Again.

“Fuck sakes…” you muttered, before doing up the buttons on your nightshirt and heading for the door. You swept your eyes over the room again, noting the black coating of carbon on the stone wall would need cleaning tomorrow, before swiping your notebook and pencil off the desk and striding out into the hallway, down the stairs and out into the cooling night.

You breathed a sigh of relief as soon as the fresh air hit you, needing to cool the fire you knew was bubbling in your veins. As well as the lifelong trauma, the ice-cold fear of discovery, and the agonising tearing of your back, this was possibly the most inconvenient thing to come of your childhood. Midnight trips to the laundrette, or in this case, any clean river nearby, to wash your goddamn bed clothes after a night-terror like that one.

You allowed a gentle glow to emit from the palm of your hand, having to quickly tuck it into your armpit with a whispered curse as you released too much of the pent up power in your system, your fingers sparking slightly. You needed to let go, every fibre of your body felt like a live-wire ready to spark into a devastating explosion. Screw a river, you need to find a lake. Preferably a deep one.

Reining back the inferno in your blood, you made sure you had enough light in your hand to see, before silently walking off into the forest surrounding this godforsaken castle, completely oblivious to the ebony silhouetted audience of one watching from an illuminated window above as you disappeared into the treeline.

Twigs and dry leaves crunched beneath your feet as you followed the sound of what you hoped was water. You’d all been given a lay of the land before you’d had to move, and you knew from memory there was a lake somewhere near, northeast of the front doors.

Or was it southeast…?

Fuck maybe it was southeast.

You sighed a breath of frustration, balking as a new leaf in front of you shrivelled in the furnace-like heat, the twig itself crackling slightly before you angrily swatted it out your face. You kept walking, cautiously stepping over fallen branches and logs until you almost cried with relief as you were greeted by the very same lake from the map.

Only, it was so much bigger than you’d expected.

Light from the crescent moon created dancing constellations on the glassy surface, the gentle night breeze prompting the starlight to waltz to the choir of rustling leaves. You were almost glad you’d woken up to such a mess on your bed.

Almost.

But before you could do anything, you knelt by the softly lapping shoreline, shingles and small pebbles digging into the soft skin of your knees as you stuffed the fabric beneath the surface of the water and watched the saturation of red fade slightly. You’d forgotten to bring soap, but since the stain was fresh, you knew it only a faint pinkish blush would remain. Scrubbing the now waterlogged fabric, you noticed in dismay several holes burned through the fibres, charred at the edges from your midnight fits. You pushed your thumb through one of the smaller ones, cursing viciously as you knew you would have to throw the sheet away when you returned.

Leaving the now cleaner fabric to soak, you stepped back from the shoreline to remove what little clothing you were wearing. There was no point in getting everything sodden, and you would need them dry for the walk back. You shivered slightly as the cold air brushed against your nipples, goosebumps pricking your skin in response to the stimulus. Pulling off your leather boots, you hung your nightshirt up on a branch, tidily positioning the boots against the trunk of the tree.

You hated this next part. Though it brought you some relief, unfurling your wings always hurt like shit, which was no surprise since they ripped through the skin of your back. Taking a long, deep breath, you screwed your eyes shut, biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. However, you were well practiced at this by now, and though the pain never really lessened, no sound escaped your lips as feather tore through flesh, two more appendages now extending from your back. You always thought the full three pairs was a bit much. Why the fuck didn’t they just give you one pair and be done with it? But after hearing the random babbling of Doctor Ghost, you knew it was the blood of the original specimen, whatever the hell that meant.

Still, you cracked your eyes open, tasting the slight smokey flavour blending with the irony tang of your blood. Something else that came with whatever celestial being they’d carelessly poisoned your body with. Not only did you taste different, but your blood had the slightest fiery orange shimmer. Shit used to get really awkward when a comrade or a nurse would look at one of your injuries. You tended to just play it off as something ancestral, but that didn’t stop the odd questioning looks.

The flickering embers of your wingtips told you this was bad. This was really bad. You’d left it too long this time. Too long since you last let loose. Magma had been bubbling away like the cauldron of a volcano, and though you couldn’t see it before, your veins burned bright orange beneath the skin, pumping lava through your bloodstream. With another heavy sigh, you crouched before effortlessly leaping into the night sky with a single beat of your celestial wings.

There was nothing quite like the freedom of flight. You hated so many aspects of yourself. The omnipresent, ancient rage beating in your heart. The flashes of bright gold behind your eyes whenever you fell into a spiral of memories that didn’t belong to you. The tight rein you must keep on your emotions, in fear of revealing yourself with an outburst. You loathed so many things about who you now were, but the weightless sense of soaring through the air on golden wings almost made it all worth it.

You climbed higher. Higher and higher until the lake below was nothing but a puddle, and the little glowing lights of the castle faded into nothing. You climbed higher than the clouds, no ceiling to hold you down this time. No walls to cage you in. You were free. Water sizzled on your skin as you burst through a raincloud, until it was just you, the moon and the endlessly shining stars. Your form illuminated the condensation around you, a small glow reflecting off the floating diamonds. The beating of your wings disturbing the sodden mist, curling and writhing in on itself.

Tranquility and peace calmed the roaring fire in your blood for a moment, allowing the utter silence to consume you, before you let your body fall completely limp. Suspense held you for a split second, the whole world standing still as your wings slowly came round to encase your body, before gravity reached up and plucked you from the sky, dragging you back below. You let yourself be taken, throwing out your appendages to feel the wind through your feathers, the hands of nature carting through your hair before auric folded back around your torso, cushioning your head and torso from the onslaught of freezing water.

You dived, still clutched in the grasp of gravity, liquid waterlogging your wings as they began to act as weights. Jet flames erupted at the soles of your feet to stop your descent, your lungs already asking for oxygen as you extend your palms out to the murky waters beyond. Peace once again settled over the lake.

Before the volcano erupted.

Bright, ethereal light detonated from the centre of your chest, shining through your eyes and mouth. A solar flare blazed from your hands, halos of white hot flame encircling your wrists and ankles as you released whatever ancient being’s fury had pent up in your system. The water around you turned to gas instantly, the surface far, far above you bubbled and fizzed with heat, steam steadily rising from the centre of a starfire lake.

A conflagration seared around your body, completely consumed by the balling inferno you’d created. You thought nothing, letting the creature’s slumbering conscience overrule your human one, setting it free for a few vital seconds. The animosity you felt scared you. It always did. This was never a two way system. Whilst yes, you’d been trained to harness the power, it often became too much for your conscious mind to bear, and you’d killed so many teachers out of pure, untamable madness.

The well of power began to drain, finally. You’d been here longer than you would have been under normal circumstances, despite it only being ten seconds or so. But the longer you kept it going, the harder closing Pandora’s Box would be. You began to rein in the firestorm, the brimstone tornado ceasing its movements as you regained control, the being seemingly satisfied with its release. Making sure you still had enough power to get yourself back to shore, and also dry yourself off, you shut your palms. Like a door closing on an illuminated hallway, the light was extinguished, leaving you with just the subtle, campfire glow of the jet flames at your feet.

Instincts kicking in, you almost inhaled a large breath, before realising that would probably have resulted in your death. Deciding to save breathing for when you reached the shoreline, you angled your body in the direction you came.

Straight up.

You knew you couldn’t fly yet, not with your wings completely drenched, but air would be appreciated, your lungs thanking you as you, broke the surface, gulping in gasp after gasp of oxygen. Seeing your clothes and sheets still by the shore filled you with relief as you sighed, much less agitated by everything now you weren’t on the edge of literally exploding into a small sun.

Your wings dragged against the sand as you trudged out of the water, strands of now darkened hair obscuring your vision as you scooped up the white sheets in your hand to hang them up, making them easier to dry.

Though, there didn’t seem to be much point, especially as you could now see the extent of the damage you’d done in your sleep.

So much for small pinprick holes. As you strung up your duvet cover, you exhaled in defeat. The hole was far too large to cover up, or pass up as moths. You could fit one of Hange’s fucking titans through that.

You briefly wondered how her specimens were doing under the so-called ‘care’ of the scientist as you lazily threw a small lick of flame at the destroyed fabric, watching as it went up in smoke.

Just one more task. After ensuring the surviving sheets were now dry and fairly stain-free, you focused what remained of your power on your dripping body. You shivered slightly as the heat of a warm hearth spread up from your toes, drying your calves and thighs, caressing your stomach and lower back until it reached your collarbones…

And promptly flickered out.

“Are you fucking serious…?” you hissed, staring at your wet hair in dismay. This was so fucking typical. Of course you used just a little too much. Of course you’d released that small spark now preventing you from comfort.

Your own hatred rattled your bones as you begrudgingly pulled on your boots and nightshirt, not caring that the fabric at the back had bundled up around your neck, obstructed by your wings, your bare ass on show for the world to kiss. You ran your fingers through your soaked hair, shaking out the loose beads of water, before bundling up the now dry sheets under your arm. You only realised now you also had no torch for the way back.

“I hate you. So fucking much.” you breathed to the celestial being now slumbering away somewhere inside you. You hoped it’s sleep was restless as you began the long, awkward walk back to the temporary Levi Squad living arrangements, your wings dragging twigs and leaves behind you.

It wasn’t until you neared the glow of the castle did you tuck them back into your back, that wet crackling never failing to make your skin crawl as the skin sealed over, shirt falling to cover the fresh, tender skin as you shook out your hair one more time before tiptoeing back towards the large double doors that you swore you’d shut behind you as you left…

“Midnight stroll?”

You shrieked as a voice crept up from beside you, causing you to jump erratically to the side, twisting to see who the hell wanted a death wish and decided creeping up on you was a good idea.

The urge to snap their neck dissolved ridiculously quickly as you realised you wouldn’t stand a chance even if you tried.

“Please… for the love of the gods… don’t do that. With all due respect, Captain, you scared the shit out of me,” you breathed, bracing a hand against your racing heart to try and calm the panicked thumping. You took a moment to look back to him, a million questions running through your head. “Whaaaaaat are you doing…?” you asked, blinking a couple times to make sure your tired mind wasn’t just conjuring up the image of your captain leaning against the wall with a cup of tea, fully dressed in his uniform, cravat and all.

“Could ask you the same question,” he replied with his teacup hiding the lower half of his face. Your little late night expedition didn’t go unnoticed. Sleep hadn’t welcomed him tonight, and he’d been burdened by his heart clenching at the sound of your faint screams he’d heard from his own room.

“That you could.” you still didn’t exactly know why the fuck you were out in the cold having a surprisingly calm conversation with Levi when you could be back in your bed, cosied up beneath the probably smokey smelling covers and resting after the utter shitshow of your night so far. “Soooooo…” you prompted, awkward impatience dripping from your tone as you strived to look anywhere other than his scrutinising gaze. “...Nice night…” you cringed at your own words, desperate for this very one-sided conversation to be over.

“Where’d you go?”

“The lake.”

“What happened?”

“...I fell.”

You both paused for a beat.

“You… fell?”

“Yep.”

“In the lake?”

“Yep… it’s really dark.”

“Right… A torch may have helped,”

“I dropped it.”

“In the lake?”

“...sure.”

You struggled to keep a straight face, the ridiculousness of the conversation hitting you in the gut.

Little did you know, Levi was struggling to do the same.

“So… you went for a walk… and fell in the lake?” he clarified with a raised brow, masking the amusement in his eyes.

“Pretty much sums it up, yeah.” With all the subtlety of an Abnormal Titan, you attempted to hide the dry sheets behind your back.

Which, in hindsight, was a really stupid idea.

“Just airing out the bed sheets as well?” he asked, the topic of conversation descending into downright anarchy.

“They looked like they needed a walk,” you both knew you were lying at this point, but you’d come too far to turn back now. Besides, Levi seemed to be enjoying himself, which was a rare sight in and of itself. You’d known him long enough to recognise his micro-expressions, and anyone but you and maybe the other vets would have missed the humour in his silver eyes.

“And a swim, by the looks of it,” you disguised your choked laughter with clearing your throat, furrowing your brow to compensate for the grin of a mischievous child knowing she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t that kept tenaciously pulling at your lips. If you hadn’t been so focused on disguising your smile, you would have noticed the fact Levi hadn’t removed the cup from his face, unable to hide his own smirk with his usually steely mask of stoicism.

As much as he wanted to keep the conversation going, he had his own questions to ask. Real questions that, sadly, didn’t involve midnight strolls with large cuts of fabric. His eyes softened slightly with the knowledge of your impending discomfort with his next sentence.

“You were screaming again.”

You sucked in an uncomfortable breath through your teeth, holding it in your lungs in fear that, if you were to exhale, all your secrets would spill with it. Your eyes immediately looked elsewhere, posture straightening with the tensing of your jaw. You hated these conversations. Fucking hated them. Because you knew you had to lie. And not the stupid “I took my bedclothes for a walk” kind of lie.

To anyone else, you didn’t have a problem. You could lie to their face and not bat an eye.

But to Levi? It was a whole different story.

You trusted him implicitly, you had to. And you knew he trusted you. So to constantly twist the truth and spew dishonesty in his face?

Gods you fucking hated it.

“Uh, yeah. I know. Throat hurt when I woke up. Sorry if I disturbed you, Captain.” you kept your sentences short. The tone of the previously jovial conversation had taken a rather stony turn, your voice easing into that statuesque professionalism the two of you adopted when taking on your roles of Captain and Lieutenant. It irked him. It irked him how you would always avoid things like this. He knew you were hurting. He knew you were suffering.

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it because you wouldn’t let him in. Levi was so used to things being the other way around. Usually the tables were flipped, and he was the one to avoid topics of conversation because he hated the thought of ever talking to anyone longer than five minutes.

But with you? It was a whole different story.

He enjoyed talking to you. Actively enjoyed it. He admired your perfect balance of down-to-earth opinions and more dreamlike hopes of a better world. He valued your input when discussing squad tactics, often quick to spot those who worked well together, and those who, if put in a pair, would be thrown in the cells for murder by the end of the day. Though you were a couple years younger than him, you actually had more experience beyond the walls, strangely enough, already being a fully fledged soldier by the time Levi was dragged to join the Scouts. You were there when he’d lost Isabel and Farlan, and though he would often bite the hand that fed him, you were persistent enough to break through a few of his walls. You’d been there, through thick and thin.

And it frustrated him that he couldn’t do the same for you. It frustrated him that you wouldn’t let him do the same for you.

“You didn’t. I wasn’t sleeping,” Levi cursed himself for not being a little more skilled with words. He’d seen you comfort others, and knew you had a catalogue of the right things to say at the right time.

Actually, it was more than that. You had a gift.

“Right. Good.” you nodded once, before horror struck your face. “Wait-no-hold-on not like good as in good you weren’t sleeping good, I meant good as in good that I didn’t disturb you good,” why the fuck were you so flustered all of a sudden. Gods it was like you’d just been caught with all three pairs of wings on full display.

“Good.” you blinked at his one word response, before no longer trying to hide your amusement as you openly chuckled, realising he was making fun of you. You bit your tongue as you visibly relaxed a little, finally returning your gaze to his.

“Good.” you repeated, relishing his soft smirk of a response, before you turned the tides of conversation, brows creasing in suppressed concern. “Why weren’t you sleeping?” you asked gently, hoping he wouldn’t realise your sneaky tactics of avoidance.

Unfortunately, Levi knew you better than anyone else, and had caught on a long time ago. You could give Erwin a run for his money with your conversational skills, but he wasn’t letting this one slide. Not tonight.

“No.”

You tilted your head like a puppy trying to understand a command.

“That… Levi, that wasn’t a yes or no question–”

“You’re not doing this again.”

“Doing what?”

“Avoiding.”

“I’m not avoiding shit, I just asked you a question.”

Honestly, you were becoming a little frustrated now. You just wanted to go to bed for fuck sakes, and here you were still not there. You folded your arms defensively, having to adjust the bedsheets in your grip.

Levi took a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wanted was for both of you to get annoyed and have this turn into another shouting match, waking up the rest of the squad. As well as that titan shifting kid.

“Alright, fine, I’ll go first then. Insomnia’s acting up–” you dropped your arms immediately, feeling guilty for acting like a petulant child.

“What time was your last cup of tea-oh…” your eyes fell to the white porcelain currently grasped in his hand. Instantly your arms found themselves folded again. “Well no wonder you’re not sleeping. You know that shit keeps you awake,” you both knew it was so much more than that. It was the fear that kept him from sleeping. Fear of what he would see. Fear of what his mind’s eye had captured and threatened to replay in his dreams. You both knew that, but it still worried you when he didn’t sleep. Naturally. You sighed. “I think I brought some chamomile leaves with me, let me check my–” you were cut off by Levi sharply calling your name, his expression solidifying into something a little sterner. Your jaw tensed, that subtle ache at the base of your teeth keeping all your focus as you avoided eye contact. Unfortunately, your captain was a man you often struggled to stay no to, so after a lot of internal deliberation, and a small debate, you raised your head, though still avoiding eye contact. “Nightmares.”

It was Levi’s turn to feel guilty. You’d managed to get him to speak to you so often about what kept him from rest, but not once did you ever mention your own. Eyes widening a fraction, he took in your vastly uncomfortable form. Shoulders tense, jaw set, you looked as if you were being scrutinised by the king himself. And Levi hated it. He hated how he did this to you. All he’d ever wanted was for you to feel as comfortable around him as he does around you. But there were moments like these, when he brought a topic up, and you would just shut down. Short sentence answers and clipped tones.

“I’m sorry. Do you want to talk about them?” it was the best he could come up with in the time he’d given himself to respond. Any longer and this whole interaction would have become a lot more awkward. But apparently, he couldn’t have chosen a worse thing to say. Your head snapped back to look him in the eye, defense and aggression swirling in your deep irises. Levi could have sworn he saw the embodiment of fire in your eyes, but maybe that was just the lighting.

“No. Not particularly. I would actually like to go back to bed, if that’s alright with you.” you sure as hell weren’t looking for permission, but guilt speared your soul at the way you spoke to him. It was a reflex. A defense mechanism. Probably placed by the ancient celestial being now watching this interaction with a smug smirk on it’s stupid fucking face. You watched as Levi released a breath in defeat, acknowledging the fact that pursuing this conversation further would simply lead to you shutting him out completely.

“Fine. Do what you like,” he shrugged, once again bringing his tea to his lips so he didn’t have to watch you walk past him, back towards the doors. Though he was surprised when you stopped just short of the warm glow.

“Levi?”

“Mm?”

“I hope you get some sleep tonight,” you really are in a whirlwind of moods tonight. One second you were matching his quick witted banter, the next you seemed to want him dead, and now he found his chest constricting painfully at the way your brows pinched in empathetic concern.

“Yeah. You too,” there was always this specific way Levi said your name in these more tender moments. You don’t know whether you were always hearing things, but he said it so softly, so gently, that you would never help but smile in return. And Levi had just enough time to catch that smile before your head dipped into the light and you disappeared back inside, leaving him to his thoughts. First and foremost being one he needed to erase. Immediately. Because there was now no way he could sleep with the image of you in nothing but a long button up and military boots still burned in his brain. But his second thought was a little more concerning, because Levi knew from experience; sweat from nightmares doesn’t stain red.

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allandoflimbo · 3 years

Text

Ashens (Part 24)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,700

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy and angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Waging wars to shake the poet and the beat

I hope it's gonna make you notice

“…I’m in the military, sir…”

“…James, that’s my father, okay? If anything, let’s just be glad he didn’t kill you. He’s like that with everyone…And the soldier thing, he’s weird about that. I’m not sure why…”

Bucky lies awake in bed, fluffy pillow behind his head and one leg peeking out from the blankets, as random memories knack away at his brain in pulses. They weren’t new memories, but they were memories that he never looked at the way he was now.

He doesn’t know why now, he doesn’t know what triggered it, but they were clicking together.

After years of replaying the same moments in his head, there was a nagging feeling that was telling him that there was something not adding up.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s seeing things differently, if he’s feeling things differently.

Whatever it was, he knew there was something…off.

There was something off about Daisy’s story about her dad’s story, something was off about the way he was against Bucky fighting in the military, and her death was coinciding so much with his capture.

He doesn’t like the feeling in his stomach as he remembers.

When Bucky asked about her brother and what that whole commotion back at the club was she was blatantly honest with him.

“My father’s not a good guy. He’s been wanting some something from one of these performers that was suppose to be there last night, but turns out they weren’t even on the set list. He had lied about it, we don’t know where he is.”

Bucky raises a brow at this, “You do his dirty work for him?”

“No, I don’t like to get involved in that. It’s a dangerous lifestyle. I have to think about my future family. I was only there yesterday because my brother wanted to get me out of the house for once.”

Bucky isn’t too gleam on the fact that her family are borderline criminals and that she basically supports it, and for a fraction of a second he almost doesn’t buy it, but he decides to mention this later on, not wanting to ruin their moment.

Bucky shifts his leg as he continues to remember that conversation. Why was he not against it? Why did he never question the crimes? Was he that distracted by her?

Bucky smiles at her comment, but then his brows furrowed together in an adorable way that made Daisy giggle and bring her hand to his cheek, “What is it, James?”

What is it, James?

Bucky looks over to see you laying next to him, sat up with your back against the headboard reading some book with a beige cover.

You hadn’t taken notice of his self discomfort yet, emerged in your reading, tucking your bottom lip into your mouth.

Why was he remembering all of this now? Why was he feeling sick?

When they pulled away she slowly dragged her thumb across his plump bottom lip. He watched her like she was the most gorgeous and interesting thing on the planet.

“James?” He responded with a sound on confirmation and she continued, “do you think we are moving too fast?”

He grabbed her hand that was on his face and for a fraction of a moment she thought that that was it, they were over. This was clearly too unrealistic. But instead he brought her hand up over both his lips and he kissed her gingerly.

“Yes.” He whispered behind her hand, making sure he was making direct eye contact with her.

Her face dropped. “Yes?” Her voice was worried, cautious.

He started trailing kisses down her hand, her wrist, her forearms. He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck making her groan.

It wasn’t that Daisy didn’t like being pampered but she wanted to take this very seriously. With a reluctant sigh - because what he was doing to her flesh just felt so good - she delicately removes her arm from Bucky’s grasp. He narrowed his eyes as she moved away towards the head board, suddenly wondering if maybe he said the wrong thing.

Her eyes trickled his features and down his perfect little nose.

“I knew it since the moment I laid my eyes on you. That’s how you know it’s real. This isn’t crazy, it’s ludicrous. But it works for us. I want to be with you.”

After his little speech Daisy looked him dead in the eye, not batting one lash.

“Then come have dinner with my family.”

Was it too fast? He had barely known her and she was asking him to meet her family. Criminals.

But why would she give away such dire information if it were true?

Bucky sat up slowly, as if if he were to move too quickly, the bed would collapse underneath him.

His eyes had a far away look in him, and he was as pale as he felt.

You feel him shift and your eyes flicker up to him.

You frown.

Her blue eyes glisten with gentle tears, probably thinking the same exact thing. None of it still feels real.

Her, she, doesn’t feel real.

They spent nearly every night together just talking about what Bucky would do when he came back home after camp. Things like how they would have to go see the stars on the back of an outskirts farmhouse, how they would have to go to every club in the city and laugh their night away, how he would take her to coney island with him and Steve and show her a “good time” on the ferris wheel, and how they would definitely have to meet her family.

“They’re great, you’ll love them.” She had said as they laid in bed together just hours before, merely cuddling with clothes on.

“Oh, come on doll, even your Dad?”

Daisy hesitated for a moment and her hand that was rubbing his chest stopped suddenly.

Bucky noted this and they met eyes.

Bucky feels his heart palpitate and he opens and closes his right hand, sitting up.

“Bucky, what’s wrong?” You ask softly, closing your book.

“Dad has been gone for four weeks and I don’t know why. Jimmy has gone with him- it’s just me and mother. I overheard her saying something about Germany but I’m not quite sure.. Or maybe it was something else. Though none of that matters to me, James- I want you. Please come home to me.”

For some reason, a chill ran down his back as he reread the words “something about Germany”.

Like an awful memory that has never happened, he sees a child in front of him. It was a little girl and she screamed in agony for mercy. She was getting strangled to death by his own hand, a silver glint caught his eye-

“James!”

“Bucky.”

Your voice pulls him out of his trance for just a moment.

He looks up to you, your eyes interlacing in a silent conversation of understanding.

He was revealing something to himself and you could tell that whatever that was it was leaving him overcome by feelings.

At the end of the day, he knows that he’s just insanely protective of Steve. Which is why his arm instinctively goes around him when Rogers almost gets hit by a speeding vehicle that abruptly stops to halt in front of them on the curb. With his mind far away, he hadn’t realized they were already standing on the sidewalk in front of one bright sign labeled Cotton Club.

Had Bucky known better, he would’ve had him on his left.

After that introduction, the two boys look over to the object that almost killed them.

It was pure black, the countless lights coming from the surrounding buildings and cars bouncing off its surface. The rain must’ve made it even shinier, the lights made a reflection so bright that it had everyone staring. Men looked in awe and a young paper boy, standing on the corner working over time, wondered if that would someday be his future.

With a look of disgust, Steve was repulsed by the obscurity of the man’s driving having nearly hit him. He wondered why people had no respect and he desperately wanted to punch his face in. Either that or give him a pep talk about general safety.

“What a twit.” He snarls, dusting off his small suspenders and kicking the invisible debris off his lapels.

Bucky’s face held something different. It explained why the woman staring had looked on in pure jealousy. He stared forward completely emotionless. He was neither annoyed at the fact that he almost just got run over and killed and nor in obsession over the Duesenberg J.

It was the beautiful goddess emerging from the passenger seat that caught his full attention.

On her left hand was a pearl and diamond bracelet and she used it to skim over the top of the priceless car door for leverage to push herself gracefully up from the leather seat. Her other hand was wrapped up in a prestige white glove. It held onto the hem of her silver sparkling gown, a long white cigar between her digits. Her gorgeous dress looked heavy, you could tell it was so properly made and expensive because it must’ve weighed as much as her petite self. The reason being that it hugged her body at just the perfect places, showing off her curves gracefully.

Her perfect blonde hair was pulled slick back by a diamond hair clip to the side in huge voluminous waves. The dress showed just enough back, the material dipping down towards the floor, the dip ending just above her bottom. The entire thing was held by two tiny silver straps on her shoulders.

In a sentimental Mood by Duke Ellington seemed to have played perfectly in sync with the exact moment she shut the door behind her. She looked up to read the sign, her perfect profile looking up in awe.

Bucky stands up from the bed, back rigid and face hard with anger.

No.

It couldn’t be.

He swallows thickly, gaze going towards you again.

He doesn’t know why he keeps looking at you.

Ironically, beneath his anger and betrayal, he also began to feel embarrassment.

He’s momentarily startled out of his trance when he feels a small hand grab his elbow. He looks down and his eyes meet a small concerned Steve. Well, to be fairly honestly, he looked more pissed than concerned.

Bucky doesn’t feel the patience to deal with talking anything out, he’s too busy thinking about Daisy. But he feels like he should at least say something so he can get everyone off his back, “What is it?”

Steve looks at him likes he’s crazy and then manically gestures towards the entrance of the club, probably pointing to where Daisy just left through.

“Bucky, what the heck was that? Who was that? You know her?”

“I didn’t know her. No.” Bucky doesn’t realize he’s saying it out loud.

He’s shaking his head to himself, mumbling.

“Bucky, who are you talking to?” You’re growing even more concerned by the second now.

The silence was broken by his strong voice.

“You’re real.”

She smiles in a way that makes him smile too. It was contagious and bright. He caresses her skin one more time.

He felt her own hand come over his and she whispers, “I’m real.”

“Not real.”

You are more than concerned at this point.

“What are you talking about?”

“Maybe it was the fact that my body had finally developed into a women’s body. My breasts were now fully perked and my legs were long and porcelain gorgeous; all I knew was they figured I could be put to good use.”

He shook his head and Bucky blinked away heavy tears.“I-“

The pretty woman rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, revealing a long slit that ran up her dress. It was just enough skin for Bucky’s hand to get sweaty.

He waited until the perfect opportunity when the man had walked towards the direction of the stage, making his way into the back behind the curtain.

“It wasn’t real.”

“You do his dirty work for him?”

“It wasn’t real.”

“My father’s not a good guy.”

Bucky remembers them poking him with IV drops and then sticking his head in a blender. His owns screams fill his head. It was so painful.

“Reason unknown, ongoing investigation"

“I wasn’t going to let you keep her. She enticed you. She won you. It was always supposed to be you.”

“…blonde 21 year old was found shot…”

“Daisy,” he whispered. He traced her features with his hand, and just like that the fear escaped his eyes, and instead of scared he was now feeling complete love and he was ready because knew this is what he wanted forever. He wanted her, “Will you marry me?”

“…Her family has been under investigation after her father’s disappearance —…”

“But you jeopardized it, Soldat. It wasn’t real.”

The memories are sucked out of him like a vacuum and his dark eyes meet yours, again, across the bed.

You had never seen his pupils so blown before.

You were terrified.

Your eyes go down to his flesh hand that is twitching against his thigh.

“Bucky.” You say cautiously, one more time. It was almost like you were afraid to get closer to him.

“I—“ his voice was hoarse.

He looks away and clears his throat. He blinks away the heavy daze, allowing it all to sink in until it settles in his stomach in a surprising pool of acceptance.

He sees you again and for some reason he feels okay.

It scares him.

It scared him how you took something that had been bothering him for so long, away that quickly.

In that moment he knows.

“I remembered something.” Your eyebrows came together suddenly. Nearly moments ago he looked heartbroken but now he just looked shocked and angry.

“What did you remember? I thought you had your memories back. In Wakanda.”

“I-I did,” he squeaks out running a hand through his hair, “maybe I’m just remembering differently, or adding pieces together, I don’t know, I can’t tell. It has to be, because it makes sense. It makes so much sense now, and I can’t—and she—”

“Bucky you’re rambling,” he stops and you continue to look at each other. His face drops all traces of anger and it softens, “Talk to me, I’m right here.” You whisper.

Bucky looks down at you and nods. No hesitancy.

“Give me your hands.” You say, reaching for him. He doesn’t hold back from doing so, and once you have his hands in yours, you pull him up onto the bed so he’s kneeling on it next to you.

Bucky takes a few minutes to compose himself before he says it:

“I think Daisy and her family were Hydra.” He says it like he’s afraid of his own words.

As if every word in that phrase was a curse word.

Somehow, it relieves him.

His chest feels light, shoulders worn. He can breathe.

+ + +

“I should’ve known it was too fast. Too perfect,” you’re also stunned as he tells you everything, his hands still in yours, “but—but I don’t think she was always hydra. I think she wanted out when I was captured and they killed her for it.”

You don’t deny it, that hurts. Despite never knowing the girl and secretly holding envy for her, it pains you.

“Oh, Bucky.”

He shakes his head, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But it was a lie. She enticed me, she fucking—“ Bucky sucks in a deep breath, “she was trying to lure me in. There was nothing real about it.” He says the word like it’s venom on his lips.

You feel him rub his thumb over the back of your hand.

“You don’t know that -”

He shakes his head again, “She was Hydra!” He doesn’t say it angrily as much as he says it in a way to announce it to himself.

He needed to say it out loud. He needed to let it sink in.

You watch Bucky as he becomes completely numb, and somehow free, in front of you.

For some reason you expected more heartbreak from him for discovering something so horrible about a woman he claimed he loved so much, a woman he wanted to marry, but instead all you got from him was anger and acceptance.

Little did you know, Bucky was in the same boat as you.

Why wasn’t he as heat shattered as he’d expect?

“I-“ he’s speechless as he looks around, trying to find something, but he does’t know what.

You think you’re more shocked than him and you quickly grab his arm, bringing him against you for a tight hug.

He hugs you back immediately, hand running up your shoulder blade and onto the back of your hair.

Minutes pass by. Many minutes.

“It was all a lie,” he whispers still holding onto. you, “All of it. I really was alone. I thought I finally had someone, but—It wasn’t real.”

You don’t know what to say as you run your hand up the back of his head.

It’s not until you pull him in tighter that he realizes it.

It was you.

You were there reason this didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. His heart no longer wanted to be with someone who was long gone.

It wanted to stay here.

Here.

He never thought he would ever feel this way ever again, and he never thought he would trust this hard ever again.

Realizing truth relived him of buried pain, and he wanted you to keep holding him, to keep helping him go through this.

He says your name softly.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk about everything.”

You stiffen for a moment as you let his words sink in. You weren’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“What are you talking about?” You ask.

“All of it. Everything that I did. I need to get it out, I can’t keep doing this, holding it in, keeping it inside —”

The euphoria through your blood is addicting.

“Tell me.”

He loved slow dancing.

He loved the Yankees.

He loved math and Howard Stark.

He went to the Stark Expo every year.

He loved The Hobbit and he loved jazz.

He loved New York City.

He loved Brooklyn the most.

He misses flat hats.

He loved telling jokes.

His mother died when he was young.

His sister was taken away from him.

He cried when he couldn’t see her.

His father died not too long after.

He never enlisted despite his love for the military.

He was drafted.

He experienced World War II but on the enemy side.

He fought with Hitler’s and Hydra’s men.

He was loved by the KGB.

He loved Prague.

He trained the girls in the red room.

He remembers every young girl.

He was told to kill four kids on a mission once in Bucharest.

He was tormented, beaten raw, and kept in a concrete cell between cryo periods.

He was only occasionally fed, most years spent asleep.

He was treated like an animal. They tied him to the wall once in the cell, with a chain around his neck.

He was brain washed.

He was sexually assaulted by Hydra.

He doesn’t remember if he was raped, which could be his brain’s way of protecting himself from more trauma.

He reminds you that loved Howard Stark.

He killed Howard Stark.

He killed Maria Stark.

He was the one that stole the super soldier serum from the Stark’s and provided it to Hydra.

He was the fist of Hydra.

He killed many other good men. Over two dozen assassinations.

He killed JFK.

He never wanted to do any of it.

He remembers all of it.

They named him a hero on the Wall of Valor before S.H.I.E.L.D fell.

He was taken into Wakanda, freed of his trigger words.

He still loved New York City.

He was pardon him, despite everything.

They named him an Avenger.

He remembers it all.

You’re laying down facing each other and you continue to watch him as he tells you everything.

It’s one of the most surreal experiences of your life and you find yourself in total awe.

This was the Bucky Barnes you had been longing to see. This was the man you knew was hidden beneath layers of hurt and anger.

You had seen it before he even told you.

The fact that he even trusted you enough to be this transparent with you is what makes you so happy.

His eyes brightened as he played with a string on the blanket between you.

“And Friends,” his voice is small and there’s a little smile on his mouth. Your heart swells as you watch it, “I love Friends.”

You bite your tongue as you smile.

Bucky stared at you, just as amazed at himself as he was at you. He couldn’t believe he told it all to you.

It was as if Daisy’s image had begun to dissolve and he was finally seeing clearly.

He didn’t hate you. He never hated you.

His fingers peak out slowly to take a hold of your pinky.

It was the opposite. He wanted you.

He feels himself breaking when you pull away from his touch. His smile falls.

“I’m proud of you,” you say quietly, sitting up again, “For finally talking about it.” You mean it, “Thank you.”

It takes him a few seconds to eventually look away and he turns onto his back. Bucky drapes an arm over his stomach, letting out a long breath of contentment.

He felt free.

To do what?

He looks over at you again as you pull your book back out.

This. This is what freedom got him. You.

But it you weren’t his. He clears his throat.

“How are things with your boyfriend?”

You don’t like talking about Pietro with Bucky.

“It’s fine,” you answer anyway, “We only had one date. And I got sick, so hopefully the next one will be better.”

Bucky swallows thickly. Why was he feeling like this? He should be happy for you. You wanted this. You deserved this.

“What do you plan to do when it’s time for us both to leave and go back?” He asks.

You don’t miss the way he mentions both of you to leave and your eyes quickly flicker to him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say hoarsely, filled with unexpected relief.

+ + +

Bucky doesn’t remember experiencing this kind of happiness since he was nineteen and him and Steve went to go see a baseball game after scoring a date with two pretty girls on the F train.

He’s happy.

Ashen peaks up at him from behind dark lashes, smiling so hard his eyes peak up at the side, turning them into thin slits. Bucky’s aren’t too far off as he mimics the boy’s laughter.

“Connect four?” Bucky asks, chuckling.

“Yeah, you’ve gotta try it. It’s so fun.” The Ashens says happily, pulling out the little game from underneath his bed. Bucky wants to ask him why he has it hidden, but he doesn’t. He just reminds him that they need to stay quiet, “plus, it’s the only game I have anyway. But it’s fun Mr. Bucky.”

“Haha, alright lets try it.” Bucky says.

They sit across from each other on the floor, setting up the little game and dividing their colored chips. Ashen’s goes first, dropping in a yellow one.

Bucky picks up a red one with his flesh hand and drops it right next to the yellow. They continue for a bit until Ashens notices Bucky isn’t connecting his colors.

“No, you have to try to get a straight line and connect it!” He laughs, “you suck at this."

“Oh, no! What did I do?” Bucky exclaims, laughing.

“You’re not very smart for an Avenger.” Ashens remarks.

“Okay,” Bucky points at him playfully, smiling, “That’s mean.”

“I’m sorry but it is true.”

“Cut me some slack.” Bucky says, smiling.

They play for a little longer until Ashens ends up beating him.

Bucky sticks his tongue out at the boy, but smiles. He eventually caught on to the game and let him win. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Mr. Bucky,” Ashen says after he slides the game back under his head. He brings his legs up to his chest and hugs them, "Will you tell me now why you are here to save me?”

Bucky licks his lip and sighs. He looks out Ashens' high rise window and then back to him again. “Not yet.”

“Should I be afraid.”

“No. I won’t let anything happen you. I promise.”

Ashens doesn’t say anything as he lets his Mike Wazowski slippers hit each other.

“Do you have any kids? Like my age?”

The question surprises Bucky, and for a moment a feeling of longing hits him. “No. I don’t.”

“Aww okay.”

Bucky stares at Ashens little sad face and his heart breaks.

“I always wanted to, though,” Bucky whispers, “But that was years ago.”

“When you were in world war one?”

Bucky smiles.

“Two, not one, but yeah,” it’s not a lie, Bucky knows that if his loved would’ve went a different way, he would have definitely had kids. To know he could never go back to such simplicity broke his heart, “Something like that.”

There was something, that even so many months later, still bothered Bucky. It was something so small, and it probably didn’t really affect you as much as it affected him, but it was something you said to him.

It was one of your many fights and the way you had spatted at him about buying you plan B after you had sex.

He didn’t want to burden you. What you two had done had been irresponsible. An atmosphere like this was no place and time for an unwanted baby.

You weren’t ready for one, let alone his.

At the time, it wasn’t that he wouldn’t want the baby, if you were to have gotten pregnant, he would have loved that child with everything. He was thinking about you.

He hated to think that he gave you that pill as a gesture to say that he wanted nothing to do with you.

If so, you were wrong.

He wanted you to be happy, just smart.

He cared about you.

And now, possibly more.

As he continues to watch Ashens giggling over his slippers, that feeling of longing washes over Bucky again.

He knows he needs to tell you.

+ + +

You still weren’t feeling well. Maybe it was your nerves. The end of the mission was getting closer by each day and you never expected you’d have to leave with a little kid. You still hadn’t met Ashens, but Bucky says he’s a delight.

Ashens has changed him. You took notice immediately and it made you happy. This whole experience would be good for him.

After Bucky had poured out his heart to you, you knew you needed to get away again. That was the dance now. You get pulled, you take a step back. You couldn’t let yourself go there anymore, no matter how hard it was.

Pietro would be the driving force to help you.

You just wish Bucky would stop doing things that he probably realized he wasn’t even doing. The way he touches your face and your hand, or some times the way he looks at you, was not appropriate for two fuck buddies who stopped…fucking.

You were still convinced that he wanted you two to go your separate ways at the end of this mission. Him indirectly saying he was going to walk out with you made you happy, it could’ve been Ashens that helped him have a change of heart, whatever it was, this thing between you had to dissolve anyway.

You couldn’t keep doing that to himself, even when he would blur your lines.

You really wished he would stop doing that.

That night you after the ball, you were almost sure that he was developing feelings for you - finally - it’s why you tried to get him to finally tell you why the kiss bothered him.

Bucky never told you the truth, and you were too tired to keep digging.

You were glad that was the last time.

It was over. All of it was over.

Your stomach churns again and you decide to make yourself some tea and head to bed.

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cj-sparkss · 3 years

Note

jean + 19 pls

are you still watching that? -

physical affection event

masterlists

physical affection event | prompt 19 (peppering their face in kisses)

“are you still watching that show?” jean appears in the doorway leading to the living room, where you are currently watching your favorite show, one that you’ve been binging for the whole day so far.

you reach for the remote that’s on the table, grasping it in your hands and pointing it towards the tv in front of you, pressing on the pause button. the show you are watching temporarily stops, as you look to the side where jean is speaking from.

he’s standing tall in the doorway, clad in grey sweatpants hanging from his waist, a large black hoodie, with his hands stuffed in his front pockets. he’s carrying a bored expression, or maybe irritated, as he looks at you, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch.

you slightly smile, nodding your head, “yup. it’s super good.”

he sighs, striding towards you. “you’ve been watching it all day, though.” he moves so that he’s standing behind you on the other side of the couch, wrapping his strong arms around your shoulders, pressing a soft and lingering kiss to your temple.

you smile, turning your head to give him a kiss on his cheek in return. “i know, but i’m almost done. just a few more episodes.” you reach for the tv remote again, pressing the pause button once more to resume the show.

“or, you can just take a break…” he squeezes you tighter, pressing more soft kisses to the side of your face, rubbing his stubble on your cheeks, causing you to giggle as you squirm away.

“no can do.” you focus your gaze back on the tv, watching as your favorite character appears. “why don’t you just watch it with me?” you ask.

“fine.” he grumbles, removing his arms from your shoulders, muttering something under his breath.

you chuckle, tracking his movement as he childishly makes his way over to your side of the couch.

he sits on the other side of the couch, taking a throw pillow and holding it in his arms, close to his chest. you go back to watching to your show, raising the volume of the tv.

jean isn’t even paying attention to the screen, instead, he looks to the side where you are sitting, observing your different reactions. he watches as you ‘ooh!’ and ‘ahh!’’ at the different scenes, chuckling at the funny parts that come up.

he watches your eyes gleam and sparkle when your favorite character shows up, how you pout when a minor inconvenience comes up, how you shine your dazzling smile when something you love happens that makes you happy.

he pouts to himself, wishing that all your attention was on him instead, grumbling to himself about how you’re noticing your favorite character more than him.

apparently, a really funny scene comes on, and your laugh rings through the living room, bringing life to the apartment like usual.

jean watches you laugh, and sighs when it’s not because of him. deciding to leave you to watch your show, he puts the throw pillow to the side, pushing his body of off the couch to make his exit, but your voice stops him.

“jean? what are you doing?” you ask, carefully watching as he stands up.

he doesn’t answer, instead, crosses his arms over his chest, dramatically looking to the other side of the room.

“did you not like it?”

“no — well, yes, but i’m kind of tired of hearing you ramble on about how hot this ‘gojo’ is. i bet i’m hotter…” he mumbles the last part under his breath, but it was still loud enough for you to hear, and that’s when it clicks.

“baby…” you deviously smile, finally turning off the tv. “is someone jealous?” your voice is teasing, and jean knows that you’re amused.

“no... just you’ve been watching it all day, and, well you haven’t been giving me any attention,” he mumbles, a light pink blush covering his cheeks as he side-eyes you.

“awww, baby, come here.” you open your arms wide, making grabby hands at him to come to you.

jean rolls his eyes at you, letting his arms fall to the sides of his body. sighing, he makes his way over to you, a tiny relieved smile on his face.

he lays down on the couch, resting his legs over the arms, setting his head on your lap, his hair sprawling all over your thighs.

smiling sweetly at him, you gently grab both sides of his face, cupping his cheeks with your hands. “i’m sorry for not paying attention to you, baby,” you apologize.

“yeah, it’s okay…”

you lean down, pressing a soft and short kiss to his nose, before moving to the corners of his mouth, watching as he hums slightly in content and his eyes flutter closed, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

you kiss both of his eyelids and under, stringing down to his jawline, kissing along the sharp structure, feeling his stubble on your lips.

you being to then kiss all over his face, letting your mouth touch every single part, not leaving any piece of skin untouched. jean laughs joyously as you do this, squirming under your hold as you kiss every inch of his face, peppering him in sweet kisses.

finally stopping, you move to his lips, attaching your own to his.

he kisses you back passionately, now cupping your own face with his large hands, eagerly pulling you down to his lips. he smiles into the kiss, and you can feel the curve of his lips against your own, causing you to smile as well.

pulling back for a chance to breathe, you admire him, watching him breathe softly through parted pink lips, slightly swollen from the kiss, his eyes still closed in bliss.

he’s oh so thankful for these moments that the two of you share together, he’s never felt more happy.

you run a hand through his beautiful and soft hair, slightly scratching at his scalp with your nails.

jean opens his eyes, revealing gorgeous amber eyes, as he looks up at you through thick eyelashes. “i love you, angel.”

he smiles sweetly at you, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your skin, eyes twinkling.

“i love you too.” you smile back, pecking his lips once more before speaking. “gojo is pretty hot, though.”

“dammit, baby.”

“but you’re hotter!!”

#jean #jean kirstein #jean kirschtein #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean aot #aot jean #jean attack on titan #attack on titan jean #jean fluff #aot x reader #attack on titan #aot #jean snk #snk #snk x reader #jean kirstein physical affection event #physical affection event

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bffsoobin · 3 years

Text

➤ soobin x reader, fluff, very slight angst, idiot best friends oblivious to their mutual pining

↳ prompt 33: “Are you SURE I can’t punch him in the face?” “Yes.” “What if I just break his nose a little?

requested?: yes

warnings: swearing, mentions of small injury

A/N: I’m sorry if you were expecting more explicit romance but I feel like this prompt worked better as a mutual pining idiots plot. Also apologies if this is lack luster, it’s been a few months since I wrote anything non-academic!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

You huddle underneath your comically large black umbrella as sheets of torrential rain pound down on it, washing across the pavement below your feet as if following the tide of the ocean. Your sneakers are soaked, squeaking pathetically as you shift your weight from foot to foot and grimace at the feeling of your socks soggy between your toes. Normally you would have been huddled in your dorm room, working on homework from the morning’s classes or watching reruns of Catfish just to grumble about how stupid a person could be.

But your best friend had texted you with a code blue, so you found yourself in the back parking lot of the campus library, enduring the rain that could only mean Noah’s Arc was due to float by any second. Wind whips your hair into your face cruelly and temporarily blinds you, as if mocking you for daring to brave the storm. You can do little more than scrunch your face oddly and shake your head from side to side in a desperate bid to get the locks away from you since there was no way in hell you were taking a hand off of your umbrella just to push your hair back. A car peels into the parking lot just as you clear your vision. It’s a humble silver sedan, a Hyundai of almost 20 years old, with streaks of rust on the back bumper and a sun-faded license plate. Even in the rain you can make out the litany of decals covering the back end, especially your favorite which boasts the term “MILF: Man I Love Frogs” in bold green letters.

There’s no hesitation in your step as you slosh through the rain to yank at the passenger’s side door, jiggling it several times until the telltale click of the unlock allows you to heave it open fully. Suddenly worried about the state of the car-which is littered with coffee cups, extra clothing, loose notebooks and sheet music and fast food receipts- you shake the umbrella off outside of the car before snapping it shut and closing the door. Beside you Soobin laughs, short and low.

“Thanks for shaking off your umbrella. Really counteracts the gallons of water your brought in with your shoes and pants.” He glances pointedly at where your feet soak the tan carpet into a dark brown and you bristle.

“Thanks for calling a code blue in the middle of a rainstorm. I wouldn’t have fucked your car up if you didn’t have an emergency.” Your voice softens at the reminder of why you’re here, and you finally turn to face him better after you buckle up. He’s devastatingly handsome, as always, but you feel your heart stutter at the fact that he’s wearing the hoodie you bought him for Christmas, the one he had almost slapped you for spending so much money on. It’s slightly damp from the rain and it casts his face in shadows along with the shitty weather and for once you hate the way it looks on him. He drives without asking, already knowing exactly where he wanted to go to talk out whatever had happened.

“I wouldn’t call it a total emergency,” he begins as Spotify takes a few seconds to switch between songs. “Just something I needed you to be in the loop for ASAP.” He looks your way again, eyes calculating for a few moments before the light turns green and he’s making the all too familiar right turn into the tasty and underrated diner that you discovered as freshmen. The rain has not slowed at all and the two of you run into the building to avoiding getting too wet, although your feet squelch with renewed vigor on the red and white tiled floor.

The lighting is much better at your favorite table, and after you place your order you’re able to finally get a good look at Soobin. His soft eyes are rimmed red and puffy, and you can’t tell if it’s the weather, the lack of sleep or his persistent allergies that are the cause. Maybe all three, or maybe something new entirely. He’s staring back at you just as clearly, studying your own face and mannerisms even though it had been years since anything about him was new to you. Of course, other than the day he casually pulled you into his chest and you realized just how tall and broad and handsome he had become.

The thought leaves as scarily quick as it enters, as Soobin turns his face to smile up at the waitress delivering drinks and you catch a glimpse of reddened, mottled looking skin just beneath the seam of the hood. As soon as the waitress retreats you lean across the rickety table and paw at the cotton. Soobin puts up almost no fight, knowing he’s about to lose a battle that hadn’t even begun. The delicate skin of his cheek is alarmingly bright red and looks angry to the touch. Bruises had already begun to form around the outer ring of the graze and your heart clenches when you realize that what you first thought was a circular bruise looks suspiciously similar to a fist. A symphony of anger and concern rise within your chest and your eyes prickle with tears that you know Soobin will wipe away for you if you let them fall.

“What-” you swallow, saliva suddenly feeling like it’s made of cotton, “Who did that?”

He smiles shyly, ducking away from your touch but you gently grab at his cheek, keeping him from moving too far. His eyes bore into yours, flicking down to your lips before bringing them back up. Slowly, as if scared to spook you, he encloses his palm around your wrist.

“Promise you won’t yell and disturb everyone else that’s eating?” You nod eagerly even though both you and Soobin know that it was a promise likely to be broken. His hand, steady and radiating warmth into the skin of your wrist tugs tighter, hooking on to you like a life line.

“That asshole Braden. I was passing him in the lobby of the math building and he was talking to his friends about how-” Soobin stops to swallow an invisible lump in his throat- “how he worked with you on some project and he kept talking about how stupid you were the whole time.”

Your face twists into a grimace at the reminder of that exact project and then the image of Braden, tall and wide with an angry round face; but then a laugh bubbled from the depths of your chest.

“To be fair, I was useless for that project. It was film class and it was about that stupid French movie I didn’t watch. So he’s not technically wrong.” Soobin’s frown twitched and then, to your surprise, deepened. Heart dropping at the sight, you felt a chill creep up the back of your neck. For as long as you’d known him, there was always a good chance that a well timed joke could curb his anger or sadness or frustration.

“It wasn’t that that got me, well, this. After he said that, he said that even though you were stupid he wouldn’t mind seeing you on your knees.” You sucked in a simultaneous breath with Soobin, whose moody look finally transfered to you. It made too much sense now; why your joke hadn’t shifted his mood, why he was so vague about why he needed to talk to you, why he had that bruise. Your heart races as you begin to imagine how the skin will turn deep purples and greens, going sickly yellow around the edges. “It just pissed me off so bad. So I yelled at him and he squared up with me and before I knew it I was on the floor.”

To be honest, you were angrier that Soobin had come out of the altercation hurt than anything. You were used to the comments, the snide bullshit that falls from the mouths of your less kind peers.

“I’m going to kill him.” Soobin laughs, finally, as you clench your fingers into a tight fist around your innocent glass of strawberry lemonade.

“No, you’re not. I’m fine.” He finally removes the hood from his head, and if it weren’t for the bruise- which you now could see spread almost all the way to his ear- you would have been more interested in the fact that his shaggy hair had gotten even longer since the last time you’d seen it this close. You open your mouth to protest just as the waitress approaches again, this time balancing two hot plates of food on her arms. You flash her a sweet smile at the same time she notices the state of Soobin’s face and squints. She doesn’t say anything, though, and leaves almost as quickly as she showed up.

“Are you sure I can’t punch him in the face?” You ask as soon as she’s out of earshot.

“Yes.” Soobin playfully scowls at you around a mouthful of french fries. Your heart skips at the adorable way his eyebrows knit and his dimples press deeper into his cheeks. Despite yourself, you smile, feeling the tension in the air dissipate around the pair of you. Soobin gestures loosely to the plate in front of you, wordlessly encouraging you to eat.

The pancakes you ordered are just as delicious as you remember them to be every time; fluffy and syrupy with just enough butter. Halfway through a chew, a new idea pops in your head and you struggle to keep chunks of batter from spewing onto the table as you speak.

“What if I just break his nose a little?”

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