#3400 words

[muirmarie]

[tw: suicidal thoughts, terminal illness, mentions of vomiting]

somehow 3400 words of accidental story???? may edit/rewrite a little and throw up on ao3 idk, but it stands as-is. vaguely mcspirk.

________

my father was a betting man

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for the world is hollow and i have touched the sky where starfleet sends a cmo replacement before they go to yonada, and mccoy - mccoy goes back home. where else is he going to go? kirk and spock are throwing him away, aren't they - he'd asked jim to let him stay, but instead he'd - well. it doesn't matter.

he goes home. he goes home to joanna. she's sixteen years old. younger than he was when his father -

he goes home to joanna, and he counts out his months, and he makes a plan for how he's going to put the period on his life, because he's not going to put her through what he went through. he's not going to let her watch him die. he's not going to beg her -

well, it doesn't matter, does it.

he looks in the mirror in the mornings, and he sees his father's face, and he looks at her blue eyes and he wonders if he was ever that young. wonders -

he doesn't reply to any messages from kirk and spock, but he keeps in sporadic contact with uhura and scotty. he doesn't ask them not to pass anything along - he won't do that to them - so he just doesn't tell them anything true. never asks them anything real.

it's just, he thinks. he killed his father, after all. it's just and it's fitting that he goes out like this. but he won't let joanna -

she wants to move in with him and take care of him, and he won't let her. he won't let jocelyn be the bad guy, either, even though she'd let him, he knows. she'd let him tell joanna that jocelyn wouldn't let her. they haven't loved each other in years, but she was there when his dad -

jocelyn would let him, if he asked. he doesn't ask. it's his fault.

he won't let joanna take him to the doctor, won't let her pick up his medications, won't let her stay over in case she hears him throwing up at 3am again, won't let her help with all the sundries that come up when you're slowly wasting away.

he knows she wants to help, knows what he's doing isn't fair, either, but what is fairness when it comes to families? what is fairness when it comes to the memories and the regrets and the forked paths you can never, ever backtrack to.

why did you even come home, she asks, if you weren't going to let me help? she's so angry. she reminds him so much of himself.

what can he tell her? the truth, that he had nowhere else to go? the truth, that he is selfish and he couldn't bear never seeing her again? the truth, that it turns out that he really is his father's son?

that she really is her father's daughter?

he has nightmares, some nights, imagining that this is the great curse on the mccoy family tree. imagining her in thirty years right back here, in this moment, right where he is. he knows how many terminal illnesses there are in this universe. any one of them could have her name on it.

i'll be most effective on the job in the time left, if you'll keep this to yourself

the pain...stop the pain...son...release me...

jocelyn chooses to help more than he's comfortable with, but then she's never listened to him when he said he could handle something on his own. that was never their problem, was it. it's 3am and he's throwing up again and he tries to remember what their problems were, tries to remember why she threw him out, why spock and jim threw him out, why everyone he's ever loved has -

it doesn't matter.

it doesn't matter, does it. how many months does he have left? how many people does he have left that can throw him away? if they're not already gone, at least he will be, soon.

he's written his letters and he's arranged his affairs. he won't let it get as bad it he knows it will get. he won't -

he will not ever let anyone hear him -

he wonders, some nights, what it cost his dad to ask him. thinks about what it had cost leonard himself to ask chapel to stay silent, what it had cost him to ask kirk to let him stay, what it had cost -

he's blocked all avenues of communication from kirk and spock, by now. hasn't answered scotty or uhura for weeks. he'd tried to block chapel, but she -

she shows up on his doorstep six months after he leaves the enterprise. tells him she's taking a leave of absence to care for a family member. tells him, with that steady smile and cautious eyes that she's been in contact with jocelyn. shows him the documentation that she's listed as his next of kin.

jocelyn must have forged that, he thinks. wants to laugh. wants to punch a goddamn wall.

go back to the ship, he tells her, you're gonna fuck up your career taking a leave like this.

i only joined the enterprise to find roger, she says. c'mon, leonard. love always comes first. we only have so much time.

he can see it in her eyes, that she knows why he doesn't want her there. not after his father - he's never told her that, and he knows jocelyn never would. but she's always called him her worst patient. always known he could never let himself be vulnerable. used to chide him about it. used to -

you're not gonna kick me out into the cold, are you? she asks.

you really think i'm gonna let you boss me around my last few months on earth?

3am that night, she runs a cool washcloth across the back of his neck, brings him a glass of water so he can rinse out his mouth, says nothing at the angry, helpless tears in his eyes.

it takes her a week to ask him. she has more patience than he gave her credit for.

you gonna talk to them?

there's only one them for him, isn't there.

there isn't anything left to say, he says. it's the truth, isn't it?

you're really going to keep pushing them away?

they did that on their own, he says. wishes he meant it. wishes he -

let me stay, he thinks. release me, he thinks. don't tell anyone, he thinks. let me help you, he thinks. you've got to hold on, he thinks. let me -

he knows his father loved him. he loved his father, too. loved him so much that he would have given anything -

did. did give everything. gave his father up. gave his father up, and then had to live with it. has been living with it all these years.

he's tired of asking people for things that they can't give him. tired of not asking people for things they want to give him.

tired. just tired. been tired all his life, hasn't he. steeped in it.

looks at joanna's blue eyes, and sees the exhaustion in her. sees his own eyes, doesn't he. sees his own eyes, looking at his father. begging him.

i've done everything i can do. you've got to hang on.

hold on, he thinks. because he begged him, too. begged his father, too. he forgets that part of the story, sometimes, but it's been hard to forget, lately. thinks about joanna kneeling by his body, begging him. begging him to hold on.

why had he asked his father to hold on when he was so desperate to let go? why had he tried to make him stay when he was hurting so badly? was he that scared of being alone?

lonely, he thinks. he's lived a lonely life, hasn't he.

was that the last time he begged someone to stay?

he hadn't begged jocelyn. didn't even ask her to stay, did he. just listened to her, and nodded, and threw his shit together, and kissed joanna on the head, and took off to a hotel.

to a hotel. why hadn't he gone to a friend's? why hadn't he gone to a friend, and sat down, and poured out everything that was going on? why hadn't he asked for help? why hadn't he asked jocelyn for help before things got as bad as they did? maybe there wasn't anything still left to save, but it took them years to be friends again, didn't it. couldn't he at least have left as friends, instead of making them claw their way back to it?

he asks her, one day. she's taking him to the doctor. even chapel isn't able to sway her when jocelyn decides on something, and she's decided she wants to be here for him. so he asks her.

that was one of our problems, she says. says it easy, now, even though her mouth pinches, like it still hurts a little. you never needed me, leonard. never wanted to need me. i always felt like i had to bulldoze you if i wanted to help you, which eventually starts to feel a little counterproductive. and things haven't really changed, have they? you're just too tired to fight me anymore.

he is, he thinks. he is tired.

he is so tired of letting go of things. of being let go of. of running away. of being run from.

a lonely life, he thinks.

thinks, hold on, dad. please don't leave me. please keep fighting. i need you to keep fighting. please don't leave me.

wonders, now, with the benefit of hindsight, what his dad must have thought when he heard him begging. did he think leonard selfish?

is joanna selfish, he thinks. is chapel? is jocelyn?

it's just humans, isn't it. just humans trying to hold on a little longer. don't leave me. don't make me leave.

and then, finally, let me go.

he hasn't told chapel that he's made plans. he should. he can't and he won't. he doesn't need her to -

he doesn't want her to ask him not to do it. he doesn't want her to ask him to stay. to fight. to linger.

nine months since he left the enterprise. he can't focus on the studies that chapel still reads religiously. still looking for answers. he remembers that. he remembers how that feels. he remembers the hope and the hopelessness tangling together.

we have time, joanna says every time they talk. we will have time.

hold on, he thinks. keep fighting, he thinks.

spock and kirk have resorted to sending physical letters and packages.

let me go, he thinks. they pile up in his study, unopened. let me go, let me go, let me -

jocelyn and joanna come over for dinner a few times a week, chapel and jocelyn talking easily together, joanna's eyes too often focused on the way leonard moves the food around on his plate but barely eat. he barely keeps anything down these days. he watches those blue eyes watch him watch her, and he -

are you going to open those letters? jocelyn asks him, and he wants to laugh. wants to cry.

it doesn't matter, he says.

she takes his face in her hands, her eyes serious, her voice steady. it's all that matters, leonard.

she loved him, once. loves him all over again now, he thinks. it's a gift, isn't it, to be loved.

it's a curse, as well.

you're his doctor -

i'm his son!

3am, and there's nothing inside of him to throw up, nothing inside him left to claw out, nothing but his still beating heart, his paper-thin lungs, the last few secrets he's swallowed and never spat out.

he sits down amid the letters and the packages, but can't bring himself to open them. what could it matter, he thinks, if they care? he knows they care. what would it matter, he thinks, if they love him? he knows they love him as best as they're able. what does it matter if they did what they thought was the right thing to do?

he's never going to see them again.

he's never going to see them again, is he. he's never -

it's too much to cry through, so he doesn't cry. just sits there, amid the letters and the packages, the last desperate resort they had to try to contact him. to try to make him listen.

they'd made him leave, so he'd left, hadn't he? hadn't he done what they wanted?

if you'll keep this to yourself -

he hadn't really asked, had he. hadn't been able to bring himself to ask. not the real question. not what he'd really meant.

kirk had given him his answer anyway, hadn't he. hadn't even given it a day before asking for a replacement. that's how easy he was to replace, wasn't he. and they'd found one, and they'd brought them aboard, and mccoy had walked away without looking back.

kirk had wanted to talk, then, too, but what was there left to say? he could count on one hand the number of times he'd really asked kirk for something. he could -

i'll call you, kirk had called after him, and mccoy hadn't looked back. hadn't answer any of his calls. had blocked him. and now, these letters and packages piled around him.

spock had barely said anything at all. mccoy had already been so turned inside out that he'd thought little of it. if kirk didn't want him, of course spock wouldn't want him, either.

besides, if mccoy had a year left, what the logic in spock trying to remain in contact with him? what was a year worth? what was a friend worth? what was mccoy -

it doesn't matter, he thinks. tries to think. tries to will himself to believe. it doesn't matter, because if he lets it matter -

he falls asleep out there, that night. chapel chides him, but she can't do much more than that. he's deteriorating rapidly, now.

he should call them, he thinks for the first time. thinks he doesn't want them to see him like this. remember him like this.

his plans are made. his letters are written. the hypo -

he should call them, he thinks. can't bear to do so.

thinks of his father, begging, thinks of him begging his father.

thinks of kirk's face before mccoy had turned away. the careful blankness of spock's when he'd started to raise his fingers in the vulcan salute, and then bitten back his traditional goodbye. live long and prosper, mccoy snorts. what a goddamn joke.

he should call them, he decides. he'll keep it brief. just long enough that they won't have to haunted by any what-ifs. he can give that to them. he should give that to them. just because he's always been the one who'd loved more than he should doesn't mean they don't love him at all. he knows they do. he knows he's hurt them.

thinks he can swallow down his own hurt one last time, swallow it down long enough to give them the goodbye they need. give them what they need, even if it hurts him to do so.

the pain...stop the pain...son...release me...

he's good at giving people what they need, isn't he. just once -

it doesn't matter. he won't let it matter. not for this. he'll let them go. let them let him go. give them what they need.

he worries over it for one more night, and then he checks his comm. there are too many messages to even glimpse at - it seems like half the enterprise has tried to contact him over the last three days. he worries over that for a moment as well - has something happened? is someone hurt? is someone - well. is someone besides him dying?

he can't take the time to read or watch them now, though. his brain gets too foggy too quickly these days, and he has to use his time to his best advantage.

he unblocks spock and jim.

hesitates over both of their photos for a moment, deciding. not that it matters - they're probably together.

jim will be angrier, but he'll be more hurt if he calls spock first. his head is pounding. his mouth is dry. it will have to be a short call. at least he has that - he can turn it off whenever he wants, escape them any time he wants. there's a universe between them.

they put a universe between them.

he calls jim. waits. almost laughs at the idea that all this build-up, he might not answer. probably can't answer. probably too busy saving the universe.

what was he thinking? that he was going to just sit and wait around for him? kirk didn't even want him there. he didn't - of course he wouldn't -

he's being foolish. he'll try back later. he has time. he still has a little left, doesn't he. a few more weeks. maybe a few months if he's lucky.

he's never been that lucky, has he. the great mccoy curse.

he reaches for his comm, decides not to leave a message, decides -

bones? jim says. his eyes look wild. he looks so young. he looks so old, somehow, too.

hi, jim, mccoy says. his voice sounds steady. his hands are steady.

did they finally get through to you? jim asks. he's speaking so fast it's almost hard to parse the words, or maybe that's just mccoy's tired brain.

what?

the crew, did they finally get through to you? they've been trying non-stop -

i don't know what you're talking about, jim.

that's the house, a voice suspiciously like spock's says. mccoy smiles a little. he knew they'd be together. they've always been at their best together, haven't they. never needed -

just hold on, bones, jim says, and mccoy rolls his eyes. of course. death bed goodbyes, and of course he's being asked to hold. he shouldn't have called. he shouldn't -

why don't you just gimme a call when you're free, mccoy says, trying to keep his voice light. trying so hard it feels like he's choking on the words. choking on the love. choking, choking, choking.

bones -

i should go, mccoy says. got a busy day myself. tell spock i said hi.

tell himself, you goddamn idiot, kirk says.

there's a knock at the door, and mccoy wants to get off of this call, wants to lock himself away, can't beginto deal with whoever is visiting, can't bear to see joanna like this, can't -

i have to go, jim, mccoy says.

there's a louder banging on the door, and mccoy drags a hand across his forehead.

you aren't going anywhere, you sonuvabitch, kirk says

and then someone starts trying to break the goddamn door down, and mccoy bolts to his feet. sways.

sit down, bones, kirk says, his face too close to the screen, his eyes wide and worried, sit down before you fall down and kill yourself

it doesn't matter, mccoy says, barely realizing he's saying it out loud until he hears kirk's sharp inhale

there are footsteps in the hallway

maybe someone's coming to kill him. it makes as much sense as anything else, and he's so tired, isn't he.

keep fighting.

he's just so tired.

hold on.

he slumps back onto the couch. closes his eyes.

i have to go, he says. says it to jim, to spock, to the footsteps coming closer and closer. you have to let me go.

someone sits down next to him. puts their hand on his thigh.

you're not going anywhere, jim says.

and then mccoy frowns, a little. blinks his eyes open.

that voice didn't sound like it was coming from a communicator. that sounded like -

jim is sitting next to him, and spock is moving rapidly around to the other side of the couch. sitting down next to him as well.

what - he says, disoriented. wide-eyed.

afraid.

we have found a cure, doctor, spock says, reaching out and taking mccoy's wrist gently in his hand.

you aren't going anywhere, jim says. i'm not gonna let you.

what are you doing here? mccoy says.

what the hell do you think? jim says, his hand tightening on mccoy's thigh.

leonard, spock says. we are bringing you home.

#uhhhhh this is super long and should probably actually be turned into an actual fic #i was just gonna jot off like 500 words. i did not expect............this. SO. yeah. might turn it into an actual fic. but for now. here. #have 3400 words written directly into this tumblr post lmao??? oh well #star trek #star trek tos #leonard mccoy #fic #mine #st:tos #listen i just have a LOT of feelings about FTWIHAIHTTS in relation to mccoy's dad AND joanna #just a LOT of feelings okay!!!! #character study

[callmetippytumbles]

Just write a response they said. It wouldn’t take long to write.

How it’s going:

LOL I honestly believed I was gonna keep that short.

🥴

#so since i cannot annotate your post directly like comments on google docs or word i picked a section and commented #this is just about the black hair section #i am about halfway through the actual essay itself - writing commentary as i read #it started simple enough by asserting kiara’s hair choices are part of how she assimilates into cordonian upper class society #then…it grew #also i never played the ‘drake pranks kiara’ scene in a way that he messes with her hair product…EVER* #*that i remember and i feel like i would remember something like that #3400 words later and i am only *now* getting to talking about actual hair products and how your location can affect access to them #see what you do to me lizzybeth?!? #and i have javascript homework to finish 😳🥴🥲

[supercantaloupe]

okay The Rent Post(tm) has been drafted. time to proofread

#it's. checks word counter. over 3400 words. good gd #hope you guys like. academic essays. #sasha speaks

[arksiblings]

Shadow struggles with the idea of Maria's mortality.

Like the summary suggests, this chapter deals with the fear of Maria's death. There's no character death (obviously) or graphic depictions of death, but I wanted to give a little warning anyway for those who may want to skip this one.

-> Intro post / AO3 link <-

The mood of the Ark’s entire medical population can generally be determined by one thing: Maria’s health. And that’s exactly how Shadow knows today’s going to be a bad day before the day’s even had a chance to start.

Not only do the scientists who come to retrieve him for his weekly testing look particularly uneasy this morning, but he manages to catch a glimpse of Maria before being hurriedly shuffled away to the lab. The first red flag is that she’s in a wheelchair, something she despises because it takes away one of the very few freedoms she has. She travels the Ark by hops, skips, and jumps; being confined to a wheelchair is pretty much a nightmare.

Then there’s her eyes - this is how Shadow judges her rough days. In the brief moment they lock eyes, he can see they’re shadowed by black and purple and half-closed as she struggles to stay awake from both lack of sleep the night prior plus whatever medication she’s already been given. The nail in the metaphorical coffin is the way she can’t manage even the ghost of a smile when their gazes meet.

His testing drags on for a millennia after that.

When he’s ultimately released ahead of schedule (“He’s unfocused and won’t cooperate. What are we supposed to do? Restrain him?” asked one of his doctors. Another had responded, rubbing his temples, with, “Just let him go. I’ll inform Doctor Robotnik.”), he speeds to where he knows Maria will be: the observatory. The observatory is their special place on the Ark; it’s where they can go to do whatever they want without anyone interfering. When Maria goes there to draw, she has all sorts of materials spread out in a semi-circle around her as she scribbles away for hours on end; Shadow likes to track the constellations with a book Gerald had given them, kneeling in front of the window with the book open on the sill. It’s their quiet place, whether together or apart, and especially on bad days.

All the lights are off when he arrives, a well-known sign that Maria’s dealing with headaches. Soft, blue-tinted ambient light filters into the room from the glass wall overlooking Earth. In an oversized beanbag across the room, sunk so low that all he can see is the top of her head and her feet propped up on the sill, is Maria. She isn’t wearing any hair accessories today; he frowns at the odd feeling this detail presents him with. 

Shadow lingers in the doorway, twisting the inhibitor ring anxiously around his wrist. What if she’s asleep? Would she want to see him even if she isn’t? It might be better if he just turns around now and -

“You can come in, Shadow.” The strength it takes to speak must be immeasurable, and he’s thankful for his enhanced hearing. It seems even on her hardest days, his company is the one thing she covets most. 

Shadow crosses the room to stand beside her. They’re both silent for a long time, taking in the planet below them. Big and blue and beautiful. Imagining what it must be like down there is a never ending daydream of wind gently ruffling their hair, listening to the sounds of babbling brooks, and building sand castles on a hot summer day at the beach. And the people that must live there - Maria comes up with fantasy after fantasy of what they must be doing on that rock, each more awe-inducing than the last. 

(His favorite is the ongoing tale about a pair of siblings traveling the world with no one to answer to but each other. Though Maria’s never said as much, it’s obvious that it’s the life she wishes she could have.)

“Shadow?” she finally says, voice barely more than a whisper. Her gaze stays locked on the Earth.

He looks down at her, tilting his head curiously.

“Do you think we’ll ever make it down there?” Unlike the wistfulness that usually accompanies this question, today she sounds… hopeless. It makes his stomach turn; despair doesn’t suit Maria, who is normally so full of life despite the looming shadow of death the Ark keeps at bay. 

The thing is, he can’t lie. Well, technically he could, but he doesn’t want to. Not to Maria, not when she’s asking so seriously. This isn’t a whimsical what would we do if we got to Earth, it’s a question filled with genuine apprehension. She could die without ever experiencing the one place she longs to go.

So, he doesn’t lie. He does hesitate, though, for a minute that feels like an entire day, searching for the right thing to say that won’t sound harsh or too blunt. 

Turning back to the window with a hollow feeling in his chest, he settles on, “I hope so.” 

The sigh his answer elicits from Maria is heavy and exhausted. She slips lower in her chair; any farther down and she may as well be laying on the floor. Her eyes close, but that doesn’t stop Shadow from noticing the tears on her lashes. 

Suddenly sharing in her sheer exhaustion, he sinks to the ground, leaning against her beanbag for support. He lays a comforting hand on her arm, and her opposite hand comes up to rest atop his. Her eyes remain closed. He studies the way her brow pinches in pain and her lips purse to resist the urge to cry. Her free hand grips the blanket draped across her lap. At the same time he notices goosebumps rising up her arm, a sharp pain blossoms in the base of his skull - a fraction of what Maria must be going through. 

With a shaky inhale and a steadier exhale, Maria opens her eyes again. The pain in both of their heads eases a little when she turns her head sideways to look pleadingly at him. “Will you do something for me?” 

He’s nodding before the sentence is fully spoken. Helping her in whatever ways she needs is what he’s here for, after all.

A smile tugs at her lips before quickly shifting into a frown at her request. “The doctor had me take my necklace off during my x-ray and I forgot to get it back before I left because I was tired. Will you go and get it?”

The Magen David necklace, inherited from her late mother. About the size of his thumb and made of stainless steel, Maria is rarely seen without it; of course she’d be upset at leaving it behind today of all days. Shadow climbs to his feet, shaking off the drowsiness that came with their shared headache. “Do you need anything else?”

She shakes her head, and off he goes.

—

The only doctor left in the examination room is Valerie, who nearly comes unglued when Shadow screeches to a halt in front of her. Bottles of unknown medication slide off the edge of the tray in her hands, caught swiftly by Shadow before they can hit the ground. He places them back on the tray as Valerie calms her racing heart.

Straight to the point, Shadow says, “I need Maria’s necklace.”

“Good to see you too, Shadow.” Setting the tray and its contents down safely on the counter, Valerie reaches into her coat pocket. “I was just about to go find her. The radiologist passed this off to me when he left for the day.” She holds up Maria’s necklace, the star shining under the fluorescents as it spins.

A sense of contentment rolls over him when Valerie deposits the necklace into his outstretched hand. He bows his head slightly. “Thank you.”

The smile she gives him is weak. Today must have been tough for her as well. “How’s she doing? She was not very happy this morning, bless her.”

His hand curls into a loose fist. While Maria has only ever had good things to say about Valerie, he’s always found conversing with her to be a bit awkward. Like she knows too much about him. Still, she doesn’t treat him with the wariness that many of the other doctors and scientists do, and that at least eases his discomfort enough to look her in the eye.

“Do you think she’ll ever be well enough to visit Earth?” he asks instead of answering her question.

Valerie gives him a sympathetic look. Maria must have asked him the same thing. She runs a hand through her hair and drags a chair over to sit down. “I don’t know,” she says honestly. Shadow notes the pain behind her words. “I know Doctor Robotnik is doing all he can to develop a cure though. If anyone’s going to cure that girl,” confidence bleeds through the way her voice wavers, “it’ll be him.”

“Yeah.” Shadow looks down at the necklace in his hand. There’s more he wants to say - about how he wants her to be happy, how he’s actually kind of nervous about going to Earth, how he’s terrified that it’ll all amount to nothing - but he remains quiet, the words stuck in his throat. They’re not for Valerie to hear, even if she can read them on his face anyway.

“Listen,” she says softly, leaning forward in her chair. Shadow glances up at her; the emotion in her eyes is almost too much to bear. “Regardless of what happens, she’s going to have the happiest life we can provide. The best thing you can do is spend time with her because you,” she points at him for emphasis, “are one of the people she loves most. You know that, right?”

He nods. Of course he knows that. And he loves her too, more than anything else. 

“Good.” She clears her throat, pushing herself to stand. “Now go on, get back to her. I’ve got to clean up around here, but let her know someone will come ‘round later to check on her, okay?”

Nodding again, Shadow thanks her for the necklace and backtracks to the observatory.

—

All is still when he returns. Were it not for the soft snoring coming from Maria’s chair, he would think she’d gone back to her bedroom. Silently, he crosses the room to place the necklace on the windowsill before gingerly sitting on the floor next to her.

For a while he simply watches Maria, listening to the rhythmic, calming sounds of her breathing. It would be easy to let himself be lulled to sleep, if not for the sense of foreboding that’s been creeping up on him the last several hours. Perhaps selfishly, he wishes Maria were awake right now to talk to him. He folds his arms carefully on the beanbag so as to not jostle her and in a quiet voice laden with doubt asks, “Do you think the doctor will really find a cure?” 

No answers come, of course, because Maria is fast asleep. Judging by the blanket tucked securely around her and the smoothness of her brow, it’s a peaceful sleep. Despite knowing that she needs all the rest she can get, he continues talking. The gates have been opened now, and there’s no closing them until the weight is off his chest.

“The others have such confidence in him. I wish I did too.” He rests his chin on his arms. The blue light casts a glow on Maria that makes her look almost ethereal. “Even if we could make it to Earth, what would it really be like? Everyone would love you. You’re kind and smart. You know how to talk to people - I don’t.” He takes a beat to ponder that; while the idea of being an outcast on Earth as well as the Ark is an increasingly unpleasant one the longer he thinks about it, it’s not what truly matters to him right now. “I wouldn’t mind, though, as long as you were healthy. I would live on this station for the rest of eternity if it meant you had the happy life you deserve.”

He knows Maria would argue vehemently with him for saying such a thing. He can hear her now: “You shouldn’t let yourself be unhappy for my sake, Shadow. Your happiness is just as important to me as mine is to you.” Still, it doesn’t stop his statement from being true. As much as he longs to go to Earth someday and find his bigger purpose, to finally put an end to the way his insides twist whenever he gazes out this window, Maria will always be his main priority. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do to make her life just a little easier. A little happier. 

“I’m sorry,” he says to his sleeping sister. “I know you wouldn’t want me talking this way. You’d say something about how we’re going to Earth together, no matter what, and we’ll have a nice little house on the beach with Zayde, or we’ll live in a big city near all sorts of people so you can go to a real school with lots of other kids.” The city definitely isn’t his first choice, though he has to admit it would be nice for Maria to have more friends than just himself and the kid with heterochromia who doesn’t really like him. “I think we should go somewhere where we can still see the stars. Can you imagine looking up at the Ark from Earth after so long doing the opposite?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth at the irony, then is quickly replaced by a weary sigh. 

“I guess all I can do right now is believe, so that’s what I’ll do.” Maria shifts unconsciously, mumbling something in her sleep, and Shadow looks at her with melancholic fondness. He rests his head on his folded arms, at last letting himself relax in the moment. 

Through a yawn, he manages, “We’ll be okay,” before drifting off to sleep.

—

The bustle of the Ark has long since settled down by the time Gerald retires for the night. The path to his bedroom doesn’t typically take him past the observatory, but he detours tonight to check on Maria, whose bedroom is in the same area. The lack of chatter nearly causes him to walk right on by the observatory, but on instinct he glances in anyway.

The sight of Shadow slouched over the arm of Maria’s beanbag chair brings him to a halt. How long they must have been in this room, sharing in only each other’s company because no one else could truly understand them… Gerald sighs. He had created Shadow specifically with Maria in mind - going so far as to use his own DNA and a copy of her own soul - but Gerald could never have predicted just how dependent the two would become on one another. It’s not a bad thing, per se. 

(Not yet, anyhow.)

No matter how quiet he thinks his entrance is, it’s no match for Shadow’s acute senses; the hedgehog’s ears twitch, and seconds later he rouses himself from sleep to cut his eyes threateningly at the intruder. Upon recognizing Gerald, however, his demeanor relaxes into a drowsy young boy blinking the sleep from his eyes. 

With a rasp in his voice and a nod of his head, he greets, “Doctor.”

“You’re never going to call me anything other than Doctor, are you?” He doesn’t mean anything by it, but Shadow still turns his face away self-consciously. 

“What time is it?”

“Far past your bedtimes.” Gerald stops on the other side of his granddaughter. “Has she slept all afternoon?”

Another nod. “Is that normal?” 

Gerald senses the tension in his question. “Of course. Do you remember the last time she caught a cold? Poor girl slept for over thirteen hours.” He crouches next to her, placing the back of his hand gently against her forehead. “Good. There’s no fever.” He looks to Shadow, who is obviously relieved by the news. “How about we get her into bed, hm?”

They make it to the doorway, Maria in Gerald’s arms and still snoozing away, before Shadow lets out a little gasp. There’s no time for Gerald to ask what’s wrong - Shadow reappears at his side in an instant, his hand open. “Her necklace.”

Gerald smiles down at him and resumes walking. “That’s very thoughtful of you. She’ll be pleased to know you kept it safe for her.” 

He takes great pride in that, and it shows in the way he subconsciously puffs out his chest. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, Shadow, how have you been handling things today?” 

His mood pops like a balloon. The lead scientist from that morning, Lee or Little or something with an L, had said he was going to speak to Robotnik… 

“I’m fine.”

Concern overrules any accusation that might accompany his rebuttal. “Doctor Lawrence seems to think otherwise.” 

Lawrence. What a tattletale. Shadow insists, “It’s nothing.”

It’s very obviously not nothing, but Gerald knows better than to push someone like Shadow. “Very well.” He turns a corner into the hall preceding Maria’s bedroom. “If you would like to talk about it some other time, my door is always open.”

Shadow gives a little hmph in acknowledgement. 

As luck would have it (good or bad, depending on who you ask), Maria awakens as Gerald lays her on her bed, a hand sluggishly coming up to rub at her eyes. “Zayde?” She yawns, body refusing the urge to fully wake up. “What’s going on?”

“Getting you ready for bed, little one.” He produces two small orange pill bottles from the pocket of his lab coat. “You’re past due for your medicine.”

Maria heaves a huge sigh. “I should have stayed asleep.”

“Now, now,” Gerald chuckles, sitting on the edge of her bed. “It’s just two, and then you can go back to sleep for however long you’d like.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” While Gerald pops the lids off of the bottles and shakes a pill from each into the palm of his hand, Shadow retrieves a small bottle of water from the little fridge beside Maria’s dresser. She struggles to sit up, guided by her grandfather’s steady hand, and takes the now open bottle of water from Shadow.

“Did you stay with me all day, Shadow?” At his nod, she smiles for the first time that day. It lifts an enormous weight from his shoulders. “Thank you.”

Then he recalls the necklace still in his closed fist. “Here.” He holds it out to her. “I kept it safe for you.”

Her eyes light up at the Magen David. “Oh, thank you! I missed it.” She looks up at Gerald. “Will you put it on for me?”

With the silver star in place where it belongs, warm against her bare skin from how tightly Shadow had been holding it, Maria looks better already. Whether it be a trick of the light or an emotional response to being reunited with her necklace, a little bit of color has returned to her face. Obediently she takes her medicine, chugging just about the entire bottle of water in the process. 

“Good girl.” Gerald climbs to his feet. “I’ll try to bring breakfast for you in the morning. If I can’t, I’ll send Valerie.”

“Can I have cinnamon rolls pleaaaase?” She clasps her hands in front of her, pleading eyes staring up at him.

“You’re going to need more than cinnamon rolls after skipping lunch and dinner today, young lady.” Her shoulders slump, and he’s quick to amend, “How about an omelet on the side?”

“With scallions, tomatoes, and cheese,” Shadow fills in automatically, trying to help the doctor’s case using Maria’s favored type of omelet.

Maria contemplates this. “Deal.”

“Excellent.” Gerald leans down to place a kiss on the top of her head. “Now go back to sleep. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Pleased, she snuggles down under the covers. “Goodnight. I love you both.”

“I love you too, dear,” replies Gerald, motioning for Shadow to follow him out of the room.

Feeling much lighter now than he has all day, Shadow ignores the prickliness at being watched and says, “I love you too, Maria. Sleep well,” before joining Gerald.

As they walk a few doors down to Shadow’s room, Gerald says, “See? There’s nothing to worry about. Before you know it she’ll be sliding down the banisters again.”

Surprisingly, Shadow laughs - it’s short and hardly more than a forced exhale, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “I wish she wouldn’t do that.”

“As do I, but nothing stops that girl when she’s got an idea in her head.”

Maybe that determination isn’t such a terrible thing, Shadow thinks, as long as I’m there beside her.

#3400+ words... what is wrong w me. #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #maria robotnik #ark siblings #gerald robotnik #children of the ark #jess.txt #fic tag #maria #shadow #gerald #*posts this and turns off my phone* /hj

[altruistic-meme]

a little WIP saturday i guess :) here's a little snippet from Go Low! my brain has been itching me to continue it so here we are

#i'm very very tempted to post it to ao3 but i'm hesitant #idk that i'll ever finish it and i have absolutely 0 plans for it #it's purely vibe based and i'm sorta just going with the flow #i've written 800+ words for it as of right now though so we're up to a total of ~3400 words lmaooo #i probably will post it but i'm gonna try and make it clear that idk if it'll ever be FINISHED #hmmm #aftg #wip: go low #shh ac

[jorvikzelda]

if yall knew of the nearly complete fics just sitting and waiting in my google docs right now...

#we got uh. #3400 words Mayalex #3400 words Annegst #idk why theyre both 3400 words it just happened that way #I'm gonna try to post the annegst one this week #it ties into the last two jorvikpovs #;) #also only JUST finished writing it so word count might change lmao #but. still #also the mayalex one is probably objectively more finished I'm just insecure about it #the annegst one is called clouded is the dawn btw. feeling p cool about that one #z talks

[essektheylyss]

It's my party and I'll write whether I want to or not.

#this is NOT what I want but alas here we are #I'm down to 3400 words! so that's exciting #doubt I will finish before noon but definitely by early afternoon #AND if I do it right I'll have what is a piecemeal draft by the time I'm done today #and then I can EDIT #but maybe I'll set it aside and write some fic first #cuz hoo boy I am tired #I am very hnng to edit this but I probably need some time in between lmao #and also I have reading to do #ANYWAY back to it

[absentmoon]

THE BEAST IS DONE 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉🎉

#3400 WORDS. I AM GOING TO ENTER ‼️FORMATTING HELL‼️ AND I NEED YOU ALL TO ROOT FOR ME. #daisy.txt #stray away

[qzwrites]

daniil/yakov ch 3 noodling

pacing-wise, chapter 3 of the daniil/yakov story needed another scene, preferably from daniil's POV, and i was like, hmm but i don't want to introduce too many new characters

and then i realized i had an important character who will HAVE to be involved later that could try to meddle now: daniil's cousin the baron tamarov

daniil and yakov assumed he was going to get involved in the negotiations (which would be a PITA bc having a baron involved on one side requires getting the baron on the other side involved also, and yakov may be baron sardavin's heir but baron sardavin does NOT want to deal with negotiating any goddamn marriages)

but cousin baron tamarov (who is 13 years older than daniil) was like. hey. daniil. i won't be mad if you don't marry a sardavin. don't marriage-of-convenience a dude you have a crush on just bc it's politically good for us

and daniil is like. cousin vasily. that is the wrongest anyone has ever gotten anything.

(in cousin vasily's defense, he doesn't think daniil is likely to be that graciously self-sacrificing for just anyone...but he's not completely oblivious and thought, if there was anyone daniil would do something that stupid for, it would be yakov sardavin.)

anyway i don't think baron cousin vasily is a "new" character and it does help balance out the meddling family members on both sides of this wedding. also i enjoy having someone looking at this from the outside and not being all gay panic about it; cousin vasily is like NO THAT IS MY BABY COUSIN DANIIL WHO CANNOT BE TAINTED BY POLITICS AND TRICKED INTO A LOVELESS MARRIAGE. he does not use any word that has explicitly romantic connotations but he is still clearly talking about daniil's high school crush on yakov.

literally no one else has or would look at the yakov/daniil engagement and jump to the conclusion that yakov must be the one taking advantage of daniil. plenty of people are like *gasp* THE HOMOSEXUAL SEDUCER!!! about daniil, but it really requires thinking of daniil as Baby instead of. openly-queer slut. and that's the province of older relatives! especially ones who maybe don't interact with him so much anymore but remember him as a younger man.

(daniil's parents, who are older than baron tamarov, are like. vasya. MY LORD. are you fucking kidding me have you met daniil.) (daniil's parents are Well Acquainted with their eldest child's many lovers, a non-zero number of whom dumped daniil for straight-passing relationships when he refused to be their side piece.) (daniil may have had a crush on yakov for years but he is also stubborn and self-possessed.) (they will be less surprised when he comes out right after the wedding and then gaslights them about it than most families would be. they'll be like, you know, in hindsight, this feels perfectly in-character.)

#not actually writing #daniil tamarov #kavagor #i have written 3400 words about this today. #not including this post lol

[maydayprkr]

irl friend is letting me edit her writing and giving me semi full reign to make sure it flows well, makes sense, adding more descriptions to scenes; but also. Like. She has this one villain, that I am making kinda fruity by adding certain actions between his dialogue >:3

Funny part is she's a furry. I'm editing a furry story for $5 a pop dhsjjs. (I decided on the price, bc she wouldn't let me do it for free since she's letting me use her spotify via a family plan for free)

#personal post #the funniest thing to happen to me also #can someone tell me how to use cash app and transfer the funds to my bank. or how i can at least like Spend the money?? #she's also a very good writer. she just needs to work on a lot of grammar and punctuation. also capitalization #her action secquences are very good. but you can also tell she mainly watches anime fhskdkwndn #im having fun. but also trying not to take away from her style. but the first piece i sent back to her she really liked! fhsjjdd #she mainly wanted me to break up the dialogue more between the actions bc of her dyslexia. which is nbd #just learing where to break it for the larger piece #which started at 3400 words and I'm projecting 4000 to 5000 when im done lol

[skzdarlings]

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

#lee know x reader #lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x you #lee know x you #lee minho x you #valentinesdaystories

[bahablastplz]

Best Friend: Han x Reader

Thinking about how Jisung is always the reader's best friend in fics, which made me think of best friend to lovers Jisung x Reader.... Content: Smut, Fluff, A little Angst Warnings: Oral sex, Unprotected sex, P in V sex, Dirty talk, Use of the word 'slut,' Hair-pulling, Maybe some praise kink if you squint WC: 3400

“Which dress should I wear?” You question. You hold up two dresses in the mirror and place each one in front of your body, eyebrows furrowing as you imagine each one on your figure. You look at your best friend through the mirror, gauging his reaction. 

“Black,” says Han, though he doesn’t look up from his phone. 

“Jisung!” Your sharp tone makes his eyes shoot open wide, a surprised look on his face that you’ve gotten to know well over the years–the one he makes when he knows he’s gotten himself into trouble. “You didn’t even look at the options!” You scoffed at him incredulously. 

“I didn’t have to,” he says snidely. “The red one makes you look sexier, the black one makes you look… I don’t know, sleek?” “Sleek,” you say with a laugh. “Okay, so I should wear the red one!” As you go to hang up the black dress in your closet, your friend appears from behind you. 

“On a first date? You’re not trying to seduce him just yet,” he jokes. 

“But I wanted to look sexy,” you pout. “Plus, you never know–” Before you can finish your sentence, Han snatches the red dress from your grasp and runs out of the room at full speed. Mouth agape, you run after him giggling. Jisung makes some screeching noises as he runs around and he even hops onto the couch, standing above you. You take a moment to keel over, laughing at him while catching your breath. This is something your friend has always been good at doing; making you laugh. Especially on a night like tonight in which you were more nervous than you cared to admit, Jisung knows exactly how to push your buttons and have tears forming in your eyes from his humor. 

“Give me that, please, Sungie. You’re gonna mess it up!” You fake glare at him and cross your arms, watching as he holds the dress up over his head. 

“I can’t believe you’re ditching movie night for some guy,” he says. “Movie night, it’s an annual tradition… to just abandon it… It’s heresy! Heresy I say!” You shake your head at the man before sitting next to him on the couch. He sits as well, abandoning his ridiculous stance, and takes a deep breath next to you. 

You lean your head against his shoulder before sighing. “It’s not just any guy,” you say softly. “Seungmin seems special. I think he really likes me.” Jisung ignores the panging in his chest. The fact of the matter is, Han Jisung is undeniably, uncontrollably in love with you. And normally, he has absolutely no problem with that fact, especially with hiding it from you. But on this night in particular, there is one issue: You are going on a date. 

You’d been on dates before, of course. But not since Jisung has identified his attraction and feelings toward you. And what could he say? That he was jealous, that he wanted you to stay here and get with him instead? Of course not! 

“I… I know, jagiya. Um, you’re going to have a good time,” he replies into your hair. “And hopefully get laid. You’ve been so tense lately.” God, why did he say that? He didn’t want to think about that, especially with a guy that wasn’t him!

You laugh and push his shoulder lightly. “God, I hope so. I just need to be fucked like a slut, you know?” You grin at him widely, but he feels like he might get sick at your words. Usually, the two of you have no problem joking with one another, and yes, maybe 50% of the time your jokes are rather explicit, but Jisung can’t help but run a hand through his hair and take a deep breath at your words. 

“Don’t say that,” he groans, albeit with a weak smile. 

“Ughhh, but Sungie…” you laugh. “You know I’m joking but it’s been so long… I do want to be folded in half like a pancake–” 

He lets out a nervous laugh and holds his hand over your mouth. 

“Seriously, gross,” he says. You lick his hand. In disgust, he gets up, handing you the red dress in the process. 

“Thank you!” you preen at your friend and jump up, running to your room to get ready for your date. He follows to watch and lay on your bed. 

You look stunning in the red dress, of course. He knew you would. But coupled with the lipstick, the hair, your perfume… it makes his heart pang and sit heavily in his chest. 

You are in a rush. As you say goodbye to your friend and start to lock up, he pulls you into a tight hug, 

“Sung… You’re not seriously mad about movie night, right?” You laugh against him but feel yourself growing red at the proximity. You can smell his shampoo from here, and his embrace is so tight, his arms wrapped around you so tight that it makes you gulp. You push him away slightly just so you can look in his eyes. 

“No, of course not,” he says, but he’s slightly pouting. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying close attention to his face, and if you didn’t know each of his expressions like the back of your hand. “Just… I hope you have a good time tonight. Text me if you need me, kay? And turn your location on… just in case he’s really a serial murderer or something.” 

“Alright, you got it. Thanks so much for coming over,” you say as you lock your front door, allowing your friend to leave the house with you. 

“You never have to thank me,” he reminds you.  ***

The date went alright.  Seungmin was a sweet guy, he really was. He took you out to a nice restaurant and he flirted with you,  he made you smile, and he was just the epitome of a gentleman. But, you realized there just wasn’t a spark. Something was missing. There were no butterflies, no rush from your heart to let you know he was the one. And you told him as much at the end of the night. There were no hard feelings, really. 

So why do you still feel so damn emotional? 

As you step into your house, you pull out your phone and you’re texting Jisung before you even realize what you’re doing. 

Y/N:  Can you come over? 

Sungie: Already OMW! 

You’re laying on the couch, sulking emotionally. You half debate cracking open a bottle of wine to drink your sorrows away but decide against it. 

Instead, you wipe away small tears and hold yourself back from sniffling. Jisung bursts in your front door, looking around frantically. The sight makes you hiccup laugh through your tears and he’s running to you, kneeling in front of you on the couch. 

“Fuck, jagiya, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I’ll kill him, I’ll really kill him, I promise… Well, maybe not kill him, but I swear I’ll really hurt him…” He starts rambling and it makes you laugh. 

“I’m fine, Ji. He didn’t hurt me… The date actually went really well.”

“Oh,” he says, letting out a sigh of relief. He looks into your eyes. “Shit. You scared me. What happened?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Bull shit, or you wouldn’t have called me over,” he says. He puts his hands on your knees and his head on the couch, looking up at you. 

“Just… we didn’t click. He was so sweet. He still paid after I told him I didn’t want another date, which was really nice… Is there something wrong with me?” You ask. You look into his eyes and he swears he could split in half, your teary doe eyes making him want to burst into tears himself. 

“Of course not, why would there be?” He questions. 

“Just… It’s been over a year since I’ve had sex, even longer since I’ve dated someone… I finally get to go on a date with a nice, hot guy, and I completely blow it. What if that was my last shot? What if nobody wants me?” You wipe a tear away. 

“Don’t say that,” he says sharply. Your eyes widen. In all the time that you’ve known Jisung, his demeanor has always been relaxed, joking, and somewhat aloof. So for him to be so blunt and sharp with you? It makes you tense up. “That isn’t true.” 

“How do you even know that?” You cross your arms at him and shoot him what you hope is a nasty glare but you know it probably comes across as much more pathetic.

“Because I love you.” 

You scoff at him. “Han Jisung, if this is some sort of sick joke you better count your days, because that’s a really fucking low blow after tonight.” 

“Y/N, I would never joke about this. I love you much more than you could ever realize. I have loved you for so long… It hurts. I have wanted to tell you for so long, but I was so scared of messing up our friendship. There’s nothing more in this world that I love more than your smile, more than making you laugh.” He pauses, gauging your reaction. For once, he truly doesn’t know what you’re thinking and it scares him, but he continues anyway. “Just… The thought of you going out on that date tonight, it made me so sick. The thought of you kissing someone that wasn’t me… God, you didn’t kiss him, did you? Argh, that would make me so sad… But I just… I don’t even know the guy and I couldn’t help but think that I would be better for you. That he wouldn’t be able to make you laugh, and he wouldn’t know how absolutely ridiculous you look when you dance while you’re drunk, and he wouldn’t know that Saturday nights are our movie nights, and he wouldn’t know that you say your favorite color is lavender, but it’s actually–” 

You cut off the man by lunging forwards onto the floor and pressing your lips into his. The kiss is searing and all-consuming and he pulls you forward until you’re in his lap. As you straddle him he holds your head in his hands, brushing hair behind your ears as he brings you further into him. You’re both emotional and out of breath but so desperate to have things keep moving forward that when you open your mouth to deepen the kiss, it’s all tongue and teeth and heavy breathing but holds more feeling behind it than any kiss you’ve ever had. 

“Jisung…” you whisper, pulling away. He looks at you with wide eyes, pupils blown out. He’s panting and his hands take place on your arms, holding you in place as he searches deep into your eyes. 

He pulls you into a deep embrace reminiscent of the one you shared just this afternoon. 

“I feel the same… I think the reason why my date went so poorly is because he wasn’t you.” You hear his breath hitch and he pulls you impossibly closer, looking deep into your eyes before pulling you into another kiss. This one is more gentle and chaste but fills you with desire nonetheless. “I didn’t kiss him, by the way,” you say. Your statement puts Jisung at ease. “You’re the only one I want to kiss, Sung.” 

You kiss him again but start to trail down his neck, leaving wet open kisses behind. Jisung is a panting, moaning mess beneath you, and his noises encourage you to go further. You lift his shirt up over his head and press your crotch into his, relishing in the sounds he makes as you kiss his chest, his collarbones, and his abdomen before you feel a hand weave itself into your hair, pulling you harshly. 

“Still want to be fucked like a slut?” His words make you gasp. 

“Ji, I was joking,” you say, but his hand pulls tighter on your hair, revealing your neck to him; wet open-mouthed kisses and tongue pressing against your neck releases a loud, nasty moan from your lips. 

“You can’t lie to me, baby,” he says into your skin. “We’ve joked about it too many times for it to really be a joke. Can you answer me? Do you want to be fucked like a slut? Say the word and we can stop.” He lifts up your dress and throws it off of your head almost comedically, and it would have made you laugh if you weren’t now on complete display for the man. 

“Yes… please.” That was all the word Jisung needed to go forth and absolutely ravish you, taking your body as if it were his own. He sucks small marks against your skin, guiding your hips to rock into his own in steady movements. Meanwhile, he unclasps your bra, discarding it to God knows where, paying full attention to your now exposed skin. 

“So beautiful… God you’re making me feel so good, grinding against me so good baby… I’ll cum soon, I’ll cum in my pants if we don’t stop,” he rambles. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, paying it full attention while teasing the other with his thumb. Your head falls back from the pleasure, from the enticing man underneath you that you’ve known for so long, for the man who’s cologne has been engraved in your brain for years but only now does it make you feel needier with lust and desire when it floods your senses. Suddenly, he lifts you off of his hips with alarming force, placing you to sit on the couch while he remains underneath you on the floor. 

“Please, can I eat you out? Let me make you feel good baby, please,” he begs, rubbing small circles onto your thigh. You nod your head at him, lifting your hips and your underwear is removed in an instant. 

He dives forward, wasting no time before connecting his mouth to your glistening core. You moan loudly at the contact and his arms reach forward to pull you closer to his face. His wide eyes meet yours and he grins, absolutely deriving his own pleasure off of yours and the way you squirm beneath him. He eats you out in a way that is similar to his personality; it is messy, it is eager, and it is all-consuming. His tongue flicks desperately against your clit and you buck your hips up into his face but he holds you down easily, forcing you to take what he gives. His tongue switches between teasing your entrance and giving your clit his direct and undivided attention, and the pace makes you feel dizzy. 

“Please, please,” you say, and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for. He changes the angle suddenly, pressing your legs up to your head so that you’re completely at his mercy. He spits right onto your aching hole, the act crude but making you moan nonetheless. Immediately he dives back in, holding your legs as he sucks and flicks at your clit until you’re shaking from overstimulation.

You try to warn him but it’s too late, you’re thrown over the edge with a loud sigh. He guides you through it, lapping at you languidly with his tongue as you pulse against him from aftershocks. He releases from you and the lack of contact makes you feel antsy, immediately wanting more, immediately craving that contact again. 

“Jisung,” you breathe out. “Again… want to feel you again, please. Need you… touching me, please.” He wastes no time before pulling his pants and boxers down in one swift blow and you moan at the sight of him naked before you. You reach to touch him and stroke his cock but he stops you, guiding you to your feet. Your legs tremble but he holds you steady. 

“What are you–” you begin to ask, but he shushes you, grabbing your hips and bending you over the side of the couch. He pushes your back down so that you’re arching for him, ass pressed up in the air. 

“M just giving you what I promised,” he says, rubbing your back almost soothingly as he teases your entrance with his cock. Every time he makes contact you hiss and try to press back into him, but to no avail. “You made me wait this long to let me fuck your pretty pussy babe, should I make you wait too?” 

His words make you moan out, and you’re babbling before you even realize it. “Jisung, Sungie, no please… Please Ji… I need you so bad… Please let me… Please don’t make me wait… Fuck… Please…”

His laugh is airy, as if you’ve knocked all of the air out of his lungs. You tilt your head back, trying desperately to see his face, and his expression is exactly how you imagined it; desperate, incredulous, lips parted open in a small ‘o’ shape. That’s the last thing you see before he presses his full length into you and your eyes screw shut from pleasure. 

He immediately groans out, trying to stay still but desperately rocking his hips into you deeper, right against your g-spot which makes your eyes roll back and tighten around him. In turn, he begins sharply rutting right against your hips, shallow but deep. 

“Fuck, fuck, jagiya. You feel… so good. Just like how I imagined,” he starts. “Your pussy… God, it was made for me to fuck… For me to fuck you dumb.” He is stuttering and rambling but you don’t even care, his words, soft moans, and pants making you feel incredibly needier. He reaches forward and pulls you up against him, grabbing your head and meeting your lips into a blinding and messy kiss as he fucks you. It makes your head reel and his hands find your tits and grab them hard for just a second as he finds his pace but the overstimulation makes you go stupid with desire. 

Just as fast, he pushes you into the couch again. He grabs both of your wrists from behind and pulls them into his hand, using the momentum as a way to let himself fuck into you harder and deeper. You’re crying now, tears flowing from your face from pleasure and letting out noises that you didn’t know you could make, loud ‘ah, ah, ah’s’ from every thrust of his hips into yours. 

“Please tell me you’re close, baby,” he says shakily. “Fuck, I don’t think I can last much longer.” His words make you close your legs together as he fucks you, the friction sending you even closer to the edge. 

“So close, Sung, please.” Your words barely escape your mouth but you know he hears you, as his hands take place on your hips now, his death grip searing as he pulls you all the way on and off of his length, slamming into you at full force. 

“Cumming,” you say, and you can only warn him the one time before you’re spasming and convulsing all over his cock, his soft and gentle praise guiding you through it in complete contrast to his harsh actions against your body. You’re still pulsing with aftershocks as he groans, pulling out of you and releasing all over your back in hot spurts. As the two of you catch your breath, he immediately pulls you into a kiss again, gentle yet passionate. 

“I love you so much,” he says. “Wanted to do that for so long. Wanted you. Wanted you to be mine and wanted you to know how much I love you.” His eyes meet yours, searching, waiting for a response. 

“I love you too, Jisung.” He smiles and his eyes close, relishing in the fact that finally, you are now undeniably his. 

He cleans you up and guides you into your room, pulling you into his arms. Your head rests on his chest and your limbs are an intertwined mess, unable to differentiate where you start and Jisung ends. That night you watch your movie, the way it was destined to be all along. Jisung’s jokes make you laugh until you cry, and this time he is able to tell you that making you smile is one of the greatest pleasures he has ever been graced with in his life, and he tells you this with a kiss pressed against your mouth. ***

Masterlist Recs

#Han #Han Jisung #Han Jisung x reader #han x reader #skz #skz smut #skz x reader #skz x you #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz scenarios #Han jisung x you #jisung smut #Han smut #han jisung smut

[isabellebissonrouthier]

My nanowrimo wip is at 46,049 words!! I am so so so close!!! I should hit the goal of 50k in the next couple days!!!

I wonder how much I'll have done by the end of November!!!

#my post #fastest ive ever written a first draft im like 99% sure #3400 words today alone!

[samodivaa]

Words don’t trigger him, emotions do

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Anger, resentment and especially, jealousy—those emotions were all he knew while you both spent decades at Hydra.

Warnings- angst, jealously, mental struggles, smut, possessive sex, love bites

Words- 3400

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

And his love has its own dark morality when rivalry enters in, when another man dares to flirt with you and Bucky shall show well what he shows best.

“Hello, snowflake" he says "Hope I'm...interrupting”

There is an intonation so bitter and so imperative that the man who you are talking with shallows hard. The words which are set in the air—in themselves they are simple and sweet. But his jealousy, protectiveness are a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing.

"Do you know the man?" he asks politely, blue eyes burning with violence.

There is a natural comorbidity between possessiveness and jealousy, between the desire to fuck and the desire to kill.

„Yeah, I do,“ you reply and Bucky feels alone in the moment your eyes break contact—and in a fever, among the walls of the bar, he looks around too, a thickening twilight peeps out in his mind.

"Who is he?" he asks in a pleasant but cold voice, now clearly less friendly than before.

„It doesn’t matter“ you smile softly, that sentence is a uttered curse to Bucky’s ears. Immediately, his guard is up.

Bucky is silent for a moment, suffocated by the situation, ringing in his ears, and the heart—it will bust.

The simplicity of your answer spreads as frost, closing off the light of his eyes. His mind starts racing once again, a nameless emotion has nested in Bucky – who is that guy?

Bucky sits on your left side before he leans on the counter next to you, with his metal hand and puts his right one on his tight, closer to his gun strapped there.

You know him, you know that behavior— this yearning to protect, tearing at his insides like hunger and thirst. It is not love. Love is warm and soft, like a bed of leaves. But this is dark, like the shade under a poisonous shrub, and it is hungry. So hungry.

You know its' name—Winter.

You're stuck with him. Not for a few decades, not for centuries. You're tied to him forever. That's why you are good at putting out his flame before it grows—the frame he still carries from the past.

Jealousy isn't a pleasant quality, apart from its inconvenience there's even something touching about it—his starless nights eyes—his face, as if it has been a dial cut in impassive stone, the dwindling of life.

You are equipped to handle what he has, both past and present—package deal of both. In other words, you have been assigned a load you can handle.

“Bucky-”

“Let's go home, it’s getting late” he interrupts, in a soft, vicious voice.

“Give me ten minutes”

He feels like a thread has come between you when he hears your answer, tugging, tugging at his heart—so hard, it hurts him.

You glare at each other. He closes his eyes, because there is a petulant woundedness with which he stares back at you.

Neither of you say a word until Bucky moves, leaning back against the counter, and folding his arms over his chest. It takes all his concentration, to keep from ripping out this man’s throat. But Bucky shoves the familiar fury down, to the place where he stifles Winter's power.

“Okay”

He says as he looks over to the man, and wants him to say something mean so he would have an excuse to shoot him. Bucky is something dark and beautiful, in conflict with what he shows to the world and what he truly feels inside, it is hard to control it.

A worry deep in you stir, but you ignore it for now, pushing it down as best you can with the distraction of music and whiskey.

You fully turn to the man and all Bucky wants is your full attention. He wants your gaze to stay fixed on him, only him. He wants to stare into those beautiful eyes for as long as he lives.

Every avalanche begins with the movement of a single snowflake, and you are this Snowflake tonight.

When the ten minute mark hits you hear a quiet screeching sound—he has carved a small heart on the counter with his index metal finger—you can’t believe how jealousy has him gagging, his blue eyes are clouded before he lowers his gaze to the floor.

Snow is super soft, bottomless and amazingly light, yet supportive—until you take a wrong turn and feel every crystal reacting within your soul, suffocating you. Bucky has lost himself in the emotional storm: it takes so little this time, to put fuel in his cynical heart.

“Bucky…” you whisper and your eyes meet, his actual humanity can’t seem to triumph over the rage and jealousy this time, something you hardly imagine in your wildest dreams.

And this is the secret you both share—the kind you don't dare to let out—Words don't trigger him, but emotions do. You can’t leave them unnoticed, unattended and unsolved.

“Let's head home”

Your language has been lost for so long at Hydra. But not the gestures. It is almost comforting, this mutual acceptance of understanding each other without the need for words.

He maintains his silence, but he slowly gets up—he doesn’t look back, he knows you are following him closely. Of course you do, but you think about what has just happened

While you were looking into his eyes, there were fragments of his inner struggle that were deeply repressed—he always tries to repress the past. It’s hard to distinguish if they were buried inside because dealing with them was such dirty work, or if he was ashamed to voice them.

The truth is that he would rather dig his own heart out, with a knife, than admit it. A while ago he let you know that it's hard to control certain emotions—but he didn’t want to throw his intimacy in front of you, especially when he cares.

But nothing stays secret forever

You are trying to heal too, but, finally, there are things which he is afraid to divulge even to himself—he needs you, he needs your reassurance, he feels like someone will snatch you from his hands, damn his split personalities and untrustworthy habits from the past, but he can’t help it, it scares him.

You are both unearthed by deception, torture, brainwashing, whose essence was shrouded by Hydra—your own father naming the Winter Soldier program after his own daughter, you, stringing you with Bucky together—the yearning theme of your life.

After you escaped Hydra, you went your separate ways until he came back to you, searching for someone who understands him.

That was a year ago.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wants you, the more my desire rises and swells—

“Bucky” He shakes his head in exasperation, not stopping as he climbs the stairs to your shared apartment, aiming for the door, but he can’t stay with you, not when he is not fully himself “Bucky, stop, talk to me”

You have known him for so long, you can see the pride through his words, the truth through his silence, and the anger through his smile.

Always.

“Soldat“  he turns to you, perusing your body as he comes to stand in front of you, his abysses as deep as those of love, finally meet yours.

That realization takes about a nanosecond to register in Bucky’s brain before the real important information comes to the forefront—you’ve noticed.

He lowers his head toward you, so you could feel his breath warm against your skin, your mouths only inches apart

“Why did you call me that?”

He has no answer nor idea, just a never-ending list of questions, he is searching for a loophole that increasingly feels like a noose—he denies it, he tries to—you are not entitled to exposing him like that.

How hollow is it for him to have no secrets left—Bucky's love gives, and Soldat's lust takes.

His gaze, improper, is the most sensual thing he can have done at this moment, and it jolts your heart into a strange rhythm as you speak

“Tell me, how can I help?” You put your hands on his chest, your eyes still locked and an unwelcome sensation pierces you.

“You already know” he says thoughtfully as his cool gaze devours you “snezinka” (snowflake) and his lusty grin when he says that, it's sinful—and pleasurable.

“There is nothing to worry about. Do whatever you want to make yourself feel better” All you want to do is make him feel better, to drown his worries in your embrace.

Both shame and worry drown themselves in the dark eyes that stare back at him.

You.

Only you.

Bucky dreads this power you have over him.

Everything you say is exceedingly obvious, and undoubtedly true, but he feels that something more obscure, more frightening lurks in the back of your mind.

You don’t halt the hands he lays on your waist when he pushes you, backing you into the door.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

1968–1969, Zhao Jianmin Spy Case

„That is going to be mass murder, send them together.“

This mission is a long, never-ending massacre, it never ends.

He is lost in your eyes, it’s eating him alive.

Corpses fill the floor, the sight of gore is peaceful in your corrupted existence. He becomes obsessed in this moment of solitude with you, he has the need to touch you and you respond with a kiss, blood all over your face.

Your wretched fate is shared, your need for touch also.

Winter’s lust betrays him as he pushes you against the wall, feasting on your lips and neck, his hands running up and down your back.

“Relax, Winter” you giggle as you gently press your fingers into his shoulders, forcing him to break the kiss as he looms over you- waiting with a predatory grin.

„I need you, Samodiva“ he slurs, eyebrows furrowed as he glances up at you. His trembling fingers touch the strings in vain, wanting to find the right notes from the fading memory, Soldat wants his soul to vibrate again; with lust, with love.

He knows you feel his arousal, your closeness causing him to grow hard, inhaling sharply, enjoying the sensations you are eliciting in him.

“I need you, too” you finally answer without faltering.

This is all Soldat needs to hear - his tongue flicking lightly over your neck once again, tracing the skin slowly, eliciting a moan from your lips, bodies acting on instinct.

A soft squeak escapes your puffy lips, the tension building up in your body too fast, too soon. Winter puts his hands around your waist, your pants already unbuckled, surrendered to him.

He wastes no time, there's no time left… his hands suddenly drop to his own pants, popping the button open and then pulling down the zipper.

The feeling of your insides drains all of his self power to not come on the first trust, he moves at an excruciating slowly pace, fucking you into the bloodstained walls, there is a glimpse of human nature when you fill the room with moans.

„I am yours,“ he whispers, his words sending a series of chills through her.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄

“1968, do you remember?“ he groans as he brushes his mouth against your cheek. The plea in his tone floods your veins with a whole different form of power “Just say no, snezinka-”

“This is exactly what I want“ you counter. As you arch your back, pressing the tips of your breasts against his chest, closing your eyes at the whisper of a kiss, at the hunger that ravages inside you.

He leans down more, his mouth only inches from yours. “Fuck,” the barely leashes growl of his voice rumbles up through his chest, and every nerve ending in your body flares to life.

Bucky loves seeing you pinned to the door—his control balancing precariously on the point of a knife. He tightens his hands holding you even closer, until your chest is pressed against his own, you can feel his hard cock pressing between your bodies.

All he needs is one push.

And you are about to shamelessly shove.

“Come on, I can take it” you tilt your head up to his and draw his bottom lip between yours, sucking before gently nipping him with your teeth. 

“Yeah, yeah, okay” He speaks against your throat and finishes one languorous stroke up the column of your neck.

It breaches something within him, and he gives in.

Finally, mouths collides, and the kiss is hot and hard—it invades his body, abolishing any constraints and bringing to life the desire for you. It grounds him firmly in the moment and drags his body in it, too—Bucky wants to be the only thing touching you, the only thing that touches you ever again. He is kissing the shell of your ear, nipping at it gently and then soothing the nips with soft kisses.

Rage. Lust. Jealousy. Past. Preset. Every day is a reminder of how nothing stays the same, every day an exercise in variability, resilience, understating and trust.

You love the seasons, but, you must admit—at the risk of offending the others—Winter is your very favorite one. What a beautiful madness, to explore the darkness in his old self and find joy in the unearthing of such a wicked past.

He craves you, he kisses you again.

When your mouth touches his, it is like a blade glancing off metal—the darkness inside him briefly lights up with violence and rage before the emptiness comes flooding in like a black lake—you see it in his eyes.

“Let’s get inside '' he hears your whisper and he reaches up to stroke your cheek with the backs of his fingers. He might be lust-intoxicated, but he always cares.

Tonight, you have successfully deflected his attention from the gloomy thoughts and the contemplation of his past—his lust rushes, but his love makes him wait.

His love lasted for decades—will last for a lifetime.

Awash with trepidation, you two manage to get into the apartment, but the moment you lock the door—your back is against the wall again.

All those desires Bucky has felt in passing have culminated, growing deeper, hungrier, darker—he can do whatever he wants with you.

That through alone causes trouble below his belt.

He pulls his shirt over his head, the sight of his sculpted muscles, crisscrossed with countless scars. They have the strange power to remind you both that the past is real.

Bucky’s hands languidly roam the curves and valleys of your body as his kisses became sensual, slow and deep. There is such a luster in his eyes that you have to look away, but when you look back at him, his gaze hasn’t moved, still focused on your face.

Then he shifts his mouth to your neck for a hard love-bite that makes you cry out— the need to possess you, to claim you, he never did that before.

But even though you feel his erection stir as you press your hips against his, he doesn't attempt to resume the lovemaking in full, he catches you around your slender waist again and brings you close to whisper teasingly in your ear

“Ты - моя, слышишь?”

You begin to feel a familiar wetness form between your legs.

“Bucky,” you call out, impatient with desire.

But that exact position triggers so much delight, of the heated memory—he has all the time in the world, not as the last time.

He kisses you like he has forgotten how your mouth tastes—with a curious childish delight, kisses like wants to take you dancing.

As you pull apart, you remove your own shirt and his teeth scraping down the skin of your neck, his hands sliding around back to remove your bra, tossing it aside.

His right hand makes its way up, passing over a mark left by a bullet—your cheeks heat, and your breath hitches, but you can’t look away, you follow his hand with your eyes.

“I was not there when you got shot” he says as his fingertip skims the top of your breasts “When was that?” he uses the vibranium arm to lift one of the long locks of your hair to his lips and inhales the scent.

“It doesn’t matter”

And maybe you are right, but it stands as a reminder yet again of how you too escaped death's touch before. It was almost...normal for you back then.

Bucky takes a breast into his mouth to suck at it vigorously as you shiver in his grasp, the metal hand sides down to your waist to keep you against the wall.

You let out a small moan as you feel his hardness tighten and press even more insistently against you.

You worm your hands between your bodies, opening his jeans, freeing his length from the confines of his boxer-briefs, then reaching in to caress it and he burying his face in your neck to stifle his groan.

Bucky shudders when when you take him in your hand, stroking him painfully slowly. He allows it for several moments before hiking up the skirt of your dress to quickly tear your damp underwear.

He rubs a hand down your leg, fingers curling behind your knee and pulls it to his hip.

You instinctively jump, he catches you, abandoning his attempts of fingering you in favor of grabbing your hips, and you moan as you wrap your legs around his waist.

He loves you.

He loves you because nature wills it as it did for decades.

Because you are already long united by the past.

The bare flesh on every part of you always belonged to him, the scent emitting from your skin is his—he loves you, but he doesn't dare tell you that.

You have become Bucky’s favorite hiding place over the past year, the place he put every secret, every solitude, every nervous prayer, you keep him safe.

You have possessed him—and you never knew it.

He has been dependent on exactly how close he can have you next to him, how long he can get to stay at your apartment—making various excuses every time until you suggested to him to move in with you two months ago.

“Bucky,”

you tighten your legs around his waist, urging him to continue, running your hands over his shoulders.

Your voice pulls him out of what was ravaging in his mind, all those thoughts, but then he kisses as he roughly inserted his cock with no warning, you let out a surprised gasp as his forehead falls to your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips and pressing you against the wall more firmly when he bottoms out, moaning shamelessly at the feeling of your body against him.

You are made for him, made for fucking.

“I love biting you, I need it” his voice is brittle, not saying anything else.

You stare like he is something you can’t comprehend, something unexpected – willingly admitting.

Your fingers thread gently through his hair and you can’t help, but hang your jaw in bewilderment at the sight before—he is falling apart from the need to claim you, to reach the white-hot ecstasy. 

You have never seen him like that.

He bites his way along your jaw to the base of your throat. His mouth is hard and punishing, lathering your skin with marks—ferocity burns in his gaze promising something primal—thrusting into you wildly, trying to elongate your pleasure for as long as possible, but suddenly he is choking on moans as waves of climatic bliss are sent throughout his body.

This is about him, not you, this is what he needs.

This night you learn about his jealousy, it has you starving to learn more about this side of him. A new hunger that you know you will satisfy only with time.

His steel blue eyes hide a nearly irresistible urge to claim you—it’s hard for Bucky to control it when the incurable desolation of Winter exaggerates in displaying old emotions.

#BARKING ON MY KNEES FOR HIM #bucky x ex!asset reader #smut and feels #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky x female reader #bucky imagine #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #winter soldier smut #winter soldier x you #bucky angst #ws!bucky #bucky barnes fanfiction #winter soldier fanfiction #marvel x reader #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x snezana kabakov

[scribble-dribble-writes]

One kiss

---

Pairing: Miguel o'hara x female reader

Word count: 3400

Warnings: none, mentions of wound and blood

Content: hurt comfort, he's been pining for you forever, angst

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It stung with every step you took, the wound on the top of your thigh had begun to seep through your suit and with the only energy you had left, you tapped on your gadget and entered the spider society.

Your vision began to blur and it was hard to keep your wits about you. But the vibrant entrance you knew well was not what greeted you, instead it was a dark room lit up by glowing monitors.

A chill ran down your spin, you were never permitted here except for meetings. As you blinked twice and held your head in your hand unable to to stand, you caught sight of him. He stood on his podium, with his back arched over lost in thought. He lacked spider sense, so he remained oblivious to your presence.

If you could get to your room or transport yourself to the med bay, you could access the help you needed. It wouldn’t bode well to disturb him. Your perception of him was quite clear, you had seen him in action once and that was all that was needed to know who he was.

He was aggressive and feral, he dug his blades into the ground as he gave an anomaly a chase, climbing on buildings with nothing but his own strength, choosing to intimidate and brood. He had the final say, you knew what it felt like to stand still in his gaze, you feared he could read your thoughts. Because if he did, he would come to know you thought of him often.

But as you pushed yourself up with support from a nearby table, you fell back and tripped over laboratory equipment which in turn toppled glass beakers making it crash onto the floor.

You began to breathe heavily, not knowing how he was going to react and watched as his head whipped around to see you.

“I wasn’t supposed to transport here. Have to get my gadget fixed.”, you heaved a  breath, but he moved towards you with such force and urgency.

“I was wondering why you were running late from your mission.”, he glanced at the mess around you.

“I’m sorry, Miguel.”, you huffed.

But his gaze darkened when he realized that a trail of blood glistened amidst the debris. His eyes now pinned on your hand that remained clutched over the wound.

“You’re bleeding all over my floor.”, he stated but in your hazy vision it almost looked like he had frozen at the very sight of you looking like this.

“I know.”, you said quietly.

“I can’t seem to get up.”, you gave him a dry laugh.

“If not I would have been on my way and saved you the mess.”, you gestured but his reaction was what silenced you.

He slipped his hands under your calves and your arms to carry you. His eyes roaming over your body in search of other damages or gashes. His touch felt foreign but you craved it, his fingers curved over the side your chest in a protective stance. You felt like you could slip away into a slumber, but he didn’t let you.

“I need you to stay awake.”, he ordered, his eyes now looking like black marbles. Your eyes began to flutter.

“Hey, look at me.”, he sounded much softer now, his calloused fingertips tilting your face towards him and it surprised you, how your imaginations could never come close to how it really felt to be in his arms.

If only the circumstances were different, he was doing this because he led this team, a team in which you were merely an invisible member. He cared deeply, that was his true nature, far beneath his animosity and stone cold exterior. The people of Nueva York respected him as their protector, so you being held close like this such that your cheek rested on his chest, was merely for precaution’s sake nothing else.

“I’m tired, Miguel.”, you whispered, his name rolled off your tongue so easily in dire situations.

“And you can sleep later, ahora no. Look at me.”, it sounded like a plea.

“Please.”, he said quietly and whispered your name.

Now that woke you up, your eyes found his because you felt the tingle in your soul hearing your name on his lips. He said it effortlessly, like he had it memorized.

If only the circumstances were different.

“Ok.”, you mouthed and the corners of his mouth tipped up.

“Bueno.”, he responded and turned to call for LYLA

“Cancel all her upcoming missions.”, he commanded and fear stung your bones.

“No.”, you clutched the top of his suit.

He paused to look at you when LYLA asked for confirmation.

“Yes.”, he said looking away.

Cancelled missions mean he was going to send you home. You were going to be suspended, barred out of spider society for awhile.

“Miguel, you can’t do that. I just need a few days.”, you protested as he walked out towards the med bay.

“No. In your current condition, you are a liability.”, he said and you stilled in his hold.

A liability.

That was how he viewed you. Now that hurt more than the suspension. When you turned your attention to your surroundings, you came to realize you were no where near the med bay.

“This is your suite.”, you stated.

“An astute observation.”, he remarked.

“Not the med bay.”, you continued.

“Another stellar observation.”, he replied as the door opened for him sensing his genetic profile.

Glancing towards you once he sensed your confusion and silence, he said, “I have a couple med packs that heal faster.”

You nodded in response but it was unreal, hearing him speak in a soft cadence as though you were his friend. This was a side, he never displayed to everyone.

So why you? Why now?

He placed you gently on top of an observation table and turned away to gather the supplies he needed. His home retained the same frigid temperature as his lab. It felt lifeless, almost certain he lived in his office more rather than here.

“Nice place.”, you remarked sarcastically to which he chuckled, turning to face you with his hands full of bandages and medication.

“Not really a fan of cozy houses.”, he mumbled as he inspected your wound. It struck you then, his past or the life he lost was rooted in him being a single parent.

The man who now stood before you had once lived in a place that had walls covered in crayon scribbles and toys scattered on the floor. Denying himself of a comfortable home meant it was a reminder of everything he had lost. Everyday he was punishing himself

The suit had dried blood over it making it hard to assess the damage and so he dosed a cloth with saline solution.

“This is going to hurt.”, he warned you.

You braved yourself as he dabbed the open wound but it burned beyond your pain tolerance making you squirm in discomfort as you bit down on your bottom lip, your hand reaching out to hold his for a moment of comfort.

Your eyes widened on what you had done, he was stunned too, his eyes looking up at yours before he moved away clearing his throat.

Why was it easy to seek comfort from him?

“The tear is too deep and wide for me to stitch it up with your suit on.”, he said, his face hidden from your view.

“Oh”, you replied.

“I don’t have the tool to cut through it.”, he stated next, turning to see you from over his shoulder.

Your suit had a special quality that made it impervious to most weapons except for a certain kind of lasers but as you thought about what he was saying, the more your cheeks grew warm.

“Oh, you want me to –

“remove your suit, yes.”, he finished your sentence and it was clear both of your were nervous about this.

He turned away to give you privacy as he braced himself against the counter top. You pulled all your hair to the side to get a feel for the top of the zipper behind your neck. Finding the tail end of it, you pulled it down, the sound filling the silence between the two of you. But you could only pull in halfway before it got stuck.

You breathed out a frustrated curse word as you continued to pull on it, your leg convulsing in pain when you almost gave up until you felt warm fingers touch yours. He stood behind you, his soft breath running over the escape of your back. He pulled the zipper done the whole way but his hands were too big to execute this without touching you. As he dragged the zipped, his knuckle pressed into your tender skin, he inhaled sharply and you held your arms to prevent the spread of goosebumps.

Your inner wear and short tights gave you a little cover as you peeled away your suit thanking him for his help. He took it from you and sent it away to be washed and fixed. Every interaction only increased your curiosity over this gentleness he had kept well hidden. Any second in his gaze now burned your skin. He set to work quickly, as though if he didn’t, he might end up doing something else.

He kept his gestures short as he set up an IV and heart monitor but ever so often his fingers would graze your body. He pulled up a seat and sat by the table, ready to stitch the clean anesthetized wound. He retracted his claws and his suit unravelled till his forearms, allowing him to pick up the needle with his bare hands.

He got closer, one hand holding your thigh steady while the other worked the stitch. The image you had concocted about him had broken. This was who he truly was beneath that tough façade. You leaned closer to inspect his work.

“You’re good at this.”, you commented but didn’t expect him to look up, causing your faces to be away from each other by an inch.

“Ive had a bit of practice.”, he swallowed hard and sat back, moving away from you.

“I wasn’t used to having the claws at first. I wouldn’t retract it and it would tear open my skin when I did mundane events.”, he kept the conversation flowing while his attention remained on the needle and thread.

He was letting you into some aspects of his life. He stood tall and intimidated anyone who was around him, you never would have guessed he had trouble with his mutations.

“And now?”, you asked.

“Now,”, he paused to look at you.

“I do it when I please.”, he smirked holding his index finger to you, the moment he said it, his claws protruded out like tiny knives.

Your eyes widened and that reaction seemed to send him back into his shell again. You reached forward to touch the tip of his claw but he pulled away his hand.

“You can say it.”, he stated as he tied the knot to his stitch.

“What?”, you asked confused.

“That I’m a monster.”, he held the needle high such that the string was held taut by tension. You remained quiet when his eyes landed on yours, he was baiting you, to get you to tell him what you really thought. And as he maintained eye contact, he leaned forward towards your thigh to snap the thread with the end of his fang.

“How would you know what I think?”, you cocked your eyebrow and folded your arms to portray that what he did didn’t affect you but truth be told, you felt weak in the knees.

He studied your expression as he stood up, he braced his arms against the edge of the table, ever so slightly leaning towards you.

“What is it then, that you think of me?”, he asked and although he wanted to be scare you away, you could tell by the way his eyes turned lighter that he was actually vulnerable.

Why was it that your opinion mattered?

But you chose to tell him the truth.

“I think you are kind, loyal and entirely impressive, claws and all. I don’t get why you sell yourself short.”, the tip of your pinky touched his where he had rested his hand and the very spark that you felt made all this feel too risky.

His eyes sunk low to your lips and you were certain he was going to kiss you, his eyes were relaxed as though your statement was a confirmation of whatever it was he had thought of.

“Why am I bestowed with beautiful thing when everything I touch, breaks.”, he whispered.

You were entranced by this that you didn’t want to pratice better judgement, maybe it was the meds that was giving you blind courage to sit here and face him or maybe it was all real.

But just when he was about to place his lips on yours, he blinked and his face contorted into one of regret and worry.

“You should go.”, he said as he moved away. You sunk back, the rush leaving your system.

What were you thinking?

Scratching the edge of his jaw almost in a way he was asking the same question, he put a great deal of distance between you and himself.

“Right.”, you remarked as you watched him hang his head low, he looked like he was unravelling.

“Could I get my suit back?”, you asked and his demeanor looked different now, very different to the one who was with this a few seconds ago.

“I need you to leave. Now.”, his voice was coarse, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Miguel, I can’t just walk out looking like this.”, you gestured to yourself but his thoughts were elsewhere. When he turned away from you, you caught a glimpse of the eyes that now flashed red.

He groaned as he opened all the cabinets in a hurry, then pushing away the contents on the counter as though he was in searching for something.

But with every second, you could tell he was loosing control over his own body, his claws were out, tearing into anything he touched. He hissed and you could see the gleam of his fangs.

“Dónde está?”, he yelled as he trashed around.

You spotted a couple vials tucked away in the corner that contained a green liquid inside it. He took those often and you pieced together that it was what he was looking for. You took a step forward and he whipped around towards you. His back hunched over, he looked menacing. He barred his teeth at you, but you stood your ground. But more that looking animalistic, he only looked like he was in pain.

You stepped towards him slowly and you could see the corner of his eyes glimmer, as thou he was one who was afraid of himself.

“Don’t come close.”, he shouted.

“Don’t look at me.”, he looked hurt.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”, another warning but you flung your web to grab a vial and an injector.

“Are you looking for this?”, you held up the item and he scrambled for it, grabbing it in a desperation you had never seen before.

He suppressed the pain as he injected the liquid straight onto his skin. The the silence flooded back in, he dropped the empty vial to the floor and he sunk low, his knees hitting the tiles floor in a soft thump.

It was the most heartbreaking few seconds you had ever witnessed. He had no choice, he lived like this, the most inhuman way to torture someone, to curse them to be a beast their whole life.

He was breathing calmly now but his head was hidden in his hands as you looked down at him. His hair was a tousled mess when he said, “Gracias.”

“Anyone else would have done the same.”, you told him as you contemplated on the two options that were present before you. To kneel down to meet his gaze again or turn back a leave.

“They would have run straight to the door.”, he pushed back his hair as he inhaled deeply. His eyes now returned to soft golden hue. You placed your knees on the cold tiles to match his eye level, his gaze never left yours.

“Why won’t you turn your back and run?”, he questioned you.

“I’m stubborn that way.”, you managed to smile and he sighed, dropping his hands to his side.

“Dios mío, esta mujer.”, he mumbled.

“Can't you see I have a tendency to break things?”, he gestured to the mess around him and you huffed a laugh. It mirrored the same mess you had made an hour ago in his lab. But it was there that he chose to pull you out of it rather let you revel in it.

“Some elements are cursed to be left alone and I am one of them.”, he continued.

“How can you be alone if I’m keeping you company?”, you tilted your head and smiled

“Precisely, so I need you to leave.”, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Is that what you want?”, you ask letting go of the playful tone.

You had to know now, if that almost kiss was imagined or if he harboured anything at all for you.

He remained quite. He didn’t give you answer and maybe in the end all this was futile. So you turned to leave and you felt his fingers gently grab your wrist. It wasn’t covered in his suit, his fingers were rough and calloused but his touch ebbed with the comfort you were seeking.

“You are the brightest star in my barren sky and as much as I desire you, I can't have you, I can never continue to exist if I was the one to extinguish your light.”, he said eloquently.

He reeled you in and you followed, “Then I’ll shine brighter for you.”, you placed you palm on his cheek and he leaned into your touch. Like he was soft clay in your potter hands.

“I can never offer you peace, Querida.”, he said quietly.

“You deserve someone who would spend less time worrying about losing you and instead would enjoy every second of your presence.”, he said as you sat down in front of him.

“Peace is overrated if you’re part of spider society. Sacrifice, is all I know and because of it we’re more alike that you think.”, you told him.

He was at the edge, he wanted to hold you close, to have a life he had always yearned for.

But was he worthy of it?

He pulled you closer to him.

This was a lot more intense than keeping the spiderverse together. His heart was on fire for you, burning secretly, but maybe today, just this once he would indulge in it. To ease his soul.

As you drew closer, his suit peeled away, exposing his warm skin, his legs covered in black tights.

“One kiss wouldn’t hurt, would it?”, he asked, a soft smile spreading across his face.

“I guess not.”, you murmured, entranced by his beauty in the soft pale light.

“And if ever I crave more?”, you asked, he was waiting for you to take the first step. Your lips hovered over his.

“Then you only have to ask.”, he whispered and with that, you kissed him.

His lips lush and soft as his hands found your waist. The frigid temperature had now thawed, as you remained seated on the floor, lost in a world of your own as he pulled on the ends of your long hair that he had entangled his hands in. His fire had met it’s match in the spark of your spirit.

You pulled away to catch your breath before losing yourself in placing kisses along his neck as he held you steady, as though he never wanted you to leave. This was where the chaos of your lives made sense, in each other’s arms.

There was no going back now.

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fluff #spiderman 2099 #spiderverse

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [14] - Wedding

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A wedding can be a good place for clarity.  

Word Count: 3400

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, stabbing, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

Well, this was going to be fun.

The wedding was tonight and your phone already had way too many text notifications. You would be meeting Becca and Sarah today to get ready, so you had woken up way too early just like Bucky. After taking a quick shower, you made your way downstairs to see him in the kitchen, making coffee.

“Morning.”

Bucky's head snapped up and he turned around to look at you better.

“Whoa,” he said, “This is a surprise."

You pulled your brows together.

“Um, we've been staying in the same honeymoon suite for a while now, in case it has escaped your notice.”

“No no, as in— am I allowed to see you?”

You blinked a couple of times. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean—” he said, motioning between you. “Isn’t it bad luck? If I see you before the wedding?”

You shrugged your shoulders, then jumped to sit on the kitchen island.

“We’re going to get a divorce anyway,” you said. “That whole tradition is for actual couples, not us.”

Bucky pursed his lips and cleared his throat before holding up a mug.

“Coffee, my romantic wife?”

“Stop calling me that, and yes.”

He chuckled, filling the mug with coffee before handing it to you.

“There you go.”

“Thanks,” you said. “So, we’re getting married then.”

“Mm hm.”

“So I’ve been thinking,” you said. “There’ll be a lot of important guests there as well as alcohol. A good way to start alliances.”

“You’re going to use our wedding to make business deals?”

“You’re not?” you asked back and he thought for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Yeah I see what you mean.”

“And I need to talk to Stark tonight.”

Bucky grimaced.

“I did that earlier this week,” he said. “Would not recommend, it’s not a nice experience.”

You stifled a laugh.

“Well, we need him,” you said. “As much as I hate to admit.”

“I mean—” he started but was cut off when someone pounded on the door, making both of you turn your heads before Becca’s voice reached inside.

“You’d better not be seeing each other right now!”

Bucky threw his head back and you made your way to the door to open the door, smiling already. When you opened it, you found Becca and Sarah standing there and Sarah looked amused already while Becca let out a gasp.

“Just as I thought!” she said, walking past you to step inside and you hugged Sarah when she stepped inside.

“Hey!”

“Hey there,” she said. “I held her back as long as I could.”

“Appreciate it,” you said and pressed a kiss on her cheek, then turned around to see Becca who made her way to Bucky.

“Are you trying to get bad luck? Why are you seeing the bride?!”

“Ask the bride,” Bucky said and you rolled your eyes.

“Come on, everyone in this room knows that this is more of a business deal than a wedding.”

Sarah shook her head slightly and you stole a look at her.

“It is,” you insisted and she held up her hands.

“I didn’t even say anything.”

“And where is my coffee?” Becca asked and Bucky nodded at the coffee machine.

“It’s right there, help yourself.”

“Did mom teach you nothing?” she asked while you leaned your head on Sarah’s shoulder, watching them bicker. “Is this your first time interacting with a guest in your place?”

“We don’t have the time to get coffee Becca, we can get it on our way to the weekend house,” Sarah stated and you checked your phone when you received another text, then heaved a sigh.

“Why is everyone texting me?”

“It’s just my theory but maybe because it’s your wedding day?” Sarah asked and motioned at you. “Give me your phone, you’ll be busy the whole day.”

“Oh my God thank you.”

“I already talked to Steve and Sam and I know when exactly you’re supposed to arrive there,” Becca said. “Which means, if you’re late as you like to be all the time—”

“It’s my own wedding Becca, I couldn’t be late if I tried.”

“Well forgive me if I don’t trust you,” Becca said. “I’m serious, my brother or not, I’ll shoot you if you’re late.”

“Does this have something to with the fact that you don’t know if your girlfriend is coming to come to the wedding so you’re channeling all your anger to me?”

“Bucky!” you hissed and he shrugged his shoulders.

“What?”

“Maybe worry less about my relationship and more about yours since we’re still not sure your wife who happens to be my best friend won’t kill you in your sleep,” Becca said airily and Bucky scoffed.

“She won’t kill me in my sleep.”

“She might.”

“She won’t— Y/N, tell her.”

“My dad raised me better than that,” you pointed out. “You don’t even kill enemies in their sleep, let alone allies.”

A happy smile lit up Bucky’s face as if you had just proclaimed your undying love to him on a bent knee and he motioned at you.

“See?” he asked Becca, pride clear in his voice. “We’re allies.”

“You’d have to be awake for it,” you added and Bucky’s head whipped around so that he could see you better.

“Come again?”

“Because honor—”

“Alright!” Sarah cut you both off. “Let’s go. Bucky, Sam and Steve are on their way here.”

“Yeah they just told me on group chat.”

“You have a group chat?” you asked and shook your head. “Of course you do.”

“Come on,” Becca said as she walked outside and Sarah followed her. You lingered there for a moment before you nodding at Bucky.

“I’ll see you at the wedding then.”

“See you, wife.”

“Stop calling me that!” you said and quickly left the suite before he could reply, trying to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

                                                                       *

The majority of the day had gone pretty fast. Thanks to your wedding planner, everything looked exactly how you described her. Barnes weekend residence and its huge yard were already gorgeous, and as the night fell, it looked almost magical. All the guests were seated, Becca and Sarah were already by the altar and so was Bucky, Steve and Sam. Even though you had tried to keep this wedding simple and with as few people as possible, it still looked like there were too many people and you brushed a hair over the skirt of your wedding gown, shifting your weight from one foot to other.

“Y/N?”

Your head shot up and you smiled at your father.

“I’m fine,” you said before he could ask, leaning your back to the wall, waiting for your cue. He kept his gaze on you before giving you a teary smile.

“Your mother would be so proud of you.”

“I haven’t done anything to make her proud yet,” the reply left your mouth before you had a chance to stop it and he pulled his brows together.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “You don’t have to do anything.”

No.

No you did have to.

You hadn’t done anything at all to prove yourself yet thanks to your father pushing you out of the picture so that Ian could be his heir instead of you, but you were going to fix that.

Whether he liked it or not.

“Right,” you managed to say. “Sorry. I’m just kind of nervous, that’s all.”

“That’s understandable,” he said. “But I assure you, tonight will go the way you’ve always dreamed of.”

Well, you had dreamt of actually being in love with the groom when you dreamt of your wedding but your father didn’t need to hear that.

This was going to be yet another thing you would keep from him, along with the car chase incident.

“Your aunt texted me by the way,” he said. “She sends her apologies for not making it to the wedding but she’s going to visit soon, she says.”

You tried not to roll your eyes and nodded your head.

“Great.”

“Y/N, I know things haven’t been great lately but I—” he started but was cut off when the music started and you pushed yourself off the wall, rolling your shoulders back. He offered you his arm, and you took a deep breath, trying to calm your wild heartbeat down.

“Ready?” he asked and you bit inside your cheek, then took his arm.

“Ready,” you said and you both started walking down the aisle.

It was alright. This whole marriage was just going to last until you took over, and then you were going to get a divorce and you and Bucky would go your separate ways.

Bucky, who was now looking at you like you were the most beautiful woman he had seen.

You averted your gaze from his as your father and you reached the altar, and he squeezed at your arm before nodding at Bucky, then took his seat. You let out a breath and stole a look at Becca and Sarah, then turned to face the priest, forcing yourself to focus.

Fine, from an objective viewpoint he did look very handsome today.

Not that it changed anything. He was still the most arrogant man you had ever met.

Your heart was still beating so fast that you could hardly focus on what the priest was saying. You and Bucky had informed him earlier on that you would skip the speeches, considering that you had nothing to say other than lies, and you didn’t want to risk people seeing through your lie.

You could swear your head was spinning but you tried to see through the nervousness making its way through your system. You just needed to do this to take over, and then you’d get a divorce and you were hardly going to think about Bucky after that point, except for—

Well.

Technically you were going to have to do business with your ex-husband but that slight detail aside, it was going to be fine.

Blood was muffling your ears as you heard Bucky speak and you dug your fingernails into your palms, then your head shot up when you heard your name.

“Y/N?” the priest said and you blinked a couple of times, then cleared your throat.

“I—I do,” you said almost automatically and Bucky let out a relieved breath as the priest smiled calmly.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” he said. “You may now kiss the bride.”

Fuck.

Fuck, this right here had escaped your attention while planning the wedding and from the look of surprise on Bucky’s face, it had escaped his attention as well. He stared at you for a moment as if he didn’t know what to do, and the priest coughed as if trying to signal him.

“You may kiss the bride,” he repeated and you gave a small nod of your head, making Bucky swallow thickly before taking a step to you. Your heart skipped an excited beat as his arm sneaked around your waist and he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, then he dipped you slightly backwards, then leaned in to capture your lips in a kiss.

…Oh.

You would be lying if you said you hadn’t dreamed about this before. Back when you still had the biggest crush on Bucky, you would spend hours thinking about how it would feel if he kissed you, even imagining your wedding sometimes but—

You hadn’t thought that his kiss would feel this good.

Before you could even stop yourself, your arms wrapped around his neck as he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against yours like he wanted to make the moment last. You exhaled, your breath mixing into his but when the applause started, you both snapped out of it. Bucky helped you gain your balance as you tried to catch your breath, then rolled your shoulders back and stepped back from him to smile at the crowd, ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes were glued to you.

                                                           *

You were quite certain you were the first bride who was going out of her way to avoid the groom on her wedding, but in your defense, you had a lot to think about.

Not that kiss.

You had to think about anything and everything except that kiss.

You passed through the huge garden to approach the bar, stealing a look at Leila and Becca who seemed to be in a deep conversation but judging by the small smile on Leila’s face, it was going well. Bucky was talking to Steve and Sam by the corner and Sarah was listening to Winnifred who seemed very enthusiastic to tell her something, motioning at the garden.

Probably something about the wedding.

You ordered your drink and smiled at Ryan who was sipping his drink by the bar and he smiled back.

“Ma’am.”

“Hi Ryan,” you said and looked around. “Please tell me Ian left early.”

“He’s in the bathroom ma’am,” Ryan said and you rolled your eyes.

“Great,” you said. “So are you having fun?”

“I am, thank you,” he said and looked down to his glass. “It’s a nice wedding and you…you look very nice if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh thank you!” you said. “You know, if you ever—”

“Mrs. Barnes,” another voice cut you off and you looked over your shoulder, then turned around to see him better.

“Mr. Stark,” you managed to say and the bartender put your glass on the counter. You took it into your hand and leaned back to the counter.

“Tony is alright.”

“Y/N is alright,” you quipped and Tony smiled at you.

“Very well.”

Ryan’s phone beeped and he cleared his throat, then put his glass down and walked away from you to make his way to the house.

“How do you like the wedding so far?” you asked and Tony thought for a moment.

“No one is shooting at anyone,” he said. “I’d say it’s going well.”

“The night is still young,” you said and he chuckled.

“I suppose,” he said. “But the drinks are pretty good.”

“Food is gonna be better,” you said. “We just figured people shooting at people would be less of a possibility if we made them drink first.”

“Your idea or Bucky’s?”

“Mine.”

Tony hummed and ordered his drink while you sipped yours.

“My father says you’re not exactly happy about this wedding,” you told him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I’m thinking about how it will affect the balance of things now that you mention it,” he said. “Your father is a very powerful man, and you and Bucky uniting families…”

“I understand your concern perfectly,” you said in a calm tone even if your heartbeat sped up. “But I assure you, this will change nothing.”

“Is that right?”

You clicked your tongue.

“In your business it will change nothing,” you corrected yourself. “I’m quite familiar with your deals with my father, and the Barnes family. I’ll make sure they remain as they are.”

“As Bucky’s wife or as your father’s new heir?” he asked back and you arched a brow, but managed to keep your expression straight as the bartender gave him his drink as well.

“Is that what people say?”

“Well you’re marrying into Barnes family, your father still hasn’t announced his heir, and you have a way of making people talk about you lately,” Tony pointed out. “Not to mention, Natasha seems impressed with you.”

Your eyes found Natasha who was drinking with Clint before you turned your glances to Tony again.

“But you are not?”

“I don’t know you enough yet,” Tony said. “I mean I’ve had the time to figure Ian out and let me tell you, I am absolutely not impressed. But you? You’re a mystery.”

“I’m not,” you told him. “I want the same thing as you do. To keep the truce going, and to keep the town safe.”

“So you claim,” Tony said. “Even you can’t admit, this wedding gave you a huge advantage in power and allies.”

“Let’s be serious here Tony, it didn’t give me any advantage over any of the bosses here.”

“Yet,” Tony added and you hummed, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Yet.”

“But you want it to.”

“I want to make sure my family continues the truce after my father retires,” you stated. “I think that’s what we all want, no?”

Tony huffed out a laugh and raised his glass slightly.

“It is,” he said. “But we also want to make sure your fight for the crown doesn’t hurt the town.”

You opened your mouth to say it would never happen, but heard Pepper calling out for Tony so you both turned your heads before Tony cleared his throat.

“I should go,” he said. “I’ll be in touch. Maybe a dinner with the newlyweds?”

“We’d love to host you and Pepper,” you said and he downed his drink, then put it on the counter and walked away. You let out a breath, then finished your drink as well before motioning at another.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your husband?” Ian’s voice reached you and you rolled your eyes, then leaned sideways to the bar.

“What do you want?”

He held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “I come in peace.”

“As if.”

“Come on Y/N, it’s your wedding,” he said. “I would have thought you’d be in a better mood.”

“I was, then you started talking to me,” you said and he hummed.

“Listen,” he said. “I’m being completely serious here. Congratulations for the wedding, I’m happy for you. I know we’ve had our differences but we both want your father to be happy, and this wedding is a huge relief for him.”

You pulled your brows together.

“A relief?”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s a relief for me as well. Now you can just be happy with Barnes and focus on your marriage and your family.”

That bitter taste climbed up your throat but you managed to scoff a laugh and motioned for another drink.

“Is that what you think will happen?” you asked him. “Me and Bucky get married and… then what? I get out of your hair?”

“We’re family,” he reminded you. “That’s not what I—that’s not it. You’ll just have different priorities.”

“Did you give the same speech to Bucky or is it just for me?” you asked and he rolled his eyes.

“You know how the business works Y/N, you don’t need me to tell you.”

You bit inside your cheek hard enough to hurt, then reached out to grab your glass of drink the bartender just placed on the counter.

“You’re the daughter of one of the most important men in the business,” he said. “This marriage will be good for the family, uncle knows that. Not to mention…”

You lowered your glass and tilted your head.

“Not to mention?”

“You’re a wild card,” he said. “It’s hard to play you.”

Your grip around the glass tightened and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Maybe I’ll play you.”

“Spouses don’t get involved, you know the rules,” he said with a snort and your smirk widened before you took a sip, keeping quiet. That confident look on his face faltered when you didn’t reply and he pulled back slightly.

“You can’t,” he said as if trying to convince himself. “You wouldn’t.”

“Here you are!” Bucky’s voice cut through the momentary silence between you and Ian and you turned your head to give him a smile. “Was wondering where you were sweetheart.”

“Time for the food?”

“Mm hm, let’s go.”

Ian gawked at you in silence while you narrowed your eyes at him, dragging the tip of your tongue over your teeth.

“You wouldn’t,” Ian repeated, making Bucky looked between you before he casually stepped closer to you without saying a word, as if making sure you knew he was there to interfere at the slightest sign of you wanting him to. Your stomach did a pleasant flip and you downed your drink, then put it on the counter to turn to Ian.

“Enjoy the wedding, Ian,” you said, grabbing Bucky's hand. “And make sure to rest tonight, will you? Tomorrow will be a new day for both of us.”

With that, you walked away from Ian with Bucky right behind you, a proud smile warming your face.

Chapter 15

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