#I always forget what a pain white is to render

[empressofmankind]

I swear, half the fun of drawing Sir Crocodile is coming up with a new look?

And, I am, particularly fond of this one.

#white is such a power move #as is lining a damn fur coat in red #this man OK?? #I always forget what a pain white is to render #until I inevitably do something like this again #but damn does he look good in white #sir crocodile #one piece crocodile #one piece sir crocodile #op crocodile #crocodile #crocodile op #crocodile one piece #sir crocodile one piece #crocaine #buggy thoughts #imperial art farts #one piece #one piece art #one piece fanart #fanart one piece #one piece fandom #fanart drawing #traditional art #traditional artist #sketchbook #copic markers #alcohol markers #character design

[rewh0re]

—968 words, angst, death, deep talks about life, cemeteries. yea ig that's it. yea also wrote this at 3 am guys i am mighty sleep deprived

a/n; atp I'm doing everything BUT studying or writing my gojo fic :D (gojo fic someday you'll see the light till then this megumi angst has to compensate for it) REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED!!

megumi can never truly forget that memory.

he remembers clear blue skies and the occasional chirping of birds along with the flapping of their wings. white clouds slowly drifting in the air and dragonflies hovering over the grass. the trees were green and lush, the leaves gently rustling due to the cool breeze which could mean one thing alone—the advent of spring. there was a silence that washed his body with a strange type of peace, a peace he had never quite known, that he had just allowed himself to feel. and there was a presence—you—standing beside him, looking at the unknown grave, head tilted slightly and hands deep in your pockets.

he couldn't help but think—there was so much life bursting amidst a place that housed the dead.

megumi never liked cemeteries. they made him sad, unhappy, gloomy in a way. but you found a certain peace in them. to walk in silence, looking at the many graves—you had said it calmed one's soul. made one think. made one feel grateful for their life.

"it's almost amusing, don't you think?" you had asked, breaking your silence.

"dead people amuse you now?" megumi looked over at you to find you still looking at the grave. how could it ever be amusing to look at a stranger's grave? he swore that sometimes even you didn't understand what you were saying.

"no idiot," you shook your head, a little chuckle bursting out of your throat as your eyes locked with his.

"what i mean is," you sighed "that these people, they were people, like you and me. they had dreams and hopes and aspirations. they worked hard for their passions and hoped to achieve so much through their efforts. isn't it awful how many of these people might never have reached their dreams? their lives cut short as they were snatched away from their own loved ones?"

you ruffled your hair before crossing your arms, "i find it unfair. isn't it unfair? how you never know what will happen? how you, me—all of us—will just become another memory to be forgotten? how we'll just become dust, become one with the earth? our names, just some carvings on some stones and even then—everything will just go on as it is. life will go on. we're just lone stars burning out in the massive universe."

megumi could only look at you. you had that effect on him, rendering him speechless through your words alone. a few seconds passed before he finally found his voice again.

"well," he began, tone laced with a certain gentleness that only showed itself in your presence. "i see it more like the beauty of life. we're here and then we're not. we live and we love and we thrive and we falter. it's the way of life, or the rule of life, whatever you call it. i think that's why we have to make sure we make the most of it. life is unpredictable and that's what makes it so thrilling."

"i think you're right—well—in a way at least. i've learnt to cherish my life. i think with you by my side, i can stand strong and proud and i can live. i'm glad you found me and i found you and i'm glad that we're always by each other's side," you smiled up at him, nudging his shoulder.

"always?"

"always."

wasn't that the promise you made?

it was like looking through a glass window, so vividly was that day's image imprinted on his mind. he wanted to break that glass and take a hold of that memory and relive it again and again and again if it meant he could have you by his side. he definitely would do that if he could.

life is not really beautiful he learnt after he started visiting the cemetery more often. it was cruel, it was ruthless, it filled one with agony and suffering and pain. oh, so much pain.

he never looked at random graves anymore like he did before with you. no, he looked at just one. the name etched on the stone with a few leaves scattered at the base—l/n y/n.

it hurt, it truly did. through you, megumi learnt love and loss, he learnt heartbreak and grief and what it felt like to cry in the middle of the night wishing for you to hold him close and whisper i'm here. you never were though, you wouldn't be there anymore, you wouldn't cradle him and card your fingers softly through his hair or wipe his tears or kiss his worries away. you wouldn't and that was reality and he had to live with that reality.

megumi learnt through you how promises were only made to be broken—knowingly or unknowingly.

but you taught him how to love and to be loved, how to find beauty and peace in the mundane, how to dream big and how to care, to be kind.

he loved you but he had to let you go. alas, you wouldn't want him to be stuck, frozen in a place where darkness loomed and nothing but sheer heartache reigned supreme. maybe it was true that a part of him was gone. maybe it was true that he would never feel truly and completely whole again. but he could swear your ghost would curse at him if he didn't at least try to move forward.

so he laid a bouquet of white carnation at the base of your grave, uttering a silent prayer.

"always." he brought his index and middle finger to his lips and then placed it on the top of the headstone before standing up, burying his hands deep in his coat pockets.

"always." he whispered, letting his words get carried by the air before turning around to walk away.

#—storytelling🌙 #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jjk angst #jujustu kaisen angst #megumi angst #megumi x reader #jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #megumi x you #megumi fushiguro angst #fushiguro megumi angst

[thejessc0de]

Do you have any tips for someone who is trying a more realistic aproach for their art style? your painting and lighting are so good that I had to ask 🤠

Thank you!

So this question is actually pretty hard to answer, mostly because I still consider myself a beginner/hobbyist, and I'm pretty sure a lot of my technique comes from the ~5 years of classical art training I received in middle school and high school, and that's so fuzzy I can't tell what's intuition or muscle memory! I can go over some of my workflow/thoughts though and hopefully some of it is useful!

The first thing is that for realism, You. Need. References. It is impossible to replicate the level of detail in a realistic painting without a reference. I usually pick a reference, try to draw that reference exactly, and once I have the proportions correct, I'll change it to match the character/scene I'm drawing (move an arm, tilt the head, add a hand, make the eyes bigger, add anime hair etc. haha). Over time you'll get more comfortable moving away from a specific reference and piecing together a bunch of references into something more unique.

Here is an example of a recent post that was fairly simple. I take the reference image (link to reference here) and try to match it, and then I change it to match the character details, in this case, Kashimo.

As for the lighting, when I first started, my colors were a mess! I already know basic color theory which helps, but it didn't help enough haha. What I think helped me learn the quickest was color picking - in krita you can select a color directly from an imported reference figure. So I'd find a reference that I really liked the lighting on, and color picked from it while paying attention to the actual color I was grabbing (how warm it was, gray it was, what the typical skin tones were, etc).

Later on as I started to learn what types of color palettes I really liked working with, I'd open the reference photo in Krita and tweak the image's contrast and sometimes completely change the lighting and colors. However, at some point I started using it as a crutch and my skills stagnated, so you need to be careful! However, now I've progressed to the point of doing a painting in black and white and adding the colors later (with no color picking!), sometimes even without a reference for the color. This was a slow and painful process, so don't expect things to make sense overnight!

Also, don't forget that you don't have to make the colors perfect in one shot. Usually I'll color things using a color layer with minimal detail and basic color tone (Itadori's hair is soft pink, his hoodie is bright red, etc), and then create shadows and lighting with multiply and overlay layers (blues and purples for night, etc.). Eventually I'll build up the color and merge all the layers together, and then add details in full color. I can color pick from other parts of the painting to maintain consistency. Then to finish things off, I almost always tweak the colors and contrast using filter layers.

Here is an example from that same Kashimo painting, going from black and white to full colors using color, multiply, and overlay layers, and then ending with full color details.

As a side note, starting out in black and white can make things so much easier. When you're only worried about values, you can really focus on shadow depth and the shapes of things. It's so much easier to explore rendering when you're not trying to do color on top of everything! Don't try to do everything at once.

The rendering style I use is based heavily on trying to replicate the feeling of actual oil painting. I use the (free!) art program Krita, and my favorite, most used brush is from a free pack I downloaded from deviant art (here). I use the brush called R T Masked4 (shown below) for basically 90% of any painting I do. I use about 4 brushes total on a typical painting (R T Masked4, that same brush but tweaked to be narrower for hair details, a smudge brush that I discovered maybe 10 days ago that I'm now obsessed with, and sometimes a scratchy brush for additional texture).

One last thing - don't be afraid to use tracing! Block in a reference photo to get the head and shoulders in the right place!! Trace a few hands to see how it feels!!! Obviously don't trace somebody's art and present it as your own, and it should only be rough approximations of shapes so you learn how to break down the body into parts. Otherwise, it won't be helpful at all. I only use photographs for tracing, including pictures I've taken of myself. One of the more helpful things I'll do is free hand my drawing and try to make it match the reference as closely as possible. Then, on a separate layer, I'll trace the reference photo (again, no details, just general positioning/shapes), and compare it to my original drawing. I can immediately see the issues, and I'll use the liquify tool to get things in the right place. I've learned that my horizontal spacing is usually pretty good, but I struggle with vertical spacing, especially on faces. So now I triple check my work for those specific things!

This kinda turned into a book, I'm sorry! I hope some of this is helpful and doesn't sound like the 10:30pm ramblings of someone who didn't get enough sleep haha.

#tumblr asks #art process #realism sorta #digital art #krita #drawn with krita

[midnightsunnyday]

With Good Intentions (Chapter One) (Updated) ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Masterlist A03

"Hell is full of good meanings, but heaven is full of good works."

➥pairings: MC & Everyone ➥content warnings: not beta-read. We cook our stories like Solomon. Hurt/comfort with some humor. Using alcohol and food as coping mechanisms. Curse language. Mild violence. Mentions of suicide. Panic attacks. The brothers are kinda assholes in this story. And so is MC. Also, Diavolo is kind of suspect and so is Barbatos. ➥summary: after the events of Chapter 16, the brothers and Diavolo are forced to deal with the inevitable fallback of their actions towards MC, all while attempting to help them through their growing existential breakdown Or... what would happen if the MC didn't "serve as a bridge" for the brothers after lesson 16? How would their relationships change? And how would the brothers navigate their emotions without the MC's help? A/N: holy shit guys, when I say this story took forever, it took FOREVER. I had this idea in my head since early 2022, but due to some personal issues, it never came to light until now. I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me know how you feel about it in the notes. As always, take care.

Before all else, you were just your average, regular, no-name human. A statement in which you were fine, just perfectly fine, with admitting to.

You liked decorative mugs with cute animals on them. You were consistently outraged by the rising cost of food. You gave unwarranted opinions on topics that you knew little to nothing about. More importantly, you were wonderfully oblivious to your stake in the status quo, pursuing life as you pleased, unbound by fate or duty. On a flying rock in the middle of nowhere filled with billions of people, there shouldn’t be anything special about you. Until it was.

You sat there, peering out from yourself into a world that wasn’t quite yours. At loved ones that only mimicked those you’d left behind. You would’ve objected to all of this, the food, the drinks, the general merriment, if only you weren’t so tired, being dragged along without qualm into the common room to indulge in this nonsense. The celebration had only started, yet it felt as if you were trapped in time, watching the same scene for eons.

With great fanfare your death and all ones committed or attempted thereafter, were made completely inconsequential, the existential implications of one’s life being erased with the snap of a finger rendered irrelevant at the pop of a cork and the fizz of white champagne. One of the brothers spoke to you. Honestly, it was hard to tell which one. Everything was too bright, too loud. Some nonsense about wanting a muffin or other. You’d replied, yet were unsure of your words, as no part of you, not even your voice, felt like it belonged in this space.

Right, well, sure watching your mangled corpse be tossed down the stairs like a leaking bag of garbage to be disposed of might be traumatizing for the next person…no, forget trying to rationalize it. This was definitely traumatizing.

And this feeling. It was like dying all over again, slowly with each breath, but there was no urgency, no threat to twist and break your neck, no end to this "pseudo-death." It was your body who turned against you, a painful ache that gnawed itself from the depths of your stomach and came ripping, screaming, up, up, until the only thing that held it back was the clenching of your eyes. You sat with it. Struggled with it. Wondered if anyone noticed. But when you finally opened your eyes again, the same scene remained: a family—nearly ripped apart from centuries of pain, anger and regret—were laughing like it never happened. And you—still wallowing in what only lasted a few moments—were losing it.

You tried to steady your breaths. Tried enjoying the warmness of your tea. Distracted yourself with cookies, and cupcakes, and stories of failed schemes and embarrassing “childhood” photos. Maybe with time, you would learn to accept what seemingly couldn't be changed. Like with Belphegor, who nuzzled himself into the crook of your arm, dawning a face that made you realize, though with slight disgust, why it was easy to baby him. In time, you’d look back at this day, laughing away fear for awkwardness. In time, you’d find a way to raise your hand without clenching it into a fist to stroke the top of his head. But that time would only come once you allowed yourself to accept it all. This shitty prize, whether you wanted it or not, was yours. You were their family now, forever. Always in sight. Always fretted over. Always followed. The beginning, middle, and unforeseen end to the lives of the seven strongest rulers of hell. What good would it do to run ruin such splendor with your finite problems? For now, you should be happy. For now, you should be grateful. For now, you should breathe, relax, and just—

“Hahaha. There must have been so many things you’ve all wanted to do for Lilith over the years.”

“I’m not Lilith you insensitive asshole.”

The silence wasn’t sudden, because at first, it was hard to believe you’d said it. Like a misheard lyric in a song, everyone’s mind halted, replayed, then with clarity, lost it. Mammon and Leviathan gasped. Satan dropped his fork. Asmodeus covered his mouth. Belphegor winced. And Beelzebub, who never stopped eating, stopped eating. Even the flames from the fireplace seemed to dim slightly as if all the collective oxygen of this now incredibly warm, incredibly small room was sucked in and held. And as you stood there, fists clenched and teeth so tight they could crack brick, did you realize…

Oh.

Shit.

I could’ve sworn I said that to myself.

You waited, expecting a certain demon’s voice to rumble up from the quiet and reprimand you, yet Lucifer, like the rest of his brothers, did not speak, his mouth tight and twisted in not quite anger, not quite shock. Instead, he turned, with all the caution of a startled dog, towards Diavolo.

“I believe there’s been some miscommunication on my part,” Diavolo spoke. For a man that was just insulted to his face, he remained a bit too relaxed. “It was not my intention to offend you.”

"That's not the point!" You yelled again.

So what was the point? At the very back of your mind, beyond all the anger and anxiety, a thought struggled to form. It might’ve been inadvertent, yet your comment wasn't exactly misdirected. You didn't care being compared to Lilith, yet it wasn't what upset you. No, it was more complicated than that. Diavolo was unmoved, the shadows from the fireplace deepening the lines of his face, the mass of his body appearing larger in the dimness.

In the corner of your vision, a hand reached for you. "Hey, cool it, will ya?" Mammon urged, placing it upon your shoulder. "Everyone here knows you ain't Lilith."

You shook your head, hoping it would rearrange your scattered thoughts. "It's not about her."

"Eh? Whad'ya mean it's not about her? Didn't you just--"

"I know, I know!" You stamped down your foot. "It's before. Before the past. There were all of you. And Diavolo said...he said I had to come here, so I did and Barbatos took me to the door and...he took me to the door and..."

And there, like all fools who learned too late, did it dawn on you.

“Did you plan for Belphegor to kill me?” you asked.

Diavolo blinked. “Pardon?”

“Did. You. Plan. For. Belphegor. To. Kill. Me?” You pulled yourself from Mammon and stepped forward. “When you made me go to the past to check who let Belphegor out of the attic. Did you,” you gulped back a sob, “did you know I’d be in danger?”

Diavolo paused, and you envisioned the winding gears struggling behind his eyes. “I understand that the last few hours have been hectic for you," he said," perhaps it better if we continue this at another time?"

“I asked you a question.” Your voice rumbled, unsteady by the weight of your chest.

"And I heard it. Unfortunately," his smile was slight, "I feel no need to answer it."

"No need?" You weren’t sure whether to laugh or grab the nearest object and beat him with it. "Am I not worth an answer? The person you dragged down here and had killed isn't worth an answer?"

"I'm sorry, but I will no longer discuss this matter here." It wasn't long ago when Diavolo told you he could never lie, yet it seemed withholding the truth was another thing. You quickened your mouth to speak, yet Barbatos was far quicker.

“I believe the Young Master has spoken," Barbatos said, stepping into your view. “Regardless of what offense you believe occurred, I must ask that you refrain from continuing this outburst.”

“Or what?" You jabbed your finger into Barbatos's chest. "Will you tie me up in vines and drag me down to the dungeons?”

"Nothing of the sort," he said, brushing your hand away. "Yet your behavior is unbecoming, and furthermore, lacking in respect."

"Respect?" Your laugh was pained. "What do any of you know about respect? You think because you’re royalty you can just say and do what you want?” You swept your arm across the entire room. “You think you all can just say and do what you want and afterward just…fucking eat cake like it never happened? Huh?”

Some part of you expected them to act, to do anything other than sit there with those insipid looks on their faces. In some, like Satan, you could see the very bubbles of reflection beginning to float to the surface of their consciousness, eyes sharpened and red with stinging hindsight. Yet there were others like Leviathan, head tilted toward the ground as if contemplating burrowing himself beneath it. It only made you want to fill the room with your voice. Until it rang the walls of the House of Lamentation. Until it echoed out into the night. Until the entire Devildom could hear you screaming, “Say something you selfish bastards.”

“Oi, that’s enough,” Mammon called to you. “Let’s just calm down before we get ourselves into something we can’t get out of, yeah?”

“Mammon’s right,” Asmodeus said, yet not before peering toward Lucifer. “Just…forget about the party, ok? Go relax in your room.”

"With all due respect, that isn't your decision to make, Asmodeus." Barbatos turned to Diavolo. "Young Master?"

Everyone looked to Diavolo, his face pensive. It was insulting, really. That after all was said and done, now was the time that he considered your well-being. "I believe it best," Diavolo spoke, "that you listen to Mammon and Asmodeus."

You scoffed, face wet and heated. You'd gone a bit past the point of common sense. If this ended in your punishment, then so be it. Until then, you would not move. Not until you got your answer. Not until he and Barbatos admitted what they did. Not until--

"Enough of this, please." Lucifer was not the type to plead, something you, and everyone else for that matter, responded with various expressions of disbelief. "This was supposed to be..." he clutched his breaths as if catching himself from slipping into someone less than his title suggested. “Let’s not continue this further.”

It was the softest you've ever heard him speak, and the most tired he ever looked. The brother's confirmation of Lucifer’s words hung in the air, and with it, your bravado. You never expected them to get it. After all, how could beings that would never know the brush of death or time understand your feelings in this moment? Though you also never expected them to just…do nothing, either. It hurt you, in ways too tired to yell further.

You turned, silent, and moved. Into the halls and towards your room door, tossing it open before slamming it shut and locking yourself inside. Not that it ever kept anyone out. A great heaviness sat upon your shoulders, and you carried it towards your bed, allowing gravity to do the rest as you plopped face-first into your sheets.

Maybe I could suffocate myself in my sleep if I stayed this way? A grim thought. And, unlikely.

For a while, the only sounds were your own heartbeat and shallow breaths. Your room wasn’t far from the common room, so you supposed the shock from before hadn’t died yet.

Finally, with a voice carrying all the weight of a vagrant, Lucifer spoke, “Pardon me for stating the obvious but, I believe it best...that we all call it a night."

And no one, not even Satan, called him out on it.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #midnightsunnyday writes

[summer-nights19]

Replaceable part 2

Someone asked about part 2 in the comments of part 1 and I thought it was a pretty good idea, so here we are.

Hope yall Kise stans enjoy :3

(Lmao I don't even simp for Kise; this was initially meant to be about Aomine, but I thought Kise's personality would fit the plot better)

As soon as you finished typing out the message, you hit "send" without a second thought. You knew that if you stopped to contemplate your decision, your doubts would start creeping in. Breaking up by text was a shitty thing to do- everyone knew that. As someone who valued respect and openness in relationships, you never thought you'd find yourself dumping someone by text, but you just couldn't bring yourself to care anymore. Caring had drained all the beauty from your life in the past, rendering it a series of painful, monotone events. You reread the message as you waited for his reply

"It's over between us,"

The truth was that it had been over long ago and you'd just been unwilling to realize that. Instead, you'd kept going, convincing yourself that Kise truly was trying his best, that it was just a rough patch and that it would get better. You felt pathetic thinking about it now as you tried to stop the tears, to push the pain back into that remote corner of your heart, to become functional again. It wasn't working- an emptiness had taken over your body along with the heartache, leaving you simultaneously dejected and exhausted.

You finally stopped trying and let the tears flow freely, your entire body shaking as you sobbed. No matter what you tried to distract yourself with, your mind seemed intent on reminding you of what had once been.

You saw Kise, bothering you in the school library as you studied for a test, bombarding you with questions and stupid jokes. That afternoon he likely followed you to your classes and when you were running errands after school, keeping an endless stream of easy conversation going. Even then, you'd been forced to admit that spending time with him was something you truly enjoyed.

You saw him by your side as you walked home, his arm entwined with your own as he told you that you were the only person he truly felt at home with. That you meant everything to him.

That he loved you.

You saw him introducing you to the basketball team, a proud grin on his face as he called you his partner. He was always your biggest supporter in those days, helping you in whatever way he could and letting you know how well you did every time you succeeded. It was something you'd come to rely on more than you'd realized.

You saw him in a white button down and nice trousers as you sat at a fancy restaurant for your 1 month anniversary and talked about anything and everything before spending the night out at the disco, laughing together as Kise spun you around and lifted you up on the dancefloor.

You saw him cuddled up next to you in your bed, his face buried in your neck as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear and kissed you. In those occasions, you'd always wear one of his shirts, which you'd later "forget" to give back. The smell of his cologne had felt so comforting, like he was holding you in his arms.

All those moments that you had held close to your heart for so long, as well as the indescribable euphoria that had defined them flashed before your eyes like a film you longed to forget. Your phone buzzed and you picked it up, wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeve. Kise had replied.

"Probably for the best. Committed relationships aren't for me,"

You didn't say anything back, merely picturing him typing that while surrounded by adoring fan girls who bombarded him with enough praise to inflate his ego to unreal levels. You decided not to tell him that, just six months ago, a committed relationship had seemed like exactly what he wanted. That he'd forgotten all his flirting and groupies to build something with you, and you alone. That he'd found as much joy as you did, if not more in doing it before suddenly deciding to do a one-eighty.

It was clear you hadn't satisfied him. For wgat felt like the thousandth time in your life, you hadn't been enough.

Wiping your eyes again, you clicked on the camera roll app and started to scroll through the endless sea of photos of you and Kise. Each one you saw tore at your heart a little more as it released a memory you'd suppressed. There were enough photos to fill an art gallery, and enough memories to fill a lifetime. Kise really had become the centre of your world.

How would you ever be happy again ?

How could you possibly get over someone who'd made you feel such things ?

These questions lingered in your mind, unanswered, until, conquered by a sudden impulse, you deleted all the photos and blocked Kise's number before you even had the chance to think about it twice. Not that he'd notice or care now. It was true that you had no idea how to get over him, or how long it would take for the pain to subside, but you were increasingly certain of one thing- you'd try your hardest to start fresh and distance yourself from this painful chapter of your life. If you just started acting like Kise was a stranger to you, maybe one day it would become true.

Masterlist

#kise x reader knb #ryota kise fanfic #ryota kise x reader #ryota kise #knb x reader #knb fanfic #knb #kise x reader

[realjaysumlin]

How the GI Bill's Promise Was Denied to a Million Black WWII Veterans | HISTORY

When I hear the word patriots coming from the mouths of the fake race of people who call themselves white pisses me off on the highest levels.

When Black Athletes took a knee to protest against police brutality and social injustice and hear the insulting comments and opinions that they received just goes to show us all how fast everyone forget about the injustices that we Black Veterans have faced worldwide.

American enemies received better treatment than Black Veterans did, so I say that the American flag took a knee on all Black Indigenous People first and no one said a damn thing about it.

This world is going to reap what it has sowed because no mistreated humans are going to keep getting kicked around without fighting back, history have proven this time and time again.

Sooner or later an upheaval is going to start and it will spread like an uncontrollable wildfire. Black Indigenous People worldwide are not someone you wish to mistreat and expect you won't see an uprising.

We are the original humans on earth and we are getting tired of being marginalized as we are some cowards who run in the middle of the night to break from our oppressors.

We were giving you an opportunity to see the errors in your white ways but we see now you people are just too stupid to see anything that is morally right.

You only have yourself to blame because you fail to listen to the please for equality and we are tired of begging as if you are some kind of leaders, you are very weak and stupid people who time has ran out.

You are destroying everything on our planet and no one can have any peace wherever you go. We are always in council with ourselves and you are the subject of our pains and discomforts, so you must be dealt with because you have not given us any reasons to render you any mercy.

#black love #black positivity #black africans #black history #black rebellion #black revolutionaries #black indigenous people #black indigenous africans #black solidarity

[milaza]

nine years of drawing with a digital art tablet baeby! i have some older traditional/non-tablet digital pieces as well but i dunno what year they’re from. i’ll make a more complete yearly progress chart next year.

overall, i’m pretty okay with things considering it’s just a hobby.

it’s still a bit frustrating to see that i peaked with pretty stuff in 2018, but as i said before i’ve improved a lot more in other ways and i don’t think i’d be happy with myself if i kept just drawing pretty faces with boring compositions.

before i compiled this, my feeling was that i thought i did really well in 2020. but that was just the year my posts did well on social media (did well for ME). looking back, there wasn’t really anything complete and unique that i liked a lot. and i thought i kinda flopped in 2021 ‘cause i didn’t post all that much, but i’m really happy with my output that year TBH. i want to draw more fun scenes and pictures with deep feelings!

the time i spend on a complete piece has decreased a lot because i’m more concerned with having an interesting atmosphere over making sure the rendering and anatomy is perfect. also, i’ve just gotten quicker at drawing overall. i always try to keep it under 10 hours nowadays unless it’s got lineart... that shit makes it take so much longer orz.

2022 kinda felt like a flop again, aw man. i kinda forgot that i spent a good part of the early year drawing a whole korekiyo dojinshi? i felt really down about it at the time since i was utterly unmotivated (it’s fucking korekiyo i don’t know how i cared enough about him to draw a whole comic about him), but now i’m like... woah... people actually enjoyed that? i sold out of all 28 copies i had printed, so now i’m considering reprinting it again. who knows...

anyway i got an ipad this year and started using procreate so i sketched a good bit more. i finished dai gyakuten saiban, got motivated by my chemical romance, and completed a bunch of stuff i was pretty proud of in a single week. unfortunately completing dai gyakuten saiban also made me fall in love with barok van zieks for some reason so i basically spent the second half of the year just drawing self-ship art and van zieks pr0n. it’s not even crap worth posting.

i feel like i didn’t complete or post that much (at least on my main account) because of that. but actually, i always forget i have more finished pieces for zines that i don’t post... idk if i should admit it but i use zines as a way to motivate myself to finish stuff honestly. i think without that i’d flop even more and not get me to draw anything... but i will stop doing that from now on because i don’t feel satisfied with my artistic output drawing for zines. bleh.

last year i was obsessed with making dojinshi and this year i got into merch stuff since i was tabling at a convention for the first time, but honestly...! it’s a pain in the ass!!! i don’t want to bother with maintaining an online store and i don’t want to create products for the sake of creating products so i’m only gonna make what i personally want from now on.

so i spent 75+ hours rendering a barok van zieks dakimakura.

I WANT TO THROW UP!!! IT’S SO SICKENING TO ME THAT THE PIECE I’VE SPENT THE MOST TIME ON EVER IS A FUCKING VAN ZIEKS DAKIMAKURA!!!! HE’S NOT EVEN IN MY TOP 5 ACE ATTORNEY CHARACTERS!!!!!!!!!! preorder link in my bio btw.

that was just 2 weeks ago basically, but i felt so fucking ill about it. luckily i finished off the year with a nice complete drawing so i’m happy and i love myself again ^_^

i want to focus on 3D art next year, draw more complete scenes, get around to my drawing idea backlog... get into some new fucking media because i am sick of that white man cursing me for the past six months. yep yep!

#text #summary of art #my art

[y2kuromi]

⭑ : 呪術廻戦 ❛ 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 𝗜𝗦 : satoru gojo x reader

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 synopsis: you have no choice but to believe he'll always come back to you. after all, home is where the heart is

contents:JJK SPOILERS CH236! angst, fluff kinda comfort. profanities. second & third person pov.character death. ( i despise you gege you ruined christmas eve ) wc: 1.8k

satoru gojo was an enigma. you knew that from the moment you met him. on first glance, there was nothing ordinary about him. his vivid blue eyes could simply not go unnoticed.

his smile, and that irritating laugh he shared too often were your kryptonite. you despised how soft you felt in response to his smile. his name alone could inspire the most extraordinary of emotions.

you had fallen hard for him. you'd fallen so irreversibly hard for him that you couldn't even find it in yourself to be mad at him when he called you out of the blue.

being with gojo meant expecting the unexpected. being with gojo meant believing he would come back after disappearing for days, weeks and occasionally months on end, without offering so much as an explanation

the call came whilst you were nose deep in christmas preparations. the kitchen in your shared home smelled of sugar, cinnamon and cloves.

the rest of the house had already been decorated for the holidays. there was tinsel everywhere. reds, whites and greens were splashed all over the place and christmas was only a few hours away

“you’re getting ready for santa?” satoru asks, upon hearing the whirring of the teal kitchenaid mixer he bought you for your birthday. “what about me?”

“you are santa silly” you laugh, switching off the mixer to hear your fiance’s voice clearer

“that i am” he smiled, flicking at the drops of blood adorning his lips with his tongue, “what are you cooking up tonight? ‘m starving”

“i thought we were going out for dinner..” you murmur, confusion evident in your words, “did you forget again ‘toru?”

“no baby. ‘course not” he says, pausing momentarily to wipe off the excess blood, “just something came up at work. i'll make it up to you”

“well the cookies should be done in a bit” you said, and he could hear you smiling. “extra chocolate , just the way you like it”

“mmm” he hummed, blood ringing in his ears, “can’t wait to try them”

“when are you coming home?”

your question is met with silence on the other end of the phone, and satoru has to admit he can tell by the lack of noise on your part that you've grown concerned.

the last thing he wants right now is for you to cry because of him. so he lies to you. it's all he could do. he couldn't tell you that he, the strongest jujutsu sorcerer, was reduced to a bleeding mess at the hands of sukuna. the notion shouldn't even be plausible

yet here he was, leaving his allies to do all the work, while he choked back heart wrenching sobs. he should try to stop the bleeding. try to stay conscious but there was too much. too much blood

“toru” you breathed, sounding completely broken. your voice was barely a whisper, but it was all he could focus on, blurring out the massacre taking place behind him. “what’s happening?”

he couldn’t tell you. his throat felt dry and hollow. his hand twitched in pain as he reached towards his bleeding abdomen. fingers sticky with dark blood

he didn't know. everything had been fine a while ago. it almost seemed like he would win. but satoru gojo was faced with a fatal curse. he could never win.

“nothing too serious my love” he fibbed, the lie dripping off his tongue like honey.

“bullshit” you frowned, “i can hear you wheezing gojo. don’t lie to me”

"you’ve always been too smart for your own good" he laughs, the motion rendering him breathless.

he hears your breath hitch and he can feel his heart shattering. he really shouldn’t have called you. he just wanted to hear your voice one last time

“switch to video” you ordered, after a painstaking moment of silence, before adding softly, “i want to see you”

“you really don’t” he says teasingly, trying his absolute hardest to make light of the situation, “i’m really roughed up right now, ‘m scared you won’t think i’m pretty anymore”

“satoru” you said through gritted teeth

“‘m half the man i used to be” he jokes weakly. satoru was a stubborn bastard, yes. but he also cared more about you than anything else. and he knew seeing him like this would scar you for life.

“stop stalling” you pleaded, "we've talked about this"

"don't wanna do this to you" he slurs, squeezing his beautiful blue eyes shut

“i’ll hang up i swear” you say, and he knows you mean it. the thought of no longer hearing your sweet voice hurts more than his pending death

“please don’t” he said, “don’t wanna be alone right now”

you can feel the vulnerability he carries reverberating in his voice. you can hear him panicking.

loneliness is something satoru gojo had grown to despise. but it clung to him endlessly. it came with the weight of the jujutsu world hanging on him — the first sorcerer in four hundred years to have the six eyes and limitless .

he could be touched only when he wished to be. choosing to keep others safe from the burden he had to carry at an unfairly young age simply because he inherited these abilities.

it was painstakingly hard for him to connect with people after losing geto, a void was left in his absence. a void he didn’t bother to fill until you came along

he tended to hide his true desires and feelings behind his cheerful and charismatic personality, but that didn’t work with you. you saw right through him

“okay” you nodded, blinking back the tears that prickled your eyelids, “how bad is it?”

“really fucking bad” he says weakly, “can’t hold out much longer”

if you could you would hug him, or do anything to make him feel better. but you couldn't. he was alone. you wished you could see his face, you wanted to kill him for doing this to you. for leaving you when he promised to stay by your side forever

“you're not going to die on me" you said as firmly as you could manage, “you can’t”

"promise me, you’ll be alright " he said, trying not to grimace as the effort he put into speaking left him weaker than before, "i want you to move on, just because my life ends doesn't mean yours has to”

"don’t say shit like that" you said, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. he was glad he’d decided to stick to audio call. seeing you cry would surely finish him off

“promise me" he pleaded, he could feel his body suddenly growing colder, his bottom lip quivered furiously

"i promise" those words were heavy on your tongue. believing you could move on from satoru was quite literally stupid, you didn't want anyone but him, you didn't need anything, need anyone, as long as you had him with you.

“it really s-sucks that ‘m gonna — s-shit — die alone” he says, his bloody lips trembling “i love you so much (y/n)"

no. no. no. you couldn’t allow this to happen

“keep your eyes open for me toru please" you said frantically, but you knew you were losing him. you were still crying, even though your eyes felt sore and dried out.

“say it back” he whimpered, “need to hear you say it”

"i love you too toru” tears stream down your face, stinging your cheeks as your heart shatters into a million pieces

“i know” he says, smiling to himself despite the pain. it was everywhere all at once. he didn't have the strength to fight it anymore, allowing the cold feeling to wrap itself around him, completely burying him.

“toru?” you whisper timidly. you’re met with numbing silence. stillness, tranquility. you wanted to lash out, you wanted to make everyone hurt the way you were hurting.

you felt unabashedly raw, like a vital part of your body had been ripped away. and then you realised it was something that belonged wholly to him. your heart. he owned your heart, he always would.

you couldn’t stop the loud, unfiltered sobs that fled from the confines of your chest. you wanted to scream until you could taste blood. you were shaking now. you couldn’t breathe. you couldn’t-

“(y/n)!!” you felt arms around you shocking you back to reality. your eyes shot open, locking with gojo’s ethereal blue pupils. concern evident in his face as he tenderly wiped your tears away

you looked around the dimly lit room, turning your head frantically, (e/c) eyes grief stricken and wide with fear “

"it's okay baby, i'm here" satoru said softly, slipping your fingers through his. you grabbed onto him as if he was a lifeline, squeezing his fingers so hard you were sure no blood was rushing to them.

“you’re alive” you said slowly, struggling to see through your tears, you needed some form of confirmation, anything, to let you know that you just had a bad dream, a silly nightmare that wouldn't come to fruition

“‘course i’m alive” he laughs "it was just a dream baby"" he placed kisses on the smooth canvas of your visage, not caring that your face was tear stained

“he killed you.” you sobbed, “and you called me-”

“who?” he interrupts, feigning offence at the mere prospect of someone beating him, the gojo satoru, the undeniable strongest

“sukuna” you murmur, “he looked like megumi for some reason but it was him”

“sukuna?” he frowns, “as if! sounds like a really silly dream my love. but you can talk about it when you're ready"

in the solace of his arms, you quietly tried to regain your sanity, tried to put yourself back together. he whispered sweet nothings to you,gently threading his fingers through your hair. patting your head affectionately—his love language— for once you didn't want him to stop, that small movement helped you clear your head.

you felt so weak, so vulnerable, so exposed. you knew that loving someone, loving gojo, would make you feel things you’d never felt before. you’d never been so scared, never been so happy, never felt so complete all at once

“was it that bad?” gojo asked, his curiosity getting the best of him, “you’ve never been this shaken up before”

“it was really fucking bad” you say, almost laughing because you sounded just like him

he was frowning at how absurd the sound of him dying was. he traced a finger over your hips, ghosting shapes on your warm skin. a cirlce, a triangle, a heart. "i love you y’know. i’m not dying any time soon”

you wanted to believe him so bad, you wanted to be certain. but you were holding on to the fear that your dream would one day become reality “promise me?”

he stuck out his pinkie childishly, looping it with yours. “i pinkie promise”

a small smile makes its way across your face. gojo never broke his promises. they were golden, the surest thing in the universe

“do you think you’d ever lose to sukuna?” you ask, after a sweet moment of silence. you peer at your other half with curious eyes and your heart flutters at the cocky grin on his face

“nah, i’d win”

© Y2KUROMI '23 . please do not plagiarise, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites.

#𓂃˖ letters from: satoru #ִֶָ 𓂃˖ mimi writes?! #⋆ 𝓳.jk ﹕ #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #satorugojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo angst #gojo fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk spoilers #i hate gege #if i see him it's on sight. #need my husband back immediately #it's not funny anymore #not that it was ever funny #gege when i catch you gege #i love gojo so much ughhh #so normal abt him i swear!! #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n

[flokali]

no need for a whole fic or something, but what kinks do you think acolyte diluc and kaeya would have? if you want could you squeeze in some speculations on the three archons too? for... research purposes.

NS_FT

This was supposed to be out ages ago but I kept forgetting to post it 😭 But here it is! It’s just like… bullet points w/ a few notes^

So as to not make it too long, which let’s be honest, when is anything I write not too long? I’ll give the top 3 kinks for them + some honorable mentions. This is all written with a switch/dom reader in mind (except for Zhongli where it’s heavily hinted to be a dom reader with sub Zhongli as the main dynamic).

Warning: this includes some dark kinks too. I kept it as gender neutral as possible but some of them make reference to certain genitals (I think? I don’t quite remember).

Under the cut; 17+

— Kaeya

- Mindbreak: Kaeya is a strong minded man with heavy principals and a reputation to uphold but fuck does he sometime wish he was just your pretty, stupid fuck toy. No more pain, no more overthinking his pathetic life, just pleasure as you use his body over and over again, until he’s nothing but an addicted to your sex. He’s already halfway there; wanting nothing more than to be stuck to your side as you fuck him stupid until his legs give out.

— Bonus: Roleplay, wax play, blindfolds, anal (receiving/giving), gagging (giving), oral (receiving/giving), toys, nylonism (receiving/giving),

— Diluc

- Overstimulation (receiving): He’s here to serve you, even if it means being in a little pain – and if you want to continue fucking him after he’s cum five times then that’s alright too. Actually, he quite enjoys it, he doesn’t know if it’s the fact it implies you want him and his cock that bad or if he’s grown to love the pleasurable pain that comes from having his dick stimulated to the point it’s red; all he knows is that he wants you to continue using him like that. This isn’t even mentioning how good it feels whenever you rail his ass, his pretty little hole always left like a gapping mess that he loves having stretched out by you, so go for it and have his knees buckling as he ruts his cock into the bed while you fuck him silly.

— Bonus: Roleplay, collaring (in private (receiving)), bondage, praise (receiving), oral (giving), aftercare (receiving/giving), other than that he’s pretty vanilla.

— Ei

- Shibari (receiving/giving): To be such a powerful figure, so feared and yet bound by tight red ropes that dig at her boobs and cunt, rendering her immobile as you toy with her as you please, she loves the feeling of struggling against the tight ropes as you play with her cunt, cum flowing down her thighs as she moans helplessly, she mindlessly traces the indents left by your handiwork and gets wet all over again… it doesn’t help when you let her bind you, having you so neatly tied, her work no less than perfect as she digs into your body like it was her last meal, the sight of the marks her ropes leave against your skin making her want to do it all over again for the rest of time.

— Bonus: Paizuri (giving/receiving), toys, oral (giving/receiving, electrostimulation (giving/receiving), praise (receiving), lactation (receiving).

— Venti

- Oral (receiving/giving): There’s something about using his mouth to pleasure you that makes him want to cum in his pants, makes him feel dirty and so fucking good - to know his tongue is making you cum, that the little kitten licks he administers have you squirming and panting… not to mention how nice it is to have your mouth wrapped around his cock, your mouth - so pretty and innocent looking - coming around his dick to suck and lick and bite until he’s crying from pleasure as he paints it white with his cum.

— Bonus: Slight public sex, 69, creampies (giving/receiving), edge play (receiving), sensory depravation (receiving/giving), orgasm denial (receiving), he’s got many, many more and he’s willing to try it all at least once.

— Zhongli

- Submissive (being): He’s lived such a tough life, so much work and pain and suffering witnessed and inflicted by him and on him; is that bad he wants to be treated delicately by a precious master? Having you order him around, no thoughts in his pretty head other than how good it all feels, making him shudder and come undone over and over again until he’s a blushing, panting mess. He hates being bratty, he just wants to be your good boy. He’s not Zhongli, Morax, or Red Lapiz; just your good boy, he doesn’t need to be told twice. Ever.

— Bonus: Anal (receiving), cockwarming (receiving/giving), objectification (receiving), worship (giving), creampies (giving/receiving), orgasm control (receiving), bondage (receiving/giving).

#yandere genshin impact #yandere kaeya #yandere diluc #yandere ei #yandere venti #yandere zhongli #yandere genshin #yandere lemon #yandere smut #yandere x reader #๋࣭. shino’s offerings #๋࣭ ancient scrolls #๋࣭. nsft

[moxfirefly]

Hello my friend! I hope that you have been doing well!

Thought I’d pop in with a writing request but one for a character I thought you might enjoy as well if you have not already been introduced to him! Ever watch Hellsing Ultimate? If not, there’s a certain demonic Vampire who fits the criteria of “big, spooky monster dilf with huge hands” who I think deserves a roll in the metaphorical hay~!

I’d love to see what you might do with the vampire king, Alucard!

Dont have a blueprint really, just had a craving for your talents, I’d love to see what you could do with Alucard! Heat cycles, feral mischief, vampire pheromone nonsense you name it, I’m down! Go for the throat~!

I can’t believe in the year 2022 I’m writing for Alucard when I’ve been in love with this fucker since i was 13. I’m a little nervous but here goes nothing!

TW: Blood. Blood. BLOOD.

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

The hunger never truly stops.

It’s a never ending ache that could render you frozen. Doubled over in pain, irritated with even the faintest of sounds beating down on your brain.

But those spider like fingers find you, grip your chin in an almost delicate touch that rivals any lover.

It’s his smile.

You can’t forget how his cheeks spread, teeth show and sharpen and look upon you like the prey you are. It’s inhuman how his mouth opens, the stuff of nightmares but you’re mesmerized.

God, you’re smitten.

His teeth connect with your neck, puncture the flesh with an ease that leaves your skin gooseflesh ridden. It hurts, it always initially hurts, the sound of skin breaking, tendons yanking and that deafening gush of blood that bathes him. He looks like a God like this, illuminated by the moon and dressed in your blood, the white of his gloves becoming stained, ruined by your essence.

It turns you on.

It turns you on so much you reach for his flowing black locks and yank.

Yank enough that skin leaves and clings to his canines.

How can somebody hold so much blood? How can his eyes hold hunger that hasn’t been satisfied with this bounty?

You ache more, you yank his head backwards to the tune of his psychotic laughter and sink your own teeth onto his neck. It’s sloppy, desperate and unpracticed but it flows down your throat like a cold glass of water.

How could he taste this good?

The blood splatters as he continues to laugh, ruins your clothes and stains your chin and he opens the wound of your neck furthermore.

“Silly, silly, little thing you are” His voices bounces in your brain, startles you enough to let go of his neck. The quick inhales makes your choke and blood goes up into your nose. You cough, blinded by tears and red visions.

Alucard, he had said his name was Alucard.

He grabs you again, a hand around your waist and another on your palm in what looked like a dance stance. “What a delightful creature you could be, but greed gets you nowhere” His smiling faces drops, somehow his serious gaze makes you shake more than his jaw nearly unhinging to feed upon you.

But the, “Ache…it hurts so much” You almost sob out, voice gargled and eyes wild.

“You have so much to learn, darling” He swings you both around in expert motions, mostly dragging you. You watch in excitement as the wound you had created starts to close up, neatly connecting with his flesh as if it had never happened.

Seamlessly as he dips you, he smiles once more. Slowly he brings you back up close to him, as close as you could get to such a towering figure such as himself.

He kisses you.

Pushes his tongue inside.

His laughter echoes in your brain.

You’re so smitten.

#ask #star-boy-blue #hellsing #Alucard #hellsing ova #hellsing ultimate #alucard x reader #requested oneshot #sorry it’s short but I really wanted to do this

[wkemeup]

The Only Kindness

summary: In the early days of Bucky’s captivity in Hydra, the only comfort he knows is the kindhearted doctor assigned to mend his wounds. At least when he's with her, he knows he isn’t alone. pairing: bucky x reader word count: 9.7k warnings: torture, canon level violence, unwanted sexual advances, hydra's attempts to brainwash bucky, hella angst, a/n: this is meant to sit in the world of canon and what we know eventually happens to Bucky at Hydra sooo do with that what you will. I am genuinely really proud of this one so I hope you can forgive me for the pain I cause

The first thing Bucky remembered every morning when the sting of florescent lights woke him in a cold sweat was that the arm attached to his shoulder was not his own. The realization of it hurt worse than the day before; with unforgiving metal seared into his skin, leaving behind bubbled scars and a revolting, oozing smell.

It weighed him down, slumped on his spine, pulled at his neck, and he struggled to even push himself upright. Sitting upon the thin mattress laid amongst an otherwise baron room, Bucky supposed he might have preferred the floor if not for the dark red stain at the center of the concrete.

Then, the familiar clicking of locks echoed against the walls and Bucky gritted his teeth as a stout man with rounded features and an arrogant grin strolled into the room – no, the cell – alongside two men strapped with rifles.

He clutched to the solid metal of his arm as if holding it might take the pressure off his shoulder, might subside the pain as it spread through his veins, or stop the twitching in his cheek as he tried to stifle the pain, but it was no use. He held on anyway in favor of wrapping a hand around the scientist’s throat.

“Ah, good morning, Sergeant Barnes,” Zola greeted, though there was something unpleasant in his tone. A threat, perhaps. A taunt. It was always something of the sort.

Bucky could barely muster the energy to look the man in the eye, but as he did, it was hidden under a dark, loathing glare. He spat on the floor by Zola’s feet.

“Go to hell.”

Zola jumped back and brushed at the toe of his shoe. It was amusing, at least, to see the rage boil in the man’s chest; all red faced and round and steaming from the ears. Though Bucky’s triumph was shorted lived as Zola waved a single hand at the armed guards beside him.

They lunged forward and with heavy hands, clawed Bucky into their grip by his biceps. He met concrete within seconds; the red stain laid beneath him. His knees barely had time to heal from the day before and they stung as he struggled under the guards’ grasp, raw skin and blistering burns shielded by paper thin fabric.

His face was pushed down into the stone and for a strange moment there was relief; it was cool to the touch, a break from the feverish heat on his brow.

But then, while a guard pinched at the nape of Bucky’s neck, nearly choking the air straight out of him and the other jabbed a knee to his spine, he remembered there was no relief within Hydra.

“You have a long day ahead of you,” Zola announced, a smirk growing upon his face as Bucky let out a hollowed whine. It slipped past his lips before he could smother it down. He knew then that he had lost whatever game they were playing; the win-lose of a man in chains to his captors with scalpels in their hands and venom on their tongues.

He didn’t know how long it had been since the fall; since icy waters and plummeting down to a ravine he wished most nights had swallowed him whole. He didn’t know how many times he was cut open in an unsterilized room, thrown onto a rusting metal table and operated on with cheap anesthetic. He didn’t know how many times he was strapped into a chair that set fire to his veins and left him feeling numb and empty, how many times he felt a lingering sense of dread he couldn’t quite place.

He didn’t know much at all, really.

But he knew his name. He knew his serial number. He knew Steve would come for him like he did before. He knew he’d get through this. He had to. He didn’t have a choice.

“We have much to do,” Zola announced, admiring how Bucky’s face pressed down into the concrete, how the prickles in the stone scraped against his cheek and cut at his skin— pleased to see a man brought to his knees, bowing before the greatness of Hydra. It brought Zola a sense of pride whether the Sergeant resisted or not. He would give in soon enough.

The guards didn’t loosen their grip on Bucky’s arms as they yanked him back to his knees. They didn’t give him a chance to stand either before they started to drag him from the cell.

The grip on his right arm was sure to leave bruises behind, ones to accompany the mess of blue and purple coloring his skin, but it was the pain on his left that rendered him paralyzed. It felt like his arm was being ripped straight from his body, pulled at every nerve ending until they snapped. He could hardly move.

It wasn’t until Zola made a sharp left at the end of the hall that a familiar sense of dread dropped into Bucky’s stomach. Whether it was fear, panic, resilience, he wasn’t sure, but he started to fight back as they neared a dark red door with six locks running up the side.

“No,” he gaped, barely a whisper, but it caught Zola’s attention.

Bucky thrashed in the men’s grip, using his weight as leverage despite the searing pain in his shoulder and the blood trickling down his ribs from where metal fused to flesh. His heels dug into the concrete, trying to catch against the wall to slow them down, to stop what he knew was coming.

Zola merely smiled.

It was no use, and perhaps Bucky knew that from the start, but he couldn’t be strapped into that chair without a fight. He still didn’t know its purpose but he knew it brought him pain. It disoriented him, made him forget his own name and the monsters that chained him. It forced him to remember all over again that he was held prisoner, thousands of miles away from home, presumed dead, and he couldn’t -- he couldn’t do it anymore.

“Please,” Bucky gasped and it sounded foreign in his own voice – broken. He hated it. He despised how his voice cracked, how he fell to his knees in front of his captors and begged.

Zola grabbed a firm hold of Bucky's chin, stump fingers digging into his cheeks and demanding attention. As he pulled in closer, Bucky caught sight of something strange in the reflection of Zola’s glasses.

He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him; hair grown and wild, unkept beard on his face, dirt and blood covering most of his skin. Amongst the scratches in the glass and the clouds of dirt, the reflection of the man looked tired, with hallowed eyes and sunken cheeks. He wasn’t strong enough to fight back. He wouldn’t survive if he tired.

Bucky slumped in the guards’ arms.

“That’s what I thought,” Zola jeered, a lingering chuckle etched into the trail of his voice. He waved a hand at the guards and Bucky was placed into the chair, all dead weight and positioned like a doll.

Thick, metal bars strapped down around Bucky’s wrists, his biceps, his ankles to hold him in place. He did his best to let go of himself, to find somewhere far beyond the walls of this room, away from the men who ripped him to pieces and broke him to the bare bones. He imagined something better, safer, where he was clean shaven and in fresh clothes, where Steve was waving from the end of the street and the war long behind them, but the dream was torn from him as soon as the panels clamped against his temples.

Electricity jolted through his system and his whole body tensed. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

But he could scream.

It ripped through his lungs and he was certain he’d break straight through the mouth guard and shatter his teeth if they didn’t turn off the machine soon. The sound echoing through the room was strained, broken, and Bucky might have mistaken it for nails to a chalkboard if he didn’t feel the burn in the back of his throat.

He started to lose time, unsure if it was on for seconds or hours. It was blinding. It was all-consuming. It was swallowing him whole.

“Enough!” a voice broke through. A woman’s. It wasn’t one Bucky recognized.

“No, keep it on! He can take more.” Zola.

“Are you insane!” the voice shouted again. “You’ll kill him!”

Let them.

The thought startled Bucky but it slipped from him in the seconds it took to arrive; searing pain, white hot fire washing through every muscle down to his bones. His eyes began to flutter closed, a strange sort of emptiness pulling him under, a darkness he couldn’t place, and he welcomed the escape.

There was yelling again, though this time it was coming was across the room. The machine began to power down, the whirring sounds of electricity in his ears leaving him with a numbing silence. The dizziness took hold, the hollowness, and he was surprised to find a woman staring back at him, her hands wrapped around the lever that pulled him from the fire.

“What the hell are you doing!” Zola roared, accent thick and slurring his words together. He bounded forward, attempted to push past the woman but she held her ground, hands planted on her hips.

“I’m saving his life,” she grunted back, unfazed by Zola’s finger pointing up into her face. She swatted it away, ignoring the shock upon his rounded features. “You brought me here for a reason, didn’t you? Let me do my damn job.” She glanced around the room, eyed the men with guns aimed at the ready, barrels trained in her direction. “Give me the room.”

“Not going to happen,” Zola snapped but quickly silenced as she shot him a glare that had him cower several steps in retreat. His cheeks were burned red.

The woman turned back to the man in the chair and he slumped limply in its clutches, her narrowed eyes centering on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. She held up two fingers, eyeing him carefully before she slowly moved to press them against his throat.

He winced before she could even touch him, flinching at the air itself, and she paused, bringing her hand back to her chest. She gave him a minute to watch as she demonstrated what she was trying to do by pressing the tips of her fingers to her own neck.

She tried again and this time she held his stare; calming aura nestled between the vibrant shades in her eyes, a gentle kind of patience he didn’t expect, and he hardly noticed her fingertips against his skin as she felt for his pulse, feather light and paper thin. They were cool to the touch, a comfort in the burning heat of metal surrounding him and he caught himself before he could lean into her palm.

“His heart rate is through the roof,” she said tensely, turning back to Zola and withdrawing her hand. “Unless you want your multi-million-dollar project to go to waste, clear out before he has a goddamn heart attack.”

Zola eyed her suspiciously in what appeared to be a competition of wills. She straightened her back, arms folding over her chest, and she towered over the scientist’s small frame. He glared up at her and the fury was palatable on his face; upper lip twitching, eyes narrowed, hands curling into fists.

She held her ground.

“Fine,” Zola grumbled, waving a hand to the line of men behind him until they bring their weapons down to their sides. “Give the doctor the room.”

As if she were waiting for the men to leave, she exhaled a breath like she had been holding it for quite some time. When she let her hands come back to her sides, puncture marks were left in her palms.

“I’m leaving a man behind for your safety,” Zola threw over his shoulder at he reached the door, almost like a threat.

She swallowed; jaw clenched. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Maybe not today, but it will be.”

Then, he was gone.

The door locked shut behind him and a single guard remained by the door, positioned with his finger on the trigger.

“Finally,” she exhaled, turning back with a gentle smile on her face that felt almost unsettling to be in such a cold and unforgiving place. “Can you tell me your name, soldier?”

“Uhh,” was all that left his lips and he hardly recognized his own voice. He searched in the back of his head for the answer, felt it on the tip of his tongue, and still… nothing. He glanced back up at her with clenched teeth because he knew what would happen next, what always happened next.

But instead of a harsh hand to the side of his face or the blunt edge of a weapon to his crown, she nodded, offered him a sad sort of smile, and simply said, “that’s alright.”

She glanced down at the clamps restraining him to the chair. His skin was raw underneath, bleeding a little, and she frowned. It crinkled up into her forehead, pursed out at her lips, and he decided he liked it much better when she smiled.

“Your name is Sergeant James Barnes,” she said fondly and it sounded familiar as she said it, but it still felt distant— wrong in some way. She seemed to notice the contemplation on his face. “It’ll come back to you soon. Might take longer than the last time, but it will. They haven’t perfected the science of the chair yet, it seems.”

There was a resentment laced into her words as she glared back at the armed man standing guard with disgust. She softened as she turned back to face the man she called James. It was within that moment the anger washed from her features, a kindness replacing the hatred, and she ran her fingers on the edge of the chair before she pulled away.

“I’m going to undo these, okay?” she told him and he was surprised that she waited for his nod before adjusting the mechanics on the machine until the metal snapped open and a rush of cold air swept against the blistering skin. He hissed at the sting of it.

“Come,” she requested, gesturing to the examination table in the corner of the room. “Let’s get you out of this thing, huh?”

He was thankful for that. He couldn’t stand the sharp edges anymore or the blistering heat of the arm rests. Her touch was so gentle he wondered if it could push right through him as she bent down to help tug his right arm over her shoulders.

Just as she nearly had him positioned well enough to get him to his feet, the guard standing in the corner of the room stepped forward, gun raised.

“I wouldn’t do that, ma’am.”

She clenched her jaw. “I’m fine. Let me work.”

“He’s dangerous,” the guard grunted back.

“He’s not going to hurt me,” she argued. There wasn’t a trace of hesitancy in her voice, even as she turned to the man hanging off her arms. “Are you, Sergeant Barnes?”

He shook his head.

“See?” she gestured. “Now leave us be.”

The guard stepped back, lowered his weapon, and she smiled.

“Alright then, James,” she started, “think you can help me get you to that table over there? I know you’ve lost some muscle mass but you’re still pretty heavy.”

A short ghost of a laugh escape as he let himself lean on her shoulder, allowing her to guide him towards the table. It surprised him as it left his chest, the feeling of laughter, because he hadn’t so much as smiled since the fall. It hurt, almost. But it was a nice kind of hurt.

She helped him sit on the table, just high enough to give her decent leverage, and he spotted a bag filled with what appear to be medical supplies. It contained with what he would expect; a stethoscope, bandages, depressors, but there were also needles, and shiny metal tools that made him clench his hands around the lip of the table.

“I’m a doctor,” she said, noticing his stare. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Zola’s a doctor,” he muttered back feebly, sharp images of lying awake on a cold, metal table much like the one he currently sat upon plagued his mind, memories of scalpels in his shoulder and needles in his arms.

She nodded, contemplating what he said before she frowned and countered, “Zola’s a mad scientist with a God complex.”

A smile tugged at his lips. It broke a little, but it remained.

“You can call me Y/n if you like,” she said as she began digging through her bag. She found the stethoscope and placed the ends in her ears. “I’m going to press this to your chest, alright? It might be a little cold.”

She exhaled a breath on the side of it for a moment to try and warm it, rubbing it with the palm of her hand. He was mesmerized by the small details; how she positioned herself strategically between him and the armed guard behind her, how she told him exactly what she was doing before she did it, how she gave him time to prepare, how she hadn’t once touched him without asking first.

He didn’t understand her or why she was here, but he was thankful.

He nodded at her and she leaned in closer, pressing the piece to his sternum. It had a slight chill to it but he could still feel the warmth left behind from her breath. He took a deep breath in as she instructed. She took her time, slowly moving to his ribs, and then his back. He took more deep breaths, felt the pulsing of his heart steady under her touch.

“Looks good all things considering,” she told him. Her eyes drifted to the burn marks on his right wrist, fingers ghosting over the reddened marks and her lips tug down into a frown. She masked it as she faced him again, pushing out a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Might as well attend to this, too, don’t you think?”

Yeah, might as well.

He offered her his hand.

He sat quietly while she worked, listening to her hum softly under her breath. She was impossibly gentle with him, so delicate he could hardly feel it until it was gone. Her hands were a little cold but he found them soothing against the burns. The alcohol she placed on the wound stung, made him grit his teeth and grip to the table’s edge, but she moved quickly, wincing at the way he sucked in a harsh breath as if his pain meant something to her.

When she was finished, she wrapped his wrist with a bandage from her bag and gently tapped on his knee.

“Not a lot my patients would have sat still through that without some kind of numbing agent,” she grinned, praise in her voice, smile on her lips, and it sent a flutter through his chest. “You did good, James.”

He didn’t want to tell her that he’d known worse, that the pain of alcohol to his wounds was nothing in comparison to the mutilation on his arm or the electricity of the chair. So, he focused on something else, a distant memory edging its way back to the surface, something that didn’t lie within the pages of Hydra’s files.

“Bucky,” he choked out, voice a little dry. She raised an eyebrow. “My name… it’s Bucky.”

She smiled at that.

“Bucky,” she repeated, testing it on her lips, “it’s nice to meet you.”

***

It wasn’t the last time he saw Y/n.

No, he found himself under her care more days than not. It was a simple system, it seemed. Hydra would do its best to break Bucky to pieces and they’d send in Y/n to stitch him back up; glue him together with needle and thread or scotch tape and paper mâché. She did her best to heal him and while she could not cure every wound on his body, she gave him something he didn’t have before – something to look forward to.

A kind smile. A gentle hand. A voice so soft it nestled deep into his chest and warmed the hollow ache that had made a home by his heart.

Even through the pain, through the chair, through the long hours he spent overworked in a boxing ring, he knew she’d be waiting on the other side. It didn’t hurt as much when he thought of her, he realized – the only kindness he knew within Hydra.

They hadn’t attempted to use the chair on him in a while and for that he was grateful. To save him from the pain of the electricity and the emptiness that followed, but lately, to allow him to hold onto her memory. He didn’t want to forget her name, her kindness, her light within the darkest corners of hell.

He only ever saw her in short glimpses, brief moments when the guards pushed the boundaries too far and cracked open a scar that wouldn’t stop bleeding or dislocated his arm again or fractured another bone. They’d drag her into his room, rough hands on her wrists that made a knot form deep into Bucky’s stomach, and give her minutes to work before they hulled her away.

He healed quickly, he came to find. Certainly faster than he should. Maybe in another world he would have been pleased with this. A perfect soldier. Always ready for battle.

In this world, it meant shorter recovery between trainings. It meant pushing him beyond his limits and testing the extent of his newfound abilities. It meant few and distant meetings with the kind doctor whose smile made it impossibly difficult to despise every last ounce within Hydra.

***

A few weeks since their first meeting, Bucky found himself dragged by his wrists on a familiar path into what looked like a room much like his own, only there were a few small comforts inside; a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a series of books piled on a small dresser.

Y/n jumped up from the desk, pen falling to the concrete as she stared back at the guards, agape. “What the hell did you do to him?!”

They dropped Bucky to the ground, his own arms too weak to hold himself up, and felt the harsh crack of concrete to his jawline. Blood dripped down into his eyes, clouding his vision with crimson pools of red, but he could hear the quick patter of your bare feet as you slid down to the floor beside him, shooing away the guards.

Hands ghosted over his shoulders before you paused, watching the way he sighed into the cool embrace of concrete. She glared back up at the guards, waiting on their answer.

“He’s weak,” one of the guards spat, thick accent spewing down to land on Bucky’s bare skin. “The fist of Hydra is an embarrassment. He crumbles under pressure. He needs to be pushed, to be taught what he is.”

Bucky couldn’t quite register the way her hands curled up into fists or how a harsh exhale burned deep in her chest, but she swallowed it the best she could as she muttered, “get out.”

A toe nudged at Bucky’s leg – one of the guards behind him – and he groaned as it dug into a dark purple bruise from the days before.

“You’ve done enough,” she pressed again, swatting away his leg as he tried to push Bucky over to his back to see his good work. "Now leave.”

“You don’t give us orders, princess,” the other guard smirked, yellowed teeth bared.

“We’ll be back for him soon,” the first one said, nudging his friend to stand down. “Make sure he’s ready to go again tomorrow.”

The door slammed shut and within the echo, Bucky felt the cool touch of a breeze nestle against his skin. It was a relief, as kind as the concrete, that sat in sharp contrast to the burning heat on his skin.

“Are you alright, Sergeant Barnes?” an angelic voice called. It sounded muffled, and a bit distant, but it was one he recognized.

He nodded slowly, though the concrete scratched at his skin.

“You don’t look alright,” she countered, a touch of lightness in her tone and it came as a welcomed relief.

“You kidding? I look great,” Bucky teased, half muffled by the ground. She laughed, pressing a hand over her lips, and Bucky swore for the smallest of moments that all the pain had washed from his body completely.

He could hear her riffling around the room, gathering supplies and laying a blanket down by his side, then a pillow. She was talking to herself, words he couldn’t quite hear or understand, but they were a comfort nonetheless.

"Still with me Sergeant Barnes?"

“Bucky,” he grumbled, just as she came down to kneel beside him again. “S’my name, remember? I’m supposed to be the one with the memory problems here.”

There came that laugh again, though she tried to suppress it. “That’s not very funny, Bucky.”

“Give me an ounce of humor here, doll,” Bucky smirked. It ached in his lips where the split tore through, burned in his cheeks from the swelling on his face, but he didn’t mind. It wasn’t often he had much reason to smile these days. She seemed to bring it out of him.

Y/n smiled, shaking her head. “Think you can turn onto your back? I’ve got some cushioning here for you. I’m sorry I can’t lift you to the bed.”

“Nah, this is perfect.”

Bucky summoned as much strength as his body could muster as he pushed down into the concrete with his right hand. He started to shake as pressure burned into his left shoulder and he gritted his teeth, face contorting in a wash of pain as his smirk faded away in an instant.

She must have noticed because her hands slipped gently onto his right bicep, gently easing him to turn over the metal shoulder and lay onto his back. Her touch was so feather light, he questioned for a moment if it was even there at all, but then he felt a soft squeeze, the cool press of her palms, and he sighed.

Her hands were the only ones who did not mean him harm. She healed. She nurtured. She cared.

“What are they doing to you...”

Her voice was hardly a whisper, the shock on her face evident enough of the damage on his own. He didn’t want to imagine what he looked like, but he knew it was bad. It hurt to speak, hurt to even part his lips, and his vision was tunneled and dark, cast over in shadows, and somehow, she was still clear as day.

“Dunno,” he responded, recognizing the slur in his voice. “Training me for something, I think.”

She stilled; muscles rigid as she reached into her bag for something to bandage his wounds. He could see the contemplation on her face, the worry, but she swallowed it back, pushed out that gentle, reassuring smile he’d come to rely on and began to work on the cut along his cheekbone.

“It can’t be anything good, Bucky,” she said quietly, eyes flickering to the door as if she were worried about what laid on the other side. He knew the feeling well.

***

He forgot her for the first time a few days later.

The scars were starting to heal; the gashes open on his face just days before nothing but a thin discoloration on his skin. He knew the look on Zola’s face as he emerged in his cell that morning - smug and grim, eager to wipe away the decorated prisoner of war and turn him into something empty and broken. The smirk that crept up his face was unsettling, jarring, as it crinkled lined into his forehead and a vile look in his eye.

They slammed him down into the chair, locked the restraints into place, and he only spotted her rush into the room as the machine powered on. The horror in her eyes as she met his, the quick transition to rage as she turned to Zola, and the pain took over until it consumed him whole.

He lost some time because the next thing he knew, he was sitting on a metal table and the room had emptied, save for a single guard standing in the corner over the shoulder of a beautiful woman who eased a soothing gel onto the burns on his wrist.

He studied her as she worked, quietly humming to herself, telling him what she was doing before she dared to touch him in a voice so gentle it startled him. It was familiar, he realized, the delicate intricacies of her tone, the warmth in his chest when she touched him. He wasn’t afraid of her like he was the others. He didn’t flinch under her touch.

“Your heart rate is still pretty high,” she noted, her fingers pressed to the inside of his right wrist. “Can you take some deep breaths for me?”

She embellished her own, chest rising high as she inhaled, air blowing out from her mouth in the exhale. She nodded for him, something encouraging and kind, until he followed suit. But even through the tender smile upon her lips there was a sadness there, a disappointment, and it hurt him deep into his chest.

“I know you, don’t I?” he finally said after he mimicked a few of the breaths as she requested.

She smiled at that and he felt an instant relief. Something warm and gentle. Kind.

He narrowed his eyes upon the slight curve of her lips, drawing up to her eyes where he was met with a linger sense of calm, of peace, of reprieve. “Why don’t I remember you?”

She sighed, a cautious glance back at the guard behind her who seemed to be watching with the intent to overhear. Her eyes were downcast, a nervous brush of her tongue over her lower lip, and she pushed out a smile for him.

“You will, Bucky.”

He hoped that were true.

***

Bucky was barely tied together with string and tape, broken and bleeding and covered in bruises, and yet, a smile etched onto his broken lips as he turned to find Y/n stumbling into his cell. She shrugged off the grip of a guard with an aggravated huff before he slammed the door closed behind her.

She was no longer shocked by the state in which she often saw him. His accelerated healing made the brutal look of his mutilation a bit easier to swallow he supposed or perhaps he was getting used to it. It was like a mask he’d come to wear, fading in and out depending on the day, but always present. It didn’t seem to lessen the pain in her eyes as she sat down beside him, extending a hand towards his face to touch gently at the markings.

“I hate that they keep doing this to you,” she said softly, though there was a rage nestled into the crook of her tone. She shook her head, a tense breath exhaled as she reached into her bag. She pulled out a few swabs of gauze and alcohol wipes.

“M’alright,” Bucky slurred and it didn’t seem to help his case.

“They’re monsters.” Y/n dabbed at the gash on his forehead as gingerly as she could manage. Bucky didn’t mind the sting of it, not when she was touching him so tenderly, like she was handling something precious.

He’d figured out a while ago that she was just as much a part of Hydra as he was. He never dared to ask, but he’d seen the way she looked at Zola, how she despised him as an enemy. He’d seen the clothes she wore and how they were tattered on the seams, how they discolored with use, how she'd wear them over and over again while the men in the room wore pristine lab coats and freshly laundered suits. He’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the knots in her hair, the way her collarbone began to protrude the longer he knew her.

She was a prisoner of Hydra, too.

“They’re monsters,” Y/n repeated, tears burning in her eyes and it warped deep into Bucky’s gut. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away. He wanted to make her smile again because she’d been nothing but a light for him and now, she was flickering and fading and he was certain it would destroy him completely until she uttered, “and... and so am I,” and his whole world fell apart.

“No,” Bucky shot back almost instantly. “Don’t say that. You’re not one of them.”

“I might as well be,” she said, brushing at the tears as they spilled down her cheeks. “I’m still complicit in what they’re doing to you – whatever that is. I’m still helping them.”

“They’d kill you,” Bucky argued. “They’d kill you if you tried to resist.”

“They’re practically killing you now! How is that any better?” She pressed her palms to her face, shielding herself from him and Bucky slid down onto the floor, kneeling on the concrete in front of her, and gently rested his hands on her knees. She struggled to catch her breath between the sobs. “I keep fixing you up just to send you back out there and—and—Bucky, I feel like I’m handing you over to slaughter and I can’t-- I can’t--”

“Stop, please,” Bucky begged. He could feel the splinter nestle into his heart, cracking at the edges as it tore a sliver down the center. It burned and ached and threatened to rip him to pieces worse than the foreign metal on his arm, worse than the guards on the other side of the door, worse than the chair that stole his name and his memories, because the woman who saved his life over and over again was crying and he simply couldn’t take it.

“Look at me,” he eased, drawing his hands up her thighs, along her arms, until he met her hands resting against her face. Gently, he pried his fingers under her palms and when he was met without resistance, he pulled them away from her face. “You are the only shred of good within this place. You are the only kindness I’ve known since they threw me on that table and remade me. You are the only thing keeping me going when they’re beating me within an inch of my life, the only thing I want to remember when they try to take away everything I know. Please, don’t think for a second that you’re one of them. You’re saving me, Y/n.”

Bucky wondered for a moment if he said too much as her lips parted into shock, her eyes staring at him shocked and wide. Her breaths were coming in slow and steady as she watched him, almost as if she were waiting for him to recant, but he held his ground.

“You are good, Y/n,” Bucky continued. He squeezed her hand in his right, letting his left fall down to his side to shield her from the evil from which it was born. “You're the reason I keep coming back.”

“I’m scared, Bucky,” she exhaled, voice so low, so shaken, he could barely hear it. She squeezed his hand back. “I’m scared of what they're going to do to you.”

“I’ll have you, won’t I?” he smiled, because it was all he had left. There were no guarantees, no promises he could make to ease her fears. “As long as I’ve got you with me, I’m okay.”

He just wanted her to smile again, to be the woman who fought against Zola in a crowded room of armed Hydra agents and won, who was fearless in the face of evil, and gentle and kind in her touch.

Bucky realized that the more time he spent with her, the more she’d grown to care for him, the more he’d found himself missing her— the more dangerous they were to one another. If Hydra knew...

“You have me,” she said suddenly, a stroke of confidence returning to her voice, drawing Bucky’s attention away from the door and the men that laid beyond it. Bucky met her eye and she raised a palm to his cheek, slow and steady, always giving him the time to prepare before she touched him even when it wasn’t necessary, even after he’d grown to trust her above anyone else. She cupped the side of his face, smiling sweetly for him, sadly, as she said, “as long as they’ll let me, Bucky. You’re not alone. You’ll have me.”

Her thumb traced over old scars she’d mended, over raised edges and dried blood from the mess left behind by the dozen Hydra agents he’d met earlier that day. The tenderness within her touch was unlike anything he knew how to quantify. It sat in such contrast to the hands of men who battered and beat him within an inch of his life, to the torture of the chair, to the scalpel in the hands of mad scientists with god complexes.

There was something in her touch. Something that felt a lot like love.

Bucky found himself leaning in closer, wanting to close the space between them because any space at all was simply too much. He wanted to engulf her into his arms, protect her from the evils that waited for them outside these walls, take her away to somewhere warm and safe, somewhere she didn’t have to check over her shoulder when she smiled. It terrified him how badly he wanted it because he knew there were no fantasies in Hydra, no dreams, no happy endings. He knew it would be taken from him eventually, she would be taken from him, but it didn’t stop him from clinging on as tight as he could.

His lips touched hers, broken and splintered, and still, beautiful. He could taste the salty tang of her tears against her lips, her fingers curling around his long, unkempt hair and twisting along his scalp, breathing him in. There was a sanctuary within her arms, under her touch, that seemed impossible within these walls, and yet, here she was.

Tangible. Real. Kissing him as if he could be ripped from her at any second.

And he was.

The door swung open and Bucky jolted away from her. Y/n jumped back against the bed frame, her head hitting the cement wall.

In the frame of the door stood a guard Bucky had become familiar with; blonde, broad, reminded him a bit of Steve if it weren’t for the cold, dead look in his eyes. The burn mark across his jawline helped to obstructed the similarities.

The guard’s eyes lingered a little longer on Y/n, focusing on the quick rise and fall of her chest, the slight swell in her lips, the mess in her hair, before he gritted his teeth and turned to Bucky.

“Times up, Soldat,” he grunted, wasting no time as he pulled a wand from his belt, flipped a switch at the end, and burned the jolts of electricity into Bucky’s side. He barely registered the desperate crack in Y/n’s voice as she begged for the guard to stop.

Then – darkness.

***

“We need to be more careful.”

“They’ll find out how I feel for you and they'll hurt you.”

“I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

He couldn’t get the words out of his head. Familiar voices: a man’s and a woman’s. He’d heard them spoken aloud; of that he was certain. But they were distant, far away, as if he’d heard them uttered on a film screen in passing. They couldn’t be his own memories. He was a blank slate. He was empty.

A woman stood across from him, approaching him slowly as the machine powered down. It was loud in his ears, echoing enough to pulse tremors into the back of his head. He didn’t dare show an ounce of the pain he felt. He’d come to know the consequences of that, even if he couldn’t quite remember what they were.

“I’m going to help you to the table, alright?” the woman said, gesturing to the metal desk to her left. There it was again— that familiarity.

She smiled kindly at him, as if looking into the face of a man she knew, but he did not know her. She must have sensed his hesitancy because she held up her hands out for him to see.

“I just want to examine you. Make sure you’re okay. Can I do that?”

He narrowed his eyes on the woman, listening intently to her heartbeat. It was a strange sound, one he shouldn’t be privileged to hear, but he found the skill useful. He could listen for the inflections in the rhythm, pulse points and skips that told him when a person was lying.

Hers was steady. Even. He nodded.

He was surprised at how easily he allowed her to guide him to the table, how he didn’t question as he let her place a hand on his inner wrist to check his pulse, how he didn’t flinch when she approached the scars on his shoulder. It was like he knew the routine, understood the subtle intricacies in her gestures warning him of what she was about to do before she even laid a hand on him.

A relief was evident in his muscles. He felt a calmness wash over him the longer she stood at his side, recording his vitals, running a hand soothingly along his arm. It seemed personal, the way she touched him, like she was preserving something – or guiding something home.

He wanted to ask her name, why she was treating him so kindly when all he knew within these walls was the cruelty of violent men, when the guard who stood at the back corner of the room cleared his throat.

“You almost done, sweetheart?” The guard spat the pet name like an insult and the kind woman standing beside the Soldier flinched. She tensed quickly after that, mustering out a brave face as she turned back to the armed guard defiantly.

“I’ll be done when I’m done, Bronski.”

The Soldier wanted to smile, though he wasn’t sure why. A swell of pride beamed in his chest as Bronski’s smirk dissipated, replaced with something colder, darker; a bruise to his ego. The woman turned back to the Soldier, exhaled a heavy breath and offered him a short smile; calming, reassuring. The edges of his lips started to curve in response until –

Bronski crossed the room in four long strides, grabbed a tight hold of her arm and yanked her swiftly away from the Soldier. She collided against his chest, caged against him under the firm hold of his grip.

“You think you can mouth off to me, bitch?” Bronski sneered, shoving her against the desks at the far side of the room. Viles of serums and chemicals spilled over at the impact, glass shattering, and the Soldier began to stand from his position across the room, his hand curling into fists.

“Stop looking at him! He’s not going to help you,” Bronski taunted as her eyes flashed back at the Soldier, pleading at some unknown force he couldn’t quite understand, though he listened to its call. Bronski towered over her, easily overpowering her frame, and pinned her to the wall.

The Soldier took another step forward, another inch closer to what he was sure were near fatal consequences, but there was a voice screaming in the back of his head, an instinct he couldn’t drown out, a desperate need to protect a woman he didn’t know.

“You think we didn’t notice, huh?” Bronski growled, his hand sliding down her side, tracing over the curves at her waist and the Soldier felt a sudden twist in his stomach, a dead weight sinking him into the ground at the sight. “You think we can’t tell you got it hot for the asset? He’s weak. Pathetic. Why don’t you try being with a real man instead? I’ll show you a good time, princess...”

Her eyes were on the Soldier, holding his gaze though she was shaking; trembling and afraid. He didn’t like that.

“Get away from her.”

Bronski froze. He managed a slow glance over his shoulder to find the Soldier standing just a few feet away, hands clenched at his sides, fuming as his eyes flickered between the Hydra agent and the woman he held pinned to the wall.

“Don’t be a fucking hero, Soldat,” Bronski spat back.

But the Soldier did not move.

“Get away from her,” he repeated, his voice low, mechanical. He could feel the rush of adrenaline building in his veins, the chaos of the rapid thumping of his pulse. He wasn’t used to such reactions, such intensity, when all he’d come to know was a crippling emptiness. It was unpleasant.

“What are you going to do about it?” Bronski taunted, a sick smirk upon his face. He dismissed the Soldier, didn’t dare to think he’d disobey direct orders, and turned back to the woman.

She tried to slither out of his hold, but his grip on her wrists was so tight his nails had dug puncture marks into her skin. She was shaking, tears burning into reflective lenses over the gentle hue of her eyes; kind eyes that should not bare such a weight.

Bronski leaned in closer, his mouth pressing against her neck, her whole body stiffening at the touch, and the Soldier snapped.

He rushed at them, his left hand clamping down around Bronski’s neck until he started to gag. Bronski released her wrists, allowing her to sink to the floor in a fallen heap. Bronski scratched at the hand at his neck, gasping for air as his skin turned bright red, then blue, but he was only met with metal. It could not feel. It could only maim.

There was a rage storming inside the Soldier, a mission he’d assigned for himself, as he threw Bronski across the room. It didn’t take much effort. The Soldier was stronger than most men. They underestimated him, believed him to be feeble and weak because he was submissive. But not now. Not when they threatened her.

“Soldat!” Bronski choked out, his voice damaged. Broken windpipe. The Soldier smiled.

Slowly, he took a knee at Bronski’s side, grabbed a firm hold of his collar for leverage, and barreled the closed end of his fist into the man’s face until he could no longer see the smirk that had pressed upon his mouth as he dared to touch his girl. He didn’t stop until Bronski was no longer begging, until he was silent, and blood caked between the panels of metal in his fist, until he heard a voice calling behind him—

“Bucky! Bucky, stop!”

He froze. There was that name again...

He blinked a few times, a sharp piercing in the back of his head painful enough to obscure his vision and he dropped Bronski from his hold. A hand slid down over his shoulders, guiding him away from the body on the floor. It was that same familiar touch; one he knew well.

“Bucky, look at me.”

He did.

Her hand pressed sweetly to the side of his face, like she was trying to memorize him. He leaned into the touch, something he was sure he hadn’t done in years, and yet, within her arms it felt like the most natural thing in the world, like maybe he’d done it a dozen times before.

When he met her eyes again, he understood why.

“Y/n?”

She nodded, tears spilling over her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms. She molded so perfectly against him, his healer, his savior. Bucky knew they wouldn’t have much time before the Hydra infantry arrived and discovered what he’d done. He didn’t dare spare a glance back at the body on the ground.

“Y/n... I—”

The doors swung open, slamming in echoing shocks against the walls, and chaos ensued. Swarms of armed Hydra agents ascended into the room and tore Y/n from his arms, separating them as they restrained Bucky back into the chair. It was the only thing that could hold him.

“Leave her alone!” Bucky roared, that same rage returning to him in fire as two guards pinned Y/n’s arms behind her back, holding her steady as she desperately fought against their hold. “Get your hands off of her!”

Zola appeared at the frame of the door, eyes narrowing on Bucky. The room fell silent.

“Impossible.” He followed Bucky’s eyes to where the guards were restraining Y/n. “The programming should not have failed so soon after he was wiped. How?”

“He’s got a crush on the doc, sir,” one of the guards reported snidely. Bucky recognized him from the many trips he spent dragged along the hallways smearing blood into the concrete before he was dropped off at Y/n’s door.

“Interesting.” Zola crossed the room, hands grasped behind his back as he paced. His eyes fell on Y/n, studying her. “And is it... mutual?”

She didn’t respond, though when her tear-filled eyes flashed over to Bucky, he had his answer.

“Wipe him,” Zola ordered.

The machine started to power up and Bucky found himself fighting against the restraints though he knew it would do no use. Tears were openly streaming down Y/n’s face as she watched him, his name on her lips as she desperately tried to break the guard’s hold on her.

Zola seemed unbothered by the scene. If anything, he was amused, like he was watching lab rats in a cage. “Separate them. I don’t want her interfering with his programming again. We’ll make use of her when the time is right.”

Bucky tried to call her name, but the electricity had already taken hold, submerging him into the darkness.

***

The Soldier was used to his routine. Breakfast at dawn. Then training. Dinner at sundown. Sleep. It was reliable. Simple. The Soldier found a peace in that.

It had been months since he’d seen anyone outside of the two guards at his cell, the parade of uncontrollable human experiments, and the short, stout scientist. It was better this way, they told him. Less stimulation. He was important, meant for incredible things to better humanity. They needed him focused and alert.

He had little room for anything else. Focus on the mission at hand. Complete the task. Reward will follow.

Something as trivial as memories got in the way of that. The Soldier could not afford such a distraction. He was not tied down by a name or a family, by relationships or desires. He was a weapon. Made to be used. He was not capable of more.

“I want to have you looked over before we send you out for your mission today, Soldat,” the scientist said as he examined the Soldier from across the room. The man carried power within Hydra but he was small, cowardly, and he would not dare enter a room with the Soldier without a guard in place. He gestured to the door and the guard with a thick burn down his jaw moved towards it. Blonde hair, blue eyes, broad. He seemed vaguely familiar, though it felt distasteful in his mouth.

A woman was pushed through the doors and into the baron room. She shook off the grip of a Hydra agent with a grunt before she realized where she was. Her eyes fell on the Soldier and he expected her to cower in fear; they all did upon seeing him. Word traveled fast of what he was capable of. And yet –

There was relief in her shoulders, a sigh. She almost smiled before Zola turned in her direction and she pushed it away into a tight frown. The Soldier narrowed his eyes.

“Get to work, Doctor,” he ordered, though it sounded more like a warning.

She nodded, stepping in closer to the Soldier though she was hesitant in her movements. She wore dark circles under her eyes, a redness within the whites. Her clothes were old, torn a little at the edges, and dirty with use. But still, she offered a kind smile as she approached.

“How are you feeling?”

The Soldier didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever bothered with his answer. He stayed silent.

“You can talk freely,” she encouraged gently as she approached his bedside. He sat on the edge of the cot, tension burning through his body as it always did when he wasn’t alone. One word out of turn resulted in punishment. He knew well enough not to tempt it.

She seemed to understand he would not fall into the trap, and she nodded in acceptance.

“I’m going to take your vitals, alright? I’ll start with your heart rate.” She held up two fingers, gesturing as she pressed them against her own neck. Seemed harmless enough, though he suspected he didn’t have much of a choice anyway. It was strange she acted as if he did.

Regardless, the Soldier nodded.

As she touched him, something seemed to break. She clenched her jaw tightly, trying to focus on the rhythm of his heartbeat, but he could hear the distress in her own. Quick, pounding, uneven, and she pulled her fingers away before he questioned the slight tremble in her touch.

He wanted to ask if she were alright because something about seeing her upset was unpleasant for him. She wanted to say something, that much he could tell, but she bit her tongue.

“You’re here for a reason, Doctor,” Zola taunted from his position in the corner of the room. The woman flinched though she kept her back to him. Her eyes flickered to the Soldier as if he were an anchor. Zola smirked. “Go on. Test our programming. Why else do you think we kept you around?”

Then, he exited the room. The guard followed behind him until the Soldier was alone with the woman.

She swallowed; eyes cast down as if she were afraid to speak. For a while, she continued to take his vitals – checking his blood pressure, his eye movement, examining the mess of scars on his shoulder as they attempted to heal. All the while, so impossibly gentle, so kind in her touch, that he started to wonder if he’d felt it before.

When she was finished, she took a step back. It was only then that the Soldier noticed the reflective marks on her cheeks. Had she been crying? Why did the thought alone make his stomach twist into knots painful enough to nauseate him?

“Bucky?”

He narrowed his eyes, confused. She reached out for his hand, though she stopped herself before she could touch him. It seemed agonizing; the restraint visible on her features.

“Bucky, please tell me there’s still a of piece of you in there,” she begged. He found himself wanting to lie, to pretend to be this man she craved, just to make her happy. He didn’t know why he cared so much, why it bothered him to see her cry. She was a stranger.

“You don’t recognize me at all, do you?” Her voice was so small, so broken. She was never afraid of him, he realized. No – it seemed she was more afraid of his answer. He did not respond. He didn’t know how.

She nodded, clenching her jaw as tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and the Soldier managed to break the heart of a woman he didn’t know. Another casualty in his wake.

“Excellent,” Zola sneered, appearing back in the doorway. The doctor took a step back and it surprised the Soldier when the space between them felt like an assault. Zola grinned as he moved closer to the woman. “Hydra thanks you for your service.”

“Fuck you,” she spat, just before she landed a closed fist against the bridge of the scientist’s nose.

The Soldier flinched, stunned by the woman’s brazen as she stared into the face of the mad scientist. The tears hadn’t yet dried and still – she was fearless. Zola laughed as the blood dripped down into his mouth. A guard wrapped a vicious hold around her wrist, beginning to drag her out of the room, but she turned back to the Soldier.

“Don’t give into them, Bucky! You have to fight this! You’re good, do you hear me? You’re not one of them!”

Her voice echoed in the room even as she was shoved through the door and down the hall. He listened for the last remaining vibrations of her voice, of her struggling, until it was silent. He wondered about this man she referred to, why she thought he was worth fighting for. He thought about whether he was the man she spoke of.

“Distractions, Soldat.” Zola tsked. “You are magnificent. You are the fist of Hydra. Do you understand?”

He nodded. It pleased the scientist.

Zola explained the mission he was about to embark on at dawn. He listened to the instructions, the details, the purpose – all the while wondering about what became of the kind doctor who called him by a name he didn’t recognize.

Then, when he was finished, the scientist left and the Soldier was alone— just as he always had been.

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes fluff

[sugar-petals]

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house. 

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like. 

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine. 

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship. 

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like. 

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that. 

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same. 

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket. 

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching. 

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

#yoongi #yoongi hc #yoongi x reader #bts #bts x reader #bts hc #yoongi scenario

[yee-fxcking-haw]

•Forget That Extra•

Summary: Porn with very little plot, just a lot of self induldent smut then some super soft Bakugo. FWB trope and all. This one gets RIGHT INTO THE NEWS (starts with smut immediately) so strap in.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugo x Reader (both Bakugo and Reader are aged up to 18+)

Warnings: Rough sex, degredation, impact play, choking, ddlg terms, squirting, spitting, dumbification, a dash of breeding/impregnation kink, unprotected sex, overstimulation if you squint, multiple orgasms, marking, possession kink, switch reader, switch Bakugo. (Primarily submissive reader with primarily dominant bakugo.)

Word count: 7,402

A/N: This was,,,, depraved,, and it's only gonna get worse.

Part Two • Part Three

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

"Fucking- shit- you take this cock so fucking well." Bakugo huffs out as he plows into you from behind, he punctuates his sentence with a harsh slap to your ass. The action earns a high pitched moan from you. Your right hand flies to his headboard, desperate for some kind of a brace against his punishing thrusts.

Sex with Bakugo has always been like this, rough, fast, and urgent. Everything he does in the bedroom is exactly what you would expect from somebody with his explosive personality. You two had started out as "just friends", with immense tension, until one day that tension broke and you introduced the benefits side to your relationship. It happened in an abandoned janitor's closet in the building of the hero agency you both worked at. Ever since then you became Katsuki Bakugo's personal plaything. Your little arrangement had created something truly volatile. One minute you would be all over each other, the next not even willing to speak to each other. You would never cross over the line into an actual relationship, though. That was the only rule set for this shitshow you've both created.

You're in your current predicament because you were caught flirting with some extra at the bar you two were at while Bakugo was in the bathroom. While you're not technically his, he's very territorial. He's decided to teach you a lesson of sorts about flirting behind his back. Something he has no right to do given the dynamic of your relationship, but you're more than willing to pretend if it means he'll rail you like he is right now.

"Who's pussy is this?" He nearly yells as his hand fists into your hair so he can yank you up, your back bends painfully, but you're quickly distracted from the pain by the feeling of his other hand wrapping around your throat.

"I asked you a question bitch, or have I fucked you so stupid you can't even answer?" His tone is nasty, teasing. The harshness of it all renders you incapable of articulating anything. All you can do is moan like a whore while he drills his thick cock in and out of you. His hips slam against your ass and you can feel your juices dripping down the insides of your thighs. Only Bakugo can get you like this, you want to tell him too. You want to stroke his already pompous ego, but all you can do is cry out and take what he's giving you.

"You're so fucking wet, bet you would've let anybody fuck you, huh? You- little -whore." He says the last three words with malice, ramming himself into you as each one leaves his mouth. The hand that isn't on your throat snakes around your waist to tease your clit, he doesn't do much though, just rubs light and slow and it drives you fucking insane. You can feel your body begging for an orgasm, but with the way he's touching you, all you can do is sit on the edge and wait for him to have mercy. Your walls flutter slightly, but not enough to bring you much satisfaction. You groan impatiently, biting your bottom lip hard enough to break the skin. Bakugo chuckles behind you, the sound irritates the hell out of you. Of course he's laughing at you.

"What's wrong baby? Can't cum unless I make you?" He sneers against your neck, he finishes the sentence by releasing your neck just so he can plant his hand between your shoulder blades and force your chest against the bed. Your back arches up in that sinful way you know he loves. His thrusts have slowed slightly, becoming almost gentle, his left hand is still roped around your body so his rough middle finger can trace lazy circles on your clit.

You bury your face in the mattress and cry out, you're right fucking there. Your body is screaming for it, it's like your orgasm is starting but it won't progress past the feeling of falling. It's almost fucking painful. You hear his dark laugh fill the room again and you want nothing more than to turn around and deck him in his handsome face.

He bends down and gathers your hair again, this time his movements are more guiding than demanding. He pulls your roots to turn your face to the side, he presses a sloppy kiss against your temple. His hips continue their lazy push and pull out of your soaked cunt. You let out a pathetic sob like sound and ball the sheets in your fists.

"What is it baby- tell me what you need." He's taunting you again, his voice has that teasing edge. He fucking knows what you want, but he won't give it to you until you say it. Anger bubbles in your chest, creating a strong desire to be defiant. You'll definitely pay for it, but you love it when he gets pissed off.

"I need to cum." You moan, trying to sound pitiful and desperate. You pout slightly, knowing your antics will spur him on.

"Do you think you deserve that?" He growls as he applies just slightly more pressure to your clit, only enough to tease you, making your walls ache and your head spin.

"I bet- fuck Katsuki-" You choke when he pushes himself all the way into you, circling his hips a little once he's fully encased by your soaked hole.

"You bet what?" His voice is dripping with amusement, it pulls you back down to earth long enough to spit out the words you know he'll make you pay for.

"I bet that extra could've made me cum by now." You let your lips pull into a deviant smirk, you look back at him and your chest seizes immediately. His crimson eyes are ablaze with fury, his upper lip pulls up slightly to sneer down at you. He takes a deep breath in, his strong chest expands and your mouth waters at the sweat rolling down his pecs. He stops all movement against you, you internally scream at the loss of stimulation.

He doesn't say a damn word, before you can even say anything to fix this he's ripped himself out of you, his muscular right arm slips around your waist. His hand grabs at your side and he pulls it back swiftly, flipping you onto your back like it's nothing. He leers over you, placing both hands on either side of your head. His movements are slow, almost primal. His gaze is intense and vengeful, you cower beneath him and hold your breath.

He slowly moves his right hand to grasp your chin. You let out a weak breath as soon as his thumb ghosts over your bottom lip. He pulls your soft skin down and you immediately open your mouth to pull his thumb in and swirl your tongue around it. His lack of words and action is making you increasingly nervous for what's going to come next, your heart is hammering in your chest and you have a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. He's never this quiet during sex. He's always groaning or barking orders at you, did you go too far?

"I'm sure he's still there." He sighs, pushing his thumb further into your mouth.

Your face scrunches in confusion. Where is he going with this?

He braces himself on his knees on either side of your hips, straddling you so he can move his left hand up your body. You steal a glance down between your bodies and see his cock is still painfully hard, glistening with the slick you covered him in. The sight makes you sigh against his hand while your eyes flutter back to his. His left hand snakes over your breast, flicking your nipple on his way, the action makes your body jump and him chuckle. Soon his hand is around your throat again, squeezing in a warning way that makes your heart beat even faster.

"How about I find him and bring him back here for you?" His eyes flicker to your mouth, watching you suck his thumb intently.

"But first…" His hand leaves your mouth abruptly so he can grab your jaw again, your mouth hangs open while he chokes you further.

"I'm gonna cover you in my fucking cum so he knows how much of a whore you are." He spits into your mouth then forces your jaw shut, then gives you a fierce look as he raises his eyebrows. Between his brutal words and his feral appearance, you don't dare push it. You swallow like you know he wants and open your mouth to prove that you've done it.

"Good girl." He almost moans the words.

"Is that what you want then?" He growls, visibly irritated by your lack of argument with the implications that you want somebody else to satisfy you. The hand on your throat tightens even more, causing your own hands to inch towards the vice he's created around your airway.

"No- I don't want that." You gasp out, electricity pulsing through you at the intensity of it all.

"So what do you want?" He asks impatiently.

"You- I fuckin- shit- You Katsuki, I want your cock, nobody else's." You're sputtering, white stars start to spark in your eyes.

He tears himself away from, you gasp as soon as your throat is free of his crushing grip. He maneuvers down your body so he's kneeling between your thighs, he gathers your shaking legs and presses them together, letting them lean to the left side slightly. He reaches down his body and grabs his thick cock to start stroking himself lazily. Your walls clench with longing as his deep red eyes glare at you.

"You want this?" He asks, nodding down at his impressive length.

"Please…" Your voice is absolutely pathetic, laced with need, you find yourself grabbing at the sheets again.

He doesn't say anything else, just rolls his eyes then lines his tip up at your entrance. You hiss at the contact, so desperate to be filled by him again.

Much to your dismay, he's pulled back out as soon as he's pressed himself in. Then you feel the most maddening sensation you've ever experienced. He presses his dick right between your thighs, using your slick as lube. Your eyes roll back and you huff, you feel the sting of tears gathering and gaze up at him with the most pitiful expression.

"Oh, what's the matter?" Bakugo taunts as he slides his length between your soft thighs again.

"You wanted me to fuck you again, huh?" He asks as his hands trail down the backs of your thighs, coming to the curve of your ass to finish his ministrations with a harsh squeeze.

You nod weakly, the horrible ache in your pussy is absolutely maddening. You take in a shuddering breath as you feel your legs begin to shake slightly. Bakugo doesn't miss this in the slightest, in fact, he seems to get a kick out of your desperation. His face lights up in a ferocious and sadistic way, slowly pulling himself in and out of your squished thighs the whole time.

He brings his hands back up to hook them under your knees so he can spread your legs open again. He glares down at your aching entrance and he lets out a condescending chuckle.

His right hand slithers down to your core, he lets his middle finger skate over your puffy clit. Your whole body jolts at the contact, his eyebrow tweaks up at your reaction, that knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"There is one way you can get this cock inside of you again." He drawls.

This grabs your attention shamefully fast, you shift so you're braced on your elbows. He lets himself settle down between your legs so his hot breath can fan over your dripping folds.

"I'll do it, whatever it is, please Katsuki." You're more than just slightly embarrassed to be pleading in this way, but your body needs release desperately, so your pride is nearly non-existent.

"You can squirt for me." His words send a chill right up your spine. You shiver in anticipation and relax against his touch. He presses his lips into the inside of your thigh as his arms snake around your legs so he can hold them against his strong shoulders. He gives you a few more gentle kisses, nipping your heated skin every once in a while.

His eyes flicker up to yours, the beautiful scarlet irises are flooded with lust and his pupils are blown wide. The sight of him looking at you like that from between your legs makes your chest ignite with exhilarating desire. He opens his mouth, letting his tongue loll out, not breaking eye contact for a second. He flicks the tip of it over your clit with lightning speed, you throw your head back and huff at his agonizing teasing.

You're jolted back to reality with smack the side of your leg with brutal force. The sharp sting makes your walls contract as a whimper leaves your throat.

"Eyes on me, sweet girl." He mumbles against you, lips pressing into your clit as he sighs.

You internally scream, you want to tell him to use his mouth on you, you want to tell him to quit his teasing and be a man. You don't fucking dare though, you're miserable enough.

Then he finally licks a long strip up your lips, letting the tip of his tongue flick your clit like he did seconds ago. This time he applies more pressure and moves slower. Your body reacts instantly, cunt clenching as your thighs jerk inwards. He absolutely hates that, he growls and pulls his hands from your hips to press them against the insides of your thighs so he can pry your legs open.

"Don't make me tie these down." He warns, giving you no time to answer before pressing his hot mouth back against where you need him most.

You cry out but you don't dare let your head fall back, remembering his command from before. Your head is spinning and your body is trembling against your will. He's completely devouring you, his mouth is creating lewd smacking sounds as he tongues your aching clit. Before you can't even process it when you feel two of his thick fingers shove into your fluttering cunt.

"Fucking hell, Katsuki!" You cry as he starts to pump his digits in and out of you, his tongue doesn't slow down at all as he finger fucks you furiously.

Your nerves are on fire as the pleasure in your center builds until you're on the edge again. Your body's reaction is to squeeze your legs together. Just as you start to pull them inwards slightly Katsuki raises the hand that isn't two knuckles deep inside you and lets it fall against the inside of your thigh with a crack. The sweet sting makes you moan, you're pushed even closer to your release and you feel an unnatural pressure build close to where he's working your cunt.

"I'm gonna- oh my god- Baby, I'm gonna-" You spit the words out between gasps, the confirmation that you're about to give him what he wants only spurs him on further. His fingers move even quicker, he lets them curl up against the sponge-like skin, jerking his wrist harshly. As soon as the pads of his fingers find that sweet spot inside you, the dam breaks. Your body collapses against the bed as your back arches off the sweat soaked sheets.

"Oh that's it baby girl, that's what I wanna see." He huffs out as you start to squirt around his fingers. He's replaced his tongue with his other hand, letting his middle finger flick your clit in fervent up and down motions. The change of stimulation has you crying out and thrashing your head as you squirt forcefully, the feeling is so foreign and intense. Blinding pleasure catches every single nerve of your body on fire as your pussy clenches and gushes against him. It's almost embarrassing but it feels so incredible.

"-Feels so fucking good, Suki don't fucking stop." You wail, hands grasping at the bed as your hips lift up. Your cunt gives him one last powerful burst as you sob his name over and over.

He keeps his hands working against you, but slows his movements down as he watches your body ease back out of its rapturous pleasure. As soon as you're flat against the mattress again and he sees you catch your breath, he rips his hands away from you. You want to object, but before you can he's shoving his fingers into your mouth. Your own spunky flavor spreads across your taste buds as you suck him into your mouth so you can clean your release off.

"First of all, don't tell me what to do." He huffs as he pulls his fingers out so he can capture your jaw in a possessive grasp.

"Second of all, I'm not going to stop until you want to fucking worship me." His words send you reeling, still trying to catch your breath from the electrifying orgasm he's just given you.

He bends down and kisses you fiercely, all teeth and tongue as he claims your mouth.

He pulls away and settles back onto his knees between your legs. His hands trail down your sides, his feathery touch raises goosebumps all over your flushed skin.

"You were such a good girl." He mumbles as his hand comes to grasp his hard length, he strokes it lazily as he looks down at you.

You lick your lips at the sight, of course he doesn't miss the action. He lets out a patronizing chuckle.

"Is this what you want?" He asks with a mocking tone.

"Yes." You say quietly, your voice is ragged from your previous cries.

His eyebrows shoot up as he lets himself drop to cage you with his arms. He shoves your drenched thighs apart with his knee so he can settle between them. He presses himself against your folds and you his at the teasing sensation.

"Yes what, baby?" The sweet nickname betrays his menacing tone.

Your hands slide up to claw at his muscular sides, your lip quivers and your thighs squeeze his hips.

"Yes, Daddy, I want you to ruin me with that cock." Your voice is light and begging, just like he likes it.

He glares down at you, still pissed at you for bringing up the guy from the bar, but you see the small crack in his facade at your confession. You decide to keep running with your little desperate act. Well, it's not really an act, you truly are so fucking desperate for him. Pride be damned, you need to get railed.

"I'm so sorry I said anything about that stupid extra." You sigh, letting your hands slide up his tense abs.

"He could never make me feel like you do. Nobody ever could." Your hands find their place on the sides of his face, you let your hips roll up against his aching length as you bat your eyelashes.

"Do you mean that?" He asks. The tone in his voice throws you off. He's the one that sounds desperate now, like he wants you to keep reassuring him. Of course he fucking does. He said it himself, he wants you to worship him.

"Nobody has ever made me come that hard before." You admit. His face almost quivers at your words. You take advantage at the moment of weakness, you wrap your strong thighs around his hips and flip you both so you're straddling him. It's a gamble of a move given how much you just pissed him off, but he's all too ready to have his ego stroked. He submits to you beautifully, allowing you to settle on top of his lap so you can run your slick center on his needy dick. His hands cling to your hips, finger tips digging in when you rake your own hands through his messy blonde spikes.

"You make me feel so good, Suki." You whisper against his ear, reveling in the way his entire body relaxes. Maybe he doesn't need to dominate you, maybe he needs you to prove your devotion to him.

"Yeah? Is that right?" He tries to maintain his intimidating tone, but the feeling of his tip against your soaking hole makes him bite his lip while his eyes roll back.

"That's right baby, your name is the only name I want to scream." You punctuate your sentence with a nip at the soft skin under his ear.

A sweet, breathy moan escapes his throat. Now it's your turn to be power hungry.

You snake your hand up to his jaw, letting your fingers grasp the tense flesh with a delicate hold. His eyes meet yours and it takes every ounce of self control in your body to hold you back from jumping on his dick right that second. He's looking up at you with big, doe like eyes. Desperation is etched on every handsome feature, it's enough to make your knees go weak.

"Can I please make you feel good?" You ask sweetly, letting your thumb trace over his kiss-swollen bottom lip. He just nods and sighs, never letting his eyes leave yours for a second.

You roll your hips against him again, the action only makes his grip on your hips tighten as he throws his head back.

"You're already doin' that." He huffs out. His cheeks have a dusting of blush across them. He looks so beautiful like this, all flushed and desperate. You've never really been in control before, not like this anyway. Sure, you've been on top, but you've never seen Bakugo so… submissive?

You grab the sides of his face instinctively, pulling him towards you to place a gentle kiss on his lips. He moans into your mouth as he lets his hands snake around your waist to pull you against him. He lifts your torso against his and you bite his bottom lip when you feel the tip of his dick press into your dripping hole. You pull away to glance down at him and you notice the strained look in his ruby eyes.

"Don't hold back, pretty boy." You breathe out. Your words break his resolve completely, he snarls at you as he plants his feet on the bed so he can drive his cock into you with one sharp thrust. You scream his name and throw your hands out to brace against the headboard.

"Are you sure about that, princess?" He taunts as he pulls out again, stopping once his head is pressed at your entrance again.

"Yes- fuck- please fuck me like tha- FUCK!" You don't get a chance to finish your begging, he sinks himself into you again but this time he doesn't stop. His pace is immediately unforgiving, your whole body starts to shake and all you can do is cry out with each thrust.

"That's it, fuckin' scream for me, baby." He pants. His mouth then moves to attack your neck with hot open mouthed kisses and nips. Whiny moans fall from his lips between each bite. The sweet sting of his teeth against the delicate skin sends shocks of pleasure straight to your core where you're being split open by his incredibly harsh thrusts.

"I don't want to ever hear you talk about another man like that, not when I can fuck your cunt like this." He gasps when the words make you clamp down on him even more than you already are. His possessive statement makes you want to submit completely, any hint of the dominance you felt seconds ago flies from your brain. You're left with nothing but the need to surrender and please him.

"I'm sorry." You sob against his shoulder as he kisses your cervix with his pounding.

"For what?" He grunts. He's testing you now, seeing just how far you've slipped into your submissive headspace.

"I'm sorry for even talking to him. He's nothing compared to you, Dynamight." Your voice is filled with broken desperation, your mind is set on earning atonement for your behavior at the bar.

The name sends him over the edge, without stopping his hips he flips you both over so he can shove your back into the bed. One hand flies to the headboard while the other comes down to form a vice around your throat. He doesn't choke you though, just applies enough pressure to keep you on edge. His mind is set more on possession than punishment now.

"Is this how I get you to behave? I gotta fuck you senseless so you'll fucking act right?" He snarls at you, nothing but fury in his eyes as he buries himself in you again and again.

You nod your head furiously, your jaw drops when he delivers a particularly rough thrust that sets all of your nerves on fire. Drool slips out of the side of your mouth and you feel hot tears fall from your eyes. Your legs tremble around him and your hands cling to the sheets as you moan and sob beneath him.

"Who makes you feel this good?" He barks.

"You do." You say pitifully, immediately kicking yourself for not answering him the way you're supposed to.

In a flash his hand has left your throat so he can send his knuckles cracking across your cheek as he back hands you with a growl. The hand comes back to grab your jaw and jerk your head to face him, he brings his hips to an agonizing pace. He rolls his body against your a few times before pressing himself into you completely, then he stops moving completely. You cry and squirm against the painful stretch, blinking up at him with blurry, tear filled eyes.

"You have one more chance." He says against your ear, voice low and full of warning. He lets his hand squeeze your face even more, inevitably decorating your jaw with little bruises.

"Who makes you feel this good?" He asks you again, his voice has a slight tremor to it, giving you a heads up that now is not the time to push him.

"You do, sir." You gasp, another sob wracking your body. You want to push your hips up against his to gain back even a trace of the feeling he was previously giving you. Your body trembles like a leaf when you realize how pathetic your voice still sounds, knowing he won't be satisfied.

"Speak up, bitch." He says, letting his palm crack across your other cheek. The pain makes your pussy clench around him, he just chuckles at your slutty behavior.

"You do, sir!" You try to scream, but you just end up crying. You know you have to look like an absolute wreck.

Out of your peripheral vision his hand moves again and you brace for impact, but he shocks you by placing his hand gently against your check. The hand on the headboard comes down to rest beside your head, letting his body come even closer to you. You gaze up at him and wait with baited breath for his next command.

"That's my girl. Now, beg." He says plainly as he pulls his hips back by barely an inch to rock back into you. The motion pushes more tears out of your eyes and more drool from your mouth.

"Please fuck me, Daddy, please- OH FUCK!" Just like that he's ripping you apart again with his relentless thrusts.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you thank you thank you." You cry like a prayer as your eyes drill shut and your back arches off the bed, your walls seize up and your muscles quake when you hear him moaning praises.

"You're so fucking tight, princess." He knows what he's doing, he knows exactly what to say when you're like this, and it's fucking perfect.

"Thank you, daddy." You sob against the hand still pressed to your cheek, you're both surrendering now. Your bodies are aching for that sweet euphoria you offer each other after all this teasing. His other hand mirrors the one holding your cheek so he can cradle your face and lean his forehead against yours. The tenderness sends you careening towards your orgasm, but you know better than to finish without permission.

"Can I please cum." You beg as your hands slide to his back so you can drag your nails down the sweat soaked skin.

"Not yet, you better fuckin' hold it." He huffs out above you, he brings himself back up to brace on one arm. The other slides down to flip one of your legs up so he can hook it around his elbow. The way this new position has your hips angled is absolutely maddening for both of you. You're spread so wide for him that he's able to plunge into you to the hilt with every thrust, and the way your leg is hiked up makes you feel even tighter around him. An all too familiar pressure builds in your core, your walls flutter and your abs tense as the muscles in your cunt shutter.

"I'm gonna fuckin' squirt again." You pray he doesn't punish you for stating it instead of asking if you could, but the look in his eyes tells you he's not in an orgasm ruining mood. His red eyes light up with an animalistic glare, wild blonde hair glued to his forehead by the sweat pouring out of his overworked body.

"Fuckin' do it then, slut. Let me feel that messy cunt cum all over my cock." That's all it takes.

Your hand flies down to assault your clit, and the stimulation sends you straight into your electric orgasm. Your body convulses against Katsuki as your cunt spasms and gushes around his cock, you revel in the sweet pleasure that spreads between your legs and sob out broken cries. He doesn't slow down his thrusts in the slightest, if anything he speeds up. The sight of you squirting around him turns him completely feral.

"Oh fuck yeah, good girl, fuckin' soak me." His voice shifts to that beautiful higher pitch that makes him sound so needy.

You let out gasps and shrill moans as you come undone, between your fingers and his thrust your release is being spread all over the two of you, inevitably ruining the sheets as well.

"Thank you sir- fuck! Thank you for making me squirt." You moan, fingers slowing down as the gushing from your cunt stops. Nerves twitching with the aftershocks of your blinding release, you gain some mental clarity. As Katsuki continues to drill into you, you make sure to not let your walls relax, desperate to see him come undone. You know exactly what he needs. He needs that big ass ego stroked.

His thrusts slow slightly, setting a much less brutal pace. It's not the slow, sloppy pace he sets when he's close, though. His face is scrunched up in deep concentration, breath leaving his lungs in harsh puffs. While he has stamina unmatched by anybody you've ever slept with, he is human. His body is exhausted from all of the exertion it took to get you to finish so forcefully, you look down his body and see his muscles twitching under his lovely, porcelain skin. You owe him after that, big time. It's your turn to make him a mess.

"You ruined me, Daddy." You say as you watch his eyebrows squeeze together, your tone is feather soft as you run your fingers along his sides. His body reacts with a gorgeous shutter, now you've got him.

"You're the only one baby, only you can make me cum that hard." A stunning moan leaves his throat, your sweet talk is doing a number on him, and a wicked idea enters your brain.

"Let me ride you, please, I wanna make it up to you." You beg.

"Make what up to me?" He's so caught off guard by your request, and the fact that he doesn't immediately know what you're talking about tells you he's hanging on by a thread.

"I was such a bad girl, Daddy. I gotta make it up to you." You say with a sweet, innocent tone. Another gentle moan leaves his mouth and his hips stall slightly. That's the exact window you were looking for. You use the same move you did earlier to roll yourself on top. He huffs out as his back meets the mattress, cock still buried inside you. Your hips settle down against his as you lean forward to press your torso against his. One strong hand slides to squeeze your ass while the other sneaks up your side to grab your breast, skilled fingers pinch the nipple and you hiss at the stimulation. You roll your hips against his as your body sings for him.

"Please, baby." He sighs, leaning up to press a kiss against your collar bone.

The gentleness of his request makes your head spin, as well as his willingness to ask so sweetly. Katsuki doesn't ask for anything in the bedroom, or in general. Seeing him in this submissive state makes your mind and body buzz. If you were in a more sadistic mood, you might want to hear him beg a little more, but your body is already so worn from the intense orgasms he's put you through. You settle for lazily rolling your hips against him, gazing down to watch every gorgeous expression cross his fucked out face. His head falls back and his eyes flutter shut, his lips part as and a strained moan leaves his mouth.

"Look at me, baby, please, I want you to watch me." You coo, letting your hands slide up to run through his messy hair. He opens his mouth to say something, probably sass you for even remotely attempting to give him an order. He's cut off as you raise your hips to back down on his length suddenly.

"Oh shit, keep doin' that." He glances down between your bodies, desperate to see where you're connected.

"This?" You tease as you raise your hips again to repeat the motion, this time setting a gentle pace as you bounce on his cock.

"Yeah, just like that, good girl." He sighs, head falling back. Of course he's not going to listen to your request for him to keep his eyes open, even when he's the one underneath you, he won't be told what to do. You're not in the mood to challenge him though, your overstimulated body is already responding to the feeling of him inside you. You sit up and throw your hair over your shoulder as you bring yourself down against him with more force. You grab his wrists and drag his leathery hands up your sides, causing his eyes to snap open as he lifts his head up to gaze at your bouncing breasts.

"Play with me, Daddy, please." You moan softly, guiding his hands up to grasp your tits. He squeezes them greedily and groans at the feeling of the soft flesh. You plant your hands on his strong chest and focus all of your energy into riding him. As your hips snap down against him, he fills you perfectly and you feel your own orgasm starting to build. You're on a mission though, Katsuki has to cum now, and you know exactly how to make that happen.

"Fuck- I wanna feel you cum baby, please fill me up." You beg as you throw your head back, his hands fly to your waist at your confession and his fingers dig into you.

"Yeah? You desperate for Daddy's cum?" He's maintaining his dominance, but his resolve is crumbling.

You nod fervently, grabbing his right hand so you can bring it to your mouth. You take his thumb into your mouth and wrap your pouty lips around it, you feel drool drip out of your mouth to slide down your chin and land on your chest. You look down to see him watching you like a hawk, eyes glued to the spit sliding between your breasts. You let his thumb fall out of your mouth so you can dirty talk some more.

"Make me yours, put a fuckin baby in me, Suki." You throw yourself forward so you can plant your hands beside his head and bare down on his cock even more. Obscene, wet, smacking sounds fill the room as your sopping cunt slams down on his length repeatedly.

"I'll make you mine, slut, I'll fuckin fill you up." He huffs out.

"I'll put a baby in that perfect body, ruin you for everyone else- shit, baby- I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna fuckin cum." As he finishes his sentence his voice climbs a few octaves, starting at his usual manly tenor to end at a pitiful wine.

"You feel so good Daddy, let me feel you cum, I wanna make you feel good." You run a hand down his chest, letting your nails leave angry red marks in their wake. He throws his head back to cry out as his hips buck against you, the sight sends you hurtling into another earth shattering orgasm. It's so fucking perfect, as soon as he starts cumming your walls start pulsing around him. You both still against each other as you feel him start to fill you up with ropes of his hot cum. You collapse onto his chest as you both work your hips against each other, moaning incoherent praises about how good you both did. You ride out your orgasms in tandem, his beautiful, broken moans fill your ears as hot tears cascade down your pink cheeks.

You both pant as you come back down, nerves firing and bodies twitching. You bring your face up to glance down at him. His ruby eyes flutter open to meet yours, his hands move gingerly up your body. His fingertips glide over the bruises already forming on the skin he abused with his teeth. He moves to press a thankful kiss against your battered neck. You run your fingers through his hair and let out a content hum at his affectionate gesture.

He continues to place kisses up your neck, across your jaw, then he grabs your chin so he can tilt your face to the left to kiss where the impact of his knuckles have welted the skin. He does the same with the other cheek so he can kiss where he slapped you on that side.

"Let's get you cleaned up." He mumbles against your flushed face. He timidly slips his softening cock out of your well used hole, you feel warm liquid leak out and spread down your thighs, but at this point it's impossible to know who it's from. You roll off of him and huff when your back hits the bed. He slides off and stands with his hand out for you, you take it and wince when you stand. Your legs threaten to give out, trembling beneath you as you attempt to walk.

"Come here you big baby." He rolls his eyes and scoops you up bridal style. You sigh and lean your head against his shoulder as he hauls you off to the bathroom. He gently sets you in the large claw foot bathtub, you shiver as the frozen porcelain bites your hot skin.

"Here, move forward." He says simply, you obey thoughtlessly. He slides in behind you after flipping the faucet on. He gathers your hair in his hands then moves it over your shoulder so it can fall across your chest when you lean back against him. He brings a hand up to smooth the hair sticking to your sweaty forehead back, placing a sweet kiss to your temple while he does so.

Your eyes flutter closed and you bask in the warmth of his aftercare. Katsuki might be a rockstar in bed, but he really shines in the quiet moments after. He always cares for you like you're something precious that he doesn't want to break. The thought sends a pang of longing through your chest, knowing the security he offers after his rough sex isn't the result of romance.

"Thank you, sir," You sigh out as the water rises over your shaking legs. He smiles against your head, amused at you still addressing him with the name he demands you use in the bedroom, knowing you're still stuck in your obedient headspace.

"Use my name, baby." He says, coaxing you back out of it.

"Thank you, Suki." He hums at the nickname as he reaches for your hand, bringing the back of it to his soft lips.

Soon the water has covered both of your bodies completely, you reach your foot out to turn the faucet off. The heat of the water feels devine against your exhausted muscles, your legs stop trembling and you relax against Katsuki.

"Can we talk?" He asks, head dropping to kiss along the shoulder not covered by your hair.

"What about?" You ask, taking his hand in yours to observe the scars littering his broad palm.

"I meant it." He says, voice deep and intentional.

"Meant what?" You inquire, bringing his hand up to kiss it like he had yours.

"Be mine." He says it like it's obvious, like you should've known better.

Your heart soars at the proposition, but you have to make sure he isn't just talking out of his ass because he's high on endorphins.

"Suki, we agreed that-"

"I know what we fuckin' agreed on." He says gruffly, there's the harsh Bakugo you know.

"I changed my mind." He says, taking a deep breath after changing his tone back to a more caring one.

"Plus I'm doing you a favor." He says, voice laced with mischief.

"How so?" You ask.

"This way you won't have bad sex with lame extras." He states, making you both laugh a little.

"Yeah, good point." You giggle. You turn so you can straddle him, water splashing around you as you do so.

His hands find their home on your waist and his eyes study your face as you settle on his lap.

"You can't have all your ladies though." You sigh, giving a fake pout as you bring your hands up to cradle his face.

"There haven't been any others since this started." His honesty nearly knocks the wind out of you.

"What?" You ask, absolutely dumbfounded.

"Nobody but you." He confirms, leaning up to kiss across your collar bones. He presses his lips into your skin again and again, you pull his face away to look down at him seriously.

"I don't like seeing you with anyone else, I don't want anyone else to have you." He looks up at you through his lashes, an unusual look in his eyes.

"Ok." You breathe out, causing his eyebrows to raise, an almost excited look on his face.

"I'm yours, Suki." You smile down at him. A rare grin spreads across his handsome face and his lips are on yours instantly, kissing you passionately as his arms snake around to grab at your hips.

"Say it again." He mumbles against your lips, still smiling like a fool.

"I'm all yours, Dynamight." You say with a wry smile.

He chuckles, low and dark, before scooping you up by grabbing you under your thighs. You giggle as he pulls you out of the water, he moves quickly back into the bedroom then throws you on the bed. You laugh as you bounce against the mattress.

"What are you doing? We're gonna get the sheets wet!" You yell.

"We already did that, sweetheart." He laughs as he crawls over you.

"Plus, you're my woman now-" He grabs your waist and starts kissing down your stomach, your body reacts to him immediately, head thrown back as his kisses inch lower.

"I've fucked you, now I've gotta make love to you." He says against your hip bone, punctuating his sentence with a sweet bite.

The promise of something so passionate with Bakugo has you reeling. You're more than ready for whatever he has planned for tonight.

"Take me, sparky." You tease, letting him spread your legs.

"Oh baby, I'll do more than that." And just like that, you're seeing stars again.

#bakugou x you #bakugo smut #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bakugou fluff #katsuki bakugo x reader #my hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academia smut #bnha bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha smut #bnha #katsuki x you

[mothandpidgeon]

REPUTATION - Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Words: 3615

Rating: T

Warnings: slowest of burns, gender swapped characters, TOUCHING HANDS, no us of y/n

Summary: After scandal damages your reputation, you are finished with society. But a mysterious bachelor by the name of Mr. Djarin has a reputation of his own. And you are determined to keep yourself from getting mixed up with him.

A/N: So after THAT LOOK I know we are all working on our Darcy fics. I feel very intimidated to give it a go when so many talented writers are going to be doing it better but I really haven’t been able to think about anything else.

Also please forgive any historical inaccuracies. I hate those even when they’re on purpose so let’s just agree to ignore them.

And thanks @pascalslittlebrat for taking a look at this and listening to all of my feelings.

MASTERLIST

You used to enjoy going to balls. You used to feel excitement when you got dressed in a fine white gown, your hair set elegantly with little silk flowers. Your heart would race when you would arrive and see all of the gentlemen in their finery. And dancing. There was a time when you could stay on your feet all night, drinking in the attention of all the eligible bachelors.

Those days were long gone. Now you felt a rock in the pit of your stomach the entire time. You counted the moments until you could leave. You couldn’t even bother to put on a pleasant expression, spending entire evenings sullen and taciturn. But at least this was the last ball you had to drag yourself to this season.

You had been forced to spend yet another season in town. This time you had the company of your younger cousin Julia, though her older sister Emma was a difficult chaperone. And tonight you were being hosted by Captain Charles Dune and his wife Lady Georgiana Karga. They threw wonderful parties– at least you had enjoyed them when you enjoyed those things. It was a masquerade ball which meant Julia had picked out a dainty little mask for you to wear. You couldn’t be bothered to choose one yourself but Julia had an eye for this sort of thing. And you liked the creamy white bow that she tied into your hair.

Julia was looking forward to tonight. She was very popular despite being related to you, containing all of the traits a man would want in a wife– good looks, excellent conversational skills, and a talent at the piano forte. She had a number of young men constantly calling on her and her dance card was practically full before she had even gotten into the carriage.

“You look so pretty!” she insisted, though she was probably admiring the work she had done to make you presentable.

Emma was looking forward to being finished with you. She had been married for three years and fancied herself an authority on the subject. She spent much of her time lecturing you on the proper way to comport yourself. Tonight she was just trying to get you to quit sulking.

“Would you at least try to be sociable?” Emma requested with a frown.

“I don’t much see the point,” you huffed. “Do you really believe I’ll get a proposal at the last ball of the season?”

“Lady Georgiana has invited an old friend of the captain’s,” Emma encouraged. “Mr. Djarin. She says he’s quite admirable.”

You rolled your eyes. You both knew you were headed for spinsterhood. Emma had lost her mind if she thought that she was going to pawn you off on some aged, paunchy bachelor.

The ball went exactly as you had expected. You watched Julia dance and laugh. You stood by as Emma talked animatedly when she wasn’t giving you sharp looks. Though there were gentlemen without partners, no one asked you to dance aside from Captain Dune and a few of the unlucky young men he could press into service.

Even now at the end of the season, where so many engagements had been made, you could still feel the eyes on you, the whispers behind hands. It was as if they thought the masks covered their looks of derision. You knew what they were saying, why they snickered and turned away.

It was all because of your broken engagement to Mr. Vanth. There was no returning from a situation like that. You had been cast aside and all of the ton could enjoy surmising the reasons. Your reputation was in shambles.

But it wasn’t the fact that he had gone and married some heiress not two months after he’d given you up that made it all so painful. What had really destroyed you was the fact that you’d let yourself love him. He wasn’t the best choice though he was handsome and had enough income to keep you comfortable. But you had given your heart to him and he had crushed it. And you looked like an utter fool for it.

For some reason, tonight it all stung. You’d learned to drown out the comments and ignore the sideways glances. But here you were, closing yet another season, as single as the day you’d come out. You’d begged your poor mother to let you stay at home in the country so that you wouldn’t have to suffer these indignities. It was pathetic that you had even shown up in London. But she had insisted, had assured you that you were still desirable, still attractive and spirited.

You certainly didn’t feel that way now. You snatched up a glass of wine from a nearby valet and drank it down in nearly a single gulp. It did little to soothe your nerves.

You needed air. You took another glass and sped towards the garden. The noise and music floated out here but the fresh air was cool and the garden looked quite empty, the vacant pathways lit by torches.

You’d once been so much fun. You’d laughed and smiled. You’d had no worries about your future. Now, not only were you a laughing stock but you would be lucky if you could rely on your cousin’s generosity for the rest of your days lest you end up in the poor house.

Tears were welling up in your eyes. You tore the mask off of your face to wipe them away. With your vision clouded and in the dim of the garden, you didn’t see the man that was standing in the shadows until you’d run right into his back.

You’d hit him with enough force to knock you back a few paces but he hardly flinched. He was tall and broad shouldered and he turned to look at you with curiosity. He was alone, thank heavens. He wore a black tailcoat and under that a waist coat that looked like silver and shined like silk. You didn’t recognize him but, of course, he was wearing a mask like all of the other guests. His was rendered in the same silver fabric with a slim slit for his eyes. A scalloped piece of fabric fell from the bottom of the mask down to his chin so you couldn’t see anything of his face other than his dark eyes.

Once you’d regained your balance you began to stutter an apology.

“Forgive me, sir,” you stammered. “I must mind my step.”

The stranger didn’t say anything, he just continued to look you up and down, the torch light reflected in his eyes. His hair was a mess of dark curls. His stature was imposing and incredibly still. You were so shaken that you suddenly realized how you looked, your face stained with tears and eyes glassy. You felt your cheeks burn with even more embarrassment.

Just as you opened your mouth to give some explanation, a voice came from behind you.

“Djarin! There you are!” Captain Dune called out, as jovial as ever.

You did your best to wipe the tears from your cheeks while the masked man turned his attention away.

Captain Dune sauntered down the path with his wife on his elbow. He was a dark haired, stocky man who still looked quite dashing in his dress uniform. He had been a hero of the Nile and served with your father before his ship had been lost. His round face was adorned with a black mask.

“Ah! I see you’ve met the young lady I told you about,” Dune said.

Lady Georgiana’s bright eyes looked between the two of you from under her leather mask. She was a beautiful woman with dark skin and a wide smile. She had always been kind to you even after the disastrous affair with Mr. Vanth.

“My dear, allow me to introduce Mr. Djarin,” Lady Georgiana said. “He is a very good friend.”

Mr. Djarin gave a tight bow when she introduced you but barely murmured a, “How do you do?”

“What are you doing hiding out here, Djarin? The dancing is inside!” Dune teased.

Mr. Djarin gave a chuckle but he didn’t sound amused.

“Why don’t you ask this young lady for a dance? I’m sure she would lower herself to stand up with you,” the captain continued with a wink.

“I’d better not. Please, you’ll have to excuse me. I should retire,” Mr. Djarin said, his voice deep and raspy.

Your eyes fell to the ground and you swallowed hard. You hoped in the darkness of the garden, Lady Georgiana didn’t catch your upset. Clearly Captain Dune had told him everything about you. Why else would this man be so impolite?

“Oh come now. It’s early, yet,” the captain protested.

“Forgive me. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he bowed and took his leave.

“My dear,” Lady Georgiana tried, “you’ll have to forgive Mr. Djarin. He has lived alone for so long that he sometimes forgets his manners.”

You gave her a smile, clenching your jaw so that you would not cry.

“I just had a splendid idea!” Lady Georgiana exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “You should come stay with us at Nevarro Hall. We leave next week. It would be great fun. I do find that part of the country so diverting.”

“You are too kind but I couldn’t impose,” you said politely. You had a feeling this offer only came because Georgiana felt responsible for her friend’s slight.

“Nonsense! You’re quite right that is a grand idea!” the captain agreed.

It was agreed that Lady Georgiana would write to your mother to inform her of the invitation. You knew she wouldn’t disagree considering how kind the Dunes were and how generous an invitation it was. Once the matter was settled, Captain Dune insisted you return to the party and you reluctantly slunk back inside.

Julia was with a gaggle of some friends when you returned to the ballroom. There was some excitement going on between them.

“Did you see him, Lucy?” one of the girls asked.

“I was introduced,” Lucy squealed. “It is a shame he was not here earlier in the season.”

You realized they were talking about Mr. Djarin and you felt yourself frowning.

“You’re not happy with Mr. Calican?” Julia laughed. Lucy had accepted his proposal just yesterday.

“No, of course!” she scoffed.

“What was he like?” Julia asked.

“I’ve heard he has a fine estate,” Lucy said.

“Oh, he was terribly handsome,” the first girl craned her neck to try and spot Mr. Djarin.

You wanted to laugh. You had also been introduced to Mr. Djarin but there was no way of knowing how handsome he was beneath that mask. You might have even ventured to tell them that but Emma joined the group looking disgruntled.

“I have learned some most unsettling news about Mr. Djarin,” she said. “He is traveling with a child who is in his care.”

“What about that offends you so?” Julia rolled her eyes.

“That is just it, Julia. I am told that this young boy is not merely Mr. Djarin’s ward. He is, in fact, his natural child.” This last part she said in a scandalized whisper.

This raised quite a few eyebrows but you furrowed your own.

“You are told?” You responded. “By whom?”

You knew the rumors that had circulated about yourself and had grown to absolutely despise and distrust gossip.

“I have it on good authority,” Emma said, which meant that some busybody had told her.

You shook your head. You hated that you felt the need to defend Mr. Djarin after he’d been so rude to you. If he had a child out of wedlock, one that he paraded around shamelessly, then what right did he have to rebuff you? You reminded yourself that this was merely hearsay. And no one deserved to be slandered like that.

But when you saw the way the other girls eyed you, you remembered yourself. If you protested too much, it would only speak to your own reputation. So you let them prattle on and as soon as you could slip away, you did, and spent the rest of the evening counting the minutes until you could leave and fall into bed.

After such an excruciating time in town, you were happy to be going anywhere else and, selfishly, you were glad that you didn’t need to spend a long carriage ride hearing Julia go on and on about how much she would miss being in town.

Nevarro Hall was situated on a gorgeous estate in a quiet part of the countryside. Lady Georgiana had given you a well appointed room with a view of the grounds. There was a beautiful garden with a fountain in the middle and, beyond that, a manicured lawn. You could see down to the lake and, past that, the tall trees. You spent a week walking the grounds with Lady Georgiana.

You loved to draw and you could set yourself in some corner of the garden and sketch the flowers for hours on end. It was such a wonderful change from the constant noise and hustle of town– the endless parties and calls, Emma herding you around like a prized cow. When the weather was fair, Lady Georgiana would have tea set outside and she and the captain would ask for a tour through your sketchbook and kindly remark on your talents.

“Perhaps you will create a likeness of the captain, my dear,” Lady Georgiana suggested. “If he will sit still enough for you.”

The captain laughed at that remark as the valet presented him with a letter.

“Very good! It seems Djarin will be joining us tomorrow! His business in town is finished,” he said.

You tried to hide your displeasure. You had no interest in sitting through dinners and excruciating evenings with Mr. Djarin. But you had little choice in the matter. And the captain and Lady Karga had been such generous hosts, you wouldn’t insult them by cutting your visit short.

You decided that you would be as polite as necessary but keep away from him as much as possible. This was wise, you told yourself, because your reputation couldn’t suffer any more difficulties. There were plenty of people that would jump at the chance to make even a passing association with Mr. Djarin into a scandal. But, of course, there was still a part of you that smarted at the way he had dismissed you in your very first encounter. You couldn’t be prevailed upon to be pleasant to a man that was so insulting. And so you would not.

Luckily, the first two days, it was easy to avoid Mr. Djarin entirely. The captain had taken him out riding or shooting or some such activity men enjoyed and they had dined out. Lady Georgiana had become a dear companion to you but she had begun to spend far too much time hinting at how much she liked the new guest. You would merely nod and smile and let your mind wander when she started to tell you how agreeable Mr. Djarin was or how he had been such a kind friend to her father.

On the third day, you had complained of a headache so you could excuse yourself from breakfast. After you had the tea and toast that Lady Georgiana had sent up to your room, you insisted a walk would be good for you and you set out across the grounds with your sketchbook.

You decided the stables were a good place to be left alone. It wasn’t like anyone would be looking for you there and, save the horses, there was nobody there. You found a little wooden chair and sat down to draw the horses and tack.

There was a beautiful black mare with white whiskers around her snout that you were sketching when you heard a noise. It was a funny little squeal. You thought you had imagined it until you heard it again. It had come from the empty horse stall at the very end and when you set down your sketchbook to investigate, you found a little boy sitting in the hay.

“Hello,” you said to him.

He smiled up at you. He looked incredibly sweet with chubby little cheeks. His ears seemed too big for his head and his eyes, too, were big and round. He wore a little brown suit with a delicate ruffle around the neck that was now covered in mud and hay.

“What are you doing in here?” you asked him, though he seemed too small to answer.

He babbled at you and held out something in his hand.

“What’s that?”

The child leaned forward, stretching towards you, and dropped it into your hand. It was a little silver ball that jingled like it had a bell within.

“Thank you,” you chuckled.

You shook it and it made a tinkling sound. He clapped his pudgy hands together, then planted them on the ground, and carefully got to his feet. He continued to yammer on as he tottered towards you, falling on his behind once, but determined to reach you on his own.

“Grogu!” You heard a voice from the path outside that you recognized. “Grogu!”

The boy scampered out of the stable and right up to the boot of Mr. Djarin.

“Where have you been, lad? They’re turning the whole house over looking for you,” he said.

He scooped the little boy up, holding his whole body in the crook of his arm, a wide hand grasping the boy’s calf. Grogu put a dirty hand up to Mr. Djarin’s chin and he laughed softly.

Now that you had the benefit of seeing him without a mask, you realized Mr. Djarin was, indeed, quite handsome. He had full lips and a prominent nose. His skin was a shade of gold that complimented his dark eyes. His starched collar met a square jaw that was dotted with stubble. In the sunlight, you could see that his soft curls and thick sideburns were threaded with grey hairs. The smile that spread over his features was so warm, you wished you could capture it in your sketchbook.

This was the infamous child, then. You saw little resemblance between Mr. Djarin and the lad but he held him so tenderly, it made you wonder if the rumors hadn’t been true.

That’s what you were pondering when the boy turned his attention back to you, pointing with a plump little finger. Mr. Djarin’s whole body stiffened when he saw you, his eyes turning sharp.

“Good morning,” you said with a curtsy.

His jaw clenched and he nodded.

“He was playing,” you tried, tilting your head back towards the stable.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I was drawing the horses,” you explained.

His head tilted just slightly.

“Is that his name? Grogu?” You asked when Mr. Djarin failed to speak.

“Yes,” he said.

You smiled. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Grogu.”

You put out your hand and the lad wrapped his fingers around one of yours.

“Ebba!” he cried.

You laughed. When you glanced at Mr. Djarin he was looking at you with an expression you could only describe as fear. Your smile faltered.

“I take it your business was concluded. In a satisfactory manner, I hope?” you inquired politely.

His brow furrowed momentarily and he opened his mouth and then set Grogu down at his feet.

“Yes. I-” he cleared his throat. “Please, you must forgive me for my behavior at the masquerade. Lady Georgiana said that I offended you. That was not my intention.”

You felt heat in your cheeks once again, embarrassment mixed with anger. You couldn’t believe he had to be told that he had acted like an ass. “Not to worry, sir. My pride has already been damaged so thoroughly, what is but one more slight?”

The look that crossed his face was absolute horror. You would have apologized for speaking so plainly but you frankly didn’t care. What right did he have to judge you? To apologize like you were so pitiful when here he was with his love child. You knew what men like Mr. Djarin were like and you’d learned to keep a wide berth.

“I- I should tell them that I’ve found him,” Mr. Djarin said. “Good day.”

He turned to go back up the path.

“Wait!” you called.

You blushed when you realized how impolite it sounded. Mr. Djarin turned carefully but said nothing. You approached him, painfully aware of the way he stared at you. It was difficult to meet his eye. You swallowed and held out the child’s ball to him. Mr. Djarin put out his hand and you placed it in his palm. As you did, your fingertips brushed his hand and you shivered. His skin felt rough and his palm was so large compared to your own. Your breath caught and, for some reason, you wished he would close his fingers around yours. You quickly withdrew your hand.

The boy reached out for the ball with a coo.

“Much obliged,” Mr Djarin managed. He was still looking at you with intense concentration.

Your chest felt tight.

“I’ll let them know at the house,” you stuttered and after a quick curtsy you were rushing back up the path.

--- Chapter 2

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[joyfulhopelox]

The Weasel and The Serpent

Summary: When Yoongi, a halfblood, enters Hogwarts he lies about being a pureblood and is welcomed into the elite of the Slytherin House. Yoongi spends the whole of his school life upholding this lie, terrified of being exposed. Until one day, Jimin's cousin, the loud and rambunctious Y/N enters his life and gradually breaks down the walls that he had tried so hard to build. Can the weasel and the serpent learn to co-exist?

Pairing: Slytherin!Yoongi x reader (Hogwarts!au)

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: light swearing

Word count: 13.2k

Rating: pg

A/N: Welcome to the first instalment of the Hogwarts for @homeofbangtan collab!

I want to thank everyone in the collab for being amazing and patient and incredibly lovely! @mochi-molala for being the catalyst of this fic, @min-yoon-kween for being an amazing support and beta reader and @ttaetae for this amazing banner. @delacyrose224 @alpacaparkaseok @joheunsaram @sunshinejunghoseokie @ggukcangetit for being an amazing squad!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Who would have thought you would end up here? Knees bruised on the cold wet tiles, bent over, heartbroken and desperate. If at the beginning of the year someone would have said you’d be in this position, you would’ve laughed at them. But there you were, on your knees, watching helplessly, as the person that had become your everything suffering on the wet bathroom floor. The mournful sobs wrecking his body echoed through you, rendering you speechless. If it weren’t for the fact that it was Yoongi’s sobs you were witnessing, you would’ve thought it was Moaning Myrtle doing her usual rounds in the bathroom.

You willed yourself to move. The sound of your robes trailing through the murky water were muffled by the anguished cries and heart wrenching sobs. You felt powerless and it scared you. The feeling gripped at your heart tighter and tighter until you felt like you could not breathe.

How ironic is it, you thought, that when you first met him you were in the exact same position that he was in now. Yet, at the time, he knew exactly what to tell you, as if you’d been friends for a long time. This trait he possessed; the ability to read someone so well and yet be so detached from everyone, had made him popular in your year.

Everyone liked Yoongi, his aloof personality a complete contrast from his soft looks. With his coal black hair and pale white skin a contradiction to his soft lips and plump cheeks, it was hard to not be intrigued by him. Yet, for some reason you chose to keep him at an arm’s length. He became your cousin’s friend quite quickly. It was Park’s gift; having the ability to make friends and break hearts left and right. However, being the rising star of the Slytherin house, he made enemies just as quickly. But the relationship between him and Yoongi developed so quickly, you didn’t even see it coming. One day Jimin was loitering around the corridors being his dramatic self with only Taehyung to keep him in check. Next you run into him and Taehyung and Yoongi. They were whispering secretively to each other and you couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to intervene.

“Oi, Cocky Park, why are you acting like a bunch of gossip girls?” you shouted at him across the corridor. The three of them jumped apart in surprise and glanced at you, each face looking similar to a kid’s having been caught with his hands in the cookie jar. Satisfied at the reaction you got, you sauntered over to them.

“So, what’s the deal?” your grin intensified when Jimin’s flustered face morphed into an annoyed one. It meant you had done your job. You were cousins on your father’s side, but in reality you acted more like siblings. You grew up together, always around each other, your father and his attending meetings together. So of course in true sibling fashion, it was necessary to rile up the other.

Taehyung glanced at the both of you, knowing that if he did not intervene there would be bloodshed. “Hey, Y/N, uhhhh, we were just talking” he tried to distract you from the situation at hand. You tapped your foot impatiently, an eyebrow raised unimpressed and urged him to continue. “About what?”

Before Taehyung could say anything, Jimin stepped up, “Nothing that concerns you lesser Park, so run along to your clique” he smirks at you, his hand gesture dismissing you. You huff in annoyance.

“Cocky Park!” You warn glaring at him stepping closer to his frame. He was by no means tall, only a few inches taller than you, and you liked to remind him of that every single day knowing that it drove him up the wall. “I’ll tell mother about that one time you set the family portrait on fire just because-” Jimin instantly covered your mouth, not wanting to be exposed in front of his friends like that.

“Ok ok ok, enough,” He pleaded, your laugh muffled and your eyes displaying the satisfaction you felt at his distress. You had won this battle and you savoured every moment of it. “Take a chill pill J-Park.” Noticing the third person next to the double trouble of the Slytherin house you paused. “Oh, new friends?” You pointed towards the silent man behind them. During the whole interaction between the three of you he hadn’t said anything, his dark eyes meticulously observing the scene before him.

You decided it was rude of you to not introduce yourself. You may have a loud personality and be opinionated to the point of aggression sometimes but you couldn’t forget the etiquette that your parents instilled in you. Especially in front of a fellow Slytherin, so with a confident grin you stepped around the two clowns of the house and extended your hand out.

“I’m Y/N.” The stranger looked wearily at your hand before hesitantly extending his. You don’t wait for his hand to reach yours, grabbing it mid rise and waiting for him to tell you his name. Only for a drawn out silence to ensue. You give his cold hand a small encouraging squeeze, urging him to say something. Noticing the shift in atmosphere Jimin stepped up next to you grabbing your forearm.

“Y/N, Yoongi. Yoongi, Y/N” he quickly said whilst pulling your hand away from the hold. You eye your cousin suspiciously but decide to not say anything. Instead you look at Yoongi and offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “ Nice to meet you Yoongi. Well I have to go back now, I have practice” you turn on your heels prepared to leave. But before you could rush off you stop abruptly as if you’ve remembered something. Turning back, you point to Yoongi’s hands, making the boy take a small step back at your abruptness. “Make sure to wear gloves Yoongi, it may still be autumn but the castle is cold and your hands are freezing.” With a wink you then turn your attention towards Jimin, pointing threateningly at him.

“And you, you better not be late for practice, Outdated Park. We can’t afford to lose in front of Jeon again so get your ass on the pitch on time or I'll tell Sunny about your massive-“ Jimin’s cheeks turned red instantly and he almost shoves you down the corridor desperate to not let you finish that sentence.

“I get it, now move your troublesome ass out of here,” he pleaded. Laughing you wave at the three of them one more time before you rush down the corridor to meet up with the rest of the Quidditch team.

That was the first time you saw Yoongi, not as tragic as the second time; where he stumbled upon you in a dimly lit corridor. You took refuge there after receiving an unsettling letter from your parents. Said letter, now suspiciously damp, dangled from your hands when he found you. Even though your face showed no sign of distress, if there was someone who could read emotions well it would’ve been apparent. Yoongi was that someone.

He approached you silently, cautiously. As if he was afraid his presence would set off the feelings you were trying so hard to suppress. He observed your blank face for a second, his face not giving away any of his thoughts. You knew he was there and yet, you did not move. You couldn’t, the fear and pain gripping at your heart making you immobile. The letter you had just read replayed in your mind constantly.

‘Our daughter,

As this year happens to be the last year of your studies, we have decided that it is time for us to think about your future. Your father and I have decided that once you have finished your exams you shall be coming back home to Murkwood Manor where you will be spending the summer attending galas thrown by esteemed families. We are pleased to have come to the conclusion that for your sake and progress into the pureblood society, a convenient marriage is the best option and what better place to find such connections than there?

We hope that you can see how much we are thinking about you and understand our worries about your future.

Your everloving parents.’

You tried to forget the words staining the white paper, but it proved to be difficult. You knew the day would come, you and Jimin having been primed for this since you were children. Unlike Jimin, who would have more freedom of choice as he was to inherit his parents’ manor, you were doomed to enter an arranged marriage. As a pureblood it had always been your duty. Before you understood what that meant, as a romantic, you used to be excited at that prospect. Your brain came up with scenarios similar to ones in books about wizards in arranged marriages and living happily ever after.

Once you grew up, the excitement morphed into apprehension. The prospect of being tied to someone you did not willingly choose was daunting. To receive a letter informing you of your imminent fate crushed you.

Yoongi let out a soft breath, the sound loud enough to break the silence between the two of you. You knew you had to acknowledge him and yet, you could not bring yourself to. You barely knew each other, but as soon as he crouched next to your slumped form, a hesitant hand reaching out for yours the dam broke. You didn’t know or care if his touch was the push you needed or if the tumultuous feelings running through you became too much. You let yourself weep, not caring about the man tightening his grip on your hand witnessing it.

Normally your mother’s voice would be ringing in your head, telling you that your behaviour was unladylike, that someone of your status should not act like this. But the cold touch enveloping your trembling hand offered you the comfort you needed to let go.

Though only a few minutes had passed they felt like an eternity to you, your violent sobs dissolving into sniffles, too tired to carry on. Unknowingly, your hand sought out the reassurance of Yoongi’s hand, your fingers now intertwined. He let you cry it out, not saying a word, but his mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. Had he not been an expert at hiding his feelings, you would have been able to see the sadness he felt displayed across his face. He could not fathom why you would be sitting on the stone cold ground, knees drawn to your chest, shivering and looking so...broken.

When your sniffles ceased you looked up at him, your face red and blotchy from crying. He didn’t ask, his understanding eyes only watched you as you tried to gather your thoughts. He didn’t ask and yet, you couldn’t help but tell him. Tell him of the fate that waited for you once you graduated. There was something about the way he looked at you, a comfort you found in his gentle gaze that you couldn’t help yourself. Hiccuping you let it all spill out, his grasp on your hands becoming your strength to carry on.

“Your parents don’t define who you are, you define who you are. Whatever you are feeling, going through and your future, your parents will not be with you forever. And if you spend most of your time pleasing them, when they are gone you will start resenting everything that you have become.”

With that Yoongi wordlessy let go of your hand and slipped out of the bathroom leaving you with a tear stained grubby face slumped on the bathroom floor.

For a few days after that you tried avoiding Yoongi like the plague. Too embarrassed at your outburst you found yourself leaving the Great Hall when he would enter, turning your head the other way when you happened to make eye contact in class and avoiding any conversation that brought him up. If anyone noticed your odd behaviour towards him they did not say a word. He didn’t try to approach you, and no one in your House mentioned anything about it, and so after that first week you relaxed. Your cousin, however, did notice and when he tried to approach you about it you dismissed it as not having enough free time with the Quidditch game around the corner.

“Y/N, you do know I am on the same team as you right?” Jimin’s use of your full name indicated he was serious about the conversation. Sighing your shoulders slumped, you were feeling tired of hiding around. After letting it all out in front of Yoongi, it felt like all your body wanted to do was shout out to the world how exhausted you were of being a member of a pureblood family. No one would understand you better than Jimin would.

“I’m just tired, Chim.” Jimin faltered, his seriousness melted into worry at the sound of your voice. You sounded meek, the exhaustion clear on your face. Jimin was never one for emotional display, but he was your cousin, he was your family, he was like your brother. He offered you the comfort that you sought, placing his arms around you. You didn’t wait for him to speak, the unasked question hanging above you like the ghosts roaming around the castle.

“I’m getting married.” At your words you felt Jimin stiffen. He knew what you were talking about, it was a long tradition in pureblood families. Arranged marriages were not uncommon, if only to keep the bloodline pure; so it was only a matter of time before this happened to you as well. He was lucky, as the male of the family, he had more freedom than you but that also didn’t mean he could marry just anyone. “Who?” Was all he asked and you took a moment to recollect yourself, wondering if the mention of the rival School in the tournament would be a bad idea. “Who, Y/N?”

You stepped away from him, your eyes glossy with unshed tears. “Someone from Beauxbatons. I don’t even know his face. Just his name. And I am supposed to live the rest of my life with this person.” You felt the tears gather in your eyes but you knew you couldn’t cry. Even if it was just Jimin, the rest of the courtyard was completely void of students, your pride stopped you from letting all your emotions flow. Yoongi caught you at your most vulnerable and since that day you swore to yourself you would never let it happen again. If anyone were to witness it and your parents to get wind of it, you would be reprimanded, possibly even punished.

Jimin felt the shift in you, your vulnerable demeanour instantly covered up by a cold emotionless wall. He tried to say something, anything to prevent that shift but he couldn’t bring himself to. He understood why you would do that; as a pureblood the expectation to be impeccable was high, and the slightest slip would end in punishment. Not wanting to push you towards an emotional breakdown he did what he normally did best and distracted you from your misery. Gripping your shoulders he smirked at you, “come on Park 2.0, we need to get on that pitch today and win.”

The sight of the Quidditch pitch along with your peers cheering and chanting, instantly calmed you. This was your home, on your broom, ready to kick some ass. Today was the game against the Gryffindor team and the contrast between the green of your House and the red of Gryffindor House formed an enchanting colour palette. The Team Captain was yelling instructions left and right, discussing the strategy once more but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be up in the air and hit a few Bludgeons to vent your frustrations out. As soon as your Team is given the go ahead you kick off onto your broom. The feel of the air brushing your face and the sound of your teammates yelling encouragement to each other giving you the adrenaline that you needed to get your head in the game.

The chants fuelled you, dodging a Bludger here, slamming your bat into it, sending it into the direction of a chaser, your head never left the game. The dynamics of the group, the teamwork, they all made you proud to be part of the team. From time to time, your eyes would wander towards the bleachers, taking in the crowd. Your fellow Slytherins were cheering as loudly as they could, chanting everyone’s name. You rolled your eyes, of course the loudest yells would come from the Gryffindor side. Kim Seokjin and Jeon Jungkook were favourites and so, their names would be on every lion’s lips. A quick break from the referee allowed you to catch your breath, high fiving with your fellow beater. You were crushing this. Taking in a deep gulp of air to calm down your heartbeat you scanned the crowd once again, only to make eye contact with a dark haired Slytherin who seemed to be watching you intently. You smiled hesitantly, confused at his presence, Yoongi had never been the one to watch the Quidditch games, but his presence gave you confidence that everything would be alright.

The game wasn’t going in your favour, Gryffindor had a good chance at winning, everyone on the edge of their seats for the end of the match. Suddenly you saw Jimin and Jungkook diving towards the ground, neck to neck and you knew that they'd spotted the Snitch. Breath caught in your throat, everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Jimin turns at the last minute, rising back up leaving Jungkook behind. In his hand he held the Snitch. The triumphant yell of the crowd switches from the Slytherin crowd towards the Gryffindor team and you lower your head dejected. Jimin may have caught the Snitch, but Gryffindor House had already won enough points to win the game without it. Sighing you turned towards your team, their hopelessness could be felt throughout the pitch. It wasn’t their fault, they’d played a good game, so in an attempt to cheer them up you started clapping. Soon, the crowd all caught onto what you were doing and joined in and quickly, what could have turned into a disastrous end for the team morale ended up quite the opposite. You turned yourself towards the crowd, the smile on your face widening at the sight of your fellow Slytherins cheering for you. In that moment you swore you didn’t look through the crowd for a particular person, but your eyes found his and your grin widened. Yoongi was clapping along with everyone else, his reassuring gaze never leaving yours. Suddenly you didn’t feel like you lost anymore, instead, you felt like a winner.

Under normal circumstances, the days after the game were the hardest to endure. This time however, the atmosphere felt lighter than even before the match. After the game ended and the team went back to change out of their uniform, your Team Captain held a speech about pride and defeat. That, along with the cheers from the crowd, lessened the sting of the loss and you promised yourselves that you will do better for the next one. However, classes and your professors waited for no one. With only a few weeks left until Christmas break the number of assignments kept rising, and the pressure of your N.E.W.Ts looming above your head forced you to spend every possible waking moment inside the library, your head stuck in a book. Despite being a Slytherin and not a Ravenclaw, you did enjoy studying. You were never alone whilst in there, especially now that Jimin and that Hufflepuff were spending more and more time in the library together. You got first hand experience of their budding relationship. Both of them being very much interested, yet both of them being very much oblivious.

It was during one of those days in the library when Yoongi approached you. The library was already full with students trying to cram a last minute essay. You were no better, your Potions essay due that afternoon, you tried to get as much done as possible. Writing about the properties of Amortentia was not a pleasant experience. Scribbling furiously, you bit your lip in concentration, not even noticing the silent dark haired man that sat down in front of you.

“You’re going to break your quill if you carry on writing like that.” His remark made you jump out of your skin, dropping your quill to the ground and knocking your ink over the sides of the table in the process. “Ah, shit.” You muttered as you tried to blot your parchment with your robes. Yoongi jumped out of the seat, hurrying to help you salvage your work, muttering his apologies to you incessantly. “It’s okay, no problem.” You smiled at him, you were not really upset, you knew your essay could be done better and maybe a restart is what you needed. “You actually did me a favour.” Confused, Yoongi glanced at your paper. “Isn’t it due today?” He motioned towards how much you’ve written, “and that looks like a lot of research to me.” Waving him off you sat back down and got out another piece of parchment.

“It wasn’t that good to begin with. Potions is not my strongest suit so I could probably do with rewriting it. There’s only so much, ‘and boom they fall in love’ that you can describe.” You laughed at Yoongi’s expression. He looked offended at your statement, and you took the time to admire his expressions. Never one to express too many feelings, at least not in your presence, it felt like a breath of fresh air. You couldn’t help but wonder what caused the change in behaviour. “Wait, a Slytherin, not good at Potions?” He mock gasped at you and you laughed. He looked a lot younger, freer this way and you couldn’t help but take in this carefree Yoongi. As you stared at the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled; his wide grin making his round cheeks puff out, you felt your heart speed up, and butterflies start fluttering in your stomach. “I know right?!” You carried on with his joke, not wanting this lighthearted atmosphere to end. “Appalling.” He nodded trying to look serious. You tried to hold in your laugh but when your eyes met, you couldn’t stop yourselves and burst out laughing.

“Shhhhhh.” The angry librarian loomed over the both of you and you bowed your heads in apology still trying to stifle your laughter. “Well, that is that… now you know my darkest secret.” So absorbed in getting your books together, you didn’t notice the way Yoongi stiffened. “I am bad at Potions, and it’s my final year and there is no way I can do anything about it now.” When you carried on, Yoongi relaxed a small smile thrown into your direction. “Would….you don’t have to, but would you like some help? I may not be the best….” You perked up instantly as soon as he said that, not even letting him finish you quickly grabbed his hand and nodded. “Nonsense. You are one of the best in our year!” You noticed the slight redness that crept up Yoongi’s cheeks and you smirked. “And I heard that you are going to be interning for the Auror Office at the end of school! I would be honoured if you helped me!” Sensing his hesitation, you paused for a second, trying to think of a way to make him feel more comfortable about it when an idea suddenly hit you. “How about an exchange?” You looked at him hopefully, his eyes roaming over your face trying to understand what you were proposing. “As in, is there anything that you may need help with?” You clarified and Yoongi nodded, finally understanding what you meant. He didn’t reply for a while and you started to get uncomfortable under his gaze. Shifting uneasily in your seat you cleared your throat, “of course, you don’t have to, I just thought it may make things a lot fairer if-”

“Defence” Yoongi interrupted abruptly. You stared at him for a second before your baffled expression turned into a smile. “Deal.” You took the deal, even though you knew very well that Yoongi was more than good at the subject, having managed to be one of the few people who could produce a Patronus in class. Deciding not to mention having observed his wispy Weasel Patronus almost starting to attack your Serpent one, you nodded at him extending your hand to seal the deal. Startled, Yoongi took a glance at your hand before hesitantly grabbing it. His warm hand enveloped yours and you gripped it, immediately finding comfort in his warm grip. Staring at each other for a second, the silence that settled over you wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a remnant of something that felt overlooked, as if there was something left unsaid between the two of you. Yoongi opened his mouth and your breath caught in your throat.

“Oi, Park!” Your cousin’s voice broke the comfortable bubble that you and Yoongi were in and you immediately dropped your hand on the table, pretending nothing had happened. You knew Jimin, and you knew he would not let you live it down if he noticed the position you and his friend were in. You schooled your face in a sneer and turned towards your obnoxious family member. “What Outdated Park?” You sneered at him, annoyed, then settled your eyes on the person hiding behind him. Sunny looked uncomfortable, so to ease the tension you smiled at her. It wasn’t that you didn’t like her, yet, you would not go out of your way to get to know her. “Are you ready for the Yule Ball?” Jimin airly said, dropping his arm over Sunny’s shoulder in such a casual way you could tell it was something he did often. At the thought of the Yule Ball, your mood instantly soured. Jimin knew there was no way you were excited about it, you glanced at Yoongi, who was doing his best to look at anyone but you. “Uhm, yeah, I guess.” You shrugged, the disappointment in our voice quite obvious.Yoongi chanced a glance at you, and you smiled sadly at him. “We will have to wait and see.” You broke eye contact, turning around to look back at Jimin, whose sympathetic eyes took in the interaction between you and his friend.

Yoongi felt his heart drop and his hand twitched. The sadness that he could read in your eyes made him want to grab your hand again, to reassure you, yet he stopped himself. He was nothing for you, and he could never be something. He would just stay as a friend and tutor, even though all he wanted to do was ask you to be his partner for the dance.

Staring at yourself in the mirror you took a deep breath in, your hands twitched at your sides. You were trying hard to not wipe them on your ball gown, your parents would kill you if you appeared less than perfect in front of anyone. Yoongi’s words rang loud and clear in your head. Refusing to acknowledge the truth of his statement you focused on your appearance once again. Tonight, you would be meeting your fiance officially - the thought as appealing as that one time you fell off the broom during the match against the Gryffindor team. You threw one more glance at yourself in the mirror before you acknowledged your friends calling your name.

“Coming! Wands out your asses.” You walk out of the dormitory into the Common Room. The dark atmosphere broken by the languid emerald flames coming from the fireplace, enhancing your satin dress. The lights caught in the folds of it giving it the fluidity of a crystal clear lake, the silver diamond like colour reflecting the green sheen cast around the room.

“Y/N, you have outdone yourself. Your partner is extremely lucky.” Your heart sped up at the thought of having to face your supposed arranged marriage partner. After you received your letter and had your emotional slip-up, you’d pushed the thought of your future fiance to the back of your brain. However, what you hadn’t realised was that with the Tournament happening at Hogwarts this year, you were going to meet your future husband sooner than intended. A pureblood from Beauxbatons; he was amongst the students chosen to be part of the visiting party. So, it didn’t surprise you when one afternoon, during your study session with your friends, he approached you. After he introduced himself, he immediately asked you to be his partner for the Yule Ball. No one else had dared to ask you to the Ball. Mouth agape you struggled to respond to him, knowing full well you couldn’t refuse, when you spotted Jimin and Yoongi making their way towards you.

“Hey Annoying Park.” Jimin greeted you, but at the sight of your discombobulated expression his face darkened, and he glanced between you and the Beauxbatons guy. “Who are you?” He narrows his eyes at the stranger and you would’ve laughed at his crassness if not for the conflicted feelings coursing through you. A small cough behind Jimin caught your attention and your eyes made contact with Yoongi’s. He shifted under your gaze as if uncomfortable and a sudden rush of embarrassment came over you. There was no reason to be ashamed of the situation you were in. Your future fiance had asked you to a ball, it was a perfectly normal situation. Nonetheless, the thought of Yoongi witnessing it made you squirm.

The tension was so thick you felt as if you were trapped in the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. The Beauxbatons student took a step forwards, placing himself in front of you in a protective manner. “Luc Millefeuille the Third.” He announced proudly, puffing his chest. Yoongi stiffened drastically at the name. He had heard it before, in newspapers. His great grandfather, the famous patissiere, was known for the serial mass poisoning of a group of muggles. The thought of you being chained to such a name made his skin crawl. If Jimin recognised the name he didn’t show it, instead he eyed the male with a steel gaze. “Nice to meet you.” Glancing at you he motioned with his head. “Red, we have practice to go to.” Taking the chance to get out of the situation you mumbled a goodbye to Luc before you hurried after Jimin.

In the end, Luc cornered you once more and you had no choice but to agree. Your parents were bound to have some harsh words for you if they found out you refused him. You knew of the family name, Jimin had made you aware of it. Despite your inherited indifference towards muggles, the thought of mass murder disgusted you. You didn’t know what your parents were planning and you couldn’t find out as your letters home had not been replied to.

“Y/N, are you ready?” You snapped out of your reverie. Turning to look at your friends, your smile grim, you nodded at them. “Yes, I guess so.” Patting your skirts once more you prepared to exit the dungeons just as the entrance opened, revealing a dashing Yoongi dressed in black robes, with a dark green sash around his torso. You faltered as you made eye contact with him, his eyes trailed down your form, darkening to the colour of tar. You felt yourself flush under his gaze, a slight tingle underneath your skin making you shift in discomfort. You couldn’t break eye contact with him even as your friends greeted him, his shocked gaze keeping you in place. “Y/N.” He whispered, taking a step towards you, you’re prepared to reach out to him when your sight is cut off by the abrupt entrance of the blonde Frenchman who barged past Yoongi.

“Y/N. You look delicious.” He smirked at you and you had to fight the urge to grimace. Grabbing your hand forcefully he doesn’t even acknowledge Yoongi as he dragged you out of the Common Room. Having to pick up your pace so that you didn’t trip over your dress, you looked back, your desperate eyes making contact with Yoongi’s dark ones once more. However, he’s gone from your sight the next second as Luc turned the corner.

Not being part of the Champions, the two of you had to wait near the entrance to the Great Hall, so you took your time observing the Christmas decorations that littered the gradious hall. The theme was a dark blue, with stars sparkling above your heads bathing the dance floor in an ethereal glow. You spotted Jimin and Sunny waiting to the side for the signal to start the dance. You could tell she was nervous by the way she gripped at Jimin’s robes, whispering animatedly in his ear. You laughed to yourself, you didn’t know her very well and you weren’t her biggest fan per se, but their relationship was adorable. Both of them were so oblivious to the other it was almost endearing if not borderline annoying.

Luc’s grip on you hasn’t softened since you entered the Grand Hall, it was starting to make you feel uncomfortable. You stepped to the side as you tried to get him to loosen his hold on you. When you were unsuccessful, you stomped your foot near his. “Let go.” You warned him through gritted teeth. Not only did he ignore you, but he tightened his grip on your arm as he dragged you forwards towards the rink. You didn’t even notice that the Champions had finished with their first dance, and now it was open to everyone to join in. You knew you’d regret it later, as you missed the opportunity to witness your cousin’s marvelous dancing with his clumsy partner, but you had more pressing matters to sort out. Your partner pulled you onto the dance floor and with a sneer he glanced at you, “I hope you know how to dance, I don’t want to be embarrassed.” You bit back a remark, you knew you couldn’t cause a scene in the middle of so many people, no matter how loud you normally were. Instead of answering you tighten your grip on his shoulder, your eyes coldly staring past him.

As you glided in a waltz across the floor you took your time scanning the room, taking in all the couples, the decorations and most importantly, your eyes were searching for the sole person you wanted to see that night. You spotted him in a corner near a table, his eyes already on you. The intensity with which he was watching you made a shiver run down your spine. This time, it didn’t feel uncomfortable, on the contrary Yoongi’s gaze on you felt reassuring. The whole dance you kept your gazes locked on each other, Yoongi not even glancing away as his partner got pulled from him for a dance. Even though you were apart, and you were dancing with the man meant to be your husband, it felt like it was just you and Yoongi in the room.

You stepped away from Luc as soon as the dance ended. Muttering an excuse about needing refreshments you fought the urge to gag when instead of offering to get them for you, he burdened you with his own refreshments. Taking any excuse that you could to get away from him you nodded and hurriedly made your way towards the tables where Jimin greeted you.

“You could’ve done worse.” His mocking tone irked you and you resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. Instead you angrily grabbed a glass of mead and downed half of it in one go. “Woah there, slow down.” Jimin backed away from you. “If you tell me it’s unladylike Park, I swear on Peeve’s dung bombs you and Sunny will not have any children.” You grumbled under your breath at him, not caring that said girl was also next to him, both their faces now beet red. “I am close to murdering him.” You sighed, the drink and reprieve you had from your French fiancee finally calming you down. “Oh Merlin’s beard, here he comes.” You spotted Luc making his way through the crowd with a pompous stride, heading straight towards you. Grabbing Jimin by his robes in a desperate attempt to hide, you didn’t notice the other man that reached you before your fiance could. With a yelp, you stumbled straight into Yoongi’s chest, his hands wrapping around your waist in an attempt to steady you. “You’re good.” He whispered in your ear. Your stomach clenched at his low voice and his breath hitting the sensitive shell of your ear. Mumbling a thanks you stepped away from him, your eyes never leaving his. You could feel your heart speeding up and you had to resist the urge to grab onto him for support once more.

“Y/N, where are the drinks?” Luc’s voice broke you out of your daze, and you turned away from Yoongi to face him. “I- uh- forgot.” You mumbled causing the Frenchman to scoff at you, a look of pure disgust on his face. “I can’t believe my wife is this stupid.” He spat at you. You could feel your blood boiling in anger, but before you could reply Jimin stepped in front of you. “She is not your wife and she is definitely not stupid.” You could hear the anger in his voice. Luc sized him up, knowing that he couldn’t have an argument with the head of the Park family, that would ruin any chances. Instead he sneered at your cousin whilst grabbing your arm tightly. “Come on.” He glared at you, but having had enough you stood your ground trying to pry your arm out of his grip. “Let me go.” You said through gritted teeth, you were close to hexing his ass and no one would have been able to stop you. Pulling at you roughly once more trying to get you away from your friends, he suddenly tripped over his robes. You yelped feeling yourself start to fall down along with him, when a hand grabbed you and pulled you towards a familiar chest. In the corner of your eyes you noticed a wand being placed back into the black robes that Yoongi was wearing.

“What happened?” Luc looked around confused, picking himself off the floor and you realised straight away what Yoongi had done. “Your robe’s dirty.” Yoongi pointed out with a monotonous voice, and you fought back a laugh. You could see the change in Luc’s eyes, the anger making him explode. With a flurry of curses thrown around in French, he stormed out of the Great Hall. You stared after him in silence for a second before you couldn’t help it anymore and you burst out laughing. “Oh, wow. Who would have thought?” Jimin finally calmed down enough to speak. “Now if you’d excuse us, Sunny needs to polish her dancing skills.” Saying that he grabbed said girl by the arm and led her towards the dance floor. Still chuckling to yourself you turned towards Yoongi, a sparkle in your eyes that made his heart burst with warmth.

“Confundus eh? Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for that.” You smiled kindly at him, waiting for a response. But when he silently extended his hand towards you, all you felt was the blood rushing to your head, making you dizzy. “You could dance with me.” His tone was calm, not once giving away the nervousness that he felt beneath his skin. You didn’t even hesitate, you placed your hands in his. He led you towards the dance floor, wrapping his arm around your waist, whilst you daintily placed your hand on his shoulder. As you slowly started to glide along the dancefloor between the couples, your eyes locked onto his. The charmed stars twinkling above you, your heart fluttered in hope.

Needless to say, Christmas holidays came and went, your trip home cut short by your desire to be away from your obnoxious family, and the excitement of continuing your studies alongside Yoongi. With his help, you started making progress with your Potions, and you would have long chats about anything and everything during the hours you were meant to be studying for Defence. Yoongi felt happy, it felt like everything was finally going right. Until that one fateful day when a curse and a fight would change everything for him. He never thought that by being himself just once in his life, would cost everything he had managed to build over the past seven years at the school.

Yoongi’s heart dropped. He’d been found out. He could tell just by looking at everyone’s reaction. The friends he’d managed to make, had found out about his blood status. If not certain, they are suspecting him now. Suddenly, flashbacks of his father degrading him- calling him a dirty blood traitor, whilst making sure the skin of his wrist was raw and blistery, plagued his mind. His thoughts filled with his father’s harsh words, accompanied by his mother’s cries; the symphony of Yoongi’s life. He stood frozen on the spot, the adrenaline coursing through his veins causing him to enter the fight or flight mode. His wide eyes took in the faces of the people that have always supported him for the past few years he’s been at Hogwarts.

But then again, could Yoongi even call these people friends? Could he say they have always supported him? He glanced at Jimin.

Jimin, the person whom he thought was a stuck up pureblood. The person who approached him, offered him not only a seat at the Slytherin table, but also a group to belong in. He could vividly recall the day he got put into his house. He was terrified when the Sorting Hat sealed his fate with a simple holler- “SLYTHERIN!” Yoongi was aware of the house's reputation and fame. Full of purebloods, prejudice and pride; his mother had warned him to stay away from them. But how could he, now that he was one of them? In a split moment, he decided then and there that he would not allow anyone know about his status, he would take it to his grave if he had to. So with a strengthened resolve he created Slytherin Yoongi. Gone was the boy who would openly smile until his cheeks hurt, the boy who dreamt of happy endings, the boy who would innocently sit by the lake, his eyes following the murtlaps chasing each other. In his stead, a coldness settled over him. He knew that in order to make it he had to avoid being too close to anyone. Becoming friends with people would only make it harder for him to hide who he was. So he hid in the shadows on his own, keeping himself away from activities that would force him to interact with people more than necessary.

Until Jimin came along. Under the pureblood facade, Jimin was charismatic and flirtatious with everyone and that made him very popular amongst his fellow Slytherins. Yoongi stood no chance against his charms, and when one day he felt himself pulled down, to sit with the most popular Slytherin boy and his best friend he did not know what to make of it.

“You look terrified,” Jimin laughed at Yoongi’s expression.

Being aloof and stiff with most of his peers made Yoongi very good at reading people. However, there was one person he could not read at all, and that was himself. Conflicted most of the time, the battle between the soft hearted boy who would try his best to make everyone happy and the new indifferent one mirrored in his eyes. Jimin was not stupid by any means, Yoongi found that out along the way. The internal battle that he was going through was not unnoticed by the pureblood Slytherin. Thinking about his friend and their journey into their friendship caused an old wound to reopen, a new wave of pain washing over him.

Then there was Jin, his neighbour Jin, who had stuck with him through thick and thin since childhood. Jin was there to pick him up when the other muggle children started calling him a freak. He never thought that Jin would end up at Hogwarts, not until they both got their letter when their mothers met up during their weekly cooking sessions. Getting excited over the letters, their mothers gushed at the two of them being best friends forever. Having Jin be there with him when they both entered the grand halls of the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was a comfort he knew he shouldn’t indulge in. After all, they would probably not end up in the same house, and having read enough about the School, he knew there were rivalries, stereotypes. He couldn’t bear the thought of Jin becoming his enemy. So he kept his distance. But as usual, Jin had an innate ability to jump in and save the day, a stubbornness only characteristic to Gryffindors. So, Jin stayed by his side. The boy was smart enough to not reveal their friendship to everyone. Until this day, that is.

Then there was Red, you were the sole reason his cold facade melted. For you he became the person that he used to be. Warm hearted and ready to jump to anyone’s aid. He tried his best to not let his wall crumble, and for the most part he succeeded. But in his heart, something changed, something shifted. Your loud and honest personality paired with your stubbornness and your laissez faire attitude drew him in straight away. Yet, you were Jimin’s cousin, born as a pureblood, with the values of a Slytherin. You were loud and proud about being who you were. Never obnoxious about it, but there would be times when you would slip in one insult or another towards fellow ‘mudblood’ students. Yoongi knew then that as enraptured as he was by you, he had to keep you at a distance. He could not let you find out who he was, so he denied himself the intimacy with you that he desperately craved.

He got caught in the web of lies he has created around his persona. The Yoongi that everyone knew was a facade, he was not and he would never be that Yoongi. He wasn’t the pureblood genius that everyone knew, and he certainly was not the pureblood that could ever hope to win Red’s heart. At the thought of you his eyes honed in on yours. To his surprise he couldn’t see any animosity in them, instead the sheen that glossed over your eyes spoke of pain. The sight of you there, amongst the people who have witnessed his comeuppance was unbearable to him and so with one last wistful glance at you, he turned on his heels and ran.

“Yoongi!” The chorus of voices calling him was drowned out by the desperation in your voice.

He ran as fast as he could, stumbling into people, his eyes filling with hot tears. His legs were starting to hurt, and as he passed students, teachers, statues, Peeves who tried to pelt him with water - all he could focus on was the scene that had sealed his fate. The punches, his innate reaction to help his friends. The way Jin and Jimin had thrown meaningless words at each other. Something so unlike Jin that he did not know what to do, he acted instantly to break up the fight. Seeing his childhood friend, his brother, this aggressive triggered something in him he had not felt for a while. Fear.

He feared that Jin may have snapped, the trials of his life finally catching up to him at one word sputtered by Park’s mouth, so he acted out of pure instinct. He got in between the two, but to everyone’s surprise, Jimin was not the person he first reached out to. It was Jin who worried him the most. Talking to him in front of everyone as if he was an old friend, saying things to him that he shouldn’t have known, raised an alarm in everyone’s minds. When everything finally calmed down, Jin calmed down and Park, constrained by Taehyung. Yoongi was the only one left in the middle of the crowd, exposed and afraid.

Seeing him stand like that, his nervous countenance so unlike the cool composed man you’ve come to know, spurred you on. Cautiously you approached him, your hand extended towards him. “Yoongi?” You tried to get his attention however, your voice came out softer than you’d intended. Clearing your throat, you tried again, this time with a lot more conviction. “Yoongi, are you...ok?” To your credit, you settled for the safest of questions. There were a million thoughts running through your head, how did he know Jin? Most importantly, how did he know Jin so well? You have never once witnessed any contact between him and the Gryffindor Head Boy, other than the occasional nod in his direction. But this, everything you’ve heard, it seemed like their relationship ran deeper than Hogwarts. Purebloods and muggles in your head did not mix, especially Slytherins, unless there was something there that you were missing. That thought now in your head, you threw a hesitant glance in Jimin’s direction. It was easy to spot him amongst the rest, his face the only calm composed one out of all of them. Taehyung, Sunny, Nerd- the surprise was clear and apparent on their faces. Jimin’s calm composure told you all you needed to know- he was aware of the situation. Promising yourself to question him later, you turned your attention back to Yoongi, who as time passed looked more and more like a cornered animal, and you knew that at any moment he would flee the scene. Without thinking you took three rushed steps towards him, your eyes locked onto his. You read the sheer panic in them and before you could react his feet had carried him halfway across the hallway. “Yoongi!”

Without thinking you ran after him, ignoring your cousin’s shouts for you to return. You did what you normally did best, acted rashly and ignorantly. As a beater on the Slytherin team you had the athletic advantage and so you quickly caught up with his retreating form. Reaching out for his arm you stopped him dead in his tracks. “Yoongi. Stop.” Your voice sounded harsher than you’d intended, so desperate to get him to listen to you that you did not consider how your tone would affect him. You waited, not even phased by the sound of the other students milling in the corridors, the sight of his back being all you could see. The sound of his laboured breathing all you could hear. You uttered his name again yet, he did not turn around to face you, and for a second your composure crumbles. You squeeze his arm trying to get his attention, trying to get him to respond to you, trying to get him to do something. Caught up in your own thoughts and worries you yelped in surprise, you didn’t even notice his sharp intake of breath before he suddenly yanked his arm out of your hold.

“What do you want now?” The tone of his voice is as cold as the corridor you are both in. Your heart clenches at the sound. You were expecting him to be hurt or scared, but the anger that you could read in his voice takes you by surprise. How Slytherin of him, you thought, and how Slytherin of you to assume he would be anything but angry. All your life you’ve been indoctrinated to believe that anyone is below you, no matter who they are, all your life you were taught to assume you could read everyone, and you would always be right in your assumptions. Prejudice is not a winner in this case, you realised, not when it comes to love. Because all the nights you have spent in your dark room mulling over what had transpired between the two of you since that day in the bathroom, to the Yule Ball where you could barely think of dancing with anyone else but him. You didn’t see it coming, like a Bludgeon to the head, but your heart did. You tried and tried to tell yourself that it was not love, but it was already too late.

“Yoongi, please don’t shut us out.” You haven’t pleaded in your life, the sound of your voice a surprise to your ears. Before you could think too much into it, Yoongi’s response hit you like the Cruciatus curse.

“Why? Why would I not? Why would I let you use my situation to fuel your pureblood pride?” He spat and you recoiled instantly from him, you’ve never heard such venomous words coming from him. “Yoongi,” you whispered, the fire in your heart dwindling. “Why are you like this? I’ve never....why,” you tried to find your words but the hurt and shock running through your body made it difficult. “You’ve never been like this.” You finally settled. Yoongi narrowed his eyes at you, his fierce expression made you tremble. The shivers running down your spine didn’t stop even as he carried on. The malicious tone of his voice bleeding through your veins like ice cold water. For a second you wonder if this is what Jimin’s felt like as Sunny pulled him out of the Black Lake. Cold and scared.

“What do you know about me?” You open your mouth to respond but he stops you dead in your tracks. “Nothing!” he hissed. “You don’t know anything about me. You know Yoongi, the Slytherin. But you don’t know anything about Min Yoongi the person.” His words cut through you and in that moment you’d rather be stuck with an army of Dementors than hear the accusations thrown your way. You knew he was right, you knew nothing of him. You hadn’t tried to even after your brain finally accepted that your heart belonged to him. Ashamedly, you cower away from him, your heart stuck in your throat, the sudden feeling of nausea hitting you as if you’ve had more Butterbeer than needed. You couldn’t speak, your words falling short of your own feelings. You wanted to tell him you wanted to know him, the real him, pureblood or not, it was him you have fallen in love with. You wanted to tell him the extent of your feelings, yet nothing would come out. The silence that settled over the two of you was pressing and your senses were telling you to run, to get away from the uncomfortable feelings coursing through you. There was a reason you were sorted in Slytherin, more than your pureblood status, the need for self preservation ingrained in you since birth.

Yoongi’s laugh brought you back to the present, the despair you could discern in it made your heart break. Once more, the need to yell out your feelings, to comfort him like you did that day in the bathroom, willed you to move, and so you did. Taking a small weary step, the need to be closer to him overriding your cautiousness you softly whispered his name.

Scared and confused, Yoongi knew he had shut himself in. He was aware of what his words were doing to you, yet he could not bring himself to care. Not when all he could feel was the rejection that had trumped over his entire life, not when the hurt he has carried since birth which was not even his own doing, fuelled his emotions. His heart was screaming at him to move away from you before he did more damage, to remove himself from your vulnerable form, something he had only witnessed twice, your pride never allowing you to show anything less than perfection. However, what he did was the complete opposite to that. The hand that was extended towards him, in an attempt at reconciliation, made him bristle, and so, acting like a cornered Hippogriff, he took the bite in the form of words. Words he would come to regret later, but at that moment, it did not matter to him.

“Stop, just stop.” His voice was loud and clear, the hardness of it washing over you. He could have cast a Stupefy spell over you and the results would have been the same. You froze, the feeling of dread gripping at your heart. “Do you think you can come here, with your pretty words and make everything better?” He spat, his eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t know anything about me, and you wouldn’t care to know.”

Finding your voice, the anger he is throwing at you fuelling yours, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Yoongi, stop. I never said I did not want to know you. I will never shut you out like you are now. Stop being a coward. Don’t shut us out,” The anger in your voice dissipated, leaving the desperation that you felt to seep through. “Don’t shut me out.” But Yoongi is relentless, his anger blinding, he knew he needed to protect himself from what was to come and so, he chose to do it in the only way he’s known how to, by distancing himself from people and his own feelings. “So what, are you implying you’d be friends with a mudblood?” He scoffed, and for a second you couldn’t find the will to speak. Taking it as an agreement, Yoongi carries on, his voice more spiteful than before. “See what I mean? You are not going to shut me out? That is a lie, and you know it. What would your parents think about their perfect princess being friends with a dirty blood traitor huh? What would they say if you brought something as disgusting as that and presented him as your friend? You couldn't, could you? Your perfect status is too important to be tainted” He took another step towards you, but this time instead of meeting him in the middle, you took a step back. The fire in his eyes, and the hatred in his voice terrified you.

“But you’re not a mudblood, not…” You couldn’t continue, your heart stuck in your throat, and the taste of bile invaded your tastebuds once more. You could feel the tears pricking, waiting to come out. Yoongi stopped in his tracks, his eyes wide as if you’ve burnt him. And maybe you have, because the next second he groaned in frustration, “see what I mean, Y/N? Full mudblood or not, blood status will forever matter to you. And this is why you need to stay away from me. Forget I even existed in your life.” With that he turned around and left in a hurry his robes billowing behind him, not even bothering to glance back at your broken form. He knew he shattered you, his words pierced through your heart, he could’ve used an Unforgivable Curse on you and it would have been kinder than this. Yoongi tried his hardest to not break down in front of you but as soon as he turned the corner and was out of your sight he crumpled to the ground, his silent sobs a mirror of your echoing ones.

He didn’t know how long he’d stayed there, he didn’t know when his legs carried him to the bathroom that Moaning Myrtle normally did the rounds in, yet he wasn’t disturbed by anyone. He didn’t even notice you entering and trying to talk to him again, all he could hear was the yells of his father, the abuse he suffered because of what he was, all to the soundtrack of his own sobs. He could feel his body begging him to stop, to stop crying himself to exhaustion. When he eventually calmed down he found himself unable to move, and you were nowhere to be seen. His body stiff from sitting in one position for so long, his head pounding with the effort of crying, he felt empty. Helpless. He didn’t know where to go from there, aware it was late he willed himself to move. He knew he needed to return to the dungeons, it would be around this time that Jimin would start his rounds as Prefect and he didn’t want to risk getting points taken away from them if anyone else but Jimin found him loitering in the corridors. Though, that wouldn’t be unlike him, a disappointment to his house.

Luckily for him, the way to the Common Room was deserted. Before entering, the growl coming from his empty stomach reminded him he missed dinner and so at the last minute he took a detour towards the kitchens, hoping that one of the Elves could make him something to eat. Standing in front of the painting he tickled the pear. Entering the kitchens he greeted the House Elves but to his surprise, he found himself staring at Jimin. Muttering his name Yoongi went to turn around and leave, the sight of his friend a painful reminder of what happened a few hours prior. “Yoongi, wait.” Jimin’s voice sounded stern and by habit, Yoongi stopped dead in his tracks. He didn’t want to face his friend, the friend who always thought he was something he wasn’t, something he could never be, and something that Jimin valued above anything else. The thought of you crossed his mind and he closed his eyes tightly in grief. How could he dare face the cousin of the person he’s hurt the most?

“Jimin.” He couldn’t say anymore than that, his feelings clear in his voice. He felt angry, he felt ashamed, he felt like a fraud. No one said a word, the hustle and bustle of the House Elves the only noise that could be heard around them. Finally, Jimin sighed as he sat back down, motioning for Yoongi to join him. Yoongi hesitated, he shouldn’t. He didn’t know what Jimin would do now that he knew his friend wasn’t what he said. “Please sit or I'll have to report you to the Headboy for being out this late.” Yoongi narrowed his eyes. He wouldn’t put it past Jimin to do such a thing so he complied, and sat down further away. Once again Jimin sighed,”look, I won’t discuss what happened today unless you wish to.” Yoongi’s eyes widened, unable to believe what he was hearing. It was so unlike Jimin to make a pass at someone in such a way.

“Then why am I sitting here?” Yoongi bit back, too exhausted to lash out at Jimin, even though that is all he wanted to do. “Because you are my friend.” Yoongi couldn’t help but scoff at Jimin’s words, “Yes, you are my friend Yoongi, nothing can change that, especially since you are in love with my cousin.” Yoongi froze, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His brain was yelling at him to deny it, how could he love you, when all he’s done was hurt you, yet his heart wholeheartedly agreed with Jimin. Confused by his own feelings, he didn’t say anything while waiting for Jimin to continue. Seeing that his friend was not going to react to his words Jimin sighed and continued. “Look, I knew who you were, I've known since 4th year.” Yoongi snapped his head round to look at Jimin, his eyes wide in surprise. “You...knew? Why then...?” he whispered and Jimin nodded. “Yes, I knew. Why, then, did I not say anything or why have I stayed your friend?” Yoongi nodded at the latter, he wanted answers for both of those questions but he would take whatever Jimin would give him. Jimin sighed once more, he never realised how broken his friend actually was, and it broke his heart to see it. “Because no matter what, you are who you are, not what your blood status is. Yes, there is prejudice, and I apologise if I've ever made you feel like I would shun you because of this, but I frankly don’t care. My family does, but I don't care what they do either.” Yoongi couldn’t help but laugh, relief washing over him. Jimin didn’t care. It felt as if a rock had been lifted off his chest. Jimin smiled grimly, “I will fight until the end with them if it means I get to live the life I want.” Yoongi nodded in understanding. “Is this about Sunny?” Jimin hummed in agreement. “I will tell my parents after graduation.” Yoongi shuddered, he knew where this was going, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse. “I will consider.” He said and got up to leave; suddenly he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“That is all I am asking of you.” Yoongi smiled grimly at Jimin but didn’t reply. Jimin continued, “And Yoongi, what I just said about not caring what you are? I know Red doesn’t either. So please consider that too.” Yoongi left without uttering another word, his heart pounding in his chest.

The sight of the looming manor made Yoongi stop dead in his tracks, his blood ran cold and he fought the instinct to Disapparate back to his home. He was here for Jimin’s sake, he needed to be there for his friend so with a sigh he dejectedly made his way towards the entrance. With the last bit of his strength he prepared himself to knock, only to be startled when the door opened for him as soon as he raised his hand towards the knocker. Confused, he took a cautious step inside, expecting someone to yell at him for trespassing. When only silence greeted him, he glanced around, taking in the intimidating vastness of the corridor. The mahogany theme of the door continued inside, the tall ceiling supported by wooden beams displaying various carvings. Yoongi took his time observing the paintings displayed above his head, the intricacy and detail told him they were an expensive artifact. Taking a few more hesitant steps, he came face to face with a grand mirror, its frame made out of solid gold and Yoongi couldn’t help but huff at the thought of a Slytherin owning something else apart from silver. But then again, Jimin has never been your usual Slytherin. Before he could wonder further into the house, his ears picked up a murmur carrying over from the right hand side.

Determined to not make himself appear like a muggle, he took a deep breath in and with a determined stance, straightening his back he prepared himself to fully enter enemy territory. He was a lithe person, normally living in the shadows, he was used to not making a sound as he walked. Sometimes that would be a blessing and sometimes it would be a curse. As he approached the location where the voices were coming from he decided it was the former rather than the latter. Turning the corner, his heart stopped for a second. With her back towards him, in full dark green robes, bent over, whispering cautiously to a house elf, stood Red. He hadn’t seen you since that last argument, the two of you making it clear you wanted nothing to do with each other. You played this avoidance game throughout to the end of the year, it wasn’t hard to do so.

With your N.E.W.Ts around the corner, you both got stuck studying for your respective classes. Fortunately for him, aside from Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts you two didn’t share any other classes together. So for the rest of the year, you two didn’t have any unnecessary meetings. At first, Yoongi felt relieved, the way he treated you at that time was a painful memory, not having the chance to face you about it eased his mind. He wasn’t wrong when he told you during your dance at the Yule Ball that he was going to hurt you, you adamantly refused to believe him. That night in the corridor when he degraded your status as a pureblood with all the hatred he could muster, he saw the heartbreak in your eyes. At the time, he couldn’t care less, the painful memories of his childhood completely blinding him, the shame hit him a few hours later when he talked to your cousin. “She has the right to love whomever she wants, what she doesn’t have is a choice to have whomever she wants. Yet, she’s fighting for that choice, and her choice is you. She couldn’t have found a better cause to fight for.”

Those words stayed in his heart until the end of the year, he didn’t know how or when, but he’s slowly come to terms with his feelings. He suspected his talk with Jin about it also helped. Jin, who came to apologise about the situation he put Yoongi through, however, contrary to his first reaction, Yoongi was quick to assure him it didn’t matter. People were bound to find out regardless, it wasn’t as if the situation ended up that way due to Jin’s malicious intent. The discussion with Jin made him realise that people haven’t treated him differently. He’s managed to make friends during these years at Hogwarts, and the friends he’s made liked him for himself, not his status in society. The only people who may have had a real issue with it were the first people to find out, the people who accepted him without a doubt.

At the sight of you, crouched to the House Elf’s level whispering instructions, his gaze softened. You were one of those people, and yet, he treated you horribly. As a Slytherin pureblood you had your faults, pride being one of them, but you’ve never treated anyone differently based on their blood status. You tended to stay away from what would be deemed as ‘impure blood’ but that wasn’t a choice, the rivalries and prejudice between Houses made it difficult to overcome that. Suddenly his ears picked his name out from the conversation and he took a step back, assuring that he was hidden from view.

“Make sure Yoongi doesn’t realise, ok? Honestly, how can he Disapparate in front of the Manor and come knock like a muggle?” Yoongi’s heart clenched at your words, maybe he was wrong, maybe you did avoid him on purpose. Before his thoughts could take over his actions, you carried on, “this family would not only suspect him, but go to the depths of looking into his family history. Make sure no one realises he didn’t Floo himself here, Harvey.” Yoongi unknowingly took a few steps closer to you, his body now in full view. Straightening up, you turned to leave the room when you caught sight of Yoongi’s frozen form.

Your surprised expression instantly turned cold, as you nodded at him in acknowledgement. “Yoongi.” Said man couldn’t find his words to greet you, the discrepancy between your cold words to him and what he’s heard earlier making his head spin. Your face may have been stony cold, but your heart bled for him. You’d missed him- playing the avoidance game had been the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. Seeing him now, looking fresher and healthier than he was the last time you saw him, hurt. Because you knew that it was you who’d managed to bring him to despair. You may have done it subconsciously, or maybe you weren’t even a part of it, but the guilt gnawed at your inside nonetheless. Your world was not healthy for him. You knew that. You shouldn’t have even thought about bringing him into it, this wasn’t a fairytale, and it would never be. You needed to let him go. Defeated, you prepared yourself to leave. But just like Jimin had stopped him that night in the kitchens, Yoongi decided that it was time to stop being a coward. He needed to face his demons, and most importantly he needed to make sure you never left his side again.

“Y/N.” The tone of his voice made you stop abruptly, your eyes widened in panic. This was not meant to happen, you weren’t ready to face him on your own just yet. Putting on the most cordial face you could, you nodded at him in acknowledgment. “Yoongi. How have you been?” He hated it- hated this politeness towards him. Where was the woman who put him in his place more than once? Where was the woman whose pride meant she had to have the last word. “I-Fine.” He was so caught off guard by your behaviour that he found the words he’d prepared stuck in his throat.

Staring at him for a second longer, you nodded. “Well-“ Yoongi knew what you were going to say so with a last surge of courage he plunged. “I love you.” You froze, your brain trying to wrap itself around the confession that Yoongi just hurtled at you. “What?” You whispered, you needed to make sure you heard it correctly. Yoongi took a deep breath in, the cat was already out of the bag, and he would be as truthful with you as he could without drinking any Veritaserum. “I love you, I may not be the best for you, by Merlin, I am not even a possibility for you, but I wanted to let you know. I’ve run away too much, and you were right, I’ve been a coward. But if I want to stand any chance against your family, I need to stop hiding behind my hatred and cowardice.” His words were said with such conviction they brought tears to your eyes. Unknowingly, your feet carried you closer and closer to him, until you broke off into a run, not caring about how unladylike you may have looked. You threw yourself into his arms making him stumble. “I love you.” You whispered into his shirt, the tears flowing down your cheeks washing away the pain you’ve garnered in your heart. There was nothing else exchanged, there was no need to. You both knew how you felt, you both knew the other knew how you felt. You were both aware it will be a tough ride for the both of you, but your hearts were mending and that was all that mattered.

“What about the French bastard?” Yoongi broke out of your hold and looked at you in confusion. “What about him?” Your eyes are twinkling like the night stars, and Yoongi swore he saw galaxies in your smile. “My parents don’t want a son in law who ditches their daughter at a ball.” You chuckled as Yoongi’s eyes widened. “Plus,” you grabbed his hand and led him out of the drawing room towards a grandiose, intricately carved door. Behind it, Yoongi could hear murmurs and he assumed that is where the party was being held. “Jimin can be very convincing when he wants to.” You winked at him playfully.

“Let's hope he’s more than willing to be convincing today too.” Yoongi smirked and he looked at you. “You ready?” At your nod, you both waved your hands whispering Alohomora and watched with your hearts in your throat as the door opened. It was now or never.

As Jimin announced his relationship to Sunny, your hand gripped Yoongi’s subconsciously. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest in fear. Fear for Jimin and his relationship, but most importantly, fear for yourself and your own chances at a happy relationship with Yoongi. You glanced at said man, he looked terrified as if he was the one under scrutiny, you could notice his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. The silence in the room felt heavy and you turned your attention towards your parents. You knew it was selfish, it was Jimin you should be worried about and yet, all you could think of was the man next to you. The man who managed to brave this manor, and these purebloods despite his adversity to them. All for your cousin. You could see the tick in your parent’s jaw, you could see the tension between Jimin and his father, so thick you could cut it with a knife. No one dared to say anything for a while, and just like that, with the sounds of a platter dropping to the floor the tension was broken like a spell. Everyone’s heads turned towards the source of the noise. There in the middle of the fireplace, stood the fashionably late Taehyung, having Floo’d in straight into a House Elf serving a platter of wine. “My apologies for the lateness!” He exclaimed as he took in the mess he’s managed to create. With a wave of his hand he mumbled “Reverte” under his breath, not giving the House Elf another look as he made his way in between Jimin and his father. “Mr. Park, lovely to see you.” He bows his head in respect, not giving Jimin’s father any time to react, Taehyung turns quickly towards Jimin. “Jimin, you are needed in the Auror Office today as soon as possible.”

If you wouldn’t have known those two rascals from a very young age you would’ve thought it a coincidence, a bloody godsend, but because you have been around them since diapers you didn’t miss the slight turn at the corner of Taehyung’s mouth, or the way Jimin subtly nodded at him. They have planned this from the beginning, and with a small relieved laugh you acknowledge Tae’s greeting with a wave of your hand.

“They planned this all along didn’t they?” Yoongi’s whisper in your ears makes you shudder. Still chuckling to yourself you nod, “of course they did, it’s the double trouble of Hogwarts, well I should say the Auror’s Office now shouldn’t I?” Turning towards him, you don’t miss the amused glint in his eyes. You barely notice the commotion of the party carrying on around you, your fingers intertwined with Yoongi’s, your gazes locked and silly smiles on your faces. If Jimin could do this and get through it, then so could you. You weren’t going to let Outdated Park beat you at that too.

“We will be fine.” You said determinately, a surge of courage and hopefulness running through you. Chuckling at your expression, Yoongi nodded.

“Yes we will, Red, yes we will.” You could get through this, especially if it was with Yoongi by your side, it was all worth it.

Main Masterlist

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Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language Warnings: None for this chap Genre: Hurt + comfort Summary: Sure, your soulmate may be a vampire (of sorts), but there's nothing that love can't conquer, right?... Maybe it's time you learn a little more about the odd circumstances of your soulmate's existence- and the fear that lies beneath the surface. Notes: If the last chapter was "hurt" followed by comfort, this is "comfort" followed by hurt, also known as the part where the story's central conflict comes into play. Features an appearance from Daniela, who reminds us that Cassandra's not the only one with a sharp tongue around here. Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow, 2: Tangled Strands, 3: Rumbling Thunder

4: That Which Burns

“Of all the stars, the fairest,” Bela murmurs in your ear, keeping her arms wrapped loosely around your waist, before giving you a gentle kiss on the cheek. If you hadn’t already been blushing, you certainly would have now done so. You’re leaning into her touch, face flushed as can be, loving every moment of this. For a while now you’ve been curled up with her, while she reads excerpts from her favorite works. Although both of you would have preferred to do this outside, enjoying the view of the stars, you figured it would be best not to push your health too much. After all, you had lost a huge percentage of your blood. Well, temporarily, but it was still better to be safe than sorry.

“That’s probably my favorite line from Sappho,” you chimed, fondly remembering some of your schooling. “Though the one about being remembered always stands out to me. I’m not sure I remember it correctly, and I’m sure it’s been translated a few different ways over the years… but I think it’s ‘someone, I tell you, will remember us in another time’. Might have gotten that backwards, actually.” Giving an awkward little smile, you sheepishly rub the back of your head with one hand. “Either way it feels so romantic. To think of a love so strong that it echoes throughout time, fondly remembered for generations… it warms the heart.”

“Mhmm, most definitely, my dear. Many aren’t as lucky, however,” Bela laments, an odd expression crawling onto her face. There’s the slightest waver to her lower lip as she speaks. Concerned, you turn in place to get a better look, gently reaching out to caress her cheek. Is there something I’m missing? You think, wondering what you should say. “I’m alright, I promise. Merely distracted by a fleeting thought. Let’s read another, yes?” Before you can protest, she’s already turned to another page, starting to read as if she already knew which one was next (which would not, at all, surprise you).

Love shook my heart, Like the wind on the mountain, Troubling the oak-trees

“Oh, if only I could speak Aeolic Greek, so that I could serenade you with tender prose, all the days of your life… just as it was originally written. Wouldn’t that be lovely?” Bela offers, once again smiling wide, as if nothing in the world was wrong, at least not when you were by her side. Though you are not keen to ignore her earlier stroke of misery, you are equally reluctant to put a damper on her current upswing. Now what were you to do? Little comes to mind, other than the simplicity of human warmth, and so you lean once more into her embrace, head held aloft on the strength of her shoulder.

“Here, as I am now, is more than lovely enough. Your voice is soothing in any language, sweet as sugar, relaxing as can be,” you reassure her in your softest tone. Heart fluttering, she finds herself easing back into the comfort of the moment, forgetting all about her earlier woes. “Shall we read another?” Nodding, Bela again turns the page and begins to read:

He’s equal with the gods, that man Who sits across from you, Face to face, close enough to sip Your voice’s sweetness

And what excites my mind, Your laughter, glittering. So, When I see you, for a moment, My voice goes,

My tongue freezes. Fire, Delicate fire, in the flesh. Blind, stunned, the sound Of thunder, in my ears.

Shivering with sweat, cold Tremors over the skin, I turn the colour of dead grass, And I’m an inch from dying.

“Does that make me equal to the gods, then?” You ask, as soon as the last line is given its moment to shine. A small hum comes from your soulmate, who seems equal parts intrigued and confused. “I look in your eyes and my lungs light on fire, my heart ricochets around my chest, and I hear the chorus of angels singing your holy praises. The fact that I can manage to speak at all is confounding. Maybe the muses have seen fit to lend me their artistry, so that I might make conversation worthy of your existence, my dear.” With that said, you find yourself being squeezed gently, Bela placing another kiss against the top of your head. Now, it seems she is the one without the ability to speak. “The divine witnessing the divine, yes?... Let me read the next one, and we’ll see if my voice could ever compare to your own.”

It’s innocent enough, your choice. A turn of the page, just another poem, selected for nothing more than respect for chronology. Yet something drains from the space around you as you begin to read, so subtly slow that you hardly notice.

Girls, you be ardent for the fragrant-blossomed Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear melodious lyre: But now old age has seized my tender body, Now my hair is white, and no longer dark

How were you to realize that the great shadow of fear loomed over your soulmate, when she had refused to name it mere minutes ago? How were you to know to halt your reciting, when the aching of her heart rendered her throat dry, and she could not bring herself to call out to you? Words poured like poisoned wine from your lips… your soulmate having no choice but to drink up every last drop.

My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t support me, That once were fleet as fawns, in the dance I grieve often for my state; what can I do? Being human, there’s no way not to grow old

A shaky breath from age-old lungs, exhaled into tense air, forced out past a trembling jaw. Say something, Bela tells herself, any poem but this. For a split second you pause, and she wonders if her thoughts have found new light in your own mind. But you break the momentary silence without much care, simply having been unsure of your pending pronunciation of an old name, perfectly unaware of your partner’s panic.

Rosy-armed Dawn, they say, love-smitten Once carried Tithonus off to the world’s end: Handsome and young he was then, yet at last Grey age caught that spouse of an immortal wife

At last her ordeal was over. The final words hang heavy in the air, weighing down her shoulders, but they are done. Her fears had been dragged out from the pit in her stomach, now waving about like dirty laundry. There was only one way for her to avoid this happening another time: Tell you the truth. By now her silence had earned your attention, with you turning in her lap again, concerned gaze meeting her hollow one. Gently, she gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I… am not one to balk at the nature of things, however painful the truth. Yet I hesitate now, with the very person I am bound to with crimson ties… How cowardly of me,” Bela all but snarls, anger clearly not directed at you. It’s clear in the way that she holds herself that she has more to say. There’s not much you can do other than wait, though you do tuck an arm around her waist, beginning to rub soft circles against her back. “Allow me to drop the pretenses. You are not immortal, but I am. We’ve only been together for a day and a half, and already I’m worrying about your lifespan. It’s safe to say that this particular poem was an unfriendly reminder of our situation.”

Oh. How exactly were you supposed to respond to that?... Your girlfriend- your soulmate- was immortal. Hmph, as if her essentially being a vampire hadn’t already been enough to freak you out. Now this? Well, maybe it wasn’t too much farther of a stretch from the last revelation, even if you were still recovering from that one. Even then, something told you that this was equally hard for Bela- both to say, and to simply feel. As if she needed more stress surrounding her partnership with you…

“Of all the ways for us to mimic legends… I don’t even know what to say, my dear. I… I suppose that I can only reassure you that we will make the most of every moment we have. However much time we are destined to get, we’ll make sure it is filled with bliss,” you reply, slowly, making it up as you go. An ache builds in the center of your chest as you talk, an internal yearning for greater confidence. Although words were your “weapon” of choice, you were not always a master in your use of them, too human to be infallible. “Maybe we should set aside the poetry for now, shift our focus to something, ah, less meaningful?”

“That would be for the best,” Bela agrees, already shifting like she was going to stand up, before you even had a chance to get off of her lap. Something strange had fallen over her expression, an invisible veil, putting an uncomfortable distance between the two of you. Inside your chest, a thundering heart threatens to go still. Had you done something wrong? Did you commit some unspoken sin? Together the two of you rise, in sync yet more separate than before, a thousand questions and anxieties rendering both of you silent...

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Across the room from you, a pair of bright eyes watch your every movement, peering out from over an open book. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought that the “ruse” was intentionally poor. But for all the five hours you had known her, Daniela Dimitrescu had done nothing other than prove herself odd, clumsy, and quite possibly… overconfident. Admittedly, that still made her undeniably more pleasant than Cassandra. If you had to be stuck alongside someone other than your soulmate, well, ‘twas best that it was this strange redheaded gremlin. Even if she had expressed an unfortunate interest in eating you.

Gods, what is wrong with this family? You think, frowning a tad, unable to stop yourself from making eye contact with Daniela. Instantly she’s looking away, pretending to be engrossed within her book. The very same book that had remained open to the same page for half an hour now. I do hope Bela is having more fun right now, with whatever “business” called her away so unexpectedly. She hadn’t seemed happy to have to leave your side, earlier tension notwithstanding. Coming here to the library had been her suggestion, though you doubted she knew that Daniela was there, or at least hadn’t anticipated her sister’s unnerving behavior. Already the redhead was looking back at you, even less subtly than before.

Sighing, you decided that you could only put up with so much of this tomfoolery.

“Are you in need of something? Or is there something on my face?” You ask, setting your own book aside as you do. There’s a few moments of silence, as Daniela glances around the room, as if you might actually be speaking to someone else. When no scapegoats teleport to her rescue, she very awkwardly clears her throat, then moves to sit at your table. Though you are loath to admit it, your heart starts beating faster as she approaches. Not out of attraction, hell no, rather fear. Perhaps getting her attention hadn’t been the wisest choice after all…

“I just think it’s funny,” Daniela chimes, trailing off just long enough to run a finger down the length of your arm, “that Bela abandoned you so quickly. You’re so… fragile. Cassandra told me about the fun little introduction you had to our family- the blood loss, being chained up, the fear you felt when you got caught in our territory.” Suddenly she’s devolving into a fit of giggles, hand resting not-so-gently on your wrist. When you try to pull away, her nails dig in, and her gaze snaps back to your own. “But you don’t remember that part, do you? If you did… oh, we’d have to lock you up, like the little pet you are, to keep you from running away. I’m sure Bela wouldn’t mind seeing you in chains.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” You snap, uncharacteristically furious. While it was true that you couldn’t recall exactly how you made it into the castle’s dungeons, you refuse to accept Daniela’s implications about your soulmate, or her assessment of your dedication. A brief second passes where you think she’s about to lunge towards you. Instead, she withdraws her hand, moving it to prop up her chin instead. Then, her lips slowly drag upwards into a wicked grin, wide eyes filled with dangerous amusement.

“So you’re more than a wannabe Shakespeare, after all? A bit more teeth, a touch more vulgarity, maybe a twinge of bloodlust, and you might actually fit in around here. Not enough to get our family’s ‘gift’- our secret to a long, happy life- but enough that Bela won’t grow bored of your sappy poems,” she teases with another string of laughter. Before you can question her about this ‘gift’, she’s all but jumping to her feet, stretching out her arms as she does. “I can’t wait to update Cassandra about you. We’ll be betting on how entertaining you’ll end up being. Try to keep from bailing on my dear sister too soon, alright?”

Just like that she’s disappearing into a swarm of flies, leaving you more confused (and angry) than ever. Taking a deep breath, you try to focus on what you need to do next: Find Bela. Talk to her. Get some goddamn answers.

#bela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #got some fluff got some angst #casual reminder that daniela is capable of being just as cruel as cassandra #just normally a different kind