#I don’t care if this isn’t exactly what happened I’m piecing it together from various sources

[dankdefrank]

Sleepless

Since she entered the building, the quiet has been ringing in her ears – although the hospital hasn’t been a silent place itself. Between noises, conversations, laughs and cries she can hear it crawling behind her, whispering, no matter how senseless it seems to be. Everything blurs into the one yet she wasn’t alone and maybe she wished she was, as it was the constant reminder that now there’s nothing to fill that void.

It is with her and it's going to stick with her til the very end.

It's early – the sun is about to rise, dark skies still. The world outside is just waking up, still in its sleepy, slow course, only to rush with the full force soon. It doesn’t matter to her, she hasn’t closed her eyes peacefully in years. Nightmares have made her sleepless as well as the thought that she shouldn't rest, determined to protect. But to protect who? And exactly in this quiet, she would realize that they were their own people. And her? An abandoned guardian, you could say, who just has understood – “I’m not a part of their lives anymore.”

Yet, Boonchuys had called her. As she was laying restless, fully awake, in an empty, dark room, it immediately alarmed her, when she saw the familiar “Anne” on the screen, and she picked up, concerned. It concerned her even more when she didn’t hear Anne's voice, instead meeting the voice of tired Ms. Boonchuy. And she had left the house as quickly as she could, not caring if the other house residents could hear her. It was the last thing in the world she would be worried about.

She barely notices Boonchuys standing in the hallway. To be honest, they notice her before she does and in the same second they rush toward her to hug her tightly. It surprises her, as her body tenses – why, she can’t exactly tell. 

Her body is working automatically, while her mind isn’t even registering what’s happening – from one point to another, to suddenly find herself in a new place – and she can't even tell how and when she got here. Very specific type of brain fog that she used to have all the time during her time in Amphibia – endless fights and she wasn’t even able to say how the blood was dripping from her blades. Her therapist said it was her coping mechanism – the answer to the trauma, the only way she still didn’t fall apart.

Or maybe – she had fallen apart a long time ago and now there were no pieces to pick up and put together.

Then, they stand back and she sees how similar they are to her, which chills her. They look like ghosts. The same pale faces with bags under their puffy eyes and distant look, like they aren’t here. They’re still in their pajamas, with jackets thrown on. But, somehow, they fit into the scenery around three of them – but the hospital is cold, emotionless, while they’re openly grieving. 

The war never was over, she thinks, it keeps coming back.

“I am so sorry,” Mrs. Boonchuy finally says. Her voice shakes a little. Mr. Boonchuy gently squeezes her shoulder.

And Sasha just knows. 

“She was…” Mr. Boonchuy speaks hoarsely, gulping. “She was healthy. She even had a check-up not so long ago, everything seemed fine.” Sasha just stares numbly, any word from him barely reaches her. “No one from our family had– had left like that. They have to run a few more tests but they said it could be something like sudden cardiac arrest– SADS, they said. I don’t know, it just happens–” He hides his face in his hands and takes a few deep, shaky breaths. “I’m sorry.”

“Can I see her?” She asks.

Hesitation crosses their faces, but in the end – they’re not surprised. Though, to be honest, they may think about her question as bold but they have to know, right? It’s difficult for her as for them – they have lost their only child and she has lost the person who helped her find herself again, in so many various ways. It still sounds impossible. Maybe that’s why she has to completely make sure it’s not her brain fooling her, not a fever dream, but a harsh reality.

Reality without her.

Eventually, Mrs. Boonchuy nods.

“Just– Let me get someone from the staff,” she says, before she leaves her husband and Sasha alone.

For some reason the clean, awfully sterile hallways of the hospital make Sasha incredibly overwhelmed.

She sits down in one of the plastic chairs that are so common for any public institution. She considers that maybe – this whole surrealistic situation she has found herself in – is not that rare in life and it could have happened to anybody.

Mr. Boonchuy sits next to her, leaning forward and sighs heavily. Side-eyeing him, she notices how in a few hours he seems to have gotten older by at least ten years. Boonchuys don’t deserve that. Anne doesn’t deserve that. They lost her once, and got back, now she’s not here anymore. It thrills her.

“What exactly happened?” She asks, breaking the silence between them. She doesn’t want it being so palpable. She knows the overall situation – in the chaotic, short call that she received, Boonchuys told her that their daughter had stopped breathing but no one knew why. And Sasha had to know to get another proof that was real.

“She knew it would happen,” she says, understanding that Anne accepted it coming, “she had to.”

Her heart failed. The Heart is gone. What an irony.

The realization hits her like a truck, as she remembers that weird, sad look in Anne’s eyes when they won the war. She never asked what this was about. She wishes she did, though. 

Mr. Boonchuy smiles sadly. “Thank you, Sasha. For being in her life.”

Sasha wants to tell him she wasn’t that great part of Anne’s life – in fact, she caused her more pain than a friend should. Maybe, if she wasn’t present in her life, she still would be alive. Sasha probably would still be the same manipulative, egocentric girl she used to be at age thirteen but at least – her actions wouldn’t have such consequences. That probably doesn’t make so much sense, but right now her brain just falls in the trap of guilt and she cannot stop it whenever she wants it or not.

Before she can say more, Mrs. Boonchuy is back with some kind of morgue technician, Sasha doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway.

“You’re Sasha, right?” Assistant asks and when she confirms, he nods. “Come with me.”

Sasha gets up from the chair and glances at Boonchuys before she walks away. They comfort each other and she realizes that they have only themselves now. How long will it take them to fill that void which appeared when Anne left? And she can’t join them – she’s not a part of their family, going through the kind of grief known only to them.

She still refuses to fully believe that Anne is gone.

Now, she’s just a sixteen year old, who just has lost her best friend and who has to learn to live with this. Now she just has to believe that one day she will be okay, she will be alright and she will be complete. Now, she allows herself to cry and be a hurt child that she never has shown to the world. 

Assistant leads her to the morgue. Sasha isn’t afraid – she has seen death and dead bodies before, she was even a part of it. As time passed by it has made her immune due to constant exposition. No one leaves the war without scars on the body and soul. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel anything at all, instead her emotions turn into one feeling that she can’t identify.

Finally, they enter the room. It’s not that big, it’s more similar to all the morgues she has seen in movies. White, square-patterned piles, cold lights, empty walls and in the back of the room – silver fridges where in one of them her friend is laying.

The assistant comes up to one of the fridges and opens it, sliding out the body tray. Sasha’s stomach curls up as she sees the familiar white sheet and the shape under it, which is, without any doubt, a body.

“Before we start,” the assistant says, “try to not touch it, okay? I’ll give you a while alone, if you want.”

She nods, so does he. He slowly pulls the sheet down, revealing the face of the girl that she knew so well.

At first, she looks like she’s sleeping. But her skin is too pale, purplish-red in some spots, her limbs are stiff, and Sasha doesn’t need to touch her to know that her body is coldly lifeless. In the air she can feel that specific smell, not similar to anything else. And she just stares, scanning every detail, absorbing the stillness as though to take it into herself. She doesn’t even notice the assistant quietly sneaking out from the room – death never has been pretty, she knows it perfectly. Yet, that body once has been her hero, her villain, her savior, her downfall – with whom she grew up, laughed, fought and changed as a person – it was the girl that she has loved.

She just stares mindlessly and it feels so unreal. Anne had died once and she came back, she always does, so wouldn’t she do it again? She can’t wrap her head around the concept that, if Anne was dead, her body actually was here. She wanted to see the proof but when she does, now she can’t understand it. This girl spent months in another dimension, destroyed the moon and saved two worlds, so, how come she could die in such a… ordinary way?

How come the only person in the reach that could understand her pain and truly comfort her – even if they stopped talking as often as they used to – is supposed to be buried six feet underground? How come is she supposed to get rid of hope that maybe one day things between them will heal and will be brighter? Coming back, they made an unsaid promise, they were closer and more distant, but, in fact, they never have let go of each other. Now, Sasha realizes – that for the rest of her life she will be the one who’s restless every night.

“Wake up,” she finally lets out, “we were supposed to be sleepless together.”

The morgue keeps silent and eventually Sasha has to acknowledge that Anne will never, never ever again answer back.

In the future, she won’t be able to remember how exactly she left the room. Her mind never registers the last memory when she sees Anne and maybe – she’s thankful for that. She just knows that in one moment, she’s choking on her own tears, the next, the assistant is walking her to the Boonchuys. Everything blurs into one and they hug her so close as if she was their own child. 

It’s like hours but it’s also like seconds – when her breath calms down a little, they sit her down on the chair in the hallway. At this point, Sasha barely knows what’s happening, but she’s still here, whether she likes it or not. She hears something about funeral services and transplantation – God, there will be a funeral – but her mind just wanders in already lost thoughts. Then, it finds an actual realization.

“Marcy doesn’t know, does she?” Sasha asks with a hoarse voice. She doesn’t look at Boonchuys, staring at the floor instead.

“No,” Mr. Boonchuy says gently after a short while, “we haven’t called her yet.”

“I’ll do it.” Sasha slowly raises her head and she quickly wipes tears with her shaking hand. 

They can’t refuse, so they agree with a heavy heart.

Mrs. Boonchuy looks at her, somewhat hurt. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to do it,” she cuts in firmly, “please.”

The quiet is getting even louder. Walls seem to be closer than before. And Marcy is unaware that their world just has ended. Sasha wishes she could protect her from more pain, but it’s also her job as a friend – to be truthful. This all makes her leave the building. 

“Hey Mars,” she chuckles painfully, “do you have a while? We– We need to talk.”

She stands in front of the entrance and chooses Marcy’s number and waits in the dark, watching her breath in the cold air. Massachusetts is a few hours than from California, but it doesn’t matter. Sasha knows Marcy is up. It’s not like she can sleep as well, anyway. Finally, Marcy picks up.

“Hey Sash.” Familiar voice answers. Although Marcy is thousands of miles away, for a little while Sasha feels her right next to her. It’s bittersweet. “A bit early.”

#my ff #amphibia #ff #fanfiction #angst #sashanne #sasha waybright #anne boonchuy #hurt #tw death #tw dead body description

[lucydacusgirl]

I am OVERJOYED at the news that it was not simply a rogue translator but a rogue dubbing team who said ‘hey this is a big moment! And dean hasn’t had a real love interest in years! Let’s just go for it it feels right.’ and made destiel canon reciprocated in Spanish because they could.

#I don’t care if this isn’t exactly what happened I’m piecing it together from various sources #but COMRADE latam dubbing team

[shurisneakers]

harmless (x)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, anxiety, smidge of angst, mentions of violence

Word count: 7.8k (i went overboard. clearly.)

A/N: as well all know, i am a humanities student writing science geeks. if any of this sounds unrealistic or nonsensical, it’s because it is and i am honestly too exhausted to research data privacy and AI so here’s my take on how STEM should work i.e. the power of friendship  <3 major shoutout to @iamlittlesparkler for the idea for this chapter!

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

“As you know, we have a busy week ahead of us.” 

Coffees line the conference room table, pens click against the stacks of paper that settle in front of various agents and the smell of deodorant mixed with post-training sweat lingers at the back of the room like a disgusting witch concoction. 

“The annual parade is coming up and since there are a few security threats, SHIELD has been asked to step in. Therefore, all of you will be working security this week, possibly even at the parade.” Murmurs broke out in the room the minute this was said; mostly from first year field agents who were way too excited to have earpieces and fingerless gloves. 

Bucky, on the other hand, doesn’t think much of it. They’ve dealt with threats before, most were declared empty the minute it got out that SHIELD or the Avengers were involved. It’s the 12th one that year. 

“That’s only if we don’t catch it first,” Steve continued. “Our first priority is precaution. The tech and analytics teams are working on it. However, if you see anything suspicious, bring it up with Director Fury. He’s going to be around to make sure we’re not overlooking anything. Do you have any questions?”

More whispers erupted at the mention of Fury’s name. Wait till they realise he lives up to his name when they accidentally manage to set him off just by existing incorrectly.

Bucky smirks at the thought.

“You can leave then.” Steve straightens up as chairs shuffle against the carpeted floor, over twenty people leaving the room.

“And remember, if you see an eagle today, be sure to stand there and thank it on behalf of Steve for its service. Freedom! Liberty! And whatever else,” Tony calls out from the corner of the room, earning a sigh from the captain. Others only snicker as they close the door behind them.

“Thanks.” Steve stares at him stone faced, bemused at the symbolism that had been bestowed upon him.

“Gotta keep the patriotism high.” The only ones that remain are the official team. Bucky thinks that he should have left with the other agents but apparently, it was rude and not a good show of team spirit.

“How serious is this threat anyway?” Clint has his head face down on the table, hand holding his to-go coffee cup so it doesn’t fall over. 

“We’re not sure.” Steve finally takes a seat on the chair in front of him. “It’s the biggest event we’ve had this year, wouldn’t put it past them.”

“If it’s those Welsh kids again, I’m gonna punch a hole through their house this time,” Clint warns, voice muffled through the furniture. 

“It’s not them, we checked.” Nat had her leg up on the armrest of Clint’s chair. “Tech team’s been working overtime to figure it out.”

“You have anything that could help?” Sam sends a nod towards Tony.

“I got a few things but it’d take a while to put it together.” 

“Didn’t you learn quantum physics in a night?” Wanda’s picking apart a cookie into pieces, chewing slowly.

“Thermodynamic astrophysics,” he corrects her. “Quantum science took lesser.”

Bucky scoffs slightly at the brag, eyes still trained on the table in front of him. Maybe if he made no noise, they would forget he’s here.

“Yeah, so this should be a piece’a cake.”  

“If your cake was somehow made out of a highly specified tracker that somehow doesn’t violate the data privacy of the entire world while analysing millions of terabytes worth of information, then yeah. A piece of it.”

“What he means to say-” Bruce interjects, “-is that we’re trying. It’s just taking longer than usual.”

“Well, the parade’s this Sunday. Think it’ll be done by then?”

“Hey FRIDAY,” Tony crosses his arm over his chest. “How many hours have I slept this week?”

“Three and a half, boss.”

“How much more will I be getting?”

“From previous experience, about six.”

“Yeah, we can get it done.” Tony looks back at Steve. 

“Ask someone on the tech team to help you out.” Everyone was well aware of Tony’s bad coping mechanisms and how futile it was to get him to change his mind about it, but they still tried.

“They’re too busy.” Bruce pressed his lips into a straight line. 

Bucky tunes out at this point. If he could help, he would have reluctantly chimed in by now, but he couldn’t. 

“So what now?” Sam rips Clint’s doughnut into two, keeping one half for himself while leaving the other to the latter who still hadn’t lifted his head up from the table.

“I actually asked Fury if I could call in an external to come help,” Tony pipes up. 

“And he agreed?” Nat raised an eyebrow.

“After he realised I wasn’t going to leave his office until he said yes.” He pulled out his phone, rapidly typing out a message before hitting send. “It didn’t take too long.”

“Do we know this person?” Steve asks a little suspiciously.

“Well-” Bruce sneaks a glance at the broody man on the chair, “-kinda.”

Everyone can tell Bucky isn’t paying attention by the way he’s glaring holes into the plant. He doesn’t mean to, it just so happens that it looks like he wants to kill it. Nobody tends to bother him during meetings, knowing well and fully that he did not care.

“You’re about to.” Tony jumps up, making his way to the door to pull it open.

Bucky perks up. An open door means they can leave, right? He can go watch The Bachelor? He’s not sure what everyone was talking about, but if the meeting was over he could go ask Wanda who was always kind enough to help.

“Our newest recruit,” the billionaire announces, quickly adding the next part, “on a trial basis.” 

Bucky looks at the door.

His jaw drops open.

“No,” he says loudly, posture immediately stiff as a plank. 

“Hello to you too, Barnes.” You roll your eyes before sending a small wave to everyone else. “Hey everyone.”

“What are you doing here?” He looks like he’s seething. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot about our date.” You cross your arms over your chest in defiance. “You told me 3 o’clock, you player.”

“What is she doing here?” He whips to Steve for an answer.

“Hey Y/N,” Sam greets with a smile on his face before Steve can reply.

“Sam Wilson, good to see you again.” You grin.

“Right back at ya, sugar.” 

Wanda looks amused, Clint finally lifts his head off the table at the mention of your name while Nat takes her feet off his armrest, and Steve’s body relaxes when he realises what’s going on. 

“Okay.” Tony claps his hand. Bucky shoots daggers at him. “As you all know, this is Y/N. She’s going to working with us this week.”

“This is ridi- how did you even find out about her?”

“Aside from the fact that she’s all you talk about?” Clint snorts. Bucky shifts his glare to him. It was bullshit and an exaggeration and Clint was going to get a shoe up his ass very soon.

Your grin only grows bigger.

“We saw one of the repulsors she made some time ago,” Bruce answers his question like the sane person that he is. “Tony’s had her in mind for a while.”

“Repulsors? How on ear-” Bucky connects two and two together before turning to Sam. “You. You got her this job.”

“Sam’s my best wingman.” You send him a small heart made from your hands. Whether the pun was intentional or not, no one would know.

“Don’t look at me, I had nothing to do with this idea.” Sam raised his hands to brush off the blame.

“You’re a villain,” he points out loudly.

“I’m a saint.” You raise your hand to your heart in mock offence. “I have done nothing wrong in my life, ever.”

“Listen, Robocop,” Tony interrupts your conversation, bringing the attention back to him, “I cleared it with Fury. He’s the boss here.”

“Fury doesn’t know-”

“What don’t I know?” The atmosphere of the room changes the minute he saunters in. 

With an eyepatch on his face, gaze sharp and a long black coat, Nick Fury puts Bucky’s dark outfits to shame. Not like he was competing. 

Bucky doesn’t continue his sentence. Nick’s imposing presence loomed at the doorway, putting a stop to the ridiculous arguments that were beginning to boil. Instead, he looks at you, only to find your attention trained on the man of the hour.

“Nicholas,” you half cheer from where you had shifted to in the middle of all the commotion. 

Nicholas?

Nicholas?

No one had ever called him Nicholas. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick addresses in return. “Been a while.”

“You haven’t come to the lair in months, Nick.” You pout at him. “I even sent you an invite.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrows. Since when are you on such good terms with Fury? Since when was anyone on good terms with Fury?

“It must have gotten lost in the mail,” he fires back, “Or maybe it’s because I just happen to be the busiest man in the damn country. Take your pick.”

You roll your eyes, muttering something under your breath, but the good natured smile on your face shows that you didn’t take any of his passive- or straight up- aggressiveness to heart. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise I was interrupting your little tea time.” He looks around the rest of the room with an edge in his voice. “Don’t you all have work to do?”

“We do,” Tony interrupts, holding up his hand before pointing to Bruce and you. “Everyone else just sorta sits around and looks pretty.”

“I’m gonna go talk to the organisers, see what spots are most vulnerable.” Steve stands up. “You coming?”

“Yep,” Sam responds, flicking Clint’s shoulder to drag him along. “Come on, man. When was the last time you took a shower?”

“I’ll go see what the kids are up to in training. They’re probably flying off the handle right now.” Natasha brushes off crumbs from her lap. “Barnes, you in?”

Bucky silently shakes his head, eyes focused on you as you introduce yourself to every Avenger who walks out of the room, sharing a small fist bump with Sam.

“I’ll do it,” Wanda volunteers instead, finally leaving behind only the Science Bros, you and Bucky in the room with Fury. 

“I’ll give you a tour of the lab.” Tony beckons and you nod, following him. “New eyepatch, Fury? Prada, I assume?”

“Stark,” Nick says curtly. 

Bucky stares after you, arms still folded across his chest.

“Any problem, Sergeant?” 

Other than the fact that his arch nemesis was now working with his friends, no, not really. But that did seem like a pretty big one.

“No,” Bucky mumbles instead, getting up from his place finally.

Apparently, no one else was worried about the possibly lethal combination of you and Stark, even with Banner there to dilute it. 

Fine.

Guess he just has to observe you the whole week.

Well, half a week. It was Wednesday. 

He observes inconspicuously over the rim of his coffee cup. He has a newspaper spread in front of him at Bruce’s table. 

It’s not suspicious. He’s been there multiple times to sit in silence with the scientist who occasionally tinkers with something while engaging Bucky in tidbits of conversation. He finds it calming, refreshing even

Today he has an agenda. Everyone knows about it too. 

“You know he’s staring at you, right?” Bruce looks up briefly from the giant blueprint laid in front of the group. 

Tony had been dragged away to get a proper meal into him after he stayed up for 36 hours straight with caffeine keeping his system running. 

“He has a tendency to do that.” You’re looking over the plan the three of you had come up with the day before. There were certain changes to be made in terms of efficiency. “Turns out if you annoy him, he stares harder.”

“We’ve heard about the inventions. Inators, he calls them?”

“Yeah,” you point out something on the sheet, drawing a circle around it to come back to later, “only good things I hope?”

“He doesn’t really talk much.” Bruce writes down a small comment against your arrow mark. “But if he hated them, he’d have a lot to say. So I’d take it as a compliment.”

“Would it annoy him if I did?”

“Probably.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment, then. Pass me the ruler?” You draw a line connecting two pieces. 

Bucky’s ability to lip read is excellent but he refuses to do it, for privacy purposes. He knew that SHIELD had pulled some strings and had another teacher substituting for your classes the whole week since your other option was to come only after school hours. Anything else about this plan was murky.

“You gonna sit there all day?” Tony looks over his shoulder, following his line of sight.

“I’ve done it before.” He continues to look over the newspaper at you with your finger extended at something on the blueprint as you explained something to Bruce.

“You look like- how do I say this nicely.” He wasn’t going to. “A fuckin’ stalker.”

“I’m supposed to stop her from doing anything evil.”

“Sure.” Tony snorts. “That’s what this is. Should I get you a fedora and sunglasses while we’re at it?”

Of course Stark wouldn’t care; he brought you into this project. It was pretty much impossible to get him to agree with Bucky.

Bucky just narrows his eyes and continues his observation. 

The menu of the cafeteria keeps changing. They like to keep things interesting.

Every time they do, Bucky spends too long staring at the menu, trying to figure out what exactly is familiar enough to order. Vietnamese week had him eating pho the entire duration it stayed.

“You plannin’ on eating anytime this century, sarge?” He recognises your voice immediately. 

He knows what time your break is and he knows that you generally eat lunch in the cafeteria with the science team. Generally, the three of you pour over solutions and debate points all through the meal, and he spends the time getting acquainted with his new, lowkey Instagram account. 

He blocks the Bucky Barnes hashtag the minute he gets an account again. God save his eyes from people asking him to break their back like a glow-stick. However, one afternoon of accidentally watching three cat videos has led to his entire explore page being taken over by them and he’s been trying for three days to get it to stop. 

“Just trying to-” he tilts his head. “-understand what I’m reading.”

“Not a big fan of Greek food?” You join him in looking at the menu. 

“Never really had the chance to try.” Tony and Bruce don’t seem to be in the room, probably pushing aside their meal to work on it as they’ve often done.

“Ah.” You already had your order in mind but you wait there. 

Two minutes later he’s still staring at the menu. He can feel your presence next to him, unmoving. It unnerves him.

“Why are you still standing here?” He cranes his neck to look at you.

“I’m just seeing how long it takes for you to order.” You shrug. “So far it’s been five minutes and forty six seconds. Forty eight now.”

“Go away.” The concept of someone standing beside him, waiting for him to do something reminded him far too much of him trying to bag his stuff at the grocery counter rapidly while other customers waited to pay. 

“Six minutes and thirty seconds. This is just sad now.”

“Your face is sad.” It was pathetic that he had now resorted to this.

It earned a laugh from you. 

As entertaining as it was to be able to get on his nerves by just standing silently next to him, you finally ask, “Do you want a recommendation?” 

He eyes you wearily. “You gonna give me food poisoning?” 

“Not today, no.” You shake your head slightly. “Maybe tomorrow.���

He stares a little longer. You remain unshaken in your offer.

“Fine.” He sighs, stepping aside. 

You tell him that since it’s his first time, you’d get him something basic. He thought it made sense. 

He argued with you when you ended up paying for the both of you, only shutting up when you told him he’s holding up the line and that he could pay you back later. It doesn’t stop his incessant mumble complaining. 

He ends up with gyros at his table and you sitting opposite him with your meal. He asks where the Science Bros are. You tell him it’s Science Hoes now, as christened by Tony, and that they’re in the lab.

“So?” You look at him eagerly.

“What?”

“How is it?” you urge, nodding at him.

He takes a cautious bite, really taking his time with it to annoy your impatient ass. 

“Well?” You raise your eyebrow at him.

“It’s-” he pauses, looking down at his food. “-good.”

“Aha.” You lean back victoriously. “Knew it.”

He likes it. He also knows that this is probably going to be the only thing he orders for the next week unless you had planned otherwise. 

“You’re not eating?” He gestures to your untouched tray.

“Taking it up to the lab. Got a few things to work on and we’re already behind.” You gather up your stuff and get up.

“Uh-” he pauses from practically inhaling the entire thing. He was already halfway done with it. “-thanks.”

“No problem. You wink at him. “Try figuring out what’s wrong with it.” 

You turn on your heel to leave, taking your order with you. He can see your shoulders bobbing with silent laughter. 

He stares down at his plate, swallowing slowly. 

He pokes at it with a fork, lifting up the leftovers to check if there’s anything underneath. Nothing. 

He checks to see if his limbs are still intact or his face was a different colour. Nope.

His stomach twists in worry about what’s going to happen. He still has a bit left but he pushes the tray aside.

The rest of the day he spends supervising you has you occasionally catching his eye, only to laugh. It only freaks him out more.

It takes eight hours of waiting and self induced tests later to realise there was nothing wrong with it. You were just playing with him.

He’s surprised to find you in the rec room when he strolls in with Sam, given that you haven’t taken a break all day.

You don’t share the same surprise... almost like you expected him.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” he immediately asks.

"I wasn’t here for you.” You raise an eyebrow at him. “Heard that Wilson was makin’ an appearance here soon so I stopped by to get a good look at him."

"Take a picture, it'll last longer.” Sam laughs, inserting a dollar into the machine and punching in the code for what he wanted.

"Gladly. Strike a pose, would you?" You grin, raising your phone.

“Maybe when I’m not covered in sweat.” Sam counter offers and you accept with a thumbs up.

“You going to the parade, Sam?” You toy with the can in your hands.

“I’ll be working security, so probably.”

“Sarge?” You take a swig of your drink.

“Huh?” He snaps back into the conversation, putting a stop to the mental list of reasons he was making of why you could be here at the same time as him. He knew your schedule, it wouldn’t be very hard for you to figure out his.

“You coming to the parade on Sunday?” you ask again.

“I guess.”

You wince.

“What?” he asks instantly, curiosity making him a lot sloppier than usual.

“It’s just- you wear so much black.” You gesture to his current getup to prove your point. ”I feel like all the bright colours would vaporise you if you looked at them.”

He doesn’t look amused.

“You know, like Prince Philip.”

“I think I’ll be fine.” He gives you a sarcastic smile.

“You comin’ Buck?” Sam laughs, unwrapping the bar he bought from the machine.

“You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Bucky says offhandedly, still glaring at you innocently drinking your soda.

Sam chews absentmindedly on his protein bar as he walks out, amused at the situation Bucky pulled himself into.

“What’d you do?” Bucky asks, studying your body language.

“I bought a soda.” You lift the can to prove your point. “And now I’m drinking it.”

“Why are you waiting for me?”

“I thought I’d return the favour,” you point out. “I’m supervising you.”

“Don’t.” He walks to the vending machine, pulling out his wallet for some loose change. There was a Snickers bar he had been craving since morning that he bought every alternate day. Small joys.

“Why? I have the time.” You take a sip, setting it down with a clang.

“You’re only here for this week.” Bucky counted the coins he had. He’d use a dollar but he was trying to get rid of the jingling in his pocket that made him sound like a fucking clown when he walked.

“Actually,” you begin innocuously, “Tony offered me a full-time position.”

Bucky’s movements stop, hunched over the money in his palm.

“What?”

“Yeah.” You nod seriously. “A full nine-to-five as a researcher here.”

“And you’re taking it.” He shakes himself out of the minor shock to assess the damage.

“I don’t know. I got a lot of things to consider.” The chair scrapes against the tiled floor as you stand up. “But maybe you should get used to seeing me a lot more around here.”

He punches in the code for his Snickers. The row whirs forward slowly.

“See you at the lab.” He hears you discard the empty can in the trash before exiting.

He waits patiently for his bar to drop while his mind internally screams about the consequences of having you work here. You wouldn’t be evil anymore. Unless you were here to steal secrets from the Tower. On the pro side, his weekend would be free again. On the con side, his weekend would be free again.

His bar stops right at the edge of the row. He waits for it to fall over. It doesn’t.

He shakes the machine, suppressing the primal urge to beat the shit out of it when the damn bar refuses to fall.

He punches in a few random buttons hoping that at least it would give his money back.

The little monitor instead flashes a new message across the screen.

‘Have a good day, sarge <3’

Motherfucker.

Captain America looks less daunting up close, you realise. But he is still a very large man with very large shoulders. You know at least four people who would like to scale him like a tree, not that you’d ever tell him.

“Hey, Y/N.” He sends you a small smile when you walk into the room for a mid-week update. A clipboard in your hand, report attached and a few stationery items in case some points needed to be noted done, you look professional and ready.

“Afternoon, Captain.” Tony saves a seat for you and Bruce beside him since you’re on the same project. You almost miss the fact that Bucky isn’t in the room.

He walks in a few minutes late; tall, dark and brooding, immediately bringing the excitement in the room down by 40% by just existing. 

Bucky surveys the room before catching your eye. He picks up his chair with ease and drags it over to where you are, sitting right beside you, ignoring the small cry of protest from an agent whose view he now obstructed. Everyone else just silently shifted over.

“Clingy much?” you whisper at him, eyes still trained on Steve who had waited till everyone was seated to continue.

“I’m supposed t’be keeping an eye on you,” he rebuffs in a hush.

“Well, you’re late. What if I went rogue, huh?”

“Therapy ran overtime,” he mumbles.

“Oh.” You blink. “How was it?”

“Same old.”

“You good?”

He refrains from answering when Steve starts addressing the room but yes, he was fine. He sends you a nod to confirm. 

“This is just a usual checking in. We’ve received all your reports, but just to keep everyone on the same page-”

Bucky logs out mentally. He knows what his job is, he’ll probably lead a division of the security team or join the mission to neutralise the threat in case they find it first. Either way, he’ll figure it out without having to listen to an intern nervously stammer their way through their team’s report. 

On the other hand, you’re not listening either. You were until you saw Bucky’s eyes glaze over while glowering at the window, assuming that he had stopped paying attention when his gaze doesn’t shift.

You should be listening. You’re new here and you should know what’s going on because any bits of detail are crucial to the working of your system. 

Instead, you rip out a sticky note and discreetly place it on the back of Bucky’s metal arm. He doesn’t notice.

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling. More post-its from your pile of stationery make their way onto the vibranium, shades of pink, purple, green and yellow decorating his arm like a bulletin board. 

You’re about to contemplate sticking one on his shoulder blade when he whips around to look at you. You freeze, hand in the air with a sticky note. He looks down at his arm, a scoff escaping him in disbelief. 

“Are you serious?” He twists his arm to check the extent of how far you’ve gone. “What are you, six?”

“How’d it take you so long to notice?” You watch as he tugs them off one by one, counting to see how many you had managed to get on there.

“It’s impossible not to zone out in these shitty meetings,” he mumbles, pulling off the last one, crumpling all of them into a ball to throw at you. You skilfully avoid them. 

“Don’t you feel pressure or heat or anything here?” You poke at his metal arm.

“No.” He clenches and releases the fist. “It can block bullets though.”

You snort. “Bet that’s a popular line in bed.”

He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it helps that I can’t feel anything. Sometimes,” he adds the last part as an afterthought. 

“Like when you’re blocking bullets.”

“Especially then.” He nods. 

“Would you ever want to?” you ask casually. “Like if you got the choice, would you prefer having feeling in that arm?”

“I don’t know.” He’s thought about it, but it doesn’t seem feasible in his line of work. He’d like it, though, to feel sand slipping through his fingers and the comforter under his palm. “Maybe when I’m retired.”

“Aren’t you well past that age?”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes. “And pay attention. You’re next.”

“So you are listening.” True to his word, Steve asks about what’s going on with your team. “Traitor.” 

Tony shoots off about how you only had to test it out on a small batch first to see if you could acquire the targeted data without compromising anything else. You chime in about a few specifics, and Bruce more or less just confirms what you both are saying, only stopping to let them know that you’d be finished in a day or two.

Steve nods, moving on to the next committee.

“Did I get a good grade?” you whisper when you lean back again.

“B minus at best.” 

“Fuck you, dude. I was great,” you protested. “It’s definitely worth a gold sticker.”

Someone shushes you sharply. You apologise quietly, whacking Bucky’s metal arm when you see a dumb smirk on his face. 

He narrows his eyes at you. 

You try sticking another post-it on him.

You’re only here for a week. That’s what he’s been told. Over six times, actually, after which he’s been told to go away the next time he asked.

No one’s brought up the job offer so he asks Tony if it was true and all he gets is a dismissive ‘yeah, whatever’. Besides, you haven’t told him if you accepted or denied it yet so isn’t sure if this entire thing is set in stone, per se.

So then why do you have a giant box of your belongings that you’re lugging around the lab, looking to set down?

And why does Tony allow you a table right in the centre of the lab for everyone to see as soon as they walk in?

There are a gazillion trinkets, picture frames and obnoxiously bright stationery that stands out against the dull minimalism of the lab.

“Every single one of these is a fire hazard,” he reports, standing over your desk.

You give him a side glance before reaching over to the side of your desk, pulling up a fire extinguisher and setting it on the table in front of him. “I came prepared, bitch boy.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response. He chooses to look at what exactly you’ve brought with you because it’s a lot.

There are small cards with ‘thank you!’ sprawled on them in uneven lettering, bits and pieces of paper with small cartoons on them, little clay models and other miniature trophies with ‘you’re the best!’ under it.

“Your students gave you these?” He can’t remember the last time he gave his teacher anything other than a headache.

“Sometimes they learn or communicate better when they have something to keep their hands busy.” There’s a certain fondness in your voice that he isn’t used to hearing. “I end up with a lot of doodles and craft.”

“’s nice of them.” He can tell that this means a lot to you. He hasn’t seen it before.

He thinks the little decorations are adorable and maybe he’d keep another fire extinguisher on hand, just in case. 

Until you start pulling out a set of framed photos and his smile drops.

Several collages of Bucky in flower crowns, him with terribly edited backgrounds of beaches and mountains, a photo of him laughing with ‘Live, Laugh, Love’ next to it in an italicised font.

“What the fuck,” he states, grabbing one of them.

You stifle a laugh, pulling out several more to place along your table.

“Where did you fucking get these?” He starts pulling them off the table one by one.

“I don’t think you know how much the internet is obsessed with you.” You set an especially large one of him in a Hello Kitty bowtie right in the centre. He doesn’t miss the star shaped frame you chose for this.

“What is wrong with you?” He swipes that up immediately, looking for a place to discard, possibly burn these pictures. “Why do you even have these?”

“It’s imperative that people know we’re friends.” You bite your lip, bringing out the last thing to annoy him.

“What is that?” A teddy bear with a blue jacket and a grey felt arm stared into his soul.

“A Bucky bear.” Don’t laugh, don’t laugh, don’t laugh. “Limited edition.”

He snatches it along with the fifteen other picture frames, thinly veiled distress and mostly disgust on his face.

“I hate you.”

“But I love you.” You lift the small heart shaped locket you hung on one of the pictures of your class.

You use both your hands to click it open for him, watching his face morph into one of disbelief.

Bucky my beloved, it read on the right with a small picture of him on the left looking intensely disgruntled. He doesn’t bother asking where you found that specific picture of him outside a Burger King at 3am.

He doesn’t even make an effort to take it away this time. He knows that you’ll simply bring up more and more until you drove him crazy.

“You still have to see the Avengers calendar.” You reach for the inside. “I changed all the pictures to you, it looks great-”

He turns around and leaves before you get a chance to flip open the pages.

He wanders around, looking for the best disposal area he can find. He knows there’s a giant fireplace in the common room in the Tower, and for that, he’d have to go up a couple of floors.

He steps into the elevator, chin pressing down on the several picture frames in his hands to prevent them from falling over.

No one sees him carrying a couple of fan edited pictures and merchandise of him. Which was good.

Unfortunately, the doors ding open on the next floor and his best friend steps on with possibly the worst timing ever.

“Buck?” Steve sounds confused. He should be, considering the sight.

Bucky shimmies slightly to get a better grip on his belongings. “Steven.”

Steve glances at what he’s holding.

“Is this,” Steve pauses, trying to frame his words correctly to sound as supportive as possible, “a therapy thing?”

“No.”

Steve waits for a further explanation.

“It’s Y/N’s,” he elucidates. Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Why are there so many pictures of you?” He looks at the content in his hands a little closer. “And a bear.”

“She’s evil. And I hate her.”

“Alright.” It doesn’t answer his question but his friend looks irked enough.

The elevator dings to the common room floor.

Bucky turns on his heel to head toward the place to set all the pictures on fire. He saves the picture frames to give back to you though, he’s sure those cost money. But he makes sure every last square inch of the picture with several hearts around his portrait burns to ash.

Bucky knows that by the time Saturday afternoon rolls around, the three of you would have been working for thirty hours straight, scrambling to get the last minute details done.

You’re still at it but he can tell through the adrenaline of the upcoming deadline that you’re exhausted. 

Now he’s grouchy but he’s not an asshole. He’s already done two coffee runs for the team and brought you food when you didn’t show up for lunch. He mumbles something and dismisses it when you call out a ‘thank you’ his way. He considers it a debt repaid for the gyros.

He’s still keeping an eye on you but along with an emergency box of doughnuts for any sugar rushes that may be needed and bottles of water that he occasionally leaves at the corner of the table for you three to subconsciously keep yourself hydrated. 

“Are you sure we checked it?”

“Yes.” Bruce nods.

“Double checked it?”

“Yes.”

“Triple checked it.”

“Yes.” 

You look satisfied enough to move on to the next item. “Pass me the welding torch for a second.”

Bucky has a book in front of him that he hasn’t moved beyond the second page of. He’s more interested in seeing who collapses from burnout first. He has the infirmary on speed dial. 

After another hour or so Tony holds up a silver tablet, roughly the same size as a smartphone, examining it from all sides.

“That’s it,” he states. “The final product.”

You exhale lightly.

“We should name it.” You have your hands on your hips, looking down at it in wonder. Maybe the zero hours of sleep was finally kicking in because you couldn’t believe you were finally done. 

“You got any suggestions?” Tony asks. 

To be frank, no, you didn’t.

“No.”

“Okay, we’ll do that later.” Tony sets it down, not sounding too disappointed. “F.R.I.D.A.Y, tell the team to get down here, please.”

“Yes, boss.”

Bucky jumps off his chair to join you in the lab, leaving the book behind. 

It only takes a few moments for the others to join. Fury and Steve walk in together, already engaged in conversation.

“Greetings.” You clap your hands together. “We did it. We think.”

“We think?” Nick raises an eyebrow.

“We know,” Bruce clarifies quickly, stepping in. “We’re positive it works. We tested it out.”

Tony pulls up the holograph of F.R.I.D.AY’s system, sliding the tablet to the middle of the table.

“Is it secured under FRIDAY’s core?”

“Locked and loaded.” Tony hits the table lightly to signify that it was safe.

“I think we’re ready,” Bruce confirms.

“We better be, or else half the country is suddenly going to lose their internet connection,” you say under your breath.

“What?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.

“Nothing,” you beamed, “Okay F.R.I.D.A.Y., run sequence, global parameter.”

“Running sequence,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. parrots. 

There was no going back now. 

From what Bucky can see, Tony looks fairly confident but you have your bottom lip caged between your teeth, chewing on it nervously. 

There are several hundreds of photographs popping up and disappearing within a minute. Everything looks like it’s going according to plan.

The giant holograph of the AI dims. Your face drops when F.R.I.D.A.Y. seems to sputter to a halt. 

No one breathes.

In the midst of the tension, Clint mutters if they should play some background music. It’s followed by a swift ‘ow’ when Natasha flicks him in the shoulder.

You could hear a pin drop.

It suddenly picks back up again, running faster than the last time and the sigh everyone collectively heaves is almost comical.

It runs for a few seconds more before a list of names suddenly pop up accompanied by a series of photographs and geo locations.

“Sequence complete. Six names detected, zero encroachment on public or private databases,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. broadcasted. “Location determined to be Holland. Exact coordinates are computed into the quinjet.”

You let out a small cheer, looping your arm around Bruce, squeezing him in a half hug. He has a smile on his face, dropping his head as he laughs slightly. 

“How dangerous are they?” Tony, however, continues to ask.

“A few prior convictions and a series of similar threats. Danger level determined to be at approximately five out of ten.” 

“That’s not bad,” Steve commented. “Looks like we don’t need the full team there.”

“Romanoff, Barton, Wilson, Rogers can go ahead and take care of that,” Nick finally spoke up. “Everyone else is working security tomorrow, just in case anyone else decides that terrorism is on their fuckin’ to-do list for the day.”

“Buck, assemble a team and go over strategy for tomorrow,” Steve adds on. “Everyone else go suit up, wheels up in thirty minutes.” 

“Fuckin’ Holland,” Sam scoffs, shaking his head. “Of all the places.” 

“What do you have against Holland?” Nat asks as they leave together.

“Just don’t like ‘em.” Their voices grow faint the further they get.

“Hey.” A small greeting from behind you has you turning around.

Wanda stands in front of you and you have to ignore the fact that the most powerful being on Earth is talking to you. 

“Hey,” you say back.

“I just wanted to say congratulations. You did a great job.” Bits and pieces of her accent poked out. She didn’t seem like she was putting in the effort to cover it up as opposed to the press interviews you had heard a few years ago. 

“Thank you.” You smile. “T’was a team effort.”

“Well, we owe you one anyway,” Steve joins the conversation, leaving aside Tony who was still talking to Bruce.

“I wish I was humble enough to turn it down but I’m not.” You laugh. “It’s nice to have an arsenal of superheroes at my disposal.”

Steve looks like he’s going to respond but his attention is drawn towards F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s announcement that the quinjet was ready to go. He shoots you an apologetic look but you sign for him to go on, you’d meet with him later.

You watch as he claps Tony on the back, telling him to go get some sleep and something with more nutritional value than a pizza pocket in him, nodding at Bruce before taking leave. 

“Y/L/N,” Nick stands beside you, looking ahead at the conversations being had as Steve tugs Clint along with him.

“Nicky,” you tease.

“I know at least seven underground prisons I can put you in if anyone hears you calling me that,” he says stoically. 

“We all know you won’t get rid of me.” You shake your head. “Who’s gonna send you a Christmas card then, huh?”

He simply shakes his head, jutting his hand out and offering a handshake. “Not sure anyone here could handle another day of a highly caffeinated, sleep-deprived Stark.”

“Just say ‘thanks’, Nick, geez.” You roll your eyes. 

Bucky watches the entire interaction unfurl; only the body language, not employing the lip-reading ability. 

“You’re welcome.” You let go of his hand, a devilish look on your face. “You know what I want in return.”

Nick gives you a long, hard stare that could probably melt through Steve’s shield before turning around to leave. 

But Bucky doesn’t miss the subtle high-five he gives you while walking out, unbeknownst to anyone else, bringing the biggest grin to your face.

He makes it a point to ask you what the fuck kind of leverage you have over the man for him to play favourites with you. 

You finally collapse at your desk, letting out a loud exhale. You clench your eyes shut, your body finally melting into your chair. You look exhausted.

He’s not sure how to help. You don’t seem like you have the energy to tell him.

Bucky leaves a doughnut and water bottle on the table in front of you before shuffling out of the room quietly. 

He’s certain that he’s spent far too long in Bruce’s lab this week. He liked the man as much as the next guy, but he probably wouldn’t come down there for the foreseeable future. 

You’re at your assigned desk, reading light illuminating the space. Thankfully you’ve cleared up most of your stuff from the table, leaving no more liabilities to fall over in case he walked into the desk. 

“So you’re done for the week.” His voice surprises you. You were scrolling through your phone, slightly hunched over.

“It appears so.” You put your phone down, swivelling the chair to look at him. 

“How’d it go?” He leans against your table, making sure he isn’t using his full weight.

“Well, I slept for fifteen hours straight, so...” you leave him to connect the dots. He’s done the same several times.

“You’re probably gonna need more,” he says, mostly from his own experience, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Actually-” you reach beside your table and lug your gigantic box of belongings onto the table with a loud thud, “-you won’t.”

He looks at the box that was nearly overflowing with its contents, the majority of the space being taken up by empty picture frames. “I thought you said Tony offered you a job.” 

“He did,” you confirm. “I didn’t accept.”

“Why?” He watches you shift through a few things, adjusting it so that it wouldn’t fall over.

“This whole thing- it’s cool and all, but it’s not what I want to do.” You shrug. “I like teaching. I miss my class.”

He gaze lands on one of the thank you notes sticking out from the corner of the box. “Ah.”

“Back to school from tomorrow.”

“And evil on the weekends?” he prods, dropping a pen into the heap of stationery. 

“Obviously.” You give him a lopsided smile. “Where else am I gonna use all this brilliance?”

You point to your head. He lets out a small exhale in the form of a laugh.

“Speaking of-” You look like you just remembered something.  

You rummage through your backpack and pull out a small container, handing it to him.

“What’s this?” He turns it over, looking for any hidden clues. “Are you proposing again, because I’ve said no-”

“I’m not proposing,” you interrupt, “yet.”

He gives you a deadpan look.

“Open it,” you urge, and he complies.

Two small squares sit side-by-side. They’re slick black, barely bigger than the face of a dice.

“You put one of them here-” You tap on his bicep “-and the other here.” You tap his shoulder, a few inches below his clavicle.

“What does it do?” He thinks it’s like Nat’s little taser things, a nifty little tool that he could use on missions.

“It, uh-” you hesitate “-it allows you to feel sensation in your metal arm. Heat, pressure, texture.”

His breath hitches in his throat. He doesn’t mean for it to happen, it just does.

“You said that sometimes you’re glad you couldn’t because of the bullets and stuff. They’re detachable, so just take them off when you go on missions and wherever it is you Spandex ambassadors go.” You scoff slightly. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt something soft with that arm or used it for something that wasn’t directly related to his job.  

“I’m not messing with what the Wakandans gave you. It’s the most advanced piece of tech out there.” You shrug. “But if you ever want to feel it when someone attaches sticky notes to your arm, this could work. Just thought it’d be nice to have an option.”

He can’t decipher what he’s feeling right now. He looks up at you, only to catch you eyeing him cautiously, assessing his reaction. When you notice he’s looking at you, a nervous smile makes its way onto your face. 

His stomach does a flip. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. 

“Don’t mention it.” You sound a little relieved, picking up the box that he’s pretty sure weighed a ton what with all his memorabilia in it. “See you next week.”

He doesn’t know how to explain what it means to him. 

Instead, he shoves his hands into his pockets. “What are you doing later?”

“Nothing.” You pause. “Why?”

“Are you gonna watch the parade?” 

“Yeah, probably.” You shift your weight to your other leg to compensate for the box.

“Want some company?”

“Aren’t you heading a security division?” You have to consciously hide the bewilderment from your voice. 

“Yeah. The place I’m stationed just so happens to have a good look into the street,” he explains, toying with the bracelet on his wrist. “Can’t really promise that I’ll be paying attention to it or that I’d even be there the whole time but for the most part...” he trails off. 

“Uh-” You force yourself to shove aside your surprise at his determination, “yeah, sure. That’d be cool.”

He nods. “Okay. See you there.” 

“See you,” you murmur as you walk to the elevator. 

He opens the tiny container to look at the small chips. They’re still there, silently like they don’t change his world just by existing. 

Gosh.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[wri0thesley]

Please could I get poly Nanami and Gojo working together to overstimulation their fem s/o? Thank you nat!!! 🥵

do not look at me

teamwork - nanami x fem reader x gojo (5.4k)

it’s not surprising that satoru gojo wants to turn everything into a competition. even this. still - you’re not exactly complaining. 

(warnings: afab reader, fem pronouns. cunnilingus, fingering, overstimulation, use of toys, deep-throating, threesome, coming inside)

Every time you end up with either one of these men, you wonder how it happened. But this time . . . with both of them beside you, hungrily eyeing you, your bedroom feeling very small and warm . . . this time, you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

Gojo’s fingers brush across your cheek, turning your face so you can’t look anywhere but into his crystalline blue eyes. You know what they look like under his blindfold, of course – but every time you see them feels like a surprise, like the wind is being knocked out of your sails. He’s too handsome for his own good, and the worst part about it is that he absolutely knows that.

From the other side of you on the bed is a long-suffering, world-weary sigh.

“It’s not a fair competition if you monopolise her,” comes Nanami’s voice.

“Aww,” Gojo complains, not breaking the eye contact with you. “Come on. You’re around way more often than I am, you get more of a chance to monopolise--”

“If we had to see even more of you,” Nanami says drily, “I’m not sure we’d survive.”

“C-competition?” You breathe, even as you feel Nanami’s hand feather light on your leg. “I didn’t realise that was what happening--”

Maybe you had been too breathlessly caught off-guard by the suggestion that the two sorcerers take you home. Too distracted by how handsome they both were when they had kissed you in turn, by how you’d opened the door and tumbled into your bedroom.

You’ve only ever had them one at a time before, their schedules never quite lining up, their various duties calling them away and depositing them back in your bed at a whim. Having both of them on your bed, touching you, looking at you – that feels like a novelty, despite how long these trysts have been going on.

“Satoru’s nature makes him want to turn everything into a competition,” Nanami murmurs, leaning in – you start as you feel his lips on your calf, gently drawing a path higher and higher, feather-light and reverent.

Gojo huffs out a laugh.

“I just know I’ll win,” he tells you. His face comes very close to yours and you feel like you could drown in the starlight of his eyes, his lips curving into a smirk. “Nanamin’s acting like this because he knows it, too--”

He kisses you even as Nanami snorts against the back of your knee. Gojo’s lips press against yours hungrily, as good at kissing as he is at everything else – suckling your lower lip into his mouth, nipping at it with his teeth, a taste that’s unmistakably sugary sweet flooding your senses. You’ve learnt from much experience that Gojo always tastes like sweets. The hand on your cheek strokes across your face to grip your hair, tugging it hard enough that a gasp escapes from your mouth to be caught in Gojo’s in turn. Nanami’s kisses have not stopped a moment, higher and higher, on the soft flesh of your inner thigh now--

Gojo pauses to pull back, drinking in your widened eyes and the swollen jut of your lower lip. He’s far too pleased with himself. You manage to put some of your thoughts in order, as strong fingers stroke up the thigh that isn’t being lavished with Nanami’s kisses, to say;

“W-what’s the competition?”

“Aww,” Gojo’s hands are at your shirt, pulling the fabric up over your breasts. He whistles when he sees them; it’s been so many times, and you’re still not over Satoru Gojo being impressed by the way you look. Your cheeks flame at the appreciation raw in his gaze. “It’s way more fun if you don’t know, princess.”

You’ve almost forgotten Nanami is there until you feel lips firmly press against the fabric of your underwear, hot breath obvious even through the cotton. You whimper, your back arching up to seek out more sensation and friction. Gojo sighs, tugging off the fabric of your shirt and throwing it off the bed (possibly to never be seen again).

“You’re wet,” Nanami murmurs, through a mouthful of fabric, at once sinfully close to your slit and too far away from it. Gojo raises his eyebrows.

“Of course she is,” he says, “hot guy like me here, and everything--”

Yes. Too handsome for his own good, and far, far too smug about it--

“Don’t you ever shut up?” Nanami asks, raising one eyebrow, pulling back from between your thighs. You make a soft mewl of displeasure at the movement, and he turns his stern gaze to you. “Be good, sweetheart. I had to take these off, didn’t I?” Big, calloused fingers slide under the waistband of your underwear to tug them down your legs. For a moment, the cloth clings uncomfortably to the slickness of your folds – and then, you’re bare to Nanami’s hungry eyes (and Gojo’s, though he seems far more interested in your upper half right now. You guess Nanami is having his turn at whatever this competition is first--).

“Look at you,” he murmurs, soft and low, admiring. He’s not the kind of man who throws out compliments willy-nilly, but you can still hear it in his tone, and it makes you go all over hot and needy.

“You’re gorgeous,” Gojo says, not to be outdone – and there’s a man who does throw out compliments. Nanami is right in that he really doesn’t shut up; but when the things spilling out of his mouth are about how good you are around him, how nice you feel, how pretty your face looks when you’re about to come – you’re much less bothered by Gojo’s habit of running his mouth. “I’m going to make you feel so good – you’re not going to be able to walk for a week after I’m done with you, doll--”

“We’re going to,” Nanami corrects. His hands land on your inner thigh, thumbs gently teasing the outer lips of your sex apart so that the slick folds are exposed to the cool air and the eyes of the two men in your bedroom. You shift, both uncomfortable and aroused by being so open and revealed to them – but both of them are looking at you hungrily, like two predators who are about to pounce.

You forget how dangerous they are, sometimes. You are so used to them as colleagues and friends – Gojo’s occasional childish whims, his laughter, his schemes, and Nanami’s sternness, the surprisingly caring heart beneath all of it – that you forget that their bodies are all raw power, their minds sharply trained weapons.

“Is that a promise?” You breathe, and for that you win a bright laugh from Gojo and a tilt of the lips from Nanami, a huff that would pass as laughter in a court of law.

The latter settles himself between your legs and you can’t help the rush of electricity that goes through you seeing him there, a fizzling spark that settles low in your stomach. His shirtsleeves are pushed up to reveal corded muscle in his forearm, his tired eyes still hungry as they drink in every inch of you like you’re a meal that he’s about to very much enjoy.

(Coincidentally, you’ve seen Nanami before he tucks into a meal he’s looking forward to, and it’s very much the same appreciative air – you, food, a piece of art . . . his gaze is equally appreciative).

“You’re very slow,” Gojo says, a lilt of laughter in the back of his voice. Nanami doesn’t rise to the bait as his face comes very close to your sex – you twitch under the gaze, the hot wash of his breath over your sensitive folds.

When Nanami’s tongue darts out to taste you, it sends a spiralling shock wave that you feel from your shoulders to the tips of your toes. You exhale softly – and, clearly spurred on by the soft little noise, Nanami’s tongue darts out again for a longer lick.

Gojo sighs, but when your unfocused eyes stray to him, his own gaze is locked upon where Nanami is bent with his mouth against your sex.

The tip of the latter’s tongue flickers over your clit and you mewl, heart skipping a beat. He’s being so slow – teasing you, making you incredibly aware of every wash of his breath and slight flick of his tongue. Your stomach ties itself into knots at just how good it feels – Nanami is always good at this, but having Gojo watching is clearly making him want to impress even more. This is far slower and more teasing that he usually is with you.

It’s not bad, by any stretch of the imagination – you’d argue it’s better than usual – but that doesn’t absolve the fact that you want more. You move your thighs so they’re over Nanami’s shoulder, intending to try and pull him against you – but big strong hands come to rest on them, Nanami’s grip stopping you from doing anything so rash.

He pulls back from between your legs for a moment, the glimmer of your slick on his lips, as he says;

“I told you to be good. Let me be in charge.”

There’s authority in his words that you can’t argue with – so instead, you let out a frustrated little moan. Nanami’s smirk is obvious as he presses a kiss to your clit.

He teases you for a few minutes, his tongue slowly lapping at you with nowhere near enough pressure for you to be satisfied, until you’re flushed and squirming under every brief twitch of his tongue. Only then does he pull you in a little closer and let the broad flat of his tongue slide across your sex entirely, making your toes curl and your thighs twitch and your eyes flutter closed at just how good it feels to finally have his full attention.

You’re surprised that Gojo isn’t complaining more about having nothing to do – from your experience with the man, he likes to always have himself occupied. He’s not usually prone to sitting still – at least, not without much complaint. When you do manage to look at him through the hazy veil of ‘oh, fuck, Nanami’s mouth feels amazing’, though, he’s watching Nanami with eyes of a hawk.

Right.

They’re having some kind of competition, and you know that Gojo hates to lose--

Nanami does something with his tongue, a flourish over your clit like he’s painting calligraphy, and your eyes snap shut as your hips stroke up to meet him and you come for the first time, a pleasant wash of heat and snapping pressure making your entire being feel light and floaty for a moment.

Nanami’s mouth does not stop for an instant. You know he must feel the wetness coat his chin and the twitch and flutter of your sex, but your peak does not stop him – his tongue just moves lower, pushing inside of your quivering entrance--

“Fuck,” you whimper aloud. Your toes are curling. Your hands fly up to Nanami’s hair, twisting within the strands, dishevelling him. “K-Kento, I’m-- I already--”

He pulls his tongue out of your channel only long enough to murmur;

“I know,” and then he is continuing the onslaught, the tip of his tongue imitating the action that you wish his cock were taking, thrusting in and out of your sex. Your walls try and tighten around it to suck him further in, but his tongue does not act in the same way as a cock and it’s not enough--

He alternates between the two, moving from clit to entrance to clit again, flickering his tongue and thrusting it until you’re wondering how he can even manage to keep moving it, he must be aching . . . Occasionally, he wraps his lips about your clit and sucks and you just about lose your damn mind from how it feels.

You lose track of how many times you come, weakly pulsing around him. The glide of Nanami’s face against your sex is so wet that you think it will be a miracle if you don’t have to change your sheets after this. You must be a puddle between them, every flicker of his tongue and puff of his breath against your overstimulated slit making you whine and whimper and moan.

Tears bead in the corner of your eyes as Nanami finally – finally – surfaces for air. His face is soaking wet, the aftermath of your various orgasms also staining the collar of his shirt dark with damp. You don’t know if Nanami is really done, even then – but Gojo takes the opportunity to bounce, unrestrained energy, and push Nanami away so your thighs fall from his shoulders.

“Come on,” Gojo urges. “It’s my turn--”

“Satoru,” you say, weakly. “I’m—I need a minute-- I don’t think I can--”

But his fingers are already on you. He swipes them through the mess of your sex (half with Nanami’s saliva, half with your own slick, both of them so mixed together you can’t tell what’s you and what’s not), delighting in the way your form twitches under the onslaught of sensation.

“Sure you can,” he says. “You’re so good for us--”

His fingers are cool against your heated skin. The hand that isn’t resting over your sex moves over your breast, squeezing the curve of your skin – you sigh, arching into the touch, letting him pinch your nipple between thumb and forefinger at the same time as he gently slides one of his fingers inside you.

It’s still not enough. He fits inside you without a single ounce of resistance, knuckle deep – more solid than Nanami’s tongue, reaching further and deeper, but still not filling you up as much as you want to be filled. You thrust your hips to make sure that he’s buried in as deep as he can go and he chuckles, giving the pinched nipple a good-natured tug that sends an electric surge to the pit of your stomach where another orgasm is already building.

You didn’t know you could come again. You thought that Nanami had pulled every ounce of pleasure you were capable of from your body already, but here is Gojo Satoru to prove you wrong once again--

“You want another?” He murmurs. “I thought you couldn’t . . .?”

The last words are said mocking and smug, and if you didn’t want even more of his fingers inside of you you would slap him. Instead, you simply moan and hope that he takes it as the permission that it is. Gojo knows you too well to misunderstand, and can see that you’re enjoying yourself too much to withhold (not to mention Nanami, watching him – he can’t help but want to assert his dominance even more when the junior sorcerer is around), so with the next thrust of his fingers he scissors you open with a second.

You whimper, but your body greedily welcomes them inside of you. They’re long and good, rubbing against all of the patches of your inner walls that have you seeing stars. You’re incapable of real thought right now, with Gojo’s fingers buried so deep inside of you. All you can think of is the stretch of him, the feel of him, his knuckles. With every thrust of his fingers your sex makes wet, slick noises that would be shaming if you weren’t so far gone.

You’re not ashamed of how good you feel right now. You’re not ashamed of the rocking of your hips as you help him along, fucking yourself on his fingers just as much as he’s fucking you with them. He bends his head and wraps his lips about your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive little bud, at the same time as his thumb strokes across the swollen pearl of your clit and the string inside of you snaps.

You don’t know what number orgasm this is, but it feels like the first one all over again as you cry out Gojo’s name into the ceiling. His lips leave your nipple with an audible pop, turning to where Nanami is sitting on the bed. At some point, he lost his ruined shirt, and your eyes blearily fixate on the scars on his side and the muscles in his shoulders. God, it’s unfair that he hides his body like that--

“She never said your name,” Gojo says, smugly. You want to reprimand him, but you can’t speak – your throat feels dry and sore, your heart beating loudly in your ears. Gojo must be able to feel it, too, where he’s still deep inside you; the heartbeat feels like it’s reverberating all through you until you can’t think of anything else. Gojo lets you ride out the final pulses of your orgasm with his fingers buried inside you.

If you think that he’s going to pull his fingers out of you, though, you’re deeply mistaken. He lets your body stop weakly pulsating around him, and then his thumb is back to drawing circles around your clit. He knows better than to touch it straight off – but the feeling is still half-good and half-ache, more than you can handle so soon after coming so hard. Your hips wriggle beneath him, your breath coming in short gasps. He slides his fingers half-out, and then pushes them back in, already halfway to establishing a rhythm.

Oh, oh, oh. It’s so much. Gojo leans his head to kiss your neck, teeth scraping across the sensitive hollows of your throat, spending a moment to suck a lovebite into your skin that you know you’ll have to cover up tomorrow. Three fingers are inside you, and Gojo is just getting faster.

His thumb stops being so delicate and drags across your clit, leaving a trail of fiery hot pleasure. Tension coils in your gut all over again.

Too much, it’s too much, all of your body is on fire – you can’t, you can’t, you can’t--

You want him to stop. You don’t want him to stop? You’re trembling all over like a tautly pulled violin string, ready to snap. How is he going so fast? How are you taking it? Three fingers stuffed inside you and you’re ready to fall into pieces--

Nanami moves, pulling your head onto his knee as Gojo continues to fuck you open with every pump of his hand.

“C-can’t,” you whimper, arching up into Gojo’s fingers. You’re soaking wet everywhere – your brow is beading with sweat, your sex so slick that it’s a wonder those fingers don’t slip out of you with every hungry flex of Gojo’s hand. “I can’t come again, Satoru, please--”

You don’t want him to stop despite the protestation, hips still hopelessly pumping up in greedy search of friction. His thumb has not ceased the assault over your swollen clit, every brush of the digit sending shocks throughout your body. Your mouth is open to take great hungry, gasping breaths – it’s a wonder you managed to form any syllables. Nanami is bent over you with a hand stroking your hair, but there’s a hungry frustration in his gaze as he watches Gojo fuck you with his fingers.

You know that the other man wants another turn – but you’re honestly not sure if you can take it.

“Aww, don’t be like that!” Gojo chirps, and his hand gets faster, which you didn’t even realise was possible. Your fingers fist into the bedsheets below you throwing your head back, panting. “Of course you can come again, princess! You’re just about to, actually--”

You hate him for being right. The ball of tension in your stomach is so tight it’s almost painful, pulling at you from all angles ready to unravel once more. One little mean grind of Gojo’s thumb against your clit has you falling again, slick walls of your sex clamping about the three fingers buried inside you, a gush of wetness soaking him even further and making Gojo exclaim in delight.

Your chest heaves with effort. Gojo pulls his fingers out of you with a weak pop, followed by a little pour of your slick that he was plugging inside you. The white-haired man brings his fingers to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you – he tilts his head back, savouring the taste.

“Sweet,” he tells you, with a grin. “I could get drunk on you.” He turns to Nanami with a challenge in his face. “Did I win?”

As competitive as Nanami can be sometimes, you also know that he’s willing to admit when he’s beaten. You’re expecting the younger sorcerer to sigh but ultimately agree with Gojo’s words – you’re not expecting, above you, Nanami’s face to become something that’s all fervent ruthlessness.

Nanami moves to your bedside drawer and opens the second one down. Your face grows heated. He knows what’s in there, because you’ve experimented with using them in the bedroom before – but still! Having him go in there of your own accord!

Despite the panting and the sweating and the fact that you feel like you’ve been pushed to your limit already, seeing Nanami holding the bulbous headed magic wand toy sends a jolt of arousal right to your poor swollen sex.

“That’s cheating,” Gojo says hotly, pouting as Nanami gently pushes him out of the way to settle between your thighs instead. “I win by default!”

“If you want,” Nanami says, measured. You gasp as he presses the smooth head against your clit without turning it on, the cool, smooth sensation making you squirm even without the vibrations that you know are coming. “Perhaps it would be more fun if we worked together.”

A flash goes over Gojo’s face, as he tips his head to one side in consideration.

Nanami moves the toy again, still turned off – sliding it along the wet slit of your sex, to where your opening is pulsing and fluttering to be filled by something more substantial than Gojo or Nanami’s fingers and tongues. You shudder at the bolts of heat that it sends all through you. You’ve come – what, four times? Five? Almost too many to count – but you still feel so achingly empty, you still feel as though you need to be properly held down and fucked. You’re at once overstimulated and nowhere near stimulated enough, and your hips jerk with every slow measured rub of the toy against your slit.

“You admitted it,” Gojo crows, but he watches Nanami’s slow teasing of your heated body nonetheless. “I’ll remember that. But . . . if you really think we should work together . . .”

“Alright,” Nanami says agreeably, far more entranced by you and unwilling to be pulled into Gojo’s games.

Gojo moves onto the bed, over your head. You watch him undo his pants with hazy, unfocused eyes – still too far gone to make sense of anything that’s happening around you except how good the cool head of the wand feels on all of your slick, hot folds and how your entire body is still fizzling with pleasure.

When he pulls out his cock, it’s clear to see that you’ve had an effect on him – the swollen head, all pink and slick, the pulsing shaft.

“Is that for me?” You ask, and Gojo laughs at just how out of it you still sound. He supposes that the best way to describe it is ‘cockdrunk, only you haven’t taken any cock yet’ – pleasure soaked, unreal, all satisfaction and greedy arousal.

“Do you want it?” He asks, teasingly. “I’d like to give you it, but I’ll wait until you use your words, pretty girl--”

You open your mouth to speak at the same time as Nanami flicks the switch on the toy, and whatever affirmation is about to spill out of your slack mouth is lost in the wail.

It’s too fast, too soon, against your poor clit that’s had enough stimulation for a year – and you can feel your orgasm hovering at the edge of your vision in moments. You try to clamp your legs shut to stop it being so overwhelming, but Nanami is too settled in between them.

Gojo uses the open-mouthed moan to slide the head of his cock into your open mouth, groaning as if in relief when your lips seal around it. Anything to distract you from the persistent buzzing of the toy between your thighs. Anything to stop you coming again, embarrassingly quickly--

Gojo’s hand strokes through your hair tenderly as he murmurs softly;

“Good, fuck, you feel amazing--”

Your body and heart do a flip at the praise. From the glint in Gojo’s eye, he’s remembered how well you respond to praise – and your sex clenches hungrily around nothing in response. You drag your eyes from Gojo to look at Nanami, still between your legs, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he studies your sex and how it’s clenching and pulsing and dripping even with the toy pressed against your clit.

You can see the thick outline of his cock pressing against his slacks – but Nanami is far more focussed on your pleasure than his own right now. He’s always been better at holding himself off than Gojo is.

“Hey,” Gojo says. “Keep your eyes on me, let him do whatever he wants . . . I deserve that, for winning, huh?”

You drag your eyes back to Gojo as you keep sucking at his cock. You whine around it – and there’s Nanami again, flicking up the intensity the barest notch. You whine around the shaft, making his cock vibrate with your hums, your tongue sloppily sliding along the salty slit. “Oh, fuck – you’re gonna come again? Ha-a, guess both of us is . . . a bit much--”

You do. You come again, your back arching – Nanami grabs your waist with one hand to keep you anchored against the bed, your thighs still unable to close as a pleasure-painful orgasm is wrung out of you. You’re not going to be able to walk for a week, Gojo was right.

Somehow, there is still enough liquid in your body to soak the bed beneath you again, though you feel like after the amount that the two have brought forth from your body you ought to be a dry husk where you lay.

“Good girl,” Nanami purrs, and you’re helpless under the onslaught of him turning the toy up one more time. You can’t come again, you can’t you can’t you can’t--

And moments after the last orgasm you do, your legs shaking wildly. Nanami has the sense to pull the toy off you this time and he’s treated to the full view of your empty hole clenching around nothing. The scream of pleasure is lost to Gojo’s cock – his hips thrusting against you, the head bumping against your throat. You wish you could concentrate on anything but the fire between your legs. You’re in pieces, feeling like you’re floating through stars, not properly anchored down anywhere--

Maybe you pass out for a moment, but your tongue is still moving against the meat of Gojo’s shaft and your heart is still beating a frantic rhythm and aftershocks are still ricocheting through you when your eyes manage to refocus and you remember where you are.

“I need to--” Nanami murmurs softly, and you hear the zipper and button of his trousers. He’s almost apologetic as his cock rests at your entrance. You make a soft noise of encouragement around Gojo’s cock and Nanami seizes upon it with relief, your entrance welcoming him inside its wet, tight embrace without a fraction of resistance.

You’re still utterly overwhelmed in the best possible way, sore from coming over and over again, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to leave the two of them high and dry. You redouble your efforts on Gojo’s cock, tongue tracing line where his cock head and shaft meet and winning a groan from him. You hollow your cheeks and suck as Nanami begins to establish an even pace, the slick glide of his cock inside of you sending pleasant shivers all through your body.

Gojo’s hips chase every suck, his breath beginning to sound unsteady in his chest. His mouth is moving and you know he must be talking to you, but all you can hear is the slick wet sound of Nanami’s cock driving in and out of you and the pound of your own heart in your ears.

Gojo’s cock twitches in your mouth as the only warning before he’s coming, thick spurts down your throat. You swallow reflexively, practically sucking him dry and making Gojo groan and whisper your name like a prayer. Part of you feels smug about the heated way his voice sounds as you suck the very final shivers of his orgasm out of him, wondering if he feels even half as drunk on it as you did after all the times he’s made you come tonight.

He pulls out of your mouth in time for Nanami to grab your face and kiss you, seemingly uncaring about the fact you must still taste like Gojo. Nanami always likes to have his mouth pressed somewhere against you when he comes, almost as if he’s embarrassed of the breathy groans he makes as you push him over the edge. His hips stutter, his even strokes turning into ragged plunges of his cock into you, and you use your energy to give his lip a nip as you feel him come inside of you with weak pulses. The way that his pelvis grinds against your clit with his final thrust is enough to push you over the edge one last time, your channel throbbing feebly against his as the final, quieter orgasm washes over you like waves lapping at a seashore.

He stays there for a moment, gasping against your lips. You suppose he did wait longer than Gojo did to finally be touched, even after touching you first, and you wonder just how much he was aching to be inside of you by the time he finally got there.

You’d be willing to let him lay there forever, if he wanted to – unfortunately, that feeling is not mutual on the part of everyone in the bedroom.

Gojo clicks his tongue.

“You can’t stay there forever.” He says. “I want to cuddle.”

Of course he does. Nanami groans as he rolls off you, his softening cock popping out of you with a wet noise. You should clean up – the bed beneath you is already soaking wet, your thighs soaking and uncomfortably sticky, Nanami’s come oozing from your hole as press your thighs together. But . . . if you do stand up, you think you will just fall over. And Nanami’s chest looks inviting, perfectly positioned for you to just shift an inch or two and rest upon it . . .

Cleaning up can wait. You stifle a yawn, the bed dipping as Gojo chases the way you move towards Nanami, as if he cannot bear for there to be space between any of you.

“Do I get to decide who won?” You ask, sleepily, resting your head on Nanami’s chest as he sighs and allows it, running his fingers through your hair. Gojo grumbles, locking his arms about your waist and pressing his cheek against your bare back despite the fact you know you must be sticky with sweat. Despite the sigh, Nanami’s hand is fond, his posture all relaxed, a quiet kind of satisfaction in every line of his body.

“You’re probably the best judge,” he says.

“I thought we already decided,” Gojo whines. “Nanamin cheated--”

“I think,” you say, ignoring what Gojo is saying (which you have long learned is one of the best ways to deal with him when he gets prideful and arrogant). “You both won. Teamwork was definitely superior.”

“Hmm,” Nanami says. “You know what? I think you’re right.”

Gojo shifts, hugging you tighter, his body pressed as close to you as is humanly possible. Your bed isn’t really comfortable for all three of you to embrace like this, but in between them you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better,” he says, all dignity. “I definitely won.”

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #gojo x reader #kento nanami x reader #satoru gojo x reader #poly ship tag #not sfw #writing #jjk posting #jujutsu kaisen smut #Anonymous #jjk writing tag

[snackhobi]

pairing: taehyung x reader / word count: 13.3k / genre: fluff, friends to lovers, smut (NSFW, 18+)

summary: you’re used to being in love with taehyung. you’ve had a lot of time to get good at it, after all—by this point you’re the world’s expert at keeping your less-than-platonic feelings hidden from him, what with the amount of practice you’ve had.

but then he signs up for a massage therapy course, because apparently you can never catch a break.

or: the one where taehyung gives you a full body massage and then some.

warnings: sexually explicit content, massage with a happy ending (literally 🤧), cursing, edible massage oil/lube, fingering (f), unprotected sex (be safe when you have sex please), multiple orgasms (f), oral sex (m), cum swallowing, pet names, body worship?, brief mention of shower sex

a/n: I swear this was meant to be pwp. this was literally meant to just be pwp with some massage shenanigans. and then I blinked and it had become a soft 13k fic which honestly… kicked my ass quite a bit. but I hope you enjoy it!! thank you as always to @hobi-gif​ for beta reading this and encouraging me and putting up with me changing this multiple times, what would I do without your support miss hope?

--

Taehyung goes through a lot of different phases.

He just finds so many things interesting. Photography, art, art history, music, fashion, thrift shopping; heck, there was even the time he got weirdly into making tea and became some sort of connoisseur, going through the whole rigmarole of buying the loose leaves and weighing them out, checking the temperature of the water, brewing for a precisely measured amount of time.

You still remember the look on his face when you said it all tasted like hot leaf water to you.

Because, of course, as one of Taehyung’s best friends and his roommate, you’re inevitably swept up in everything he does. You’re used to the weirdly acrid smell of photo development fluid and how cold dark rooms can get. You use phrases like chiaroscuro and sfumato to describe the simplest things after listening to Taehyung do the same for so long. You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve tripped over his saxophone case when he leaves it lying around the apartment. You regularly wear the baggy t-shirt with the face that Taehyung had painted on it—even if you still refer to it as the Squidward-House-Shirt despite the fact you know he was inspired by Basquiet and Schiele and not the Easter Island themed stone head that Squidward lives in.

You don’t mind getting dragged along with whatever he does, honestly; you don’t have time to attend every class, but go with him when you can. It’s always good to expand your horizons. You also love watching Tae’s face whenever he learns something new, the various expressions that flit across his features—from wide eyed excitement and eyebrow raising astonishment to the more solemn side that appears whenever he’s taking something in and thinking deeply about it, turning it over in his mind, mulling on it.

(You love watching Tae’s face all the time, actually, but that’s a whole other can of worms you’d rather keep shut.)

However, the latest course he’s signed up for is not one you’d been expecting.

“Massage therapy?” Your face twists in equal parts confusion and surprise.

Taehyung’s dropped this latest nugget of information while you’re cooking, trying to fry some rice while also peering at the phone screen that’s been thrust into your face. You’re not bad at multitasking, per se, but Taehyung’s iPhone is drifting so close that you’re almost cross-eyed and it’s blocking you from seeing what’s going on in the pan. 

“I had a coupon,” he says, as if that explains everything. (It doesn’t.)

“Scooch,” you say, and he immediately moves so you can turn the gas off.

“Jiminie and Jungkookie say that my massages help with dance, and that's just from Youtube tutorials.” Taehyung continues to talk as you bustle around the tiny kitchen. He’s already set the table so now he’s free to watch you finish doing the rest of the work. “And Joon-hyung says I have the perfect hands for it.”

You fumble with the pan as you’re scooping the steaming rice into a large bowl, only just managing to save food from scattering everywhere. You’ve thought about Taehyung’s hands a lot, about how large and long fingered and beautiful they are, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Really? Huh. That’s nice.” You stare at the pan, fixated on getting every grain of rice so you can avoid looking at Taehyung’s face. And hands. Which are still cupped around his phone. Which looks so small in his big, pretty grip.

Jesus Christ.

“It means I can give you massages if you ever start to get tense.” Taehyung sounds pleased, lovely grin on his face at the prospect of being able to rub his hands over you. As if that isn’t going to make every single one of your muscles lock up and turn you into some sort of coiled rope of a human being, which is the complete opposite of what a massage is supposed to achieve. 

“Great.” Despite your inner turmoil, your voice is level and steady as you meticulously scrape the last grain of rice into the bowl, chasing the tiny fleck of white around the huge pan. Scrape, scrape, scrape. “Sounds fabulous. Can’t wait.”

Of course Taehyung would sign up to learn something that he could use to help his friends. He’s so big-hearted and loving. Big-hearted and loving and kind and funny and affectionate and beautiful and deep-voiced and so entirely overwhelming in every single way imaginable. 

You do what you always do when confronted yet again with your all-consuming crush—you bottle that shit the fuck up until he’s not in the room.

And then you have a miniature breakdown at Pickles.

“I am going to die,” you whisper-scream. “He’s going to offer to massage me and he’s going to get a bottle of massage oil out and he’s going drizzle it onto his massive hands and I am going to fucking die.”

The bearded dragon cocks his head as he stares at you. Taehyung had come home with the reptile one day, tank and all, saying that someone on Facebook had been giving him away because they were moving house and could they just look after him for a little while, please, pretty please? Until they found a good home for him? Please?

That was over a year ago. (You’ve always been bad at saying no to Taehyung.)

“I hate my life,” you lament to the lizard, but then you hear the noisy flush of the toilet and know that Taehyung is going to emerge from the bathroom soon, so you have to wrap this miniature meltdown up pronto. “I wish I was a bearded dragon too, you know. All you do is get fed and sit under the heat bulb. Your life is so easy. You don’t even know what capitalism is.”

The silence you get from Pickles is far more support than you get from your human friends once you tell them. Yoongi just raises his eyebrows while Seokjin and Hoseok laugh outright in your face, just like they always do when you cry to them about Taehyung.

You need new friends. These ones are defective. (If only you’d kept the receipt so you could return them.)

“We learned how to do neck and shoulder massages today!” Taehyung says brightly after the first session.

You hum in response. You’re rewatching Pacific Rim together, cuddled up against Taehyung’s side, and you don’t have to turn your head to know what expression is on his face. There’ll be that little upturn to his lips, happiness at learning something new. That warmth in his eyes at being able to share it with you, even if you couldn't be there with him. Those little freckles on his face, under his eye, his nose, his lip; the one you’ve imagined kissing more times than you can count.

“My teacher says I have a natural talent with my hands,” he adds, and you’re so grateful that you can blame your sudden intake of breath on the scene that’s playing on the screen, as high stakes as it is. 

“That’s nice,” you say, and mentally pat yourself on the back at keeping the strain out of your voice. You've had a lot of practice at this. “I’m not surprised, though. You’ve always been good at doing things with them.”

That’s not a euphemism. Taehyung’s always so careful when he makes things; you’d learned how to fold different origami patterns together, matching crane for crane, lotus for lotus, and he’d always been so delicate with his fingers. He’s always so careful and considerate with you, too, fingers splayed wide across your shoulder as he squeezes you closer to his side, leaving you breathless.

“I wish you could come too.” Taehyung sounds disappointed. “We always have so much fun together.”

For the first time in your life you’re grateful that your manager at Olive Chicken is such a hardass and won’t let you swap shifts, so you’d had to miss signing up for the massage course with Taehyung—because you know there’s no way you’d be able to keep it together if there was some sort of tandem practice in class or whatever. Your crush on him is filled with equal parts of tenderness and lust and you’re well aware of that. You’d rest your hands on the soft skin of Taehyung’s shoulders and back, the lust would overwhelm you, and you’d immediately burst into flames like some sort of demon stepping over the threshold of a church. 

Why oh why did God have to make Kim Taehyung so hot?

Why oh why did God have to make you so… not?

You know Taehyung doesn’t see you in a romantic light at all. You’re grateful for this deep, platonic relationship you have, and you love him to pieces, but holy hell is it hard to walk around with Kim Taehyung looking the way he does and wanting to jump his bones while simultaneously being aware that it’s never going to happen. Whenever he smiles at you, or touches you, or holds you, it’s in exactly the same way as he treats any of his friends—and as happy as you are to be one of those friends, it also kind of kills you inside. 

(Because you know you don’t have a chance, have never had a chance, and will never have a chance.)

The idea of offering to massage Taehyung is one that makes you want to melt into a puddle of horny goo. But when he offers to massage you, it’s because you’re a convenient practice partner who he’s comfortable with. It’s no big deal. You could strip naked and slather yourself up in oil and stand in front of him with your bosoms heaving and say ‘Have at me, big boy’ and Taehyung would say: ‘Sweet! A chance to practice deep tissue massage! Gee, thanks for being such a great pal!’

The kind of deep tissue you want Taehyung to massage is very different to whatever he’s talking about.

… Anyway.

You manage to avoid Taehyung using his apparently magic fingers on you for a surprising amount of time, though you’re kept up to date with his progress, because he shares everything with you and tells you about everything and you always, always listen. Because, more than being your crush, he’s one of your best friends and you love him.

Which is why you try your best to be gentle, graciously refusing his offer of a shoulder massage after he sees you wincing, even if with anyone else you’d just tell them to back off with zero hesitation.

“It’s fine,” you say, flapping a hand at him. “I just slept on it funny.”

“A massage would help! It won’t take long, I promise. Five minutes? Please?” 

Taehyung’s looking at you with those big puppy eyes of his, pleading. You waver. You’re torn between being steadfast and avoiding a situation you’ve literally had nightmares about (Taehyung had offered to massage you, and you’d said yes, but then you’d fallen over as you were walking to him and suddenly a lasagne had appeared in your hands and you’d spilled it all down your shirt and he’d pointed and laughed and laughed and you’d felt so embarrassed that you’d woken up, cheeks burning), but then he pouts and you give in like the spineless and lovesick fool that you are.

“Five minutes,” you say, and Taehyung nods emphatically, looking pleased.

(You have the backbone of a chocolate éclair.)

You send quiet thanks to whatever God is listening when he doesn’t ask you to take your top off and doesn’t break out a bottle of scented oil. Instead he just asks for you to straddle a chair, clutching a plushie against your chest to cushion where it leans against the backrest, and tells you to get comfy.

“Just relax,” he says, as you desperately try to remember how your body works and coax it to relax like Taehyung wants you to. You fail miserably. You feel like a ball of rubber bands, each muscle a layer of tighter and tighter elastic that’s circled around you. “Lean forwards a little?”

At least Taehyung can’t see your face from this angle. You have no idea what sort of expression is twisting your features; consternation and horrified anticipation, probably. You're basically throttling your plushie, taking out your tension and frustration on the poor thing, Rilakkuma's placid face morphing into a twisted expression of sympathy under your grasping fingers.

“Perfect,” Taehyung says. The sound of praise in his deep voice has your insides turning into overheated syrup, hot and thick, dripping down and pooling between your legs. You hate yourself. Getting turned on by the most innocuous words from your best friend, really? Get it together.

The second you feel Taehyung's warm hands touch the back of your neck, your shoulders hunch up faster than a whiplash, a turtle sucking its head into its shell. Your friend laughs.

“This is the opposite of relaxing,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“You surprised me.” You dig your nails into Rilakkuma's soft brown fur. Taehyung just thinks you're not used to being massaged, not that you're being weird because it's him that's touching you. Because he touches you a lot. He’s just never done it like this. “Sorry.”

“It's fine,” he replies, unruffled and oblivious. “Let me try again?”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to quell the mix of arousal and tension that’s churning in your stomach, begging your muscles to unwind. You’ve kept your crush a secret from him for this long, you can keep that energy up. (You have to keep that energy up.) “Um. Okay.”

You’re still tense when Taehyung puts his hands on you again. The touch is warm through your clothes, firm but careful, digging into the sharp line of tension laid across your shoulders; despite the way your heart is threatening to launch itself out of your chest, you start to loosen up, because holy shit that feels nice, actually.

You melt against Rilakkuma and smother the bear's face in your chest. “Your teacher wasn’t kidding when they said that you’re good with your hands,” you mumble. 

You’ve never gotten a proper massage before but it feels so damn good that you can’t help but unwind, turning to jelly at the confident presses of Taehyung’s fingers and palms into the soft skin between your neck and shoulder. A little sigh spills past your lips when Taehyung starts to work at the part that’s been twinging after you lay crookedly on it, limbs akimbo in your sleep after a long night at work. “Oh, right there, Tae.”

Taehyung goes still for just a second before continuing, trailing his fingers over your shirt. “Here?”

Your eyes have drifted shut so you can focus on the sensation of that tension being pulled out of your body. “Yeah, right there,” you repeat, massaged into a state of lazy euphoria. The breath you let out is long and deep, catching in the back of your throat at a particularly firm rub of Taehyung’s hands; if you weren’t so blissed out you might be embarrassed at how much the noise you make is like a moan, but as it is, you don’t even notice. You just let out a little sound of discontent when Taehyung’s fingers stutter in their motions, displeased that he’s stopped even for a second.

By the time the massage is over, you’re so relaxed that you feel like you could melt into the floor, a wobbly puddle of unwound muscles and loose limbs. It’s official. You’re a massage convert.

“Holy shit.” Your eyes flutter open as you lean away from Rilakkuma so you can turn around. They’re the first coherent words you’ve spoken for a while; small sighs and sounds have been dripping from your lips and it’s only now that you’re able to regain your breath. “Tae, that was amazin—”

You’re met with the sight of Taehyung’s back as he power walks away, steps rapid, a little shaky, awkward. Before you can ask what’s wrong, he’s stepping into the bathroom. 

“I need to wash my hands,” he says without looking at you, before the door slams shut.

You don’t remember Tae telling you about how quickly you have to wash your hands after finishing a massage. But, thinking about it, you suppose it makes sense—you know, with massaging multiple clients or whatever—even if it’s surprising exactly how fast he’d hoofed it away from you. It sounds like he’s switched both taps on full blast as well, noisy even through the wooden door, and judging from how long he’s in there, he’s being very thorough. Hand washing must be a lot more important than you’d realised. 

Once Taehyung emerges, his face is a little flushed, cheeks a soft red. You wonder if the hot water tap is playing up again and filling your dinky bathroom with hot steam, and make a mental note to look into it. You smile at Taehyung from your perch on the sofa, Rilakkuma plopped on your lap, smile spread across your features; one that Taehyung returns, as pink-faced as he is.

“How’s your shoulder feeling?”

“So much better, honestly,” you admit. It’s incredible. He hasn’t even finished the course yet and he's already this good. He really does have magic hands.

“I’ll have to give you massages more often,” Taehyung says, though the end of the sentence trembles a little. He must be light-headed after all the steam in the bathroom.

The thought of more massages doesn’t fill you with as much mind-numbing trepidation as it might have earlier, utterly languid as you flop across the sofa, muscles uncoiled after the lovely touch of Taehyung’s even lovelier hands. No wonder people rave about spa days if they leave you feeling like this. Maybe if you’d been staring at Taehyung in the eye when he’d been touching you, then you’d feel a lot more awkward—as it is, it’s no worse than usual. Your crush is still all-encompassing but you also got a massage out of it, so.

“Sounds great.” This time you don’t even have to fake your excitement. “Now come sit your butt down so we can order some takeout and decide what to watch.”

When you bend down to speak to Pickles later, the bearded dragon is lolling on his favourite branch. “There’s still a high chance that I’m going to die,” you say in a low voice, before you flick the lights off so the lizard can sleep. “But he hasn’t broken out the oils yet, so I think I’ll be okay for now.”

--

Your luck doesn’t last.

“Strawberry and champagne, lychee martini, mint mojito, white chocolate, or tropical coconut?”

You look up from where you’re painting your toenails. “Huh?”

Taehyung bundles into the room and throws himself onto your bed, flopping on his belly and ignoring the way the mattress is jostled. You, of course, are used to his antics, which is why you’d swept your open bottle of nail polish up before he could spill it everywhere.

“What do you think sounds best?”

“Well, that depends,” you say, squinting at your toes and carefully sweeping the polish over the freshly buffed nails. “For candles, I think they sound pretty nice. For sauces to pour over a steak, I’d say I’d give them all a hard pass. What’s it for?”

“Massage oils,” Taehyung says blithely, too busy staring at his phone to see you muffle a curse when your hand slips and you paint your entire little toe blue. “I was wondering which you think sounds best.”

“Oh. Uh.” You fumble to clean your toe and salvage the now-terrible pedicure you’re trying to give yourself. It was only a matter of time before massage oils were going to become part of your life. Taehyung never goes into things half-hearted, so of course he’s going to invest in oils, too. God’s sake. You can never catch a break, can you? “Why these ones in particular?”

Taehyung pauses for a suspiciously long time, but it gives you the chance to furiously rub at your toe while he’s distracted. “We get a free bottle from the course,” he says eventually.

Huh. Okay. “That’s pretty neat. What was the last one? Coconut? Stick with the basics, can’t go wrong with that, right?”

“Coconut is always tasty,” Taehyung comments absently, and you glance up from your Smurf toe.

“Agreed, but it’s not like you’re about to eat massage oil, are you?”

Taehyung pauses, and then buries his face into his phone screen—suddenly very intent on rereading the list of ingredients in each bottle, it seems. “No, of course not, you’re right,” he mumbles.

He’s almost finished the course. He’s not going to be an accredited masseuse or anything, but you definitely think he could be, if he wanted to—you’ve never had less tension in your shoulders and neck in your life. Taehyung always eases his way into your personal space anyway, casual and effortless after years of friendship, but now you’re used to his fingers sliding over the back of your neck, a gliding touch, sending tense little goosebumps over your skin while simultaneously making you melt. 

“It’s pretty cool that you get free stuff, though.” Your toe is clean, thankfully, no longer blue. “And not just, like, a generic bottle of oil or something. They all sound really fancy. I didn’t realise that you could get massage oils that were scented like that?”

Taehyung makes a non-committal noise, which is uncharacteristic of him, but you’re too focused on repainting your final nail to pay it too much mind, letting out a loud huff of triumph when you’re done.

“Get me a bag of shrimp crackers, please?” You have a sudden craving but you don’t want to penguin waddle to the kitchen and risk getting anything on your wet nails. “Ya girl is hungry.”

“Got it.” Taehyung rolls off the bed without protest. You’re used to his antics, and he’s used to yours, indulging you whenever you feel lazy or want him to do something for you. “You need me to feed you?”

“I wasn’t going to use my toes to feed myself,” you laugh, but Taehyung ends up feeding them to you anyway.

When you recount the list to Seokjin later, his face crumples in a way that’s equal parts offended and disgusted. “They all sound terrible,” he says. “White chocolate should stay in chocolate form and not be turned into an oil. Why does massage oil even have to smell like anything?”

You’re both holed up in the tiny smoking nook behind Olive Chicken; neither of you smoke, but it’s a good excuse to go outside and get fresh air during longer shifts. 

“Hey, don’t ask me, I’m not the one who’s taking the course. I think lychee martini sounds interesting, though.”

“Agree to disagree.” Seokjin unwraps one of the complimentary chocolates the restaurant gives to diners with their bill, swallowing it whole. “Besides, we all know Taehyung could approach you with dirty, used fryer oil and you’d let him dip you in it.”

You slap the next chocolate out of his hand before it reaches his mouth. He’s unmoved and simply plucks another from his pocket, which is apparently bulging with them.

“Yoongichi,” Jin says, calling to the delivery boy, who’s just appeared from the dark like some tired-eyed spectre of fried chicken. “Tell me this. If I were to ask you what smell of massage oil you’d prefer, what—”

“I would say that I really could not care less.” Yoongi flops down on one of the rickety fold-out chairs before silently accepting a chocolate from Seokjin’s stash. “And then I’d ask why you’re asking me in the first place, seeing as you’re the one using it, not me. If Taehyung’s asking what massage oil you’d prefer, Y/n, it’s because he wants to rub it all over you specifically.” Yoongi munches on the chocolate, already filling in the blanks without needing to be told the context. You really are that transparent, huh. “Please, we’ve been over this.”

Jin pouts. “You ruined my set up. I had a whole speech prepared.”

“Oh no.” Yoongi remains blank-faced. “How terrible.”

“I hate both of you,” you say. “I’m going to tell Pickles how mean you are.”

“I bet if that lizard could talk, he’d tell you how tired he was of you two dancing around each other, just like the rest of us,” Yoongi says.

There’s no dancing around, though, no matter what your friends say. Well. Not on Taehyung’s end anyway. You’re out here doing the fandango, castanets and all, while Taehyung just stands stock still, oblivious.

You let out an incredibly long sigh. Seokjin hands you a sympathetic chocolate.

The massage oil doesn’t make an appearance in your life for a little while, though. The end of the course comes and goes, Taehyung proudly flapping the laminated certificate at you, wobble-wobble-wobble, filling the apartment with the sound of rippling plastic. But no coconut oil.

The scent of ‘tropical coconut’ has started to haunt your dreams, in a way that’s both good and bad; when you wake up in a sweat, heart pounding, it’s not because you’re having nightmares, let’s just put it like that. It’s like there’s an invisible countdown that you can’t trace and it’s only a matter of time before it ticks over and the shoulder massages (that you’ve gotten very comfortable with) edge into something different. Taehyung’s going to innocently offer to give you a backrub and uncap that bottle of scented oil and you’re going to explode into a mess of putty under his hands.

Well… then again… you had been worried about that with all the shoulder rubs. Now look at you. You weather those like a champ. Sure, your skin tingles and you run hot and you think about the sensation of Taehyung’s hands gliding over you whenever you’re alone, but you’re basically fine. Your friend who just so happens to also be the great love of your life remains none the wiser.

You bet a full back rub would feel great after a long week.

Which is why when Taehyung steps into the apartment with a look on his face that you immediately recognise as tiredness, you sort of wish you knew how to massage people, too.

He falls into your arms with little fanfare. It’s been one of those days, one of those ones that everyone gets, even Taehyung—he’s usually so Switched On and Exuberant and Alive, and people don’t seem to realise that even he feels exhausted, sometimes.

“You alright, bubs?” You can’t massage him but you can rub his back soothingly, let him snuffle against your neck. Sometimes you think about that little space between your chin and collarbones as Taehyung’s, a hollow that’s perfect for him to press his face into, hair tickling your chin as he curls up into you. His and his alone. “Did something happen?”

He just shakes his head.

“Okay,” you say.

(Close proximity and skin on skin with Taehyung doesn’t always have your pulse rising and your heart racing. Sometimes it’s just this: quiet and soft, your heart bright with fierce affection for this boy, the only thought in your mind that you want him to be happy, forever.)

The long silence is broken by the sound of Taehyung heaving in a breath before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. 

“Thank you.” His voice is quiet and low, far less energetic than his usual self.

“Nothing to thank me for, Tae,” you reply. “Always here for you. You know that, right?”

He doesn’t respond straight away. He just burrows closer, draped over you, until he murmurs, barely audible. “Why?”

Your face twists. “Why, what? Why am I always here for you?”

“Yeah.” Taehyung squeezes himself impossibly closer, skin warm against yours, forehead pressed to the skin of your neck. You can’t see his expression from this angle.

“Because you’re one of my best friends and I love you,” you answer, immediately. You don’t even have to think about it. “Because you’re important to me and if there’s anything I can do for you, I will. I’ll celebrate the good things in your life with you, and I’ll be at your side during the bad times, just like you are with me. Please don’t ever forget how much I love you, okay?”

There’s a pause, and then it feels like all the tension leaves Taehyung’s body, slumping his whole body weight against you. “Okay,” he murmurs. “I love you too. Thank you,” he says again. You just reply by squeezing his shoulders.

He’s a little quieter for a few days after that. You’re not sure why, because he’d perked up after a lazy evening of lying around and eating too many snacks, flopped against you like an oversized, clinging starfish—but you’re gentle with him nonetheless. 

(Well. You’re always gentle with him. It just takes you half a second to fold in the face of his whims, rather than a whole, full second.)

So when the dreaded bottle of oil finally appears, you’re far less ready to fight off Taehyung’s insistence on a full body massage, caught off guard after days of indulging him. Fuck. 

“You’ve had a long week!” Taehyung insists as you scrabble your way over the sofa’s backrest so you can hide behind it, clutching a cushion to your chest. “You need to relax!”

Without looking you fling the cushion over the sofa. Judging from the fact that Taehyung doesn’t make a sound, you’ve missed. “I was feeling perfectly relaxed until you started yelling at me about it! Why are you so obsessed with the idea of me being relaxed?”

Taehyung doesn’t respond. Oh, crap. Maybe you did hit him with the cushion?

You pop up from behind the sofa. Nope. It's an embarrassing distance away from Taehyung, who’s got that surprisingly large bottle of oil held loosely in his hands. There’s an expression on his face that you can’t decipher; a little crestfallen, a little unsure, but there’s something else there, too, something you can’t put a name to.

“Taehyung?”

“I just… wanted to help,” he says. “You’re always there for me when I’m not feeling great, and you calm me down, and I wanted to do the same for you.”

You immediately feel like the worst human being alive. Take the feeling you get whenever you accidentally step on an animal’s tail, multiply it by infinity, and that’s only just a drop in the ocean of awful, awful guilt that you’re drowning in. 

“Oh, Tae,” you say. Your voice comes out so much softer and sweeter than you mean it to, but you can't help it. “I’m sorry. I was just joking. It’s really nice of you to be so concerned. You just surprised me. You do help me relax and your massages are great.” (You tell him that often enough that he should know it, but it never hurts to repeat a compliment.)

His face lifts. It’s like the sun bursting forth from the clouds after heavy rain, and you have to resist the urge to shield your eyes, blinded by the brightness and beauty. Kim Taehyung is so unfairly gorgeous (but what else is new?). “So I can give you a massage?”

Despite the fact the prospect makes you want to fling yourself into space, when you’re faced with Taehyung’s dark eyes and wide smile and large, warm hands, you cave, because of course you do. If, way back when you’d first been frying up that kimchi rice and letting Taehyung thrust his phone into your face, you’d been told you’d end up in this position, you would have laughed outright. Haha, yeah, sure, like you’d be stupid enough to let yourself be wrangled into such a vulnerable state in front of Taehyung, nowhere to run, helpless under his fingers. Not.

But here you are. Whipped for Kim Taehyung, forever and always.

The pastel blue towels under your stomach and chest are soft as they shield you from the cold, hard floor. You’re incredibly aware of how chilly the apartment feels, air prickling against your bare skin; you shift to try and get comfortable, glancing over your shoulder to fiddle with the towel that’s draped over your hips and ass, making sure it’s covering everything. Taehyung insists on authenticity (as if you’re not lying on the floor of your apartment rather than on a massage table) and he says that it’s normal to be completely naked for a full-body massage, even underneath any towels that are covering you up.

Authenticity is also why he’s in the other room, warming up the massage oil, because that’s apparently a thing?

(You’re going to die.)

It doesn’t matter that Taehyung will only be able to see the back of your head, your shoulder blades, the small of your back, a slip of your thighs, your calves. None of these things are especially scandalous; all the parts of your body that someone might find more interesting are out of sight, pressed against the floor or hidden under a layer of Egyptian cotton microfibres. 

And yet you can’t help but be hyperaware of how you’re entirely unclothed. Even if it doesn’t bother Taehyung—what with, you know, the fact he’s not interested in you like that and doesn’t find you attractive at all (sigh)—embarrassment creeps hot and uncomfortable under your skin.

It just feels so crazy intimate to be laid out like this, even if people do this all the time, happily strip down to let professionals rub the tension out of their body. 

(Then again, most people aren’t best friends with their masseuses and haven’t harboured long, one-sided crushes on them, either.)

Just breathe. You can do this. You love the shoulder massages that Taehyung’s been giving you; just think of this as a shoulder massage. 

… A shoulder massage that involves warm oil, near-nakedness, and Taehyung’s hands sliding all over you.

… You are going to have a very long venting session with Pickles after all this.

You’re so distracted by your own self pity and distress that you don’t register the sound of Taehyung entering the room; the little pause when he steps over the threshold, feet stuttering, just for a moment. It’s only when he’s kneeling down that you notice his presence, body jolting from surprise before you let out a slip of high laughter.

“Jesus, Tae,” you say. In any other circumstance, you’d be clutching your chest. “You scared me.”

“Sorry.” He sounds genuinely apologetic.

Your cheek is pillowed on your arms. When you turn to look at your best friend you immediately regret it; he’s settled back on his ankles, knees spread wide, and you come eye-to-eye with his crotch.

In an effort to look away from his clothed dick, your gaze flies up to his face, which might be even worse. He has this intense look in his eyes, and wow, alright, you’ve never been able to see Taehyung’s face as he’s been massaging you, but you never realised exactly how seriously he seems to take it, judging from his expression.

(Do all massage therapists look like that when they work?)

“That’s alright.” You’re a little breathless, but you’re going to blame that on how your boobs are smooshed into the floor, and not on anything else, nuh uh. Shoulder massage. It’s a shoulder massage. It’s just like a full bodied shoulder massage. (Maybe if you repeat it to yourself often enough then you’ll actually start to believe it.) “Uh. Do you need me to… do anything? Or do I just lie here?”

Taehyung’s expression lightens a little at the uncertainty in your tone, smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You’re perfect right where you are,” he says, and then he reaches for the bottle of oil.

You turn your head away again, cheeks burning. There’s no way you’ll be able to handle the visual of him slicking his fingers and palms up. “Cool,” you say, voice only a little strained. “Coolcoolcoolcool.”

(It’s not cool.)

You don’t have a visual, but you do get the auditory experience thanks to the relative silence in the apartment. Goosebumps ripple down the back of your neck and trail down your spine at the sound of Tae’s hands sliding against each other, thoroughly coated in the warmed oil, and you’re so glad that you can blame it on the chill in the air.

At first, it’s okay. Taehyung starts at the parts of your body that are used to receiving his attention, though it’s different without the barrier of clothing in the way, not to mention how easily his palms glide over you, the air full of the light scent of coconut. It’s different, but manageable, and you think you just might be okay; as always, his touches are firm but careful, and your body is used to this by now, relaxing.

But. The second you feel Taehyung’s touch between your shoulder blades, you stiffen with a shiver. The oil is the perfect temperature against your skin, but you’ve always had a sensitive back; you can’t help but clench your fists, digging your fingers into your palms. Relax. Just breathe. 

“You’ve got a lot of tension here.” Taehyung’s voice is low as he digs the heel of his palm into the dip of your spine.

It’s because you’re touching me there, you think to yourself, but just let out a non-committal hum of agreement instead. 

You feel Taehyung's hands, a repeated sliding motion between your shoulder blades; the tension starts to leak out of you again, but your breath hitches in your throat at how you're pressed downwards and into the cotton towels beneath you, nipples hardening against them.

Thank God you're on your front so Tae can't see what effect he's having on you.

“Better?”

Taehyung's voice is always deep, but you'd swear it was even deeper in this moment, pitched low. Maybe that’s because the sound of blood pumping is filling your ears so it’s hard to discern. At this point, who even knows? Not you, that’s for sure.

“Yep.” Why are you so breathless? You haven’t moved at all, but you sound like you’ve just run the 100m sprint, winded and weak. “So much better.”

You regret agreeing to this. You are so out of your depth and there’s no way you’re going to be able to hide exactly how much this is affecting you and you want to collapse in on yourself and shrivel up like a sundried tomato, tiny and wrinkly and underwhelming. 

Taehyung shifts to reach more of you and you squeeze your eyes shut so you don’t come face first with his crotch again, shielding yourself from the view of his loose linen trousers stretched almost taut with how wide his knees are. It’s both a blessing and a curse—a blessing because you’re saved from aforementioned view, but a curse because your sensation of touch is heightened, and all you’re aware of is his hands sliding down your sides. You’d swear those fingers were so long he could circle your waist with ease.

(Massages are meant to relax you and yet you’ve never felt so tense in your life.)

Taehyung clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. “I can’t get a good angle like this,” he mutters.

Before you can think anything or say anything, you become aware of the sound of moving and shifting and—

Your eyes fly open. Taehyung’s straddling your thighs, heavy and warm, and you suck in a breath so sharp and fast you can feel your chest expand, brain full of the screaming clang of warning bells. There’s no way this is a normal masseuse thing. There’s no way. It’s intimate and entirely too physical and there’s absolutely no way that this is something Taehyung learned in class. 

(What is he doing?)

But then any coherent thought in your brain slips when his hands settle on you again.

They so, so lightly brush the hem of the towel that preserves your modesty, and you can’t help the full-body shiver that wracks through you. You suck your lips into your mouth, swallowing down the noise that threatens to bubble up in your throat. There’s the sensation of fingers trailing up the line of your spine, feather light, smoothed by the slide of oil, and you feel like molten lava, burning hot and bright.

“Taehyung.” Your voice is high and faint.

His fingers splay down your ribcage and run down your sides, confident and smooth, warm with that coconut-scented oil, and you’re dying, you’re living; you want to disappear, you never want this to end. 

“Taehyung,” you repeat. Your voice shakes.

He hums, low and indulgent. “Yes?”

“M-my thighs,” you stammer, unable to articulate yourself. Why are you on my thighs, oh God, you’re so warm and heavy on top of me, oh God oh God oh God.

Taehyung completely misunderstands you. “Oh? Of course.” He sounds nonchalant. “I’ll massage those next.”

You can feel the drag of his linen trousers against your skin as he moves down to rest on your calves, and hear the bottle open as Taehyung drizzles more oil over his hands, far more than he could possibly need. His palms feel so broad and warm against the smoothness of your thighs, touches firm and confident as he digs his fingers into the muscle, and, oh, fuck, this is, this is too much—

Your legs jump when Taehyung hitches the towel up, just a little, baring more of your body.

“Fuck.” You can't keep quiet any longer. “Tae, I’m fine, I’m feeling way less tense now.”

He’s still, for a moment, before his hands slide up the back of your thighs. “Are you sure? You want me to stop?”

It’s only then that you realise how deeply Taehyung is breathing, fast and low, voice rough and gravelled. His fingers rest in wait, warm and slick with oil; you’re so close to losing any modicum of modesty, only one motion away from that towel being rucked high enough that there’s nothing protecting you from Taehyung’s touch and eyes.

“I haven’t finished yet, though,” he continues, digging his thumbs into your skin as he pulls his hands down your thighs, mindlessly following the motions he’s been taught. “There’s still more to go.”

You could twist around to look at him but you’re almost afraid to look at his face, afraid of what you’d find there. He sounds as affected as you are, but there’s absolutely no way. There’s no way.

“You don’t need to do the whole massage if I’m feeling relaxed, right?” 

(Because you’re feeling so relaxed right now, of course, and not like you’re about to go supernova and burst into heat and light. Absolutely.)

(But.)

(But. Taehyung’s hands settle at the back of your knees, swiping the sensitive skin with his thumbs. You can’t see his face, but you can feel something in that touch, something more than skin deep, like it’s sinking into you, through skin and muscle and bone, in in in, settling inside you, a flicker of—of—)

“Want to do this perfectly for you,” he murmurs. You clench your hands at the husky note in his voice, nails digging so hard into your palms it hurts. “You deserve the best. I want you to feel good.”

He must be able to see your back rise and fall as you breathe in sharply.

“Taehyung.” Almost pleading. 

“Yes, love?”

You suck in another sharp breath. The pet name sounds so soft and sweet in his mouth, somehow, even with the heated edge to his voice. One that’s definitely there. You’re not imagining it. 

(You’re not.)

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” he continues.

Before you can think, you nod.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Please.”

You’re trembling. Taehyung’s still heavy and warm across the back of your calves, sliding one hand to the inside of a knee and up the soft skin of your inner thighs. You instinctively shift them apart, as far as you can with Taehyung trapping your legs, and, oh, his hand is going higher, oh—

His hand is so big, cupping your overheated sex. It’s hard to tell where the oil ends and your own arousal begins, flushed wet and hot; when he dips his middle finger between your lower lips, long and gentle and firm, you let out a noise you didn’t realise you were capable of. The angle is off, a little awkward, the motions of Taehyung’s fingers stifled by how you’re lying flush to the ground, but God, you’re so turned on it barely matters.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The soft touch of air on the cooling oil across your skin. The fall of the towel, bunched around your waist, slowly slipping to one side. Taehyung’s hand, his fingertips easing through the heat of you, sliding over your clit, over your entrance, slow and soft and amazing. 

“Again,” you plead. “Again, Tae, please.”

“Feels good?” He asks, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you nod, cheek still pillowed against your arm.

“So good,” you say. “But I want more, please, Tae.”

“Anything you want,” he murmurs.

Taehyung’s hand shifts between your legs again, so hot, so big, so reverent. The slide is smooth as his fingers press into your folds, practically gliding. You twist beneath him, letting out a noise of displeasure when he draws his hand away, but then he lifts off your calves. You let him thrust your legs apart before he resettles between them.

Just as you’re distracted with the towel being tugged away from your hips, baring you entirely, Taehyung slides a finger into your weeping cunt.

You whine. It's so long. Now that your calves aren’t trapped, there’s nothing to stop you from rutting back against his fingers. He splays his other hand over the soft flesh of your ass, encouraging the rolling motion of your hips, and you’re gasping, wanton in your noises of desire and pleasure. One finger becomes two, and then three, Taehyung’s voice a low undercurrent to your stuttered moans as he presses them as deep as he can.

“Just like that, angel,” he breathes. “Want you to feel good, keep making those pretty noises, let me know how good it is—”

“Taehyung,” you whine, dragging the syllables of his name out when he curls his fingers inside you, so amazing, hitting you in all the right places.

“Baby.” He sounds wrecked, words sliding together, and you haven’t even touched him yet. “You’re so hot n’ wet, fuck. So perfect. Just like that, keep moving like that.”

You can hear the slick sounds of his thrusts into you. He’s already learned what you like, twisting his fingers in a way that leaves you breathless; they’re so fucking long, sliding into your greedy cunt with ease, reaching so much deeper than your own can. His pretty lovely hands are on you, inside you, and you’re heady at the thought.

“There, Tae, don’t stop, please, p-please.” The coil twists tighter in between your legs, a taut thread that’s ready to snap. He listens, repeating the motion that’s pulling you closer to the edge, eyes wide, staring at the way you’re writhing underneath him; the way the oil on your back and legs shimmers in the light, the evidence of his touch all over you, shining. “Tae, oh, God, right there, yes, yes, yes—”

Your entire body goes tense and then you’re cumming around Taehyung’s fingers, clenching your thighs together, trapping him inside as you buck your hips. You grind back against his hand, a loud moan falling from your lips, drowning out the noise of awe that Taehyung makes when he feels your walls pulsate around him. You're warm and tight and wet, arousal flooding thick against his skin, and he lets out a stuttered groan, fingers buried knuckle deep inside you, feeling every wave of pleasure that rocks through your core.

You’re panting by the time you settle back down and barely make a sound when Taehyung drags his fingers out of you. When he leans down the oil on your skin feels tacky against his clothes, material sticking to you, chest to back, hips to ass. You can feel the hot curve of him through his trousers, his cock heavy, getting harder—and it feels sososo good.

Taehyung’s face is so close, now, chin hooked over your shoulder. Even though you can feel the hardness of his cock pressed against you, the smile on his face is so gentle. Your heart thrums in your chest.

“So cute n' pretty,” he says, and presses his nose to the soft curve of your cheek. Rather than coconut, all you can smell is his shampoo, familiar and homely and heady. “All over. God, I can’t believe you’d let me touch you like this. I’m so lucky. Was that good, baby?”

“Yes,” you say, and then, because you’re still floating in a light haze of disbelief: “I’m the lucky one.” 

Taehyung laughs, low and quiet. It’s a honeyed moment, dripping slow and sweet, even sweeter when he tilts his head forward. His lips are soft against your cheekbone, your jaw, and when you turn towards him, they’re even softer against your mouth. You can feel the shape of his smile, and it tastes so bright, small kisses that turn open mouthed, so perfect. Because you’re kissing Kim Taehyung, your Taehyung, something you’ve been dreaming about for so long, now—even if this entire situation is pretty unbelievable, honestly.

When you pull back, his eyes spark with unadulterated joy. He’s warm and heavy, pinning you down against the towels that are soft against your front; arching your spine, you lean back against the weight of Taehyung’s body, his cock fattening up through the layers of clothes that separate you. He lets out a breath of surprise before he grinds down, pressing that hard heat against you, and your cunt clenches.

“Can I finish the massage?” He asks, sounding almost eager, even with the rasp of lust in his voice. You can’t help but laugh, an affectionate giggle that has you knocking your foreheads together.

“Of course,” you say, and he catches your lips again, swallowing the last of your laughter, sweeping his tongue over your lips, inside your mouth, wet and hot and a little messy, but good. 

“You need to be on your back,” Taehyung continues, slow after the kiss is broken, and, oh, okay, that has you shivering. “If you want to?”

Of course you want to.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let me move.”

He shifts to give you room, but not before pressing a kiss to the back of your neck, the bump of the top of your spine, lips sliding against the oil that he’d rubbed there earlier, goosebumps erupting over your skin.

“So good to me,” he whispers. You don’t think he even means for you to hear it. 

(It’s said without thought; not thoughtless, no, but a soft little thing that says so much. A thought that’s slipped across his mind and fallen from his lips, warm and tender. Like you’re always good to him, and he sees it, he knows it, he feels it, he thinks it, and he’s almost in disbelief about it, because you’re so good to him.)

You feel warm and languid after cumming, loose-limbed as you flop onto your back. There’s no going back now. There’s no going back from this moment, naked and vulnerable under Taehyung, nothing hidden away any more—the soft fall of your breasts, your stomach, the lines of your hips, your fingers tightening in the towels spread beneath you as Taehyung’s eyes drink you in, wide and overawed at the sight of your flushed cunt, ripe and slick and ready for him.

(There's no more hiding how much you want Taehyung to have you, body and heart alike.)

You can see the shape of your body silhouetted on his clothes, where the oil has seeped into the material from how close he’d been pressed against you. You can see just how affected he is, cock straining against the loose linen of his white trousers, and you bite your lip to try and stifle the sound you make.

“Look at you,” Taehyung breathes, kneeling between your legs. “You’re so perfect.”

Your cheeks burn. “Taehyung, please,” you say, embarrassed. You really aren’t, especially in comparison to model-gorgeous Kim Taehyung, eyes dark and full of heated lust, hair falling in his eyes, effortlessly beautiful, always.

“You are,” he insists. “You have no idea how perfect you are.”

Before he reaches for the massage oil, he sucks the taste of you off his fingers, sloppy and messy. Your pussy throbs at the sight. And—you were also right about the visual being too much to handle, breath catching in your throat as you watch it drip into his broad hands. His palms shine as he rubs them together, interlacing his fingers, so graceful in their motions. You’re so wet from your orgasm, only getting wetter as you stare back at Taehyung, whose gaze has been heavy on you the whole time.

He starts at your collarbones. It’s even slower than before, and you ease underneath him, revelling in the softness of his touch. He sweeps his hands over your shoulders, down your arms, circling his long fingers around your wrists before lifting one of your hands. Your eyelashes flutter as he presses a kiss to your palm, a motion so full of adoration and tenderness it steals your breath away, and you squirm, shy.

“Tae,” you whine. “You can’t just do that.”

Of course he doubles down, lifting your other hand and repeating the motion, letting his lips linger between your head line and your heart line. “I can,” he says, words warm in your cupped palm. 

“I hope you didn’t do this in class.” Your voice is too weak for it to come out as the joke you mean it to be. 

Taehyung just shakes his head, mouth brushing over the tips of your fingers. “Only for you,” he says. “Did the whole class for you. I wanted—wanted an excuse to touch you more,” he admits, and your heart feels like it’s going to launch itself out of your throat.

“Then touch me,” you say, trying to sound confident even if your cheeks burn.

And he does. He lets your hands drop, gliding his touch back up your arms, down your body, over your legs; he massages your thighs and calves, digs his thumbs into the arches of your feet, circling his fingers around your ankles, shackles you don’t want to escape from. You feel so relaxed and lax, somehow, even if every touch has you biting your lip, anticipation roiling  in your stomach for what’s to come, Taehyung laying your legs down softly before he shifts back up, hands held out towards you—

—then he cups your breasts in his big, big hands and your back arches, fingers sliding over your nipples, glistening with coconut oil, circling them with the pads of his thumbs. You let out an embarrassing whine.

“Oh, Tae,” you beg. “More, please.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

You smile at another soft, unexpected pet name, flustered, but then your eyes slide shut when Taehyung bends down to kiss your neck as he continues to run his hands over the swell of your breasts. He trails his lips over your oiled skin, shifts down, drawing a line from your neck to the valley of your chest, the hard line at the center of your ribcage.

“Tae,” you murmur, and then, feeling bold under the heat of Taehyung’s dark eyes— “Baby.”

He hums before laying another sloppy kiss against your sensitive skin. You can feel the curve of his smile in the kiss. “Yes, love?”

“Is it really okay for you to… you know… get that oil in your mouth? I don’t want you to get sick,” you say, concerned, even through the haze of your arousal. His lips shine with it, at how he’s been trailing his mouth over all the parts of your body that he’s touched.

There’s a short beat, and then Taehyung buries his head against your neck—in that little hollow that’s his, in a motion he’s done dozens of times. Except this time you’re naked and he still has fingers splayed across the soft skin of your chest, nipples dragging underneath his palms.

“You’re always so considerate.” His words are muffled against your skin. “It’s fine. It’s edible.”

“You got edible massage oil from your course?”

Taehyung hesitates. “No,” he admits. “I bought it. It’s edible and, uh. Safe for intimate use.”

You’re silent, just for a moment, and then you can’t help it. You start to laugh. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you say, body shaking with amusement. “Did you buy edible massage oil that you can also use as lube?”

Taehyung pulls his face away from your neck and glances up. You’re giggling at him, and he feels so full of love and affection; he can’t help but join in, both laughing at him, loud and carefree.

“It’s why I asked which one you liked,” he confesses, once he can catch his breath.

“I can’t believe you lied to me,” you say, but you don’t mind, really, and he knows it. You lift a hand to push hair out of his face, running your fingers down his scalp. He leans into your touch with a smile, bright and lovely, before he abruptly shifts one of his hands down so he can lick a hot, wet stripe across the skin of your breast.

That stops your laughter pretty fast, surprised hiccup shifting into a broken moan when he engulfs your nipple in the heat of his mouth. “O-oh,” you gasp. “Oh, Taehyung—”

“Been thinking about this for so long.” Taehyung’s eyes are lidded and dark as he leans back, watching the way you react to his touch, arching up towards him. “Wanted to touch you like this so much.”

“Wanted it too,” you breathe. “Wanted—oh, God, Tae, fuck—”

It’s overwhelming. Not just the way Taehyung is flicking his tongue over each of your nipples, pressing his lips against your skin, no—but the idea that he’s been hoping for this, too. Each wet motion of his tongue over your pebbled skin drags pulls out of you; Taehyung’s cock twitches at a loud keen that’s drawn from your lips, a wet patch of precum seeping through his boxers and trousers, darkening the fabric, even though you haven’t touched him yet.

When you reach out to grasp him through his clothes, his hips jolt forward and he bites off a surprised gasp, cutting through the sound with his teeth. He feels long and heavy as you stroke him, thumbing over the wet patch at his tip, hot, even through all those layers between your skin and his.

“I want to feel you, Tae,” you say, staring at him. “Inside me. Please.”

His breath hitches when you tighten your fingers around his shaft and drag your hand upwards, slow and intent. 

“The oil isn’t condom friendly,” he admits, abashed. 

“Then you can cum in my mouth,” you reply. No hesitation.

Taehyung’s eyes are so wide, but then he smiles, eyes squeezing into crescents, mouth turning up into that lovely, broad grin of his. He looks so sweet and sincere, and you feel like you could explode, stuffed overfull with love for him.

“You really are perfect,” he says.

“Only for you,” you reply, your smile just as bright.

He lays one final kiss to your chest, above your beating heart, before he starts to strip. The oil has obviously soaked through his shirt and onto his skin because it sticks when he peels it off and carelessly throws it aside. 

Just like his heart, Taehyung’s body is soft and lovely. You sit up so you can touch him properly, catching him off guard when you pull him in for a kiss—one he eagerly leans into, and without the shirt in the way you can feel the way your skin slides against his, softened with oil. 

There really is no one as beautiful as Kim Taehyung. You drag your hands over him, so warm and wonderful under your palms; his chest, his cute tummy, his waist, his hips, the soft skin above his red, neglected cock. He’s radiant in his nakedness, every easing line of his body so perfect as he kneels in front of you, the flush of his skin, the heavy weight of his arousal, head shining with precum, so wet it’s practically dripping.

You lean in to kiss his neck and nip at his Adam's apple as his hands slide over your shoulder blades and down your back, the parts that make you shudder.

“Want you, Tae.” You whisper into his mouth, a soft secret that isn’t really a secret at all, not any more. “All of you.”

“Going to give you everything you want.” The words flow out of him with ease. “Everything you want.”

His chest and stomach shine with the massage oil that’s rubbed off from your own skin. You run your hands across him, and when you finally grasp his cock without the barrier of cloth in the way, he’s almost burning under your grasp, thick, his entire body shuddering when you pump his length. So sensitive to your touch.

“I’m goin’ to make you cum again,” he promises, and you love it, the way he talks when he’s losing himself. “Bet you’ll feel so good around my cock, so perfect.”

A shiver skates through your body. Taehyung’s fingers dig into your skin when he feels you trembling under his hands, and all you can think about is how you want him in you.

“Please,” you say. “Please, wanna make you feel good too—”

“Hands and knees, angel,” he rasps, and, God, yes, those words cut straight through you, sharp and electric.

Maybe you should feel embarrassed at how quickly you obey. The towels underneath you, so carefully placed at the start, perfectly flat, become rumpled as you shift into position; you arch your back, wanting to look as good as possible, and glance over your shoulder to see if it works.

Judging from the look on Taehyung’s face, it does. He looks like he’s never seen anything more awe-inspiring, eyes wide and mouth a little slack, dumbstruck. But then his jaw snaps shut and he splays his hands over the soft skin of your hips, your waist, your ass, shuffling closer to you; you feel the curve of his cock slide against your skin and you bite back a noise of need.

“Fuck, so beautiful.” He ruts forward, and you can feel the wetness of his precum slicking against you, a beaded line drawn across the sheen of massage oil. “My beautiful, perfect girl.”

“Tae,” you plead, already overwhelmed with need, heart squeezing at his words.

“Just one more thing, angel, I promise.”

It’s a good thing that the bottle of massage oil is so big, considering how liberal Taehyung is with it. You gasp when he uses one hand to spread your ass and before you can react there’s a drizzle of oil falling onto your skin, down-down-down, over your cunt, dripping over your inner thighs; Taehyung catches the excess with his palms before he slicks himself up, spreading that sweet coconut over his throbbing cock.

(You wonder what it’ll taste like when you lick it off him.)

When you feel the blunt head of his cock nudging at your pussy, your entire body lights up in anticipation, nerve endings on fire, every inch of your body singing under Taehyung’s touch—and when he finally sinks in, it’s almost effortless. He’s thick and long but everything slides so easy; you gasp and he moans, both lost in how your body opens up for him, hot and wet. By the time he’s bottomed out you're a quivering mess, collapsed onto your elbows. You’re so full. You feel split open in all the best ways, wanting to draw him in impossibly deeper even so.

Taehyung is gripping your sides, hands unmoving even with the slick oil underneath them, fingers digging into your skin. He’s breathing so loud, and when you experimentally shift your hips, he bites back a noise that cuts through that breath.

“How’s it feel, love?” His words slur together in arousal, but the hand that strokes your back is slow, thoughtful. “Feel good?”

“Fuck me, Tae, baby, please,” you beg. It’s so, so so much, so good, amazing, hotter and bigger and harder than anything you’d let yourself imagine, your entire body taking Taehyung and holding him in, in, in. “Please, I need it, it feels good but I want more, please.”

When he pulls away it’s slow and torturous and he goes so far he almost slips out, cock nearly sliding out of your folds. You whine, a little shameless, mostly needy, but then—

The snap of his hips drives you forwards, towels shifting underneath as you scrabble for a hold on something. Each sharp motion of Taehyung’s body has you choking for air and letting out whimpers and gasps, drowned out by the slap of skin on skin; his hipbones meet the soft flesh of your ass, again and again, but all you can focus on is the thick heat of his cock inside you, in-out-in-out, the press of his balls against your clit, everything so wet and smooth and slick.

You can feel how you’re losing yourself to that heady place that’s golden bright with feeling, lust and sex, the rest of the world gone, unimportant. There’s nothing but this—Taehyung touching you, filling your body so well, so perfect, helping you chase that high that’s growing faster and faster, that precipice of pleasure that he’s going to throw you over again, intent on it.

One of his hands trails up your back, between that sensitive dip of your shoulder blades and into your hair, locks tangling with coconut oil before he urges you up. He doesn’t yank or pull but his hold is firm and you end up back on your hands, arms trembling as you try to keep your balance, back bowed, overwhelmed. 

“Baby,” he rasps. “Oh, you’re so tight n’ hot, so pretty, fuck. You feel so good, do you feel good?”

Your answer is almost a wail, so overcome with pleasure, sensation, the glide of his hands over your shining skin, the mix of oil and arousal that drips out of you, only getting wetter with each thrust of his hips into you. “So good, o-oh God, Tae, baby, fuck, oh, theretherethere—”

“Here?”

He punctuates this with a roll of his hips, using the hand still on your hip to pull you back onto his cock as he fills you up once more, throbbing heat. He bends over you, and this time, there’s nothing stopping the skin on skin contact, the slide of his chest against your back as he kisses the soft skin behind your ear, nipping at your lobe, and that’s it, you’re gone. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth falls open as another orgasm crashes through you, legs shaking as you cum around Taehyung’s cock, grinding back against him to drag out that pleasure; the only thing holding you up is the hand still in your hair, the lips trailing up the side of your bared neck, the hard cock inside you, keeping you against him, so many points of connection with Taehyung.

(His chest pressed against your back, heart beating so hard you can feel it, your own heart moving in tandem, matching him.)

He’s been whispering filth to you, heated praise and love, how good you feel, how beautiful you are, what it’s like to see you like this, touch you like this, have you like this. Lovely, pretty, perfect, gorgeous, hot n’ wet n’ tight, fuck, love, oh.

You’re still shivering, the final pulses of your orgasm curling through you with each unintentional shift of Taehyung’s hips, the drag of his length inside your inner walls. You can feel something dripping out of you; oil, cum, you don't know, but fuck, it feels so so good.

“Oh, God,” you say. Breathless. “Oh, Taehyung, oh.”

“Pretty darling,” he murmurs. He swivels his hips, grinding against you, and your entire body jolts with oversensitivity, clit swollen where his balls press against it. You tighten around him and groan at how hot and big he still feels inside, even as you still shiver from the come down of your second orgasm. “Gonna roll you over so I can see that perfect face.”

And when you’re on your back again, fucked out and mussed and wrecked, he just stares at you. You’ve watched his face for so long, seen so many expressions flit across his features, but never something like this—it’s a mix of amazement and awe and tenderness and lust and love, a lift to his brows and a spark in his eyes and a set to his lips.

And when he leans down to kiss you, that look doesn’t leave. It melts and softens around the edges as you catch each other's mouths, as you kiss and kiss, small tender things interspersed with longer, deeper touches, lips and teeth and tongue—his eyes darken and his mouth flushes darker pink, kiss swollen and so beautiful, but that expression stays. It stays for you. 

Kim Taehyung is beautiful and lovely and unique. Kim Taehyung is so far out of your reach it’s kind of stunning, actually. And yet, here you are, existence of his touch over every part of you, in every part of you, lust driven, love full; the carefully balanced weight of his body splayed over you, pinning you down, keeping you close.

“I wanna see you cum, Tae,” you say. “Please?”

And just like he always does, Taehyung indulges you, just like you indulge him. He presses back inside you, cunt opening up for him so easy, so smooth, like his touch has already been etched into the memory of your body, perfect for him. He stays pressed close, face so near as he rolls into each thrust, sweat and coconut oil painted across your skin as your bodies shift together.

He’s been covering you in his words, both heated and sweet, and now you return the favour. You tell him how good he feels, how beautiful he is, so good, so perfect, so considerate, how much you’ve wanted this. So good, so long and thick, oh, Tae, feels so good, ah-ah-ah, baby, you’re unreal, fuck.

You can see the exact moment he starts to reach his high, the way he sucks in air, the way he lifts his chin, starts to thrust a little harder, a little faster, chasing that thread of pleasure that’s spiralling through him, and you urge him on. You lift your hips and clench so tight it has him gasping, hips stuttering, and you press your nose against his jaw, saying give it to me give it to me give it to me, wanting him to feel the same pleasure he’s given you. 

When he pulls out, you’re too busy moving to pay attention to how empty you feel, settling between his legs and swallowing down his shining cock almost desperately. There’s no coconut. You can only taste yourself and when you lave your tongue across his slit it’s all Taehyung-Taehyung-Taehyung, hot and salt and bitter; he gasps and his hips jump and you take it all, lowering your head as far as you can, the head of his cock at the back of your throat before you pull up, dragging your tongue over the pulsing vein at the underside, messy and wet. You drink down the wetness of his cock, your own arousal, mixed with his, the precum that beads at his head, staring up at him, your hands sliding over the sheen of his stomach, his thighs, cupping his balls, everything slick with oil and sweat.

“Oh, God.” Taehyung’s eyes are blown and his hair is a mess and his mouth is wide open as he pants for air, watching. “Baby, baby, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum.”

You suck hard, dragging your lips up from the base of the cock to the rounded tip, swirling your tongue, bobbing your head faster—

“Oh, fuck—”

—and you swallow down each wave of cum, swallow down the way his cock twitches as he spills the evidence of pleasure into your mouth, swallow down the lovely noises that shudder out of him, watching him the whole time, never wanting to look away.

When you take your mouth off his softening cock, you draw a line of kisses with your mouth, up the soft skin of his body, stomach to chest to neck to mouth. He licks the taste of coconut oil off your lips, the taste of himself off your tongue; you curl up in his lap, settled against him, the apartment’s cool air even sharper against your skin, magnified by the oil that still lingers.

(Even without the oil painted across him, Taehyung would still shine, even under the weak light from the cheap lightbulb that hangs above you.)

You feel soft and warm and small in the circle of Taehyung’s arms, pulled close, and you can hear the words in his chest as he speaks, a resonance that touches against your skin.

“‘M sorry,” he murmurs. 

You pause.

“Baby, love, darling.” The endearments are sugar sweet in your mouth, soft against his skin before you pull back to look at him, confused, concerned. “Sorry for what?”

“I really—I really was just planning to do a massage, but you’re so…” 

You let out a slip of laughter. The room smells of coconut and sex, but when you lay your head against Taehyung’s collarbone all you can smell is the light tinge of his sweat. You breathe in, deep, like you can hold onto that ephemeral part of him. “Oh, Tae. I’m so what?”

“You’re so good,” he says. “So good and kind and lovely and—and so beautiful. I was going to do the massage to make you happy and then… tell you. About how happy you make me.”

You burrow your head into the hollow of his neck, the way he does to you, shy. “I’m not as beautiful as you,” you reply. “Tae, you are literally the most beautiful person alive, and—God, I’ve. I’ve been. So head over heels for you.”

There’s a pause. “Really?”

When you pull back to fix Taehyung with all the surprise in your gaze, you can see that he’s surprised, too. His hair hangs into his eyes, and he looks a little unsure, like he believes you, but finds it impossible to fathom.

You leave massage oil on his cheeks when you cup his face in your hands, staring at him with wide eyes. “Kim Taehyung, I have had daily breakdowns about the intensity of my love for you to Pickles ever since we got him. You’re the first person I think about each morning—usually because we wake each other up—and the last thing I think about at night—well, usually because you end up climbing into my bed more often than not, but, it still counts,” you say. You’re both tangled together in so many ways already. “You’ve had my heart for a long time, you know. I just never thought I had a chance?”

When Taehyung kisses you, it’s brief, a hard press of his lips before he rests his forehead against yours. “You really, really have no idea how perfect you are,” he murmurs. “I’ve wanted—I want to do everything for you to show you how grateful I am for everything you do for me.”

“You don’t have to,” you protest, but he just smiles.

“I don’t have to, but I want to,” he says. “Like you don’t have to look after me, but you do.”

“That’s because I love you,” you say. “Like, capital L love you.”

You’ve been so afraid of confessing, so convinced that it was an unattainable dream; that Kim Taehyung would never, could never, has never seen you as more than a friend. But the way he’s looking at you now, the way he’s touched you, the way your body still echoes with the feeling of him inside you: you’re not scared, any more. You don’t need to be.

Taehyung’s eyes are so dark and warm when he replies, easy and effortless. “I love you, too.”

Your relationship has always been a give and take, is the thing. When you climb in the shower together, he washes the oil from your back while you massage shampoo into his scalp, laughing when he makes devil horns in his hair. He catches you by surprise when he presses you against the tiles, swallowing your moans when he coaxes one final orgasm from your tired body, rubbing tight circles over your clit as you buck against his hand and water cascades over you both. His cock hardens in your hands, sliding between your legs when you press them together, tight-tight-tight, his length rubbing against your cunt as he fucks your thighs until he’s moaning and shaking and cumming again.

(The water’s cold by the time you finally climb out, but that’s okay. You giggle and kiss as you dry yourselves, each other, excuses to keep touching and feeling, driven by affection, not lust.)

When you’re both clean, and dry, Taehyung’s leg thrown over your hip as he tugs you in, flush with his body under the covers, you press your lips against the line of his jaw.

“Taehyung?”

“Yes, angel?”

You smile and hunch up even closer to him, scrunching yourself up as small as you can to plaster yourself against his side. “Thank you for the wonderful massage. Definitely the best massage I’ve ever been given, ten out of ten, would do again.”

Taehyung laughs, pressing his rectangular smile into the kiss he lays against your lips, and you think that nothing tastes better than the happiness curling his mouth.

“Love you,” he murmurs. Always romantic. “I love you love you love you.”

“Tae-honey-hyung.” And it feels so nice to not have to filter your words, to bite back that second layer of meaning, to try and keep things platonic and chaste when you speak. “I love you.”

And it feels so nice to have your Taehyung beside you, your body still aching with the press of him inside you, a good ache, a nice ache. A physical ache from good love, rather than a heartache from a love you didn’t think was reciprocated. But it is, somehow, each of you so bowled over by each other.

--

(“Hey, Pickles.”

The bearded dragon looks up at you, placid as he lounges in his tank.

“Well, you’ll be happy to hear that you won’t have to put up with me ranting at you any more,” you say. “Taehyung did break out the massage oil but it’s all good. I didn’t spontaneously combust or anything, like I thought I would.”

Pickles’ tongue flicks out as he shifts, and you smile.

“Okay, that’s it, I’m done,” you finish. “Thanks, Pickles. You’re a real pal.”

Taehyung nuzzles into your neck. His arms are a tight circle around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he looks down at the reptile, too. He’s warm and solid against your back, and you lean into him, happiness tingling through you.

“I wonder how much longer we would have taken if you didn’t get that coupon for a massage therapy course,” you muse, and Taehyung chuckles, warm and lovely.

“We would have gotten there eventually. And we would have had each other until we did, anyway. Right, angel?”

Pickles stays quiet as you both kiss, but you can tell he approves.)

--

taglist: @beyoncesdragon​

#magicshopnet #btswritingcafe #taehyung smut #taehyung oneshot #taehyung x reader #bts #bts smut #v smut #v oneshot #v x reader #taehyung #taehyung fluff #bts oneshot #kim taehyung #taehyung imagine #taehyung scenario #bts fic #bts fanfic #joy.masterlist

[frenchpuppycormier]

fluff 10 and/or 11 + supercorp for the sentence starters pls 💞

"Are we on a date right now?" / "I think I'm in love with you."

—

Saturday signals the best day in Kara's book for one simple reason: the farmers market. It's the perfect place to buy fresh produce directly from the grower at a lower price than those pesky retailers. Not to mention, it's fresher and it's a great way to support local communities.

Kara enjoys it most in the early morning between 8 and 9 when the California heat hasn't bombarded its citizens yet. One of her favorite memories of going to the market was when she first arrived on earth, and Eliza and Alex took her to the one in Midvale. Eliza bought her the sweetest miniature doughnuts which practically melted in her mouth. She's been a huge (understatement of the year) fan ever since.

The farmers market is located 20 blocks from her apartment, just a short jaunt or flight for the hero.

Today she decides to walk and enjoy the nice cool breeze, and the warm sun spilling on her face. She can already hear the acoustics of a folk band covering a Fleetwood Mac song at the end of main street. The leaves are starting to change, indicating the beginning of fall, and the ones already on the ground crunch beneath her feet.

Her reusable cloth bag with the words, "Okey Dokey Artichokey" and a cartoon artichoke with a smiley face and tiny stick arms, is slung over her shoulder. Lena had given it to her as a gag gift, but Kara uses it the most out of all her bags. Any gift from Lena is special and she will always treasure it.

As she rounds the corner to the market, she sneaks another look at her list to remind herself what she needs, when she bumps into someone. Hard. Fortunately, Kara manages to grab the other person's arm before they fall.

"Oh my gosh," Kara cringes. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was—" she interrupts herself when she sees, "Lena?"

"Hey there, slick," Lena laughs and nudges the hand latched on her arm to tangle with her fingers.

Kara responds by swinging their arms back and forth, like what friends do when they haven't seen each other in months. But Kara and Lena just saw each other yesterday. This is normal, right? Kara thinks. The fluttering in my chest is completely common whenever I see my friends....Right?

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Kara speaks before her brain can catch up with her.

Lena's face lights up with a sly grin. "Can't a woman go to the market every once in a while?"

"N-no no, of course you can," Kara laughs awkwardly, "I meant, gosh I'm not sure...I guess I just didn't expect to see you here. You live all the way on the other side of town."

"Relax, love," she chuckles and squeezes her hand and releases it, Kara immediately missing the warmth. "I'm teasing you. But to answer your question, I'm in desperate need of fresh kale, and I heard this particular stand has the best in the city."

Kara feigns gagging and Lena playfully shoves her shoulder. “I still don’t understand how you can eat that stuff.”

“Who knew the green stuff that incapacitates you was kale.”

“More like your eyes,” Kara mumbles.

“What was that?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “N-nothing,” she rubs the back of her neck. “Um, so….do you care if I join you? Wandering aimlessly through the market checking out food stands with my best friend sounds like the perfect way to spend my Saturday morning.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Lena replies, smiling brightly.

—

“Oooh, look! A food truck!” Kara points.

Lena laughs at her zeal. “Let’s see what they have.”

Kara reaches for her hand and twines their fingers together before dragging her toward the truck. Lena’s stomach swoops at the action, but she calms herself down enough so Kara doesn’t notice her rapid heartbeat. Not that she would, considering food is the best distraction when it comes to the blonde.

Little does Lena know that nothing can distract Kara from Lena, especially considering 98% of the time Kara is listening to the constant thumps and quivers of Lena’s heart, but Kara doesn’t say anything.

Kara looks up at the man in the truck and politely rattles off her order, then looks at Lena and asks, “What do you want?”

“Um,” Lena quickly glances at the menu and says, “I’ll have the Avo Smash, please.” She moves to hand the man cash, but Kara stops her and insists she'll pay for it. "My treat."

Once they give their order they move to the side and wait until their names are called.

When they get their food they move to a shady spot on the sidewalk and admire how delicious it looks.

“What’s that?” Kara asks.

“Oh, it’s a piece of toast with smashed avocado, egg, and tomato,” Lena replies, noticing how Kara turns up her nose. Lena rolls her eyes and gestures at her hands, “What’d you get?”

"Uh, only the most scrumptious and melt in your mouth-watering food you can get here," she replies, eyebrows pinched, incredulously. Lena raises her eyebrows in a get-on-with-it kind of way. "French toast bites," Kara finishes, exasperated at Lena's lack of enthusiasm.

"Sweet food for a sweet girl."

Kara's cheeks grow a slight pink. Instead of replying, she dips a piece of her toast in the syrup, and shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Lena simply hums and takes a bit of her own food. Kara smiles like a chipmunk with cheeks full of goodies.

When Lena's finished with her slice of hipster toast, as Kara calls it, a small body runs into her legs from behind. She looks down and finds a small boy with sandy blonde hair and big, blue eyes looking up at her with a toothy grin.

"Hi, there," she smiles at him.

"Henry!" a woman in a flowy maxi dress and brown sandals comes running toward them. She picks him up and gives him a stern look. "I told you not to run off like that!" The woman adjusts him on her hip and shyly realizes she has an audience. "I'm so sorry! He gets too excited about their french toast."

"Oh, no worries," Lena reassures her. She carefully grabs Kara's elbow and says, "This one does too."

Kara acts hurt by placing a hand over her heart. "Well, can you blame me? They're delicious! Aren't they?" she smiles at the boy and waves. He giggles and hides his face in his mother's neck. "Someone's a little shy, huh?"

"He is, isn't he?" the mom kisses his cheek. "I think he has a little crush on you."

"Who, me?" Kara laughs. "No, I think he has eyes for Lena. As most people do." She steps forward and tickles his stomach so he looks at her. Kara holds out her hand for a high five and whispers, "Good choice." He gratefully slaps her hand.

When Kara steps back, Lena is blushing, but rather than call her out on it she ignores it out of respect. Kara smiles at her and Lena smiles back, but then she's suddenly laughing through her nose.

"Darling, you have a little," she gestures at her own face.

"What? I have something on my face?" Kara touches her cheek, but completely misses.

"Here," Lena's fingers tenderly touch the side of her jaw while her thumb swipes her lip. Lena's completely focused on what she's doing, but Kara only has eyes for Lena.

Lena pulls back her hand, thumb now sticky with syrup. Instead of wiping it on the napkin Kara knows Lena has in her bag, she sticks it between her lips and licks it clean.

Kara completely stops breathing.

"How long have you two been together?" a voice snaps her out of her reverie.

Kara gapes at her with wide eyes and stutters, "Um...we, we're uh, just friends."

"Oh," the woman almost looks upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. Well, I'll let you get back to your morning." She smiles at them and walks away, leaving a flabbergasted Kara and quiet Lena.

They don't say anything and choose to ignore it while they continue down the street.

—

"Lena, you have to try this," Kara doesn't give her a chance to respond before shoving a spoonful of gelato in Lena's mouth.

Lena gasps and nearly chokes on the ice cold dessert enveloping her tastebuds. She hisses and nods, as she lifts her hand to hastily catch the dribbles of melted chocolate trickling down her chin. Kara winces, "I'm so sorry!"

"No," Lena shakes her head as she swallows, "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Well? How was it?"

"Y'know, I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty fucking delicious."

"Right? Marco really knows his stuff."

"Um," Lena holds her hand out, fingers spread apart to prevent more sticking, and shakes it like she doesn't know what to do.

Kara jumps to action and runs off. She's back in two seconds with a wet wipe and cleans Lena's hand. "Where'd you find that?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay?" Lena laughs breathily. "You're a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, Ms. Danvers."

"I aim to confuse," she jokes.

Lena shakes her head, and eventually says, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Kara smiles at her, their eyes locked onto each other. She's finished cleaning her hand, but rather than letting go, her hand stays curled around Lena's, not wanting to ruin the moment.

—

“Oh Rao, you didn’t,” Kara gasps.

Lena turns around and frowns at her. “What?” Kara gestures to Lena’s bag. Lena looks down and chuckles when she realizes what she’s talking about. “In my defense, I was drunk. You know how my shopping brain acts when I’m drunk; I buy things I don’t need.”

“Hmmm, well maybe your alcohol-addled brain just remembered how funny I thought it was and wanted to impress me,” Kara teases with a twitch of her eyebrow.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” Lena deadpans. She glanced at the words on her bag again and fondly shakes her head. It reads: Oh Kale Yeah, with a bunch of kale on both sides.

“I think so,” Kara steps closer and smiles.

“Oh, really?” Lena raises her eyebrows.

“Yep,” she ends with an extra pop of the ‘p’ and boops her on the nose.

Lena opens her mouth in surprise, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but a voice interrupts her from in front of them.

“You two are such a lovely couple,” the vendor gushes.

Lena and Kara startle, forgetting they’re standing right in front of a stand selling various vegetables and fruits and jars of honey. Behind the table is an older woman, most likely in her late 70s, with streaks of gray hair, crinkly eyes and facial lines as if she’s smiled her whole life.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Kara answers, smiling bashfully. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, “I’ll take one bunch of radishes and one spaghetti squash.”

“Coming right up,” the woman replies.

Kara glances over at Lena and gives her a shy smile, before handing the woman a $10 bill and thanking her. She grabs the veggies and carefully drops them in her bag.

“Thank you two, have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, you too!” Kara places her hand on the small of Lena’s back and guides her forward.

As they make their way to the next stand, Kara laughs, remembering their conversation, “I can’t believe you bought that bag. You’re such a giant dork.”

Lena whips around and eyes Kara curiously. Kara’s hand shifts from her back to loosely rest on her waist. Lena’s eyes are squinting from the bright sun, but Kara can see the speckles of gold in them and thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Are we on a date right now?”

Kara's heart quickens and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, until finally she clears her throat, "Did you want it to be?"

"I thought—”

"Because I do," Kara states. "Want it to be a date. But only if you do, of course. I don't want you to feel pressured or like I forced you to hang out with me," she retracts her hand. "That's the last thing I—”

Lena grabs her hand as she pulls it way, not wanting Kara to close herself off. "Hey, I want this just as much as you do."

"Really?"

Lena lightly presses her thumb into the grooves of Kara's knuckles, and absentmindedly plays with them. She smiles, fully dimpled, and says, "I do. Actually, I uh..." she lowers their connected hands and looks off into the distance, mind seemingly elsewhere.

"What is it?" Kara asks. She playfully shakes their arms back and forth to get her attention.

Lena looks at the ground before completely focusing on Kara and those baby blues she's come to know and love. She takes a deep breath and her voice shakes when she whispers, "I think I'm in love with you..." Lena stumbles and shakes her head, "No—I am in love with you."

Kara inhales sharply and Lena thinks she's made a giant mistake. She starts to turn and do something stupid, like run away, but Kara keeps her hold on her and pulls her forward.

Smiling, Kara slowly inches closer leaving the opportunity for Lena to stop her. When Kara's lips press into hers she welcomes it completely. Kara's hands come up to cup Lena's jaw until she moves one to tangle in her hair.

Kara disconnects from her lips, but stays wrapped up in her, their foreheads touching. "I'm in love with you, too," she whispers against soft lips.

"Good," Lena smiles and kisses her again.

#this became longer than I imagined #supercorp #supercorp fic #thanks for the request dani #<3

[maibi]

Consideration

Gojo Satoru x reader

Summary: A joke you played on Gojo kinda backfired. But was it really backfire or something you didn’t mind happening.. ;)

A/N: this turned out longer than I had expected. ANYWAYS I enjoyed writing this one ngl:)

——————————————————————————

Gojo was by far one of the most annoying people you have met, but sadly at the same time he is one of your closest friends. He’d always joke around and never really took anything serious. You would be training the 2nd years on the field and he would just be playing around with his first year students. You didn’t mind that he went easy on the first years, but he just left all the extra hard work over to you once they were in their second year. Which naturally made him more annoying to you. For a 28 year old he sure doesn't act his age. 

“What if you just went on a date with me?”, Gojo said as you were walking to your room, the one you stayed in at school. It was a much cheaper solution, so you didn’t mind it much. Plus you got to spend more time with your students and... other colleagues.

“What about no?”, you said as you stopped in front of your door. 

“AAAAH SENSEI THAT HURTS”, Gojo said as he clutched his heart over dramatically. 

“I’m not your sensei”, you answered back at him.

“I mean you could be”, he answered with a wink.

“How about no”, you said as you opened your door. “I am just your colleague.”

“Did I really just get colleague-zoned?”, he said as he wiped away a fake tear making you roll your eyes.

He was always like this. He’d joke around about liking you and didn't’ even conceal the fact about wanting to be in a relationship. But it had been like this since forever and you were so adapted to all the rejecting you did, that it always happened naturally now. He’d go “I like you a lot so let’s go on a date” and you would just shut him down in various ways. 

Of course there were times he’d make you blush or make your heart beat a little faster than normally, but you never really took his words into consideration. For example a certain situation that made your heart beat faster:

“Not gonna lie, You look really stunning this evening”, he said as he accompanied you on an evening party between all the teachers from Tokyo and Kyoto Jujustu High. 

He had reached out his hand for you to take because that was the kind of guy he was. He didn’t care about how he presented himself in public, so looking like his partner or not was not one of his concerns. So you just didn’t see a problem with it and took his hand as he locked both of your arms.

“Why thank you sir Satoru”, you said as you played along with him. “Though I have to say it feels a little too tight.”

“I think it accentuates your body perfectly”, he said with a wink. “Shall we go inside?”, he said back as your face was probably flushed red. With a nod the both of you went inside the building. 

It had been a peaceful night until a man wouldn’t stop bothering you. He was probably a teacher from Kyoto High so you didn’t want to sound rude, but you really did not enjoy the way he was bothering you. 

To your luck, Gojo had been watching the whole scene and couldn’t hold his chill. He walked up to you and linked your arms again. “I will be walking this person outside, if you have no business left with them you can gladly leave”, he said with a serious expression, boring a whole in the man’s face with his look. 

He pulled you with him to the exit and you just went along. “Maybe we should tell the rest that we’re leaving”, you hesitantly said. 

“It’s alright I'll let someone know we left”, he said.

“Not to be rude, but if we leave so abruptly together they might think wrongly...” You didn’t want to finish that sentence because he’d either act hurt and make jokes out of it or he’d be actually hurt and try not to show it.

You heard him sigh. “I’ll tell them you felt sick and that I sent you with a taxi. Don’t worry about it”, he said in a low voice. 

You weren’t gonna lie that that moment had made your heart beat faster, but you couldn’t tell him that. It felt weird to admit that to a person you have been rejecting for over years now. It’s not like you would feel like this constantly, so you didn’t mind it much. But little did you know... It wasn’t just a temporary feeling.

“You should check on your students, they’re still outside in the rain because of your punishment”, you said snapping back to reality. 

“Ah that’s alright, I gave Megumi the lead. He made sure all three of em went inside before it started raining. All so that I could have some alone time with you", he winked again.

“Then why are only Nobara and Yuuji outside?”, you asked as you pointed at your window. They weren’t, but you just wanted him to shut up and leave, so that was your solution. 

His eyes widened and he just sprinted in the directions of the stairs. He took it very serious when his students got sick, because he needed all of the time he got to teach his students. You always made fun of his way of teaching, but in the end the students always turned out to be strong. You didn’t ever really admit is, but he was a good teacher and in some way you looked up to him. Though that piece of information was not for him to know. He had a dream, and his students were helping him achieve it.

“Ooooh y/n sensei, you didn’t sleep yet?” It was Itadori who came walking in your direction. “I was looking for Gojo sensei, but I can’t find him anywhere.”

“Oh I sent him outside to look for you guys, because I told him Megumi left you and Nobara outside in the rain”, you said.

He looked visibly confused and looked his own body up and down. “But I'm right here?”

“Exactly”, you said as you winked and pointed a finger gun at him. 

His eyes widened and he started laughing. “Sensei that’s so cruel!”

“I have to do what I have to do in order for him to leave me alone sometimes”, you said with a sigh.

“Is Gojo sensei that bad towards you then?”, Yuuji asked.

“Ah Yuuji you’re making me seem like the bad guy here. But no, he actually isn’t all that bad. But he just doesn’t know about the word private space sometimes”, you said reassuring the teenager. 

“oh no I didn’t want to make you feel bad about your words”, he worriedly said as he shook his head. “I just know how Fushiguro gets annoyed easily, so I thought it might have been the same for you. Oh Gojo sensei!”

You turned your head to the side and saw Gojo walking in your direction as Itadori waved frantically, but it faded more and more as Gojo walked closer. He was completely drenched and he held his eye mask in his hands. He looked pissed, or more annoyed. 

“Yuuji could you leave me alone with y/n sensei”, he said not looking up.

“y/n sensei is this alright”, Yuuji whispered.

“It’s alright Yuuji, don’t worry about it. Just make sure you don’t stay around here, okey?”, you said with a smile and a nod to reassure him.

“Okey”, he said with a worried expression as he left anyways. 

You waited till You didn’t see Itadori anymore. You walked inside your room and Gojo just walked right in after you. You didn’t have the time to close the door as he just pinned you against it, making the push close the door. You were taken aback and Gojo just stared at you. You couldn’t read his expression at all. 

“Listen, I play and joke around a lot I know. But making me worry about my students’ health isn’t one of the things I can joke around with”, he said.

“What is it Gojo, did I push the wrong button?”, you said back, not giving a sign of being intimidated by him. 

“Don’t go playing all big and mighty now”, he said in an almost whisper, inching closer to your face.

Your heart was beating in your chest, but you didn’t give in. “What are you gonna do about it?”, you said also inching closer, leaving almost no space between your faces.

That was his sign. That was all he needed as confirmation so he just held you neck and pulled you in, closing the space that was left between the two of you. you synced with his movements and he barely gave you a moment to breath.

He pulled back and looked you straight in the eyes. “I’m not joking around with you, I'm serious. I am ready to give you my all, I hope you realized that by now. I know you feel the same way and I'll give you as much time as you need. But don’t make me waste my time. So if you want me just tell me and I'll give you all the space you need after that”, he said with no hint of sarcasm. 

“Who said I wanted space?”, you said with a smug smile. “Why would i want space when I can take you right now Gojo Satoru”, you said in a whisper with a smug smile. 

He liked that side of you. That playful side of you that appears once in a while. It turned him on, it made him imagine things he shouldn’t and you knew you had that impact on him. Because in the end he never showed any effort in concealing his true feelings so figuring him out wasn’t as hard as you sometimes thought it would. 

He smiled back at you and raised his eyebrows. “Guess chasing after you was really worth it huh?”

You pulled him back in for a kiss and this one was more passionate than the other. You pulled him closer, you deepened the kiss and he did everything in his power to not squish you against the door. Your hand moved to his damp hair and you tugged at it lightly. He moved his head to your ear and trailed down kisses to your shoulder. 

His hand moved to the lock of the door and you heard it click. You turned your head slightly that you had a good view on his face. He was smirking and you rolled your eyes at him in a playful way.

“Let’s see how good you keep your word when saying you can take me right now”, he said.

“I can’t back down now, can I”, you smugly answered.

With a breathy laugh he brought his face back to yours. “where were we”, he said in a whisper.

“Here”, you said and you pulled him back in for a kiss. 

It was quite obvious from the start that you and Gojo would end up like this. You couldn’t deny your feelings forever and Gojo was one hell of a pain in the ass to keep on reminding you that you had no escape from him. Not that you wanted that. But like said before, he didn’t need to know that piece of information. Some things were better left off not said, because in the end Gojo Satoru is one hell of a cocky person, but that was one thing you adored so much about him. And let’s not forget, you were in love with him and there was no denying that either. 

#gojo satoru #gojou smut #saturo gojou #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen gojo #gojo imagine #gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #itadori yuuji #sukuna #megumi fushiguro #kugisaki nobara

[hrwinter]

Lena placing a pair of glasses on a pillow and making out with it pretending it’s Kara

Lena’s not always this drunk. Well. Lena hasn’t historically imbibed this much after the age of 26, but her mother’s been arrested and her best friend is a liar, so what else is there to do other than look for an answer at the bottom of a very large bottle of scotch.

She’s been to three upscale bars and restaurants with Andrea, both of them reverting to their messy boarding school days almost instantaneously after the third glass, giggling in the corner and overtly hitting on men and women by sending them pretentious $24 cocktails.

But there’s still a dark streak in all the buffoonery. Lena can’t stop searching for blue eyes on the face of every blonde or broad shoulders under the lapels of every Armani jacket. She hates herself for it. And she hates Kara Danvers. Or Kara Zor-El, whatever the fuck.

Lena is pissed.

She takes another moody sip of scotch while some stock broker continues to shoot his shot (why do they all talk the same? why do they all feel the need to explain how money works to her, a billionaire?) and Andrea’s laughing and laughing at a woman far too loudly, her finger tips sloshing the edge of a martini she absolutely doesn’t need. While the man goes on about blue chip stocks, earnings per share, dividends (kill her), Lena’s eyeing the restroom.

No one would miss her if she ducked out. She could have a car here in minutes. Hell, Andrea would probably appreciate the attention of both parties at the same time. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d finagled a twosome into a threesome.

But that means going home. It means gazing at the dark sky from the cold enclave of her penthouse balcony. It means seeing the downturned photo frame, glass smashed, but still not thrown away.

God damn Kara. She stays.

She doesn’t go home with the man, and Andrea doesn’t go home with the woman. They don’t all go home together. But she and Andrea do go to another bar, and after that, an after hours bar. Then, by some misfortune of a higher power, they end up at a bratwurst stand at 4 AM with a horde of college kids. College children.

“Someone threw up just there,” Lena points at the pavement.

“Oh, don’t be such a snob!” Andrea shrieks into the night, grasping at Lena’s elbow and toying with a necklace Lena knows to cost more than a tricked out Vespa. Lena may be glassy-eyed, there may even be two of Andrea, but she can still spot irony.

“I’m starving. And I haven’t had one of these in yeaaarrrsss,” Andrea elongates as they move up a few paces in line. “Remember when we’d sneak into town and grift old men for drinks? That hot dog stand just outside of Hawthorne’s? I’ve been desperate for one.”

Lena wants to complain more, but it does smell good. And by the time they have bratwursts fisted in hand and are leaning against a nearby brick wall with the rest of the infants, Lena’s not feeling all that bad. It might be the best thing she’s ever tasted in her life. God, this might be the best she’s ever felt in her life. Numb, blitzed out of her mind, somewhere closer to nineteen sheets to the wind than three, she’s no longer a Luthor, no longer a simpering fool to a Super’s lies, not a CEO or a disappointment or even a person. She’s just a presence existing on this curb, eating a bratwurst.

“I’m having an out of body experience,” she tells Andrea with half her mouth full and still swallowing.

“That good, huh?” Andrea has mustard on her chin.

“I want another.”

Lena glances up, and her visions tunnels. Her existence is whittled down even further, to its basest instinct. She’s become the singular pursuit of a thousand more calories, of another bratwurst. Lena surges into the street, the stand a beacon of light in the darkness.

But several things happen at once. There’s a screech of tires, the smash of metal, what feels like getting hit with a brick wall and then being shot out of a circus canon.

Lena finds herself throwing up on the pavement on the other side of the road, and Kara fucking Danvers yelling at a motorist. The guy has gotten out of his car, hood dented and engine smoking.

“You smashed my car!”

“You almost hit a woman! You could’ve killed her!”

“She just bolted into the street, that’s not my fault!”

“PEDESTRIANS HAVE THE RIGHT OF WAY!” Kara shouts back.

“Hey!” Lena slurs, having regained her dignity by wiping her mouth clean of vomit. It’s called class.

Both the guy and Kara turn to look at her, but her eyes are trained on Kara.

“I don’t need your help,” she tells her with a point of her finger.

This feels very witty. The pinnacle of sass. So what if she’s lost a heel at some point and may have missed a bit of vomit in her hair. She’s the one in control.

The guy’s eyes narrow.

“Are you blind or something? Didn’t your mom teach you to look both ways before you walk into the street?”

At the mention of Lena’s mother, her eyes narrow, she sways dangerously.

“You’re fired.”

“What?” the guy rolls his eyes. “I don’t have time for this.” He whips out his cell phone. “You’ve got insurance right?”

“Um, yeah,” Kara hands him a card, but she’s quick to come to Lena’s side, to place a steadying hand on her shoulder. Lena tries to wiggle away from it like a petulant child.

“Stop it!”

Kara ignores her.

“Lena, I didn’t want to say it around him,” Kara cups a blocking hand over her mouth and points at the guy so he can’t see.

It’s so adorable and infuriating.

She stage whispers, “But you were jaywalking! And you could’ve been hit by a car. What’re you even doing out here?”

Lena rolls her eyes so hard, she might’ve just incurred permanent damage.

“I’m an adult, Supergirl, and I don’t need an escort--”

Lena’s very mature tirade is interrupted by Andrea crossing the street, mouth still wide open and staring. The look she’s giving Kara is distinctly not platonic, and the look she’s giving Lena is one of deepest intrigue. Her eyes scan the pair of them, their body language, the way Kara’s hand is still on Lena’s shoulder (hadn’t she shaken that off?), and smirks.

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?”

Lena could kill her.

“Be quiet, Drea!”

Andrea dissolves into snorts, and Kara glances between the two of them, a look of recognition passing over her face. Now Lena wants to hurl herself into traffic for real.

Kara opens her mouth to speak, but Lena waves a hand in front of her nose.

“Just--everyone shut up and take me home.”

And the route Lena wants to be taken home is clear when she swats at Kara’s (firm) bicep (to push her away, of course), and that swat accidentally turns into a posessive squeeze.

“Oh, can I come, too?” Andrea purrs, and Kara’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“No!” Lena barks at her.

“Fine, fine! Call me tomorrow!” Andrea waves, and like some sort of rich superpower, she’s already getting into the back of a sleek black car.

“Okay, Lena,” Kara hushes against her head. It’s too soft and caring, and Lena wants to push her away. But she doesn’t. (Mainly because standing is feeling like quite a complex task, and she doesn’t have the balance for it.)

“This’ll only take a second.” 

Then, Lena’s wrapped in a warm and solid embrace. It’s nice... before everything blurs, and she has the distinct desire to vomit again.

She never wants another bratwurst.

In the very next moment, she’s being gingerly placed on her balcony, and Lena’s surging out of Kara’s grasp and pressing her face against the cold glass of her balcony sliding door. It feels amazing, calming her stomach down by degrees.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh,” Lena says. Maybe she’d been doing that for a bit too long.

She runs her hands over the glass in an attempt to open the door, heavily petting various keypads and biometric scanners. Nothing happens. She scratches at the glass like a raccoon desperate to be inside.

“Um, isn’t it over there?” Kara indicates a different keypad to the left.

“I don’t need your help!” Lena shouts before following her instructions exactly. The door opens. She grumbles inside.

Unaware and uncaring, Lena starts undressing in her living room the very moment she’s crossed the threshhold, discarding her shirt, her skirt this way and that. There’s a gasp behind her and another suspicious super speeding sound, but she ignores Kara. She paces into her bedroom to strip off her bra and grab an oversized shirt. After, she spread eagles on her bed.

“I, um, brought you a glass of water.”

Lena cracks an eye open, takes in the sight of Kara standing at her bedside, nervous and uncertain, glass of water extended between them like some sort of peace offering.

She groans loudly and sits up to snatch it from her, water sloshing onto her bare legs. She doesn’t register it, draining it dry, glaring at Kara over the edge of the glass the entire time.

The Super pulls at her fingers.

“What’re you doing here?” Lena rasps, rolling the empty glass onto her exquisite and overpriced comforter.

“You were in trouble, Lena.”

“You don’t care about me.”

“Yes, I do.”

Lena scoffs, completely undignified, a sound appropriate for an elementary school playground. She does it again because it feels good. Kara’s eyebrows pinch.

Lena swivels at the waist and plucks her reading glasses off her bedside table. She places them over one of her giant, California King-sized pillows.

“Oh, Kara, there you are!” she says, squeezing it’s sides together like she’s cupping its cheeks. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you in a pair of glasses!”

Kara’s brows furrow deeper, not amused.

“How did I not see that the kindness, the sincerity, the insistence that I was not just another Luthor was a total act!” she continues to talk to it.

“It wasn’t an act--”

Lena brings the pillow close in her arms.

“Stopping by to bring me lunch, complimentary puff pieces, spin class, game nights. You’re so sweeeeeet,” she elongates, squeezing the pillow tight. “And beautiful. You know what you deserve? A kiss.”

Surely, this bit has spiraled out of Lena’s control. This entire night has. And were she sober enough to realize it, she’d catch herself before this next part. But she’s not and she’s wasted. And this pillow is the Kara she used to know, the Kara Lena used to pine for unconditionally, fantasizing what it might be like to just, lean over and...

She loses her balance as she places a wet one just under the glasses of her pillowcase and falls over on top of it. Incidentally, it’s the perfect size for snuggling, just like Kara herself, and her eyes flutter closed, warm and content.

“I’ll--I’ll go,” she hears a voice say.

“Kara?” Lena mumbles, face down in her pillow and not long for this world.

“Yeah?”

“I lo--I mean, I hate you.”

Kara sighs.

“I love you too, Lena.”

#supercorp #hr's askhole #tumblr prompt #ficlet #god i was like #thisll be short #1800 words later #pillowcorp endgame

[nev3rfound]

someone i once knew : b.b - p.4

with Fury denying Bucky the chance to stay to monitor you, he and the rest of the avengers are forced to go on a mission leaving you alone. if only they new the dire consequences that decision would enforce. (2.3k)

(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)

masterlist / permanent taglist 

 - i also have an etsy shop and will be releasing wandavision themed items real soon! - 

(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)

PART ONE . PART TWO . PART THREE . PART FOUR . PART FIVE . PART SIX

(also thank you again and again for the love and excitement for this series - i am loving the writing process and there are now two chapters left!) 

“Look, you’re all going, no excuses.” Fury states as he stands before the Avengers all sat around the conference table with furrowed brows.

Bucky sighs to himself, thinking about you sat down in that lab alone, still unsure of what is even happening like everyone else.

“But Sir,” Steve speaks up, all eyes turn to him as Fury raises a brow as to whom is questioning him. “Y/n isn’t just someone, she needs protecting.” He reasons, but Fury exhales deeply.

“Mr Rogers, let me make this clear,” Fury steps forward. “I don’t give a damn.”

“You should.” Bucky mutters under his breath as his arms remain crossed over his chest, barely able to stop his leg from bouncing up and down.

“What was that, Sargent?” Fury quips.

Lifting his head, Bucky coldly stares at Fury, ignoring Steve’s silent pleas for him to back down. “You should care who she is, as she matters to me.” Bucky bluntly states.

“As I said, Sargent, I don’t give a damn.” Fury reiterates his point. “Stark hired her, she went through every background check there is. She’s perfectly fine here, do I make myself clear?”

No one dares to speak up as Fury turns his attention to Maria Hill standing beside him.

“Get the jet ready, they can finish briefing on the way.” Fury tells Hill.

Maria nods as she places her earpiece back on. “Yes, Sir.” She walks out of the room and Fury follows.

“We can talk more about this situation when you return.” Fury comments before exiting the room, leaving the team sat in tense silence as the thought of you lingers on all their minds.

“So that’s it?” Sam asks as Tony rises to his feet, not daring to look up at Bucky or Steve.

“You heard Fury, we’ve got a job to do.” Tony explains, knowing there’s no use trying to argue any further. “Come on, the sooner we go the sooner we can get back.”

*

Sitting in the lab, you wish someone was around to keep you company. The last time you had any form of communication was with Bruce before he left last night for a mission with the rest of the team.

All you can hear were his lasting words of advice; "Don't leave this room."

You were bored out of your mind, stuck in the confined space surrounded by cameras and monitors as you remain hooked up to various machines; yet no one will explain what they all do or what is exactly happening to you.

“Hey, FRIDAY?” You call out, desperate for something to do as you lean against the glass wall, flexing your feet.

“Yes, Ms Y/l/n, how can I help?” FRIDAY asks and you exhale deeply, what can an AI do to provide any assistance whilst her creator is keeping you trapped in a lab?

“Any chance Tony mentioned my dinner plans?” You chuckle, having all the facilities beside a kitchen at your disposal.

“I’ll arrange for dinner to be provided by an Agent, Ms Y/l/n.” FRIDAY responds, and you nod to yourself, sliding down against the glass as you lie flat on your back.

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” You mutter. “God, I’ve truly lost it, talking to an AI for company.” You groan, covering your eyes.

It has been a few days since you had a ‘memory’ or a snippet of one. It’s as if your brain has gone dormant the moment someone finally was willing to listen and provide help.

Yet, your mind always ends up wandering back to the ever-present thought of Bucky Barnes. You’ll never forget the way he screamed your name before he was forced to the ground, thrown out of sight from your point of view. There was something about him, the way he looked at you with so much pain lingering in his eyes, even when you first met him.

“Come on, seriously where are we going?” You giggle, following behind James as his hand remains in yours, guiding you out from the bar filled with soldiers.

Glancing over his shoulder, Bucky smirks at his best girl, still amazed that you’ve stuck with him through all this. “Somewhere special.” He tells you, quickly turning to kiss you sweetly before carrying on.

After walking for around ten minutes, Bucky guides you toward the old hall you used to go to during dances.

“This is somewhere special, huh?” You joke, resting your hands on your hips as Bucky fiddles with the lock, tearing it off with ease much to your surprise.

Releasing the chains, Bucky pulls the door open and motions for you to walk inside. Without hesitation, you quickly slip in as Bucky follows behind.

Your footsteps echo in the empty space, having barely been used for months since the war worsened. There are still banners from the last dance you attended with Bucky, dust lining the stage and the various blown out bulbs.

Bucky hovers near the entrance of the dim hall as the moonlight shines through the broken roof, illuminating your figure as you look around. He tries to ignore the screams that ring through his mind, the horror he witnessed mere weeks ago.

“James?” Your voice brings him back to reality as your hand cups his cheek. “It’s okay, you’re right here, with me.” You softly remind him, having experienced countless nights of cries and screams of terror leaving his lips as he flails around, wishing for it to all end.

Leaning his head against your hand, tears form in Bucky’s eyes as you move closer, wrapping your arms around him and hold him close.

“It’s okay, I promise, it’s okay.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his shoulders rising and falling. “It’s over, James, you’re safe.” You remind him, but his sobs subside as he lifts his head, resting his hands around your waist.

“Doll, there’s something I’ve gotta tell you,” Bucky admits, knowing it’s going to be more painful to tell you he’s leaving again.  “I, Steve’s got a plan, one final mission.”  Looking up, Bucky can see you trying to remain composed as you bite your lower lip. “And then we’re done, it’s over and I’m all yours, forever.”

“That’s it?” You breathe out. "One final mission?"

Nodding in response, Bucky guides you toward the moonlit spot in the middle of the hall. “That’s it, and then I’ll be here, by your side until you get sick of me.” He jokes, and your gentle laugh fills his ears.

“Won’t take long, but I’ll put up with it if it means you’re here, with me.” You tell him before tearing your eyes from his as you look up at the birds perching on the rails above you, cooing back and forth.

Bucky admires your smile, the sincere look across your face and he knows it’s now or never.

“Y/n?” Bucky asks, and you hum in response as you lower your face, your eyes practically sparkling brighter than the stars. “Do you remember the last time we were here?”

You smile at the memory. “Of course, we danced until everyone else had left.” You remember it vividly, dancing in the silence of the hall together before Bucky walked you home and slept by your side until the sun rose. His lips lingered over your skin as the sunlight beamed through your curtains, burning his eyes with the reminder he can’t stay.

“There was something I never got to say that night, and throughout everything I, I went through,” Bucky trails off.

“Hey, I’m right here,” You softly mutter, gravitating him back to the present.

“I, I always thought of you, my darling Y/n who has been there through thick and thin. I’m in awe of you, I think I always have, ever since we first met. Your defiance for both Steve and I is unmatched, and you’ve weaved a piece of yourself into me and I don’t want it to ever disappear.” Bucky explains, glancing up to see tears forming in your eyes.

“What’re you saying, James?” Your voice cracks as tears begin to fall down your cheeks whilst Bucky lowers himself down onto one knee before you.

“I’m asking if you, Y/n Y/l/n will do me the honour of being my wife, my doll and best friend forever.” Bucky can feel himself going as you bend down, level with him as a watery laugh leaves your lips.

“Yes,” You respond, looking at the beautiful ring that you recognise from his Grandmother. “you and me, James, forever.”

Gasping for breath, you sit upright clutching your chest.

“FRIDAY?” You yell, but there is no immediate response.

Uneasily you stand up as your body shakes, the memory replaying on your mind as the soldiers face is becoming clearer, his name ghosting your lips, but still refuses to leave them.

Looking across to the monitors, you notice they’re all down. Nothing is operating.

With uncertainty, you remove the various wires and pads covering your skin before stepping toward the glass door and pull it open with ease. “Strange.” You mutter under your breath as you walk out, half expecting a series of alarms to blare, but silence follows as you reach the elevator.

As you press the button for the elevator, you watch as it rises from the ground floor. Yet, the closer it gets the sound of voices near.

“FRIDAY, who else is in the compound?” You call out, now backing away from the elevator as it’s two floors away from you.

Silence ensues yet again, and now your heart rate increases as the elevator pings.

Backing away as the metal doors slide open, you rush back into the lab and hide beneath one of the many desks as a series of men yell orders to one another.

“FRIDAY, please,” You whisper to the AI who remains unresponsive as you close your eyes, wishing to remain unnoticed. “emergency protocol seven.” You add as the glass door shatters open, followed by several footsteps crunching across the broken glass.

Lowering your hands from your face, you can see three pairs of feet from where you’re hiding, weapons hanging in their grip.

“Get anything you can whilst the systems are down.” One man instructs, and you can feel your heart sinking further into your chest; you’re on your own, truly, defenceless.

“How long do you think we have?” Another speaks up, his Russian accent thick as the previous man sighs in annoyance.

“Twenty minutes at the most, now don’t waste time.” He spits before turning around nearing the entrance but pauses.

His feet crunch into the glass as he slowly walks back to the other men.

“Do you hear that?” He asks, holding his hand up to his ear as the two men look at him cluelessly.

“Hear what?” The Russian dares to question whilst you bury your body further into your hiding spot, covering your nose and mouth with your hands to suppress your unsteady breaths.

“The elevator stopped here before we planned which floor to go to, so, who called it here?” Your eyes widen in fear as footsteps approach the desk you’re hiding beneath. “Neither of you notice these tubes and wires connected to the monitors?” The man scoffs.

Within a split second, the desk is flipped over, revealing you curled up to the three men with twisted smiles across their faces.

“Hello, Miss.” The leader bends down and kneels in front of you, he extends his arm, revealing a tattoo across his forearm which you recognise from the many files you’ve read. “You and I are going to have a little game, and I can assure you, it’s going to be fun.”

*

Boarding the quinjet alongside Sam, Bucky wipes his lip, ignoring the throbbing sensation as fresh blood lines his fingertips.

“I told you, we’d be in and out.” Tony comments as the jet door closes behind him as he remains almost unscathed, unlike Steve and Bucky who are slightly worse for wear.

“You didn’t have to go off course like that, Tony.” Steve sighs, sporting a black eye as he takes his seat beside Natasha who wraps her wrist up with Bruce’s help.

Shrugging his shoulders, Tony picks up his phone. “Yeah, well, it’s done now and we can carry on with our little mystery back at the compound.” He mutters, briefly looking to Bucky whose thoughts have remained consumed by you ever since he left. “Hey, can we leave right now? We have to get back to the compound!” Tony rushes toward the pilot with a level of urgency in his tone.

“Tony, what’s going on?” Detecting the change immediately, Steve rises to his feet as he walks toward Tony.

Glancing over his shoulder, Tony can see Bucky still staring at him. “Protocol Seven was activated.” Tony explains in a hushed tone, but he should know better considering there were two super soldiers on board.

“What’s protocol seven?” Bucky speaks up, noticing Natasha tense beside Bruce. “What is it?” He repeats, trying to suppress his panic as Steve clenches his jaw.

“How long do you think we have?” Steve asks.

Rubbing his face, Tony sighs. “Maybe forty minutes, FRIDAY will lock the building, but with the systems hijacked it’ll take longer than normal.”

“Stark,” Bucky tries to remain composed as the plates in his metal arm whir, his fist clenching tightly. “what is protocol seven?”

Turning away from Steve, Tony faces Bucky with a heavy heart. “A security breach within the compound, the systems have been hijacked and FRIDAY is on back up mode.” Tony explains, but Bucky can tell he’s holding something back.

“What kind of security breach?” Bucky dares to ask, stepping closer whilst Natasha lowers her head whilst Clint remains sorrowful opposite the Black Widow.

"I'm so sorry, Barnes." Tony softly responds, looking down as FRIDAY's systems begin to reboot, the security camera's slowly reactivating.

“HYDRA, Buck.” Steve states. “HYDRA are in the compound.”  

P A R T  F I V E 

(thank you to the following for all the love so far! if you’d like to be tagged in this mini series do let me know)

@mellmellmell12@theofficialzivadavid @fandom-princess-forevermore @lokilovefoever @vivalakatee @chgevorgian @captainwinterwriter @carliewinchester @spn-obession @buckysquad @shower-me-with-roses @basicgukk @yasminwashere @sunfouler @feminist-fan-girl @stealapizzamyheart @soccer-100000   @sunflowerbunny2   @kickingn-ames @choerriesmotion @why-thats-just-delightful @officialfictionalwreck​ @romanoff-nataliaalianovna​ @hersilencedscreams​ @b-r-stark​ @dezzxmx​​

#take my heart #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes oneshot #avengers #avengers imagine #avengers imagines #avengers fluff #avengers angst #avengers oneshot #avengers series #avengers x reader #avengers writing #avengers fic #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #marvel x reader #marvel au #marvel fic #james barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes imagine

[helliontherapscallion]

Warmth (Adrenaline Junkie Part 6)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4     Part 5     Part 7     Part 8     Part 9     Part 10     Part 11     Part 12     Part 13     Part 14     Part 15     Part 16     Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: Self harm scars, mentions of panic attacks and hallucinations

Word count: 2,842

(A/N): This takes place about 6 months after the last chapter. Also, I was heavily inspired by Toothless’ prosthetic, I’m really excited to write more about it : )

You hummed to yourself as you walked down the cobblestone street of the village. The village was probably one of your favorite places to visit; it had quaint little shops and stalls decorating the main plaza that you adored, it was always interesting to see what’s being sold today. Though you always wore your cloak to cover your wings (well, wing and a now-feathered nub) whenever you visited to avoid the stares, you still regularly visited the main plaza for the shops. 

The first time you visited after the incident was about a month ago with Wilbur, you two were looking for something to cook for dinner. You were trying to get used to having your wings out again, so you were wearing the jacket with the slits in the back that you always used to wear. 

The feeling of people staring holes into you was a feeling you forgot about. You always got stares whenever you went into the village because of your wings, but now it felt like more and more people were staring at you as you passed them, probably because of your nub. Though some looked at you in pity, most looked at you with disgust.

You could hear children asking their mothers what happened to you. Their mothers would take one look at you and shield their children away from you staring at you with disgust. You even made one kid cry when he saw your wing; you didn’t blame him, you still couldn’t look at your nub without tearing up. An hour hasn’t even passed before you were asked by a police officer to leave because you were causing a disruption and being indecent in public.

Wilbur was pissed. “They’re fully clothed and they didn’t even talk to anybody, so how exactly were they being disruptive or indecent?”

The officer firmly held her ground, looking up to Wilbur’s tall form. “Sir, the people are complaining and it’s my job to make the public feel safe and comfortable. Look,” she sighed, “I really don’t want to have to ask them to leave, they’re not doing anything to directly threaten people. However, they are causing a disturbance with their,” she wrinkled her nose, “their thing, so I’m going to have to ask them to leave.”

“You have absolutely no right to tell them to leave. They-”

“Wilbur, it’s fine. I’ll leave,” turning back to the officer, you calmly stated “I’m sorry for causing a disturbance ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

She curtly nodded and stood watching you, probably making sure that you left the main plaza. Before you could turn to leave, Wilbur stopped you.

“(Y/n)-”

“No, Wilbur. It’s alright, I can wait outside the village for you.”

He sighed, looking through his leather satchel. “No, you won’t have to wait for me. We’ve got enough food for dinner anyways,” shooting one last heated glare at the police officer, he reached down to grab your hand. “Let’s go.”

He drug you quickly through the village with you having a little trouble keeping up with his long strides. Once you were out of the village, he slowed his pace and walked with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“(Y/n), I’m sor-”

“Don’t be Wil. It isn’t your fault. I honestly was expecting to get kicked out earlier.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you. You didn’t ask for this.” 

“I know Wil, I’ll just wear my cloak next time I visit.”

He didn’t say anything to you after that. The rest of the walk home was shrouded in an awkward silence. 

Another part of the village you loved was the library. It had tall shelves filled to the brim with all sorts of books and various cushioned furniture littered randomly amongst the maze of shelves. Whoever would walk into the library would immediately be hit by the strong scent of parchment and wood as soon as they would walk through the twin doors. You would usually browse books about redstone, but you had a different agenda today.

Today, you were looking for a book about leather working. You wanted to make a leather prosthetic wing so you could at least glide through the air. You weren’t sure if it would work though. From what you’ve read, nobody’s attempted to make a prosthetic wing. It made sense, being a hybrid was rare in and of itself, let alone a winged hybrid. 

You missed flying more than anything. You would give anything to be able to be in the air again. You felt jittery and restless without flight. Sure, Philza took you on some flights with him every now and then, but it wasn’t the same. You yearned for the independence and liberation it gave you to fly alone.

After you found a book and checked it out with the librarian, you hastily set out for home. You were walking with a giddy smile on your face and a bounce in your step. Several people gave you strange looks as you passed them, but you were in too good of a mood to care. You finally figured out a way you could possibly fly again. 

When you got home, you headed straight to your workshop to get to work on your prosthetic. Several blueprints were hung up around your desk, some for your TNT launcher (which you finished a few weeks ago) and others contained ideas for an automatic farm. Your pride and joy was hung up in the center of your bulletin board. It made you extremely happy just by looking at the prosthetic sketch.

Your redstone lamp illuminated the space in front of you as you focused on cutting a large strip of leather in front of you with great concentration. You needed to get the measurements exactly right, equal sized wings are integral for stability midair. The prosthetic was going to be about the same size as your left wing with thin iron rods giving the wing structure. You planned on making it identical to a bat’s wing with a few minor changes in shape to match your other wing. Once it actually was structurally sound and working, you would add proper joints so you could wear it around and decorate it. Until then, you’re making adjustments.

When you were done, you moved on to crafting and melding together the iron rods. Putting on your goggles and thick leather gloves, you used a bit of lava your family kept stored in another room in the basement to fuse the thin iron rods together. You carefully dipped one end of two rods into the bucket before pulling it out at a certain time to hold the molten ends together until they cooled. You repeated this process until you were melding the last piece on.

“HEY BITCH, DINNER’S READY. GET IT WHILE IT’S HOT!”

Yelping, you dropped the mold onto your desk. You picked it up in a panic without paying attention to where your arms went. Unknowingly, your sleeved arm was pressing up against the scorching iron of the bucket of lava.

“FUCK YOU YA FILTHY GREMLIN, A LITTLE WARNING WOULD’VE BEEN NICE!”

He started cackling. “FUCK YOU TOO! NOW GET UP HERE BEFORE I EAT YOUR DINNER.”

“YOU BETTER FUCKING NOT. I SWEAR TO- FUCK!”

You felt the nerves on the side of your forearm screaming as you yanked it away, leaving the crisp remains of a part of your sleeve stuck to the iron bucket. Two pairs of footsteps boomed down the steps and got louder as they rapidly approached you. 

Wilbur’s deep voice worriedly called out to you. “Shit, (y/n) are you alright? Let me see.”

Before you could protest, he gently grabbed your wrist and pulled the sleeve of your jacket down. Adjoining the light burn, small horizontal scars and some fresh cuts lined your forearms. Shit, they were never supposed to find out.

Wilbur’s hand froze, gripping your wrist with an iron grip. You hissed at the feeling of some of your cuts reopening, causing him to quickly retract his hand. He now had his hands hovering over your arm unsure of what to do with them.

“(Y/n), wha-” Tommy cut himself off once he saw the panicked look on his older brother’s face. Following his gaze, his wide eyes met with your cuts.

You sighed, prying the goggles off from your face and pulling the gloves off from your hands. You put on a calm exterior, contrary to what you felt on the inside. They were never supposed to know. “Listen, you guys weren’t supposed to find out about this. None of you were. Please don’t tell Dad or Technoblade, I don’t need more people knowing.”

Tommy spoke up with an incredulous look. “(Y/n), what do you mean? We can’t just not tell them.”

“I know. Please, do it for me? Everything’s finally going back to normal and this will just make everything worse again. I promise I’ll stop, I swear.”

The two brothers looked at each other silently contemplating what they should do. On one hand, you were their sibling and you were hurting yourself. They needed to tell their dad that you were cutting. You only had two lives left and you could kill yourself doing that. Philza and Techno could help. On the other hand, they wanted you to feel normal in your own home. You were right in the fact that everything was starting to feel like it did before the incident. Plus, they would gladly help you through it.

They looked back at you with apprehensive expressions, speaking at the same time. 

“(Y/n), we’re not gonna tell Dad or Techno.”

“We’re telling them.”

Tommy whipped his head up to look at his brother angrily. “Wilbur, we need to tell them.”

“Tommy, no-”

“Are you fucking stupid? Of course we have to-”

“Tommy. We don’t because I’ll be taking every sharp object away from them tonight. We’ll watch them and check their wrists to make sure that there’s no new cuts and they stay clean. We’ll help them.”

“But- they,” Tommy gave a frustrated sigh. “Fine. But we at least have to tell Techno about this. He can help us.”

Wilbur glanced at you with apologetic eyes. Before he could speak up, you interrupted him. “...Alright, as long as Dad doesn’t find out. He has enough to stress out about and he doesn’t need to worry about me again. Now, can we go upstairs for dinner? We’ve been down here for long enough already and Dad’s probably wondering why. Tell him that I’m gonna go clean up.”

Without giving them any room to argue, you speeded up the stairs and into your room. Closing the door and leaning your back on it, you let your calm facade drop into a panicked one. Shit, what if Tommy tells Dad? What were you supposed to do then? He’ll take away what little freedom you had left and you’ll be sinking into the depths of your depression again. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock and Philza’s voice. You held your breath as you prepared yourself for him to tell you that he knows your secret. “Hey hun, Wilbur and Tommy told me that you burned yourself,” you let out a relieved sigh. “Do you need me to look at it?”

Panic once again flared in your bloodstream. “N-no Dad, it’s just a little burn. I’ll be down in just a second I’m changing.”

“You sure? I can get you a potion.”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“...Alright,” he sounded skeptical. “Just hurry up, dinner’s getting cold.”

The sound of his retreating footsteps sounded like music to your ears. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths before you moved to put on a long sleeved shirt. 

Dinner was uncharacteristically quiet without Tommy, you, or Wilbur talking. Philza tried to carry the conversation with you four, but only Technoblade gave full responses. You, Tommy, and Wilbur only supplied a few words to a conversation when prompted. 

Technoblade was suspicious. Sure, you and Wilbur were quiet sometimes, but Tommy? Tommy’s always loud and rambunctious. Something’s wrong, but what? What could’ve happened when Tommy and Wilbur went to go get you for dinner? They weren’t gone for long. He did hear you screaming profanities at Tommy for scaring you and overheard Tommy telling Philza about how you burned yourself, but how is that something that would shut you three up? He was going to confront his siblings after he finished tonight’s dishes. 

Meanwhile, you, Tommy, and Wilbur were in your room. You were giving them your iron dagger.

“Is this all?”

“Yeah, Tommy. That’s all, search my room if you don’t believe me. I wouldn’t mind, I don’t have anything to hide from you anymore.”

They did just that. Looking under your bed, in your drawers, in your closet, and in the chest you kept for your supplies. You watched them propped up on your bed. While you were angry with yourself that you were so careless, you felt warm that they cared about you. They were great brothers.

After they were done turning your room upside down, Wilbur plopped down next to you and Tommy threw himself over your legs. You three laid there for a while just enjoying each other’s presence. It was nice to spend some time with your brothers, you didn’t get much free time to spend with them because you spent most of your time in your workshop.

The silence was broken by Tommy. “...So, how do you wanna go about telling Technoblade?”

“I’m… not exactly sure. Do we even have to tell him?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. “Even if you didn’t want to, I’m pretty sure he knows something’s up. He’s good at picking up on social cues.”

“Well if that’s the case, I might just wait until he comes to me. It’ll be easier.”

Your door swung open to reveal your piglin hybrid brother. He looked at you with a single eyebrow raised as his ear flicked. “What were you planning on telling me?”

Tommy and Wilbur looked at you expectantly. You shifted your body closer to the wall making room on your bed for him. He walked over and stiffly sat on the edge of your mattress. He gestured for you to talk to him. You slowly slid your sleeve down and showed him your arm. Besides his eyebrows slightly crinkling, he was as stoic as ever when he reached out to grab your wrist for a better look.

On the inside, the voices were almost as loud as when you died. They were nearly incoherent as several angry voices mixed together yelling at him for not noticing anything was wrong with you, the kid he vowed to protect when you first stole his crown and replaced it with a homemade paper one. Outside of the voices, he was furious at himself, he was supposed to protect you. He ran his fingers along the raised lines, gently tracing over every scar and scabbed over cut as if memorizing where every single one lays.

His monotone voice was gruff. “How long? Why?”

“About eight months now. I-I didn’t feel anything for a while after I respawned and I realized that pain helped me feel. It helped ground me when I hallucinated or had panic attacks.”

“...Do you feel anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m getting better Tech. I’m hallucinating less and I’m getting better at managing anxiety attacks. At this point, it's just a habit that I can’t drop.” 

“Do you want to drop it?”

You fell silent. You never really considered stopping before. Before, you would do it to give yourself something to focus on when you were overwhelmed, but now you would do it out of habit. It somehow felt wrong when you skipped a session and it usually threw your entire day off. You would feel drained for the entire day if you didn’t do it. It was one of the only consistent things in your life.

“(Y/n), c’mon you don’t want to keep doing this, right?” Tommy asked before Wilbur reached over and slapped him upside his head. 

“I think,” you breathed out, unsure of yourself, “I want to get better.”

Techno looked at his brothers. “Did you two take their blades?”

Tommy held up the iron dagger and wove it around haphazardly in the air. Techno reached over and pocketed the dagger before discarding his golden crown and placing it on your nightstand. He took off his weighted fluffy cloak and neatly draped it over a nearby chest. He maneuvered his body so that he was laying on your other side and wrapped a lazy arm over your chest. 

With Wilbur on your right side with your wing draped over him, Tommy laying on your stomach with Wilbur reaching down to hold him, and Techno pulling you close to his body, you were pleasantly warm. You were slowly drifting off, being lulled to sleep by Techno’s slow heartbeat. You blissfully fell asleep surrounded by your brothers’ love.

Inspo for the cuddle pile (credit goes to og artist, zillychu): https://zillychu.home.blog/tag/heart-squad-cuddle-pile/

Taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @ravennightingaleandavatempus  @dirtydiavolo  @yeiras-world  @immadatmostthings  @hee-hee-haw  @jackalopedoodles  @m1lkmandan  @vanhakirja  @im-a-depressed-gay  @coolleviauchihadreamerlove  @questioning-sanity  @camisascam

@bongwaterflavoredgatorade  @kakamiissad  @jayistrash  @lifestylesleep  @speedymaximoff  @sun-shark-tooth  @appetiteofapeoplepleaser  @starchildnatalya  @kinismanditory  @dragons-lurk-here  @rinzyx05  @the-wandering-pan-ace  @sparkling-gayyyy  @angelic-scent  @shinipii  @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander  @izzydimensional  @used-avocado

#sbi x reader #platonic #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #sibling reader #platonic cuddle pile #platonic cuddling #hurt/comfort #mcyt x reader #mcyt #sbi #tw: scars #tw: hallucinations #tw: panic attack #tw: self harm

[solalunar-eclipse]

A Gift To Remember

Summary: Shadow receives a gift for his birthday that causes a series of very interesting (and often cute) events.

Word count: about 7500 words

Author’s Note: I didn’t realize today was Shadow’s birthday! At the moment I’m more than a little confused because the release dates for SA2 say everything from the 18th to the 23rd, but this seems to be the one, so here this is!

Also, to that one anon whose question about this fic I never quite managed to answer- sorry about that and I do hope you’re still here to read this!

...

The main room of Team Dark’s home was, on a normal day, at least somewhat clean- which was in and of itself surprising, considering the fact that three teenagers lived there. (It was, of course, slightly less surprising when it was noted that one of these teenagers was a giant robot, one was already a businesswoman, and one had grown up in an incredibly clean environment.)

At the moment, however, said room was currently rather less clean, instead covered in various colorful signs, streamers, balloons, and other such decorations. After all, today was a very special day.

When Shadow and Rouge had discovered they shared a birthday (or creation day for Shadow, technically), they both became infinitely more determined to celebrate it for the other’s sake. This had actually, interestingly enough, also ended up making them enjoy their own festivities more than they had in quite some time.

Omega, meanwhile, had officially decided that this was his favorite day of the year.

Over the past few days, Rouge had already received a few presents from various people she knew in the line of clothes, makeup, or jewelry- but as much as she loved gems, her favorites so far were definitely the ones Omega and Shadow had gotten for her: a laser cutter that could slice through anything and a pair of (stylish) infrared goggles, respectively.

Shadow had just opened his present from Omega, which happened to be a sword that looked very cool...but was also longer than his actual body. This wasn’t actually as big of a problem for him as might be expected, as he’d gotten used to handling weapons several times his size during the alien invasion a little while back. 

He had, however, been told rather quickly by Rouge to put it away ‘before you slice the wall in half, this place does cost money, you know!’.

Next, Rouge placed her present in his hands, but at first all Shadow could do was just stare at it. This was likely because the gift wasn’t actually wrapped, but instead consisted of a box made of wood slats and filled, oddly enough, with paper shavings. There were quite a few ribbons on it, though, in an attempt to make up for the lack of other decorations.

“I couldn’t wrap it, or else the present wouldn’t have worked.” she explained, sitting back down to watch him open it.

After prying off the top and shifting aside some of the paper pieces, the hedgehog froze.

Inside, there sat a single white chao egg.

Carefully lifting the egg out of the box, Shadow held it gingerly, as though he were afraid it might try to bite him if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“Rouge…” he began nervously. “Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate this, but...are you sure I’m the best person to be taking care of a chao?”

“Of course, hon!” she said. “You’ve taken care of them before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, but…” Shadow protested, “...are you sure I’ll be able to do as well at home? The garden is their natural habitat…”

Omega folded his arms. “YOU ARE THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM. OF COURSE YOU CAN RAISE A CHAO.”

“That’s right!” Rouge added. “The chao are always happy when you take care of them- this time isn’t going to be any different.”

“…I suppose so.” Shadow conceded, taking a deep breath. He began to rock the egg slowly from side to side. “Here we go-”

A crack appeared across the pristine white surface. The split spread rapidly while Shadow sat and watched, making sure not to move the egg about much. Chao had to hatch their eggs on their own- it was the way they first began to strengthen themselves. 

Rouge laughed. “See? You know exactly what you’re doing!”

Shadow studiously ignored her and continued to focus on the egg. Then, suddenly, a chirp came from inside and the whole top half came flying off.

The hybrid looked at his newborn chao...and his heart (though he’d never admit it) immediately melted. Soft, big eyes gazed up at him, an overjoyed smile on the creature’s face. It cooed happily upon seeing him give a small smile back, and he reached out and began to gently pat its head.

The chao broke into an even wider smile as its eyes closed blissfully, the little sphere above its head popping into a heart. Shadow continued to pet it, offering gentle words of praise, and might have continued like that for the next ten minutes had a camera noise from Omega not made him look up in alarm.

“ADDING IMAGE TO FILE: SHADOW BEING SOFT.” he declared, while Rouge looked on with a giant grin.

“You will do nothing of the sort-” Shadow growled, jumping to his feet, before a soft whimper from his chao stopped him. Its eyes were watery, wide and distressed, and the hybrid immediately scooped it up in his arms, holding it close. It relaxed quickly, snuggling into his chest fluff, and he shot Omega one last semi-serious glower before turning his attention back to the newborn.

Omega promptly took another picture.

…

Later that day, at the party that all of their friends had thrown for them, the chao and Shadow were nearly inseparable. It tended to rest in his lap when he was sitting or rode in between his ears whenever he stood up to get something. Eventually, though, the excitement of a new environment overwhelmed its initial nervousness, which unfortunately led to Shadow returning from the dining room with his hands full of plates of food to discover his chao crawling along the precarious edge of a bookshelf.

Suddenly, the chao’s footing slipped, and Shadow froze, unable to move or do anything- but then Sonic of all people noticed and was already there, leaping up and catching the chao before resting it snugly in his arms. “Looks like someone’s already progressed to the giving-their-owner-a-heart-attack stage, hm?” he asked, smirking at the little creature.

“Thank you.” Shadow said as his chao was returned to him, trying very hard to ignore the way his hands and Sonic’s brushed in the process.

(He’d been nursing a bit of a crush on the hero for a while now, but had decided to ignore it until it wore off. Sonic had admirers from all across the globe vying for his attention- it was absurd to think that anything could happen between them.)

…

Over the coming weeks, all three members of Team Dark made sure to rework their schedules so that someone was always home to watch over the chao- no more climbing on bookcases for the little one now. Shadow did most of the caretaking, feeding, training, cleaning, and providing Chaos Drives (mostly green) to the chao. Rouge did, however, occasionally claim she could ‘handle the extra work’ to give him some spare time and Omega even took it upon himself to watch it every so often.

Sometimes, Shadow and his chao would even cook together in the kitchen (a hobby he’d discovered he enjoyed after finding out that Rouge tended to eat takeout all the time- “You can’t live off that day in and day out- you’re not me, Rouge!”). The sight of a tiny pale blue creature determinedly lifting a bag of flour and flying it across the room was awfully cute- especially after Shadow bought it a tiny apron in what he unconvincingly claimed was an accidental purchase. 

Shadow never made accidental purchases.

As much as the hybrid took care of it, though, the chao also seemed to be helping him. He smiled more, glowered less, and generally seemed more tolerant of mistakes than he had been in the past. Nowadays, errors that would once have caused him to go off on a rant or huff about were now met with a calmer ‘it’s okay’ or an offer for help fixing it.

He often laid a hand on it in his sleep or curled around it protectively, and could easily be seen patting its head, carrying it around, or even- when he thought he was alone- nuzzling it gently. The amount of time and care he put into making sure that his chao was happy would have been astonishing to anyone who hadn’t already seen how much he cared about his friends.

It was no surprise then that, before long, Rouge and Omega woke up one morning to find the chao inside a cocoon (and also a very stressed-out Shadow).

The hedgehog promptly called in sick for the entire week- an incredible occurrence for him. He’d originally sworn that since he couldn’t get ill, he’d give his sick days to others when they needed it, but now that was all out the window. He wanted nothing more than to stay home and essentially sit and stare at the cocoon until it hatched.

While the two other members of Team Dark managed to convince him to eat, sleep, and do chores on regular intervals, whenever Shadow had a spare moment he’d stay in his room, watching and waiting. Their friends got so worried that Rouge and Omega had used everything in their power to coax him out of the house twice over those five days, but he refused to do any more. Even then his outings had to come with the promise that they’d both stay home, check it every five minutes, and call him the absolute moment something happened.

On the sixth day of waiting, the cocoon began to hatch while Shadow was attempting to discreetly read out loud to the chao from one of his favorite books. The moment he saw the split, he dropped the novel, jumped up, and shouted louder than he had in months- “Rouge! Omega! It’s HAPPENING!”

He hovered so closely around the cocoon that Omega had to physically pull him back as Rouge reminded him to give the chao more space. Within moments, the split had widened enough for a single black paw to poke out, feeling around carefully for some sort of purchase to pull itself the rest of the way outside. Soon enough, it had succeeded, earning- impressively enough- widened eyes from Omega and a gasp from both Shadow and Rouge.

Frowning light blue eyes were set in an equally grumpy (albeit adorable) face, with two little black ears and three tiny quills on the chao’s head. The ears and quills both had red stripes, as did the arms, legs, and even its tail. A red crescent shape sat on its chest, and two tiny purple bat wings flapped slowly behind it.

In short, it looked a lot like a tiny Shadow.

The hedgehog in question reached out carefully and began to pet his chao, offering some quiet words of praise, but before long it flew up and settled in its favorite spot in between his ears. When Shadow turned around to face his friends, they were met with the sight of a little glowering creature settled on top of his head…which really did look far too similar to the hybrid himself when he was irritated. 

Rouge covered a smile with both of her hands. “Shadow...hon…”

He frowned at her, only serving to make the resemblance more obvious. “What?”

“It looks exactly like you!”

“Not really- it has blue eyes and...bat wings…” He looked up at her suddenly. “Rouge...how much time have you been spending with Spark again?”

“Oh, just a little- wait, Spark?” she said quickly, redirecting his attention.

Shadow flushed a bright green at that. “I might’ve already picked out a name...does it sound alright?” he asked, studiously looking anywhere but at his friends.

The chao chirped at the name and snuggled a little further into the fur on his head, seemingly pleased with the title. 

He began to smile at that. “You like that name, do you?” he asked teasingly.

“It sure looks like it! I think it’s a lovely name, hon.” Rouge added.

The chao cooed, cementing its name with all of the team (whether Omega would admit it or not).

Now, if anything, Shadow and his chao were even more close than before. Rouge even bought it a tiny leather jacket to match his style, which was quickly deemed by everyone (especially their friends, to whom she’d sent about fifty photos) the most adorable thing ever. 

...

One day, Shadow came home from lunch out with Silver and Blaze only to discover a quite unexpected scene- though he really should have seen it coming, considering what he’d noticed after his chao had hatched. Rouge was kneeling next to the sofa, scratching Spark behind the ears and saying in what could only be described as a baby voice, “Who’s your favorite momma? Me, that’s right. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Uh….” he interrupted, feeling more than a little uncertain as to how to respond to this. He was torn between “I didn’t know you had a baby voice” and “I’m glad to see you and Spark getting along” and wasn’t entirely sure which one to go with here.

The bat, on the other hand, jumped a good three feet in the air at the sound before glaring at Shadow furiously. “Don’t startle me like that!” she shouted, more than a little tense...and also a bit worried?

The hybrid didn’t react, instead saying “It’s nice to see you spending time with Spark too, Rouge.” with a smile. 

She relaxed a little at that, and Shadow sighed. “Rouge, I wouldn’t make fun of you- I do the same kind of thing, don’t I?”

“You’re right, you’re right.” the bat admitted. “I just had to! It looks like me- it even has my wings! How could I not?”

Shadow moved to sit down on the sofa at that, reaching out to pat the chao as well. Rouge smiled at him gratefully, and then they both looked down at the cute creature in between them, who was promptly staring up at both with a confused look on its face. After a moment, though, it seemed to realize that everything was alright and nuzzled both Mobians before curling up on the couch happily.

…

Another time, the entire team was out grocery shopping at their favorite store when Spark’s eye was caught by the soft, warm cinnamon buns sitting behind a glass case. After a minute or two of desperate pulling at the seams- to no avail- it flew over to Shadow and began to poke at his shoulder until he turned to look at it.

“Yes? What is it?” he asked, giving the chao a little scratch under the chin.

The chao pointed excitedly at the sweet treats, but its expression melted into one of dismay upon hearing him say “No, Spark, that’s not very good for you- and it’s too big for you to finish all by yourself, too.”

It mimed a clock insistently- they didn’t go to the store that often, after all- its frown deepening all the while. Shadow felt a little uncertain- he enjoyed giving the chao treats, but was now really the best time to feed it so much sugar? It could end up flying all over the place, and he really didn’t feel like getting banned from yet another grocery store. (The last one had been because Omega got a little too excited while messing around with the shopping cart and had melted it and twisted it into a knot...somehow. They were rapidly escorted out after that.)

Suddenly, though, the chao shuffled forward, took one of his fingers in between its tiny paws, and stared up at him with the softest, most pleading look it could possibly manage, its eyes wide and mouth quivering. “No...no, come on…” Shadow protested weakly, but already his resistance was melting away. It practically seemed to be saying haven’t I been good all week? Can’t I please just have this one treat? and the hybrid was in no condition to fight back.

Within moments, Spark was holding a cinnamon roll and dug into it with glee, only pausing once to nuzzle Shadow happily and offer him a quick bite as thanks. He accepted the gesture of appreciation easily (even though now his face had sugar on it after the chao’s affectionate thank-you) and was more than happy to see his chao smiling broadly with the treat in its hands.

…

The chao was, of course, still a great help to Shadow as well. One night in particular, it woke up to the sounds of quiet whimpering and began to look around, startled. For a moment, it turned to its caretaker for help- and then discovered that he was the one in trouble.

Shadow was curled up on his side, his brow creased in distress and his whole body shaking terribly. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut and occasionally the most terribly saddening sounds would escape his mouth. Once or twice, a tear escaped and trickled down his face.

Spark crawled up to his face gently, licking away the tear and nuzzling his cheek. Shadow shuddered briefly, but seemed to relax almost infinitesimally when the dark chao pressed itself against his chest for a moment. Eventually, the creature managed to get him to roll onto his back, at which point it crawled onto his chest, hoping that this would help him begin to relax.

It really did work- within moments, the small, warm weight on his chest made Shadow’s breathing even out and his shivers ease as the nightmare that was plaguing him began to fade.

Spark curled up, pleased with itself, and fell back asleep not long after.

…

There was just one problem amongst all this newly-discovered happiness that came with the chao. Ever since it had evolved out of its cocoon, Omega seemed as though he were hardly willing to interact with it.

Rouge or Shadow would hand it over to him, only to get it back less than a minute later. He spent the least amount of time with it out of the three, but when he was asked if he didn’t like the chao, he never said as much. 

Omega didn’t tend to lie...but then why wouldn’t he do anything with it?

Once or twice, they’d caught him merely staring at Spark as the little creature sat on the couch, his optics clicking but otherwise utterly silent. The two Mobians hardly knew what to make of it- he’d never acted like this before.

They finally had the opportunity to discover why he was behaving strangely several days later, though, entirely due to an accident on Shadow’s part. Rouge and Omega had been answering a distress call regarding some rogue G.U.N. robots and needed to call in the hybrid to help. He’d driven his motorbike directly to the scene and leapt straight into battle…

...and hadn’t noticed Spark peeking out of the bag he’d left on his bike.

The chao- while fast, to be sure- was in no way prepared for a full-on battle. While at first it had hoped to help its little family, flying about uncertainly in hopes of doing something, it quickly discovered that the only thing it could really do was to hide behind an upended concrete slab and hope it wasn’t noticed.

That, unfortunately, didn’t quite work out.

It didn’t take long before one of the rogue drones spotted a fourth heat signature aside from the three it was fighting and began to stalk towards it, charging its laser cannon in the process. Shadow, confused at first, felt his stomach drop in horror upon seeing his tiny chao shaking in fear as the machine advanced on its hiding spot. He hadn’t thought to bring a Chaos Emerald, believing this would be an easy battle- and Rouge was busy in the air.

The laser cannon on the drone was almost fully charged, and Shadow fired up his skates in a futile attempt to somehow reach Spark before-

A white hot blast lit up the area.

Shadow couldn’t have stopped the strangled cry that came from his mouth if he had wanted to. The smoke began to clear, and he almost couldn’t look…

Something stirred within the haze, and as it cleared away, Shadow felt his whole body sag with relief upon seeing Omega shifting to an upright position from where he’d shielded the chao with the back of his chassis, blocking the full force of the laser. He let out a sigh as he caught a glimpse of Spark held safely in Omega’s hand as the other one retracted to reveal a flamethrower.

“MY TURN.”

Within moments, the drone was just so much melted slag on the floor and the battle’s tide was turned. Shadow and Rouge dispatched the other robots and then rushed to Omega, who had held onto the chao this entire time.

“Omega...thank you.” Shadow said, taking Spark from his friend and holding it tightly.

“IT WAS- zzzt- NOTHING.” Omega said, a sudden staticky buzz splitting his sentence in two.

“Omega?” Rouge asked, her eyes narrowing. “What happened to you?”

“NOTHING.” he said hurriedly, his voice still glitching. “WAIT- DON’T YOU D-DARE-”

The three had already begun looking to see what had happened...but then froze when they saw the damage his back panel had taken while shielding Spark from the blast. A giant, smoking hole of warped and fused metal was burned into his chassis, revealing a bunch of melted and sparking wiring that definitely needed urgent attention.

“Omega…” Shadow looked horrified.

Rouge frowned, confused. “Why would you do this to yourself? I know how much you hate having to go get repairs.”

The robot let out a burst of static that sounded almost like a resigned sigh. Turning around, he muttered, “IT’S LI-LITERALLY YOU. AND ROUGE. BUT TINY. THAT APPEARS TO HAVE… STRANGE EFFECTS- zzzt- ON MY BEHAVIOR.”

“Do you...not like those effects?” Rouge asked, now clearly shifting into ‘I’m figuring things out’ mode. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding it so often?”

“I AM A ROBOT OF MASS DESTRUCTION. I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO CARE FOR TINY CREATURES SUCH AS THIS ONE. I SHOULD NOT FEEL ANY ‘WORRY’ ABOUT IT- AND YET-” Omega cut off there with a frustrated crackle.

Shadow still didn’t understand. “You’ve always been a robot of mass destruction, but you never thought it was weird to worry about us before.”

“THAT WAS DIFFERENT!” Omega insisted. “YOU BOTH ARE POWERFUL. IT IS NATURAL THAT RESPECT AND CONSEQUENTLY OTHER THINGS SHOULD COME FROM THAT. BUT THIS-! IT HAS NO DESTRUCTIVE QUALITIES! BUT STILL I...YOU KNOW...”

“It’s official, Omega.” Rouge said at that, a smirk growing on her face. “You’re becoming more and more like us...organics are always weak for cute things.”

“IT IS SHAMEFUL THAT I SHOULD COME TO THIS.” he grumbled.

“It’s not so bad, really.” Shadow said, placing a hand on his arm.

“And that’s coming from the guy who never used to admit he cares about people!” Rouge insisted. “Omega, you know you don’t have to be embarrassed about that kind of thing here- you’d never make fun of Shadow for not being tough all the time, would you?”

“I GUESS NOT…” he said, still seeming irritated.

At this point, Spark flew up to sit in Omega’s hand, looking up at the robot with its little frowning face, before reaching out and patting a single finger solemnly with its paw.

“OH NO.”

“Oh yes.” Rouge answered, grinning. “Let’s get you to Tails now though, okay? Then once you’re fixed up you can come home and pet the chao.”

Omega turned his head away and refused to dignify that with a response.

(He did, however, pet the chao when he got home. Nobody teased him about it, for which- while he’d never say it- he was rather grateful.)

…

It was inevitable, eventually, that Team Dark’s schedule wouldn’t be perfect and that they’d all have to be out and busy at some point. This, of course, meant that Spark would have to be dropped off at the chao daycare. 

Shadow had managed to force himself to reconcile with that fact, but the chao wasn’t nearly as good at that sort of thing.

On the day of, it was sobbing desperately, clinging to Shadow’s jacket with a tight grip as though it’d been handed a horrible punishment instead of a day spent at the warm, welcoming building in front of it. “It’s going to be alright. You’ll be okay, it’s just for a day. See, the Mobians who run it are very nice- won’t you look?” the hybrid whispered in a soothing voice, gently rubbing Spark’s head.

Omega stepped forward. “DON’T YOU...WANT TO SHOW HOW BRAVE YOU CAN BE?” he said awkwardly. Talking to the chao was still taking some getting used to for him, but he was definitely trying his best.

Rouge smiled warmly at that. “Of course! We’ll all be so proud of you, don’t you know that?”

“We can make a cake especially for you when you get home too, alright?” Shadow said, and that was the final thing the chao needed to hear. Wiping its eyes with a final few sniffles, it flew over to the little walkway towards the entrance and stood up tall, its body shaking slightly with leftover stress and its attempts not to cry.

“We love you!” Rouge called, blowing it a quick kiss.

“See you soon.” Shadow said gently, waving with a smile.

“YOU’LL BE THE BEST ONE THERE.” Omega added, shuffling in place a little.

The chao whimpered briefly, but then turned away and bounded into the daycare before it could lose its nerve. 

Throughout the morning, it remained relatively antisocial- a bit like the hedgehog whose appearance it had taken- during the music and karate lessons. The other chao all babbled and played together, being mostly neutral and hero-types, and the few dark chao that were there wanted to cause an awful lot more trouble than Spark was in the mood for.

One thing that it noticed very clearly, though, was the extraordinarily frustrating presence of a royal blue hero and speed-type chao.

This chao didn’t seem to think even once (let alone twice) about anything it did. It banged on the drums until Spark’s ears were sore during music class and then somehow managed to smack it in the face during karate lessons twice, and all the while it chatted away with about five other chao all around it.

Needless to say, by midday, when it was playtime, Spark had just about had enough.

When the blue chao rushed directly through the little sand city that it had been carefully building, swiping everything away with a single dash, Spark growled, picked up the plastic shovel it had been playing with, and threw it so hard it whacked the other creature in the arm.

Snarling, it began to stomp off when it felt a hand on its shoulder. The blue chao darted away and began hurriedly to try and rebuild the city, occasionally glancing up at Spark with an apologetic expression in its eyes.

It...looked awfully sad, actually.

Suddenly, the dark chao remembered how it had quickly stopped banging on the drums when the teacher had told it to, and how it had looked rather guilty when it had smacked Spark in the face, and how excited it was when talking with the other chao…

Maybe it was just a little clumsy sometimes.

Spark sighed a little. The other meant well, it decided, as its anger began to fade. It appreciated the apology...but now the sculptures were gone and it couldn’t get them back. Then, though, its gaze fell upon a pair of toy cars sitting nearby. 

Pulling the blue chao over to a strip of flat, packed earth nearby, it gave one car to its surprised companion and then set its own down at a line that could work quite well as the start of a race.

Soon enough, the other creature worked out the idea and began to cheer with delight, and before long they were racing cars like they’d been friends since the start. Eventually, they even switched to running races themselves, over and over again until they were all worn out and collapsed on the cool grass in a heap. Before long, though, they were up and at it again, only this time they started with a building game, and then had a little fun with the musical instruments, and soon enough Spark couldn’t help but wonder how they had ever fought in the first place.

Eventually, they decided that their next activity would be a race to the top of the jungle gym they noticed nearby. Spark was determined not to lose as it scrambled up the bars. It pulled itself paw over paw up the structure, getting closer and closer to the top, until-

Suddenly, a bar that it had been sure existed in front of it only a moment ago was now clearly just a little too far away, and the mistake caused it to reel forward, desperately clinging to the slippery bar it sat on. It twisted head over heels until it slid and fell all the way back to the ground, the wind slammed forcefully out of its little lungs.

Spark gasped soundlessly, trying and failing to pull air back into itself. After several agonizing seconds, it finally caught its breath- and then nearly got it knocked back out again by the impact of its new friend.

Regaining focus, the dark chao realized with a start that its friend was practically wailing into its chest, the soft blue creature shaking with desperate, panicked sobs. It looked up quickly, its eyes swollen and teary, and then reached out with its paws and hurriedly patted Spark’s body down, as though to reassure itself that the dark chao was still there. 

The creature in question sat up and pulled its friend into a tight hug, feeling nothing less than awful as the blue chao sniffled and whimpered worriedly in its arms. Eventually, it managed to calm down enough to amble over to a small nest made of blankets especially for tired chao and lay down there next to Spark. The two chao curled up together, nuzzling gently as the shaky breaths of the blue one finally evened out.

Spark felt the little ball over its head pop into a heart shape, and noticed briefly that its friend had done the same. They remained curled up like that for the last half-hour or so of their time in the daycare, alternately simply cuddling or talking about their respective owners.

Spark hoped they’d get to spend more time with this friend of theirs soon.

…

Shadow pulled up to the daycare on his motorcycle at closing time, doing his best to smooth out his frazzled quills. It wouldn’t be very good to let his chao know that he’d been nearly as worried about it as it had felt itself. 

He sighed, making his way towards the entrance of the building- and instantly felt the last wisps of his composure vanish upon seeing Sonic standing just inside. Before he could panic and flee the area at top speed, his legs (which didn’t seem to have received the message just yet) carried him through the door and inside.

Almost immediately, the blue hedgehog turned to face him with a bright smile. “Oh! Hey, Shadow!” Sonic said happily. “I didn’t know you brought your chao here, too! I’ve gotta say hi to the little guy again sometime!”

“This is my first time bringing it here. If it’s alright with that…I suppose you may.” the hybrid said, trying his best to sound coherent and cool (but actually just seeming stiff and awkward).

They talked for a little while as they waited for their chao to come out, chatting about their lives and friends. More than once, Shadow had to pinch himself in order to stay focused. His mind kept threatening to wander off into dreamland when he was around the hero, ready to admire his many great qualities (and wonderful appearance) at the drop of a hat.

Eventually, though, he became a bit worried by the fact that chao after chao were wandering out through the playroom door, being collected, and leaving…but neither Spark nor Sonic’s chao had even showed up. Soon enough, the two decided to walk into the room and find their tiny charges themselves.

“Uh, hi, mixter!” Sonic greeted the leopard who ran the daycare. “Didja see my lil’ buddy somewhere around here?”

“Oh, hello Sonic!” they said brightly- clearly the hero had been to this place quite a few times before. “Yes, your chao is over there in that nest there, sorry. I just hated to disturb those two…”

Shadow frowned. Those two?

His question was promptly answered when Sonic whisked aside the blanket covering the nest, only for both of them to stare at the sight inside.

Two purring chao, one clearly Sonic’s and the other obviously Shadow’s, were snuggled up together with big hearts floating over their heads. Even the hybrid’s dark chao, notorious for its ever-present frown, looked completely at peace with a small smile on its face.

He tried his best not to freak out.

“Erm…” Shadow began eloquently.

“Uh…” Sonic replied.

The two chao perked up at this, looking happily at their owners before nuzzling gently together in a manner that made Shadow’s stomach leap into his throat and then crash straight through the floor. In a further twist (both in events and in the striped hedgehog’s internal organs), Sonic’s chao then leapt happily into his arms, leaving Shadow to stare at the tiny version of his crush cuddling into his chest fur.

He sincerely hoped there was a convenient couch nearby for him to sit down on.

“Blu- come on-” Sonic began, looking oddly panicked for some reason, but then Spark sprang eagerly onto his shoulder and the hero rapidly fell silent as the dark chao nudged his cheek.

The two hedgehogs stared at each other for a long time. Shadow tried to move or do something other than just stand there, but it was awfully difficult when the hero was looking at him with those wide, soft green eyes….

“Er…Sonic?” Shadow finally choked out, in an odd, strained sort of tone.

“Yeah?”

“I think I’d like my chao back now.”

“Yeah.”

They each handed over their respective creatures, though Shadow felt rather reluctant to let such a tiny version of Sonic out of his arms. And for a moment he could almost have sworn that the hero held Spark a little longer than necessary, too…

…

Once he got home, the hybrid collapsed onto the couch and covered his eyes briefly with a hand. Spark, who had at first rushed into the kitchen (not having forgotten the promise of cake), came back and began to tug on his arm briefly before realizing that maybe Shadow wasn’t quite up to doing much of anything at the moment.

Rouge and Omega walked in just a moment later, their work having ended a little after Shadow’s. Upon seeing him slumped on the furniture, though, their greetings were cut short and instead replaced by worried questions.

Shadow sighed. “Spark...just spent a bunch of time cuddling with Sonic’s chao. And he noticed.”

“And that’s a good thing, hon.” Rouge shot back, having resisted a facepalm the moment she realized what all this was about.

“It is not!” the hedgehog cried out, before realizing that Spark was more than a little stressed by his tone of voice. “I’m not mad at you, don’t worry, it’s just...I already make enough of a fool of myself around him on my own. He’ll figure it out soon enough if we keep this up.”

“SO LET HIM.” Omega said. “EITHER HE STARTS DATING YOU OR HE’S AN IDIOT.”

Shadow blushed furiously. “It doesn’t work like that!”

“EXCEPT WHEN IT DOES.”

“Why don’t you tell him, hon?” Rouge asked. “I mean…” and here she developed a devious smile, “...didn’t his chao technically also act all affectionate with yours?”

The hybrid’s ears were bright green by now. “He’s nice to everyone, Rouge.”

At this point, Spark- who had left temporarily to get a pencil and paper- held up a drawing it had made of the scene at the jungle gym earlier. Shadow, of course, immediately began fussing over his chao, checking for any bruises or scrapes, but the bat in particular saw something entirely different.

“Kinda...reminds me of what happened on Space Colony ARK.” she mused. 

Shadow’s head shot up at that. “What?”

Rouge smirked, but it was bittersweet this time. “Your fall...it really hurt him too, y’know? He didn’t go out in public for a long time after that.”

“He...he never mentioned that to me…”

“He wouldn’t have!” she said. “Sonic isn’t the type to ‘bother’ others with his feelings.” Rouge explained, doing air quotes at one point.

“HE ALSO STARES AT YOU WHEN YOU ARE NOT LOOKING.”

“He what?!” By now Shadow had been reduced to just looking back and forth between his two friends. 

Spark flew in front of Shadow’s face and began to mime something. First pointing at Shadow, then a heart, then talking, then a hedgehog with all its quills pointed down…

“No! I can’t just tell him!”

“We’re hanging out with his team next week at the park- you should do it then.” Rouge replied, ignoring the last thing he’d just said.

“Did you not hear me, I can’t-”

“YOU WILL NEED SOMETHING NICE TO WEAR.” Omega said loudly over the rest of his sentence.

Spark cheered approvingly.

“So...you three have just decided for me whether or not I’m going to confess to Sonic.” Shadow sighed, beginning to resign himself to the fact.

“Absolutely, hon!” Rouge said brightly, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

He glowered at all three of them, but it lacked any real malice. “Alright, I’ll play along...for now.” he grumbled.

“EXCELLENT. LET THE PLANNING COMMENCE.”

…

One week later, Shadow was standing in the middle of a patch of grass, feeling like his knees were about to buckle as sweat trickled through his quills. He was no longer resigned to telling Sonic about his feelings and was in fact considering jumping into the nearby lake and hiding there for the duration of the hangout. His stomach- along with whatever scraps of resolve he may have had- were currently all the way back at their house.

On top of all that, he was frankly surprised he didn’t just spontaneously burst into flames when the other three Mobians showed up, Sonic in the lead.

“Hey guys!” he said excitedly. “Long time no see!”

Rouge snickered a bit at his catchphrase (it was one of many) but Shadow just felt his ears burn. He was just so cute and cheesy and already the hybrid’s mind was devolving into a mushy mess.

“Rouge, Omega.” he greeted them each, but he seemed to pause for a second on the last name. “...Shadow.”

The hedgehog in question thankfully managed a reply, and then the fun began in earnest. Knuckles and Shadow competed in several arm-wrestling matches with narration from Tails (“...aaaand Knuckles looks like he’s in the lead!”) and commentary from Omega (“YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T ARM-WRESTLE OR ELSE BOTH OF YOUR ARMS WOULD BE BROKEN.”). Rouge and Sonic were busy pranking other innocent people, though once in a while the latter would look over at the competition, distracted.

Eventually, Tails and Omega got bored- which of course meant Knuckles and Shadow had to play the role of caretaker (“No, you can’t blow up trees. No, not even for ‘science’.”) for a little while.

At one point, though, Rouge got bored with the pranks and had dragged the echidna off to a park bench and was now flirting with him enough to turn his face as red as his spines. Tails had promised to behave- which now meant that he was halfheartedly attempting to convince Omega not to modify his cannon to launch ducks from the nearby pond- leaving Sonic and Shadow to themselves. Blu and Spark had been playing in the grass all this time (since both of them had brought their chao without really realizing that the other would do the same), and Shadow had very definitely not been thinking about how lucky his chao was that emotions were easy for it.

He remembered the talk his friends had given him before this outing then and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it could be that easy. Before he could stop himself, he’d already spoken.

“...Sonic?”

“Yeah?” the hero asked, turning to face Shadow.

“I...wanted to talk to you about something.” he said, regretting everything already because look how stupid he was about to seem...yet Shadow Robotnik the Hedgehog had never been one to do things by halves.

“Oh, really?” Sonic said, and now he almost looked relieved, for some reason. “I, uh, was actually hoping to do the same. That’s cool, what is it?”

“No, no, you go first.” Shadow urged him, hoping that he’d take the offer.

Unfortunately, today was not his lucky day. “No, man, you asked first! Go ahead, what was it?”

“Really- it’s fine.”

“No, you had something you wanted to say!” Sonic insisted.

“It’s okay, I swear-”

“Well, I guess-”

“I mean, if you want-”

“Okay-”

“You see-”

“I like you!”

Both hedgehogs shouted the words at the exact same time, before freezing and staring at each other.

“Wait…” Shadow began.

Sonic’s eyes were wide. “You like me back?!?” he gasped, hands flying up to his mouth.

“...yes.” he admitted, looking off to the side in embarrassment. Then it hit him. “Wait. You like me back?”

“Of course! How could I not?” Sonic asked incredulously. “You’re smart, funny, nice-” He’d begun listing off attributes while counting on his fingers, but cut himself off upon noticing Shadow’s confusion.

“Yes, but you’re a hero. The world’s hero.” Shadow began to frown, staring at the grass. “Why would you settle for someone like-”

“No.” Sonic growled, and the hybrid looked up suddenly to see his face twisted in anger. “Don’t ever say that.”

“But everyone thinks it…” Shadow protested weakly.

“Yeah, well, ‘everyone’ isn’t part of my love life.” Sonic assumed a slightly less aggressive stance, placing a hand on his hip. “Whoever’s been telling you that can either leave you alone or get their face introduced to my sneakers.”

Shadow blushed. “Nobody needed to. I just assumed...but perhaps I shouldn’t have.” he added quickly, seeing the hero begin to glower again. 

“That’s right!” he said, zipping over to stand directly in front of Shadow. “No assumptions here- talk to me from now on if something’s worryin’ you, ‘kay?”

Then, he seemed to notice the sudden stiffness in the hybrid’s posture, as well as the green flush slowly creeping up his ears. Sonic leaned forward with a smirk, resting his forearm on Shadow’s shoulder. “Thinkin’ about something?”

Shadow gulped.

For once, he decided that he could do what he wanted. So, he slowly reached up a hand and touched the peach fur on Sonic’s arm gently, like it was the most delicate thing in the world. 

Rather more quickly, Sonic turned a shade of bright red to rival Omega’s paint job.

“So, uh…” he began, his voice shaky. “Erm...do ya feel like sitting under that tree? Together?”

Shadow agreed, and the two walked over to the shady patch, sitting down and resting against each other. Soon enough, though, Sonic turned to face Shadow, a little nervous. “Do we, like, need to talk about this? Figure out...what to do about…us?” He started turning pink again.

“Maybe later. We have a lot of time, after all.” Shadow said, trying to contain the soaring feeling inside when Sonic said ‘us’- until he realized that he didn’t have to any longer.

“What’re you smiling about?”

“You. And me. Together.” Shadow said simply, making Sonic laugh and snuggle up against him, resting his head on a black-furred shoulder.

“Wow. That’s, uh….that’s new. I really like it though.”

Then, the hero looked up at him. “I really like you, too.”

At this point, a loud whistle could be heard from Rouge, who was standing not too far off and had likely heard a lot of what they’d said. Sonic just giggled, while Shadow shot her a death glare. She just winked and mouthed I’ll keep them occupied, at which point the hybrid tried not to show how very much he appreciated that and failed miserably.

And Sonic was purring now. Which of course meant that every single brain cell in Shadow’s head was promptly dead for the next five minutes.

After he’d recovered from that, Shadow wrapped his arms tightly around his...boyfriend? Maybe? He thought for a moment. “Hey, Sonic?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about being my-” Shadow paused briefly to cough, trying to get the words out- “-boyfriend?”

“I think I like that a lot.”

Shadow smiled warmly, feeling the beginnings of a purr rise up in his own chest.

“I like that a lot, too. Almost as much as I like you.”

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #sonic the hedgehog #happy birthday shadow and rouge!! #these two are the best #i swear i panicked when i realized that their birthday was today and not the 21st haha #me: has never actually fully raised a chao in-game #also me: *throws in made-up chao facts like i know what i'm talking about* #also all names for shadow's chao are valid this is just the one that i personally picked #hopefully everyone enjoyed being blasted by 7500 words of fluff :) #(and hurt/comfort of course) #i liked writing the part where it was like #blu and spark: *speedrun enemies to friends* #sonic and shadow: *PANIC* #just checking: is the term 'mixter' alright for a lengthened version of 'mx.'? i've seen it before but don't know for sure #this is my second attempt writing proper sonadow hopefully it was alright #:D #as always suggestions for how to improve my writing are more than appreciated! #sol's fanfiction

[shurisneakers]

harmless (viii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, protesting, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, gamer (derogatory), smidge of angst

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: listen idk what goes on at construction site and im too sexy to research so we’re going with my version of the world. hello. how are we all doing?

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

He doesn’t expect to see you on TV. 

In jail maybe, for something scandalous and completely unnecessary, but not TV.

But there you are, a sign board waving around furiously in your hand, voice in protest against the demolition of the community centre. You’re flipping the board back and forth to alternate between the messages you’ve scrawled on the cardboard.

You were among a few protesting, but clearly the loudest. 

He thinks that maybe he has the weekend off if you’re too busy fighting big corporations. He’d send his support even.

Until he zeroes in on the sign when it flips over, finally reading what it says.

You better get your ass here, sarge

And so he does.

Half the crowd had dipped by the time he arrived. You were there, still the loudest, but he couldn’t help but notice the lack of people as compared to an hour or two ago on TV. He supposed that justice could wait as long as it took to get lunch from the nearest café.

“I can’t stop you from protesting, y’know.” He’s a little wary of approaching your raging self. 

“Oh, hey Barnes. You got my message.” You break away for a second to scream a bunch of obscenities at the gigantic glass building before turning to him. “You wouldn’t be able to.”

“What’s your dumb plan then?” 

“First of all, it’s not dumb. It’s stupid. Put some respect on my technological genius.” You held up a finger. “Second of all, it’s not here.”

“Where is it?” 

“At the construction site.” You point down the road. “Come on.”

Right along the way you stop to chant another slogan. He waves his arm around meekly in support. He did, after all, have to stand up for what was right, but if his publicist saw him here she’d have an aneurysm. 

The construction site isn’t very far off. It’s adjacent to the community centre, which he assumes they’re going to tear down to make more space for whatever shitty commercial building was going to take its place.

There are already a few excavators and dozers there but no one to man them since it was lunch time. What garners his attention is the small silver plate that’s on the floor a few feet ahead in the direction you’re walking towards.

“Here.” You stop once it nears. “The plan.”

“Am I supposed to know what this is?” He lightly kicked at it, earning a smack on the arm from you.

“Stop that,” you scolded, “and look at it. It’s not hard to figure out.”

He narrows his eyes. There’s a small u-shaped piece of metal in the middle of the plate. “That’s a magnet.”

“Exactly.” You clapped your hands together in excitement. “The world’s strongest electromagnet.”

He looks around. The only possibly magnetic things are the cranes and excavators around him.

“You’re going to... stop the machines from moving ahead?” he hesitates in his deduction. 

“Yep. Can’t tear anything down if they can’t get to it first.” 

Bucky looks down.

“Does this thing even work?” He toes at it again. “It’s kinda small.”

“It works beautifully, stop kicking at it, you demon-”

“What happens if I step on it, huh?” He knows this would get on your nerves wonderfully. He raises his leg. “Do I get to go home for the day?”

“You’re such a little shit,” you whine, reaching for your back pocket. “Stop bullying my invention.”

“’m gonna squish it like a bug.” He’s only half kidding about that part. “I’m gonna-”

Before he can finish his sentence something yanks him down hard. His head nearly hits the ground before his right arm shoots out to break his fall.

"Woah there, don't go falling for me as yet.” 

“What the fu-” he begins, eyes locking on his metal arm that was pressed flat against the earth.

“I told you it works,” you say smugly. “Try crushing it now, Barnes. If you can even get off the floor.”

He tugs his hand but it’s firmly attached to the thing. No matter how or where he’s applying the effort, his limb refuses to move. He’s stuck.

“Turn it off,” he sighs. “You made your point.”

“No. Stay there.”

“Y/N, shut up and turn this off,” he groans, trying to find a better position rather than chin down on the ground.

“Lay there and rot. You deserve it for underestimating me.” You huff.

“I wasn’t underestimating you, Jesus Christ.” He really was planning to just step on it, but he had complete faith that it worked. 

When he doesn’t receive a reply, his gaze follows yours. Suddenly the crane looks a lot closer than it initially did. Awesome. 

“Those are moving towards me.” He picks up on the low groan and creak of metal.

“Yeah, they are.” You nod, one hand on your hip, watching them.

He didn’t think that getting crushed under construction equipment would be how his day went. 

“Not my problem,” you decide finally after a bout of silence. 

Now that simply wouldn’t do. 

Death was definitely a problem, but what was more important was that he was going to get a dust allergy from the mud. He could already feel the blocked nose and temperature incoming.

“Are you really going to waste this on me? Don’t you have a demolition to stop?” He manages to twist his body so that he’s lying on his back.

“Good point,” you squint into the distance at the whirring of the heavy machinery. Their owners wouldn’t be happy to find them missing from their original spot. “But I still can’t help you out.”

“You’re willing to sacrifice your-”

“I can’t help you out because I don’t have an off switch. Yet,” you add the last part in a hurry.

“Then when the fuck were you planning to build one?” He sits up, leaning on his elbow. The cranes weren’t a mini object on the horizon now; the closer they got, the faster they were starting to move towards him. 

“I don’t know, after they agreed not to take down the building?”

He could just detach his arm and come back for it later he but had no guarantee that you would stop here for the day or that the vibranium could withstand all that pressure. 

“You better make a switch right now and get me out of this, I don’t care how.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled, bending to assess how badly he was stuck. “You know, this thing runs really deep into the earth. It’d take forever to dig back up and then get you back to my lab and then build a switch.”

“How long?” He didn’t have a lot of time, clearly, but even generally he didn’t have the whole day to waste. He had a mission the next day. He had to put the fear of death into some Russians and bring some pirozhki back for Nat. 

“I don’t know,” you furrowed your eyebrows. “Too long for my schedule anyway, I have class prep to do.”

“Motherfucke- that thing’s like twenty feet away.” He’s worried about how you don’t look fazed at all when he points at the stupid machine.

He’s about to volunteer to detach his arm when he realises it’s definitely less than twenty feet now. He had a backup just in case. It didn’t move as smoothly, but who could tell the difference when a couple of tons of pressure was aiming for your face, and hell, if he explained his circumstances of the destruction of his arm to T’Challa-

“Okay, fine.” You reach into your backpack to grab something that looked like a wrist watch. It matched the one already around your hand. 

You reach over and clasp it around his hand before turning a dial on the side.

“You ready?” you ask, ignoring the large crane that was starting to charge towards you. 

“For what?” he replies, looking down at it. He can barely hear you over the sound of the whining of machinery.  

“Teleportation, baby.” You send him a big grin before slamming down on his watch.

“Huh-” His voice cuts off immediately. 

If there’s anything that can be said about teleportation, it’s that he feels like every atom in his entire body violently splits to float around briefly before suddenly rejoining again.  

The ground beneath him feels different, and it takes him a second to realise that he was on the floor of your lair. 

“What the fu-”

“Hello,” your voice comes from above him. 

“You can teleport.” It’s not difficult for him to look at you now without the sun in his face. His arm is still stuck to the magnet but since the giant rod it was attached to was no longer deep in the ground, he could lift the entire apparatus up relatively easily.

“What, like it’s hard?” You discarded your bag on the floor. “You good? Takes a while to get used to.”

He gives you a grunt in acknowledgement, shaking his arm to see if he had any luck. It didn’t budge.

“Come on, take a seat.” You gesture to a lab chair you’ve pulled up for him on the raised platform at the front of the room. He realises that this is the first time he’s properly seen what’s actually inside your lair.

There are various buttons that do God knows what, drawers and cabinets painted black, several computer screens and gigantic pillars of glass on either side of the set up that encapsulate some green bubbling liquid. There’s a giant television set up against the wall, divided into several screens.

“Whaddya think?” You do a small swoop of your arm to show off the place.

“Gamer,” he says simply, testing his luck.

“What did you just say to me?” you recoil instantly, disgust on your face.

“It’s a gamer set up.” He points a finger at the TV screen. He was told by Shuri to use it as an insult, but he wasn’t exactly sure why. It just felt appropriate. 

“Take that back right now.” You raise a finger accusatorially at him.

“No.” He was sticking with it even though he had no idea what exactly the context was.

“Fuck your arm,” you announce, throwing your hands up in surrender.

“Fuck your demolition then,” he replies simply, getting up from his place on the chair to leave with the thing still attached to him. 

He takes one step ahead before your voice rings out.

“Sit down, drama queen,” your voice calls from behind him. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You’re infuriating.”

“I’m the best part of your week,” you fire back, ”and also your only way out of this. Now sit down.”

He didn’t even need the second warning, he was already on the chair the first time around.

“I’m not going to build a switch to turn this off. It’d take too long,” you examine the piece of equipment with more gentleness than he was expecting, “I’m going to remove it instead. It’s gonna take a while, so you better get comfortable.”

“I’m not.”

“That’s so sad,” you say without any indication of wanting to help. 

He rolls his eyes.

You pull up next to him, welding glasses covering your face and the tool in your hand. 

He turns away when you start, making sure his face is not directly within its trajectory. 

He makes himself busy by looking around some more. There are details you’ve put into the place, materials that are non-flammable made up most of the architecture. It’s dramatic, sure, but somehow the designs and colours seemed to go together. It did look sinister, he’d give you props for that.

The space was quite big. It occurs to him only then that that’s how you manage to sneak up on him so often in the past. Everything clicked. Fucking teleportation.

“So,” your voice was raised to speak over the noise. “How’s it going?”

He decidedly doesn’t answer. His position is more than enough.

“Right.” You clear your throat. 

He takes to counting the tiles on the floor, figuring out how many were there from the raised platform to the wall of the entrance. 

“Not how you imagined your day to go, huh?” you continued despite his lack of response. “But some might say it’s a privilege to be spending the day with a cool, mad scie-”

“Are you going to keep talking?” he interrupts, losing his count on the floor.

“Yeah, duh,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You got anything better to do?”

He didn’t. 

“What’s it like living with a bunch of superheroes?” You change course. He’s not sure if he’s really allowed to disclose top secret information. “I assume there’s a lot of protein shakes, talcum powder for the chafing-”

Then again, how much damage could you do by knowing that Steve preferred pancakes over waffles?

“It’s quiet,” he says. “Most of the time.”

“Save all your smart talking for the battlefield, huh?” 

He doesn’t reply. It’s quiet around the Tower. A lot of their energy goes towards missions and recuperating once they’re back. 

“You go on missions a lot?” 

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Boo, you whore,” you say with mock disappointment.

He got that reference.

“What’s your favourite food then?”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“What?” The welding stops for a second while you look at him. “Don’t tell me that’s classified too.”

It’s not, he’s just never thought about it. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, “Pasta?”

“Vague, but I’ll take it.”

He used to boil a lot of pasta, from what he could remember of his days in hiding. Cheap and bought in bulk before he saved up enough to buy things like fruits. A lot of the times the amount of sauce he had access to was enough for maybe seasoning, not a whole component on its own. 

It’s one of the perks of being a free man in the 21st century he thinks, a steaming bowl of fettuccini drenched in sauce and garlic bread on the side. 

“What do you do in your downtime?”

“Nothing.” Well, he considers it to be a pass time and doing nothing is a full time gig. It takes effort to do nothing. He even has days dedicated to doing nothing, as suggested to him by his therapist.

“Really?” You sound a little surprised, although it’s hard to make out when you’re already speaking a lot louder than usual. “No shining your penny collection? No software update for this thing?” You tap at his arm. 

There really isn’t anything. Truth be told, he thinks he’s the most boring guy in the Tower. He sticks to himself, has a few succulents that he adores and occasionally watches trashy television. So then why are you so interested in him?

“You’re obsessed with me,” he says pointedly. “Why?”

You give a short laugh. “I think it’s the blue eyes, sarge, they’re really popping today. Gotta say, I’m loving this colour on you. Is it different from the black you wore last week? And from the one from the week before that?”

He looks down at his dark t-shirt and utility pants. He had other clothes but those were reserved for things that were not this.

“Or maybe it’s the grumpiness, I don’t know. I love it when someone shows absolutely no interest in me. Very sexy of you.” Oh jeez, you were going to continue. “Hell, maybe it’s the thighs-”

“Okay,” he interjects, feeling the need to count the tiles more than ever. He equates the heat in his neck from the welding going on beside him. 

The loudness of your laughter is clearer than the sound of metal on metal when you tug a large piece of the invention off. Things were moving fast. He could get back home to his Star Trek marathon and forget this day ever happened.

“You know, you’re more interesting than you think,” you pipe up casually. 

He doesn’t expect this and therefore he supposes he can’t stop the curiosity from enveloping his face. He hasn’t told you anything about himself, so then the inference you reached came out of nowhere.

Apparently, you take notice of the confusion on his face, even though he can’t see through the giant welding mask, because you let out a chuckle. 

“Oh, come on, really? You have no idea?” you ask lightly, pausing to see if he offers anything other than silence. “You’ve come back almost every week even though you know it’s a waste of your time, you always keep your promises and I know for a fact that if you wanted to stop me once and for all, you could have. But you’re not.”

He doesn’t realise you’ve stopped welding until you start again. Good, it gives him an excuse not to have to look at you after that. 

Frankly, he’s a little stunned.

You’re not looking at him, he can tell from his peripheral vision. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have a small crush on me.”

At that, he’s forced to roll his eyes out of instinct. Thankfully you do know better.

A few screws out later, another piece comes out. You inform him that’s it’s going to get trickier from there since the circuit was a little more intricate, a lot more time than the original few pieces. He can see his Star Trek marathon fade away in the distance.

You ask him a few more questions. Some he answers with silence, others maybe a tidbit here and there. 

“How’s dating now compared to the forties?”

“Strange.” He purses his lips in thought. “One guy asked for a gym date. Didn’t know that was a thing.”

“How’d that turn out?” you laugh.

“He didn’t ask for a second one.” His Bumble matches with girls somehow had gone down since he cut his hair, but he’s not too bothered. Not like there was a huge shortage. 

He likes cats, thinks the worst merchandise that they make is the stupid baseball card with his face on it, and doesn’t have social media for the sake of his sanity. He’s seen the thirst tweets. 

Clearly, he’s revealed his deepest, darkest secrets. Utterly classified material. But he doesn’t know anything about you other than your name, number, address, where you teach, what your hobby is-

“You, uh-” he hesitates, “You got a favourite food?”

Your hands hold still to hover above what they’re working on. You fight back a smile. “Sure do.”

He asks a few more questions. Shuts up when he feels his social battery drain. That’s enough for the next month, he thinks.

The sun’s dipped down beyond the horizon by the time majority of the work is completed. Both of you have taken a few breaks to fight the feeling of stiffness that was creeping into your joints. 

You scoff and tell him you’re not planning to poison him when he denies the offer of a soda. He doesn’t deter in his decision.

“How much to go?” He has a mission tomorrow that he’d really like to get some sleep in before. Waking up at 3am to get ready was the worst part of the job. 

“Basically done.” You roll your chair back, rotating your shoulder and stretching your fingers. “There’s just this little part that I can’t access from this angle. How good are you at hanging upside down like a bat?”

Fuck it, he sighs to himself, it was almost finished anyway.

Bucky stands up, tilting his neck to the side slightly before pulling at a small latch under his arm, one so tiny that you’d never make out was even there unless you knew it existed. The arm releases from his shoulder with a small click.

He offers it to you, a piece of your magnet still attached to it.

Your eyes are slightly wide. He raises his eyebrows.

You don’t say anything, just accept it and flip it to a position you were comfortable with. It takes only a minute or two for the sound of the last piece hitting the floor to reverberate through the hall.

You give a small cheer. He lets out a tiny exhale in equal parts fatigue and relief.

“So,” you drawl, handing his arm back to him, “you could have just done that the whole time.”

He doesn’t reply, just slides it back onto his shoulder. 

“You had the option of leaving your arm here and coming back later to get it.” 

He gives it a few shakes, opens and clenches his fist shut a few times to make sure everything is working.

“You wanted to talk to me.”

He gives you a deadpan look. “I was distracting you.”

“Bullshit,” you laugh.

“Believe what you must.” He shrugs, turning around. “My job here is done regardless.”

“Oh, I believe alright,” you call out from behind him as he walks towards the entrance of your lair. “I believe you’re a sneaky bastard, Bucky Barnes.”

He doesn’t stop himself from smiling at the overdramatic gasp you give when he flips you a middle finger. From the metal arm, too. 

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[lyricalporcupine]

Finally done though I am not happy with it lmao imagine that

ANYWAY

I can’t remember if I posted the snippet that this piece is based on but it’s under the cut anyway. Please enjoy!

~~~~~~~~

(Note: Takes place several weeks after arranged marriage. There is an attack from another tribe and it’s the first real fight Beau’s been in. They haven’t had their first kiss yet, let alone had sex. This takes place before all that)

~~~~~~~~

The last thing Beau remembered was an arrow piercing her belly, near her hip, a shout, and total darkness. 

She woke up some time later, though she’s not sure how much time had passed, in her bed. The furs were heavy but soothing, the familiar scent of animal musk and the sweat of herself and Yasha prominent deep in the fibers. 

She felt a large, calloused hand holding hers and she took a deep breath and slowly blinked her eyes open. The hut was cast in its typical dimness. The ever present fire was softly crackling in the middle of it and when Beau turned her head toward it, she saw a large bodied silhouette. 

“Yasha?” Her voice cracked, throat dry. She tried to swallow and her throat stuck, causing her to cough. 

The hand holding hers pulled away and she watched, with bleary eyes, as the figure picked up a waterskin and held it up to Beau’s mouth. 

“Drink,” came the familiar voice of her wife. 

Beau raised her head and drank deeply from the canteen, her hand wrapped loosely around Yasha’s wrist. After a few deep gulps Beau pulled away and took a deep, shuddery breath. 

“What happened,” Beau asked as she settled back into the bed. She blinked her eyes and her vision refocused and she watched as Yasha corked the waterskin and sat it aside. 

Yasha herself resettled beside Beau, legs crossed. “You were hit with a poison tipped arrow,” Yasha said softly. “We thought—“ Yasha paused, swallowed and tried again. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“How long have I been knocked out,” Beau asked, her voice still rough. 

“Half a day,” Yasha replied. “Give or take an hour. After the healers did all they could I moved you to our bed.”

Beau reached for Yasha’s hand and the barbarian quickly gave it, her grip light. “Have you been here the whole time, watching over me?”

Yasha’s gaze fell to the bed and she gave a small grunt. “Mostly. I did have some matters to tend to that couldn’t wait. There are more I need to deal with.”

Beau nodded and released Yasha’s hand. She tried to push up into a sitting position and hissed in pain. “Fuck.”

Yasha was immediately hovering over her. “Be careful,” she said softly. “Please.”

Beau groaned and moved the blanket from her lap. She found a bandage wrapped around her belly and down around her hip and upper thigh. The bandage was stained a light red and she looked up at Yasha. “What did the poison do?”

“I was told it kept your blood from clotting,” Yasha answered. “There’s also a chance the wound may be infected. It’s a very large gash.” 

“Greeeat,” Beau snarked flatly. 

Yasha reached out and gently laid her hand where she knew the wound was. Her palm began to glow and warmth flowed from Yasha and seeped deep into Beau’s skin, even through the bandage. Beau felt the pain severely lessen even if it didn’t fade completely. 

“That feels great,” Beau said with a groan. When Yasha pulled her hand away, Beau looked up at her. “You have healing magic?”

“Some,” Yasha said softly. Her eyes were still cast down and she wouldn’t meet Beau’s gaze. “The healers in the tribe are good at what they do. They saved your life. But I’ve been trying to find a cleric. It’s been difficult. Not many people want to be part of semi-nomadic tribe in the wastelands.”

Beau reached for Yasha’s hand and, once again, Yasha freely gave it. “I do,” Beau said softly. 

That got a small smile from Yasha and she gently squeezed Beau’s hand. “After today, I’d say you’ve earned your place in our tribe.”

Beau smirked. “I didn’t earn it by marrying you?”

Yasha’s smile turned into a smirk. “Sadly, no. In fact, that made the other tribe members more wary of you. They wanted you to go through the standard trials to induct you into our clan.”

“You couldn’t have convinced them otherwise,” Beau asked. 

Yasha gave a small shrug. “I could have. And considered it. But a lot of them do not like what I’ve done with the clan since taking over. They think I’m soft.”

Beau’s eyes dropped to Yasha’s hand still held in her own. She flipped it over and began tracing her fingers along the various grooves along Yasha’s palms. “I remember you telling me our wedding night that the Skyspear position isn’t hereditary.”

“That is correct,” Yasha said. 

“So how did you become the Skyspear?”

Finally, Yasha looked up at Beau. Her eyes were hard, cold, but it wasn’t  directed Beau herself. “I killed the last one.”

Beau’s eyebrows raised. “Can I ask why?”

“It is tradition,” Yasha said. “To gain a new Skyspear you have to slay the previous one. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Alright,” Beau said. “But I have a feeling something happened to make you challenge her. You don’t seem like the type to want the power.”

Yasha shook her head. “I did not.”

Yasha fell silent and Beau waited. When it became apparent that Yasha wasn’t going to elaborate, Beau decided to prod her a bit. “What changed your mind?”

Yasha’s eyes fell again. She was silent for a long while but Beau could tell it was because she was considering her words. 

“Tribal life is hard,” Yasha began. “There are certain rules and oaths one takes when committing to the clan. To become a member you undergo severe trials. Survive them and you become a member of the clan and earn your name. Before becoming the Skyspear, my clan name was Orphanmaker.” As she spoke her old name, sadness tinged Yasha’s voice and Beau gently squeezed her hand. 

“Once you become a member,” Yasha continued, “you vow celibacy until an appropriate mate is chosen for you.”

“You don’t get to choose your own spouse,” Beau asked, disbelieving. 

Yasha shook her head. “No.”

Beau picked up on the grief in Yasha’s tone and quickly put things together. “But you did anyway. Didn’t you?”

Yasha smiled at Beau’s quick mind. “I did.”

“What was her name,” Beau asked gently. 

Yasha’s smile grew and became wistful. “Zuala,” she said quietly. 

“Can I ask what happened to her,” Beau asked softly. “I’ll understand if it’s too painful to discuss.”  

Yasha surprised her by shaking her head. “It is painful but. I want you to know.

“We married, in secret,” Yasha explained. “And we were happy, for a while.” 

Yasha’s face fell and Beau knew why. “You were found out.” It wasn’t a question but Yasha nodded slowly. 

“We were.”

Beau’s heart sank. She was sure she knew how this played out but found herself asking anyway, “What happened?”

Yasha took a deep breath and released it slowly. “We were taken into custody and held for a day. Or less. I’m not sure. Then the Skyspear called for Zuala and she was taken from the cell. 

“I managed to escape,” Yasha continued and Beau could hear the emotion causing Yasha’s throat to thicken. “I ran to where they had taken her, which was to the executioner. But I was too late. I watched, too terrified to move, as they killed her.”

Beau felt her eyes burn, bison blurring slightly from tears. “Yasha…”

Yasha shook her head slightly but continued. “I’m…unsure what happened after that, exactly. It’s a blur. I blacked out and the next thing I remember was standing over the Skyspear, my sword plunged into her chest and hearing her gasp for breath. 

“More fights happened after that,” Yasha continued. “Some clan members claimed I was the new Skyspear. Others said I had betrayed the clan. Some of them attacked me and I fought to defend myself. Most of them did not survive.

“To make a long story…slightly less long, I became the new Skyspear. I changed a lot of things. No more assigned mates, for starters.”

“Yeah, I can see why you changed that,” Beau said. 

Yasha smiled at her. “I also put a stop to the children fighting.”

“The kids fought,” Beau asked, surprised and slightly aghast. 

Yasha nodded. “I fought many other children while I was a child. Most of those fights were to the death.”

Beau’s welted widened and her mouth hung open. “You killed other kids?!”

Yasha’s head hung with shame. “I was being primed as the Skyspear’s greatest weapon.”

“And then she totally fucked you over,” Beau said. 

Yasha shrugged. “I knew the rules. So did Zuala. But.”

“The heart wants what it wants,” Beau said softly, to which Yasha nodded. 

They sat in silence for several moments. Beau was lightly running her thumb across Yasha’s knuckles when Yasha finally spoke up. 

“I was scared.”

Beau looked up from Yasha’s hand. “Scared?”

Yasha nodded. “I saw you get hit with the arrow. And when you fell I feared I had lost you.” 

Yasha looked up at Beau and the human could see fear in Yasha’s eyes. But there was something else there, too, that caused Beau’s breath to catch. 

Yasha pulled her hand from Beau’s, only to flip their positions and to hold Beau’s hand in hers. “I have grown fond of you, Beauregard. Far more so than I expected, especially given how little time we’ve known each other.” Yasha’s eyes fell shut and she took a deep breath and blew it out of her nose. “I do not wish for you to get hurt.”

Beau reached out with her other hand and lightly gripped Yasha’s wrist. The barbarian’s other hand lightly laid across Beau’s, gently holding it in its place. “Y-yeah,” Beau said, stuttering slightly, feeling her heart beat rapidly against her ribs. “I like you, too, Yash.”

Yasha gave Beau a small but genuine smile. She squeezed Beau’s hand before gently pulling hers away. “I have to go,” she said, quickly standing. 

Beau’s heart immediately sank. “You’re leaving?”

Yasha sighed as she made her way to the yurt’s leather flap that acted as a door. “I need to check with the healers and see how the others are doing.” She turned back to Beau. “You wish me to stay?”

“Of course I want you to stay,” Beau said softly, almost sadly. 

Yasha looked at her for a moment, then to the flap, and back to Beau again. She moved back to the bed quickly and bent forward. She raised one hand and gently cradled the back of Beau’s skull and leaned down to place soft kiss at Beau’s hairline. Yasha pulled away only to press her forehead against Beau’s quickly. 

“I’ll be quick,” she whispered before pulling away and quickly headed outside. 

#beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha nydoorin #skyspear yasha au #arranged marriage au #beauyasha fanfiction #beauyasha fanart #lyricalporcupine #porcupine writes #porcupine scribbles #save an artist and REBLOG

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 19:

You stared helplessly at your phone.

He still hadn’t answered you or even read the texts you’d sent him- it had been over a week since you sent the last two.

Bakugou told you that he’d be away. That he wouldn’t be at his phone, but that was almost two entire weeks ago, and nobody would be without a phone for that long. You knew something was wrong. Could feel the incorrectness and hollowness in your soul- in that same part of your heart that had suddenly been filled since you met him. 

You sent him another text, fueled by nothing but desperation. 

Another few days went by. Nothing. Radio silence, and unread texts, and a heart that felt heavier with each passing moment.

That wrongness that you felt seemed to multiply by the minute, your skin seeming to itch and feel too tight and too lose all at once. You felt helpless. There was nothing you could do, no where you could look, nobody you could tell. 

All you knew was a last name- a last name that was common. A last name that was shared by 1000s of people all across Japan, and a last name that was shrouded entirely by a pro-hero who was everywhere you looked. 

You’d already tried searching, desperately typing in that last name, but the only thing you could ever pull up was articles about Bakugou Katsuki. Dynamite. Pro-hero highlights and various smear pieces were all you could find under that last name. It was just picture after picture of a blonde head of hair and a scowling face that wasn’t your soulmate’s. Explosions and ash and burning debris and villains and heroes and- you resented Dynamite. He was the reason you couldn’t reach your Bakugou. 

There was nothing you could do. Absolutely nothing, and it nearly killed you.

You threw your phone away in frustration, crushed by another search that yielded nothing but Dynamite. 

You wanted to cry, wanted to yell, wanted to scream until your throat tore for all the things being stolen from you. If he wasn’t okay, if he wasn’t still able to be there for you, all of your childhood dreams were over. There would be no happy ending for you, no fairy-tale love, no perfect puzzle pieces finally slotting together. There would just be you. You and your one-half of a soul and one-half of a name and a potential funeral you couldn’t even go to because you didn’t know who he was or where he lived or how to reach him past a phone. All you had was his voice, all you got to have was his voice and his jokes and a siew of nicknames and texts and it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because it was bits of him; little, tiny, miniscule pieces of someone that was supposed to be yours but apparently wasn’t. Instead of him, it was just you- alone and waiting and etched with a ugly tattoo you should’ve never expected to guarantee forever. 

You didn’t want to think about it- didn’t even want to entertain the idea of him not being okay- but at this point it felt like you had no other choice. Bakugou didn’t seem like the type to just disappear- had proven time after time to you that he wasn’t. Something was wrong. Horribly, terribly, catastrophically wrong and you just knew it. Could feel it settling in your bones like a poison.

You fell onto your bed, peeling back the covers and collapsing onto your pillow. You couldn’t remember falling asleep. Couldn’t even be sure when you stopped crying. 

--/--

You suddenly jolted awake- fingers scrambling to find your ringing phone.

Bakugou :)) - Incoming Call 1:07 AM

You felt like you couldn’t breathe- like there wasn’t enough air in the world to make your lungs work. With shaking fingers, you accepted the call. 

“Hey, idiot.” Bakugou’s voice was hoarser than you remember, barely there and weak through the phone. He coughed. “Been a fuckin’ while, huh?”

Your heart jumped, seeming to nearly seize at the sound of his voice- at the sound of his croaking breath, at the sound of him present and okay on the other end of the phone. You pressed your palms into your eyes, trying to will yourself not to cry, but you couldn’t help it. He was there, and fine, and talking and it didn’t feel like your heart was breaking anymore.

“You motherfucker,” You choked out, trying to clear the tears from you throat. You were sure Bakugou could hear them anyway. “Fuck you- you asshole.”

Bakugou just seemed to laugh- a thin, withering sound that got stuck in his throat. He coughed again, the sound of his chest rattling audible and frightening through the phone. 

“Yeah.” He croaked. “Fuckin’ deserved that one, huh?”

“Where were you?” You held your phone with both your shaking hands, clutching at it desperately. “Y-you didn’t- fuck- you didn’t answer! And I texted you and texted you and you didn’t fucking answer and I was so worried, you absolute fucker, and scared and I-I-”

Your shuddered, gasping to catch your breath. It felt like every bit of anxiety you’d had from the past two weeks was crawling up your throat all at once. It was torrent of worry and desperation and anguish tearing apart your ribcage and bursting out your mouth. You were tired and your chest hurt and you couldn’t seem to stop crying. 

“It-it’s okay. I’m okay. Stop crying, sunshine.” He soothes, but his voice is too thin and too ragged and all it does it make you worry. “I’m right fuckin’ here- not goin’ anywhere, okay?”

“Y-you’re not! You’re not okay! I can fuckin’ hear you. Y-you’re coughing and your voice doesn’t sound right and-” You take a deep breath, wiping at your eyes. “What happened to you?”

A pause. Another cough. Another round of chest-rattling coughs.

“I, uh, jus’ got a little fuckin’ hurt s’all.” He grits out. “It’s-I’m fine. It’s alright. I’ll be just fuckin’ fine.”

“For two weeks? You were hurt for two weeks?”

“No- I, uh, got held up for a bit. And then hurt.”

“What?” You gasp, incredulous. “Bakugou- t-that doesn’t- it doesn’t make any fucking sense! Held up? What the hell does that even mean?”

There’s silence from his end, but you can hear his ragged breaths and a steady, mechanical beeping through the phone.

“W-what’s that beeping sound?” You ask.

“It’s nothing- it’s uh-”

“Bakugou. Cut the bullshit, please-” You beg voice high and desolate. “Just tell me what’s going on. I-I don’t get it! How could you just be gone for two weeks and then be hurt a-and that noise- it’s a monitor isn’t it?”

More silence. 

“Isn’t it?”

“Yes.” He bites out. “It is.”

“Oh my god,” You want to scream, panic once again overtaking you. “Are you in a hospital, right now?”

“Yes.”

Something in you breaks. Something lodged deep in your chest, and all you can think about is seeing him. Making sure that he really is alive in a hospital bed and not some fucked-up figure of your imagination right now.

“Where?” You demand. “Where?”

“W-what?”

“I said fucking where, Bakugou.” You caught your breath, willing your voice to be solid. “Tell me. Right now.”

“I- No!”

“Oh my god, why won’t you just tell me- anything! Ever! You don’t tell me fucking anything and all I know about you is fuck-all nothing and-” Your voice rises, higher and higher and louder as you rant. “Do you even know what I’ve been doing these past two weeks? Worrying! About you! And fucking looking your name up and finding nothing because I don’t know who you are or how to reach you or where you live or even what you look like- a-all I have is your voice and your last name and that’s not even fucking helpful because all I can find is some goddamn hero, Dynamite, who isn’t you and I couldn’t- I couldn’t-”

You’re gasping for air now, nearly shattering your phone in your vice grip. You chest aches, burns, and all he’s doing is sitting on the other end of the phone. Silent. Breathing. Saying nothing like always.

“That’s me.” He finally says, quiet and subdued. 

“Excuse me?”

Bakugou coughs again. It sounds painful.

“Dynamite.” He finally whispers out. “It’s me.”

You drop your phone. Watch it slip out of your hands and onto the ground. 

Dynamite. It’s me.

Bakugou Katsuki. Scowling, blonde, angry, Bakugou Katsuki. Ash-ridden pro-hero covered in gunpowder and searing burns and surrounded by fire Bakugou Katsuki. 

He was your soulmate. The man who seemed to infect your life for the past two weeks. The man you couldn’t find was exactly the same man who was everywhere you looked no matter what you did- on TV, on the internet, in every article you read, every bit of research you ever conducted for your project- and apparently on your phone. This entire time. 

You’re angry, shaking and seething and fuming as you pick your phone back up.

“Fuck you, Bakugou,” You spit venomously, tears once again falling. “Y- you just- you disappeared, for weeks, to go be a fucking hero and didn’t even tell me? You put yourself in danger, fucking knowing- w-what if you- what if you- I wouldn’t have known! I wouldn’t have ever fucking known what happened to you and I wouldn’t ever get to know- and you’d just be- you’d just be-”

“Gone.” 

“Gone.” You repeat.

“T-this is why I didn’t wanna fuckin’ tell ya.” He wheezes. “Because it fuckin’ changes things when you say you’re a hero.”

“A-a hero?” You’re nearly yelling into the phone. “You think I’m upset over you being a fucking hero?”

“Aren’t you?”

“No!” You scream, enraged. “I’m not- I don’t. I don’t care about you being a fucking hero! I care about you, you fucking asshole! I’ve been sitting here for weeks worrying about you, and searching for you, because you fucking vanished and I didn’t know how to look for you and I couldn’t find anything and I just wanted to find you because I like you- I like you, you fucking idiot!”  

He’s silent, the only sounds are your raging breaths and the beeping of a machine.

“You like me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re screeching now. “That’s what you fucking got from that? Are you fucking stupid? That’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said to me! Are you even fucking listening to me right n-”

Bakugou laughs. He laughs, loud and unrestrained and slightly rattling, interrupting your train of thought completely. You’re clutching your phone, pressing it to your ear and seeing red.

“A-are you fucking laughing? Stop fucking laughing- this isn’t- I’m fucking mad at you! Stop laughing, you’re being fucking immature and stupid and a fucking asshole right now! Did you hear a fucking thing I sai-”

“You fuckin’ like me.” He repeats. “I like you too, idiot.”

The wind is knocked out of you- every bit of oxygen is a struggle and your heart is beating fast, faster, so very fast like it’s racing around your ribcage and ripping through the skin of your chest and everything hurts but it doesn’t at the same time and all you can think and see is Bakugou. Bakugou Katsuki.

“I like you, too.” You respond, suddenly dazed.

A pause, another rattling laugh.

“You said that already, idiot.”

Just kidding. Back to thinking and seeing red and only bleeding red.

“Actually, you know what,” Your voice is tight and overwhelmingly loud. “Fuck you! I hate you, you fucking asshole! Made me worry for fucking weeks just to sit there and make fun of me! I’m fucking mad at you- so fucking mad! You know what? I’m hanging u-”

“Don’t.” He says suddenly. “Please.”

His voice stops you in your tracks. Bakug- Katsuki sounds soft and tender and quiet and he didn’t swear once. He’s hurt and he’s probably still hurting and you decide then that you couldn’t do that to him- hang up on him. It was an empty threat. You figured it probably always would be from now on, no matter how angry he made you. 

“Y-yeah. Okay.” You start. “But only because you’re fuckin’ hurt or whatever and even I couldn’t fuckin’ do that to-”

“You sound like me.” He interrupts, and there’s something so fond in his voice that it makes you shiver. “Swearing like a fuckin’ sailor, sunshine, what the hell happened to you, huh?”

“Y-you!” You sputter, trying to recover from the way the nickname wounded you. “You fucking happened to me, you absolute prick! You never telling me anything happened to me! The last two fuckin’ weeks happened to me!” 

He just laughs again, and you think you could kill him. Are suddenly really contemplating just finishing the job off- until he coughs. Until he coughs and rattles and shakes and doesn’t stop coughing for almost an entire minute.

“You- you’re okay? Right?” You ask, voice quiet.

“Mhm.” Bakugou hums, voice deep and raspy. “Everythin’s just fuckin’ peachy.”

“No. I’m serious. Be serious. Are you okay?” 

There’s silence on his end, but you think maybe you can hear the shuffling of blankets.

“N-no.” He grits out, almost like admitting it is painful. “It’s- I’m not. I will be, though.”

“Okay.” You nod. “How long are you in the hospital for?”

“Not sure. Jus’ fuckin’ woke up.”

“And you called me,” You were yelling again. “Call a fucking nurse! Call one right now! You probably need like fucking meds or treatment or like your vitals taken or something! Hang up! Hang up right now and call a nurs-”

“No thanks.”

“Excuse me? Bakugou, are you even listening to me? You’re hurt! You need to fucking call somebody- a nurs-”

“I wanted to talk to you.” Bakugou interrupts, voice hardly there. “Wouldn’ta if I knew you were gonna yell so much, though. Who the fuck yells that much?”

You pause. Taken aback by his words, by his admission. Only for a moment though. 

“You! You fucking yell so much, you asshole! I learned it from you!” 

Bakugou coughs again, and you lower your voice. You sober up.

“I’m serious. Hang up. Get a nurse.” You suggest gently. “Call me again later, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He agrees. “Okay.”

Bakugou hangs up and you finally feel your heart begin to calm. He wastes no time, sending a text only seconds later. 

--/---

eat up, bitches!! it’s an identify reveal, near death experience AND confession scene- welcum to the sweet sweet world of my favorite tropes ~ it only goes up frum hear 

#bnha bakugou #mha bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #mha bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bakugou fic #bakugou soulmate textfic #bakugou soulmate au #mha fic #bnha fic #bnha soulmate au

[pascalpanic]

Stubborn (Din Djarin x gn!Reader)

Summary: Din Djarin is a difficult man, and well, you’re just as difficult. To your surprise, the stone wall of a man might have some weaknesses too: one of them might happen to be you.

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: some cussing

A/N: This was written as part of an art swap for a friend of mine! Reader is heavily inspired by her, but gender neutral- Miki, if you’re reading this, I love youuuu <3 Follow her on instagram @miknickles, she’s a FANTASTIC artist!

You were starting to fall in love with him, you had to admit to yourself, and you hated it. You might be too hardened for love, you thought, even if you knew hardened was one word that more aptly fit the Mandalorian you worked with. His steely exterior was perpetuated by few words and his imposing physicality. He was scary, you acknowledged, when he wanted to be. Your hardness was far different; you were a warrior too, growing up on a harsh planet with harsh citizens and a harsh family. Your hardness was made of your resilience, not your fear-striking abilities. The two of you were similar: hard-headed, intelligent, committed, and damn if you both weren’t stubborn. Stubborn is one word commonly tossed around on the Razor Crest, used to describe you and Mando- Din, you catch yourself, he had told you his name- and the little green baby who lived with the two of you. Stubbornness was what drew Din to you when you first met, repairing droids in the hangar of a local port. Your obstinance was what convinced him that you could hold your own on the Crest when he’s off hunting a bounty, that you could tame the equally stubborn child he had taken into his care.

Pushing aside the revolting emotions curling inside you, you bite your lip and spit out a cuss as a spark flies between two wires you attempt to connect. “Careful, cyare. Little ears are listening,” teases Din from above you, holding the little green child that put you in this very situation.

“Shut it, tin can,” you grumble from your crouched position in the wiring console. “The brain between those little ears is exactly what caused this.” You shoot the baby a teasing glare, and the green being giggles in response, causing a smile to light up your face. “Yeah you, you little womp rat,” you tell him with a teasing snarl, scrunching your nose in pretend anger. That earns another giggle from the kid and the snarl falls, leaving you smiling. “I can’t stay mad at you,” you coo at the baby before turning back to the wiring. “Well, Mr. Djarin,” you drawl, appreciating the intimacy of finally using his name, “did you have something to say or did you come to stare at me?” You ask drily, focusing on the pieces in your hands. 

Din shakes his beskar-covered head. “I came to ask if you needed help, and clearly you do. One more spark like that and you’ll make this whole ship burst into flames.” “I don’t need help. Maybe the ship’s so flammable because this thing is a piece of junk,” you retort back, looking up at him again and holding back a smile by biting the inside of your cheek. “It’s the only pre-imperial ship that hasn’t become a fireball by now.” “It can’t be such a piece of junk if it’s still running,” he fires back, setting down the baby and scooting into the wiring console before squatting down next to you. “Let me help you, mesh’la,” the Mandalorian man offers, grabbing one of the various tools scattered around the floor.

“No. I have this under control. I’m almost done anyway,” you tell him, picking up the tape and ripping off a piece with your teeth.

 “Need I remind you that the Crest has been mine for longer? Maybe you’re better suited to droids,” he says, playful yet stoic as he takes the wires from your hands and applies the tape to fix them together.

You scowl at him and then start fiddling with a filament implanted in the wall, letting him deal with those wires. “If that was true, I could’ve and would’ve hit your reset button a long time ago. Leave me alone, I can do this on my own, Mando,” you turn to him with a playful fire in your eyes.

He shakes his head again under the helmet, bending and picking something else up. “We both know that isn’t true. I’m helping you and you’re going to like it.”

“Aw, you almost made me think there’s a human under that beskar,” you taunt, raising your eyebrows at him and challenging, rapping on the beskar of his chest with a closed fist’s knuckles. “Nope, it’s empty,” you say with a mocking frown.

Smacking your hand away, Din almost laughs through the helmet, the quiet sound he makes too low to pass through the voice filter. “I could say the same about you, cyar’ika.”

“I’m fully human, Mando, all flesh and blood,” you say in a jokingly seductive voice, pouting in a flirtatious way at him. Just like always, you remind yourself, this is just normal flirtation between two friends. As you think about what he just said, you look at his helmet, studying the curves and sharp lines chiseled into the indestructible metal. “When are you going to tell me what all these goddamn Mando’a words mean?” You ask suddenly, curiosity getting the better of you, turning to him and looking him right in the eyes through the visor of his mask. You’ve asked many times, and he always deflects it, giving either a bullshit answer or making something up to chide you.

It always amazes him how you can always find his eyes under the helmet. No one else has ever been able to always see right into his soul, through the beskar and everything, when they look at him. He turns his face away from yours, the direct eye contact too intense even though he knows you can’t see his eyes. “When you stop being so damn stubborn and let me help you.”

“Maker, Din,” you groan and continue to look at him. “You’re really trying to call me the stubborn one? You won’t even take off the helmet when I promise not to look. You won’t tell me about your life, you hide everything about yourself from me even though I tell you all of it. The only damn thing I know about you is your name. You never let me come on a hunt, even after I prove my aptitude to you.” You unintentionally start venting your frustrations with him, angrily ratcheting a bolt into the control panel to hold something else in place. “And yet you still like to call me the stubborn one,” you grunt with a particularly hard push on the wrench. 

The honesty of the words takes Din back for a moment. He didn’t expect you to actually criticize him, only be playfully harsh as the banter between the two of you normally is. The words sink in and he gives a soft nod. “Maybe I am stubborn,” he sighs and stands, leaving you to it.

It surprises you that he left that easily, and that he almost seemed like he had shown his emotion. It was rare that he gave anything away. “Wait, Din,” you call and sigh as you stand, shimmying out of the wiring space hidden in the wall. He’s already walking away, dramatic as always, and climbing up to the cockpit. You follow after him, climbing up and standing behind his chair, daring to rest a hand on each of the beskar pauldrons covering his shoulders. “Din,” you say, somewhat sharp, needing his attention back on you. He spins in his chair and you remove your hands, bringing them to rest on your hips. “That’s new, you listened,” you mutter to him. 

“Do you really want to know about me, cyar’ika?” He asks you, a hand reaching out and taking one that hangs at your side. After a beat of silence, you nod and he pulls you to him, setting you on his lap and continuing to hold your hand. “Well, then I’ll tell you.”

“Tell me what those words in Mando’a mean first,” you ask him, tilting your head and looking down at the black line carved into his mask, where his eyes are hidden.

He sighs and you can feel it in his chest, which your shoulder leans against. “Cyare means beloved. Cyar’ika means... something like sweetheart.” Your heart flutters in your chest. It’s hard to believe he’s been calling you these things the whole time and you had no clue, his brazen flirting in his native tongue being indecipherable to you. He takes a deep breath. “Mesh’la means beautiful,” he admits, voice lowering softly.

The butterflies in your chest have moved to your stomach, settling there and fluttering aggressively enough to cause a hurricane. Your natural coping mechanism comes out again, as always. “Aw, you mean it?” you ask teasingly, moving a hand to the side of his beskar helmet. 

He’s baring his emotions now, so he might as well continue, he figures. “I do,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper as it comes out of the modulator.

You’re taken aback, truly. Your mouth opens softly to say something else, but you stop, biting your lip and looking away from him. You turn back, a smile falling across your face. “I have to admit. I’ve never seen your face, but I think you’re beautiful too, Din Djarin,” you say, voice soft, and press a kiss to the beskar, exactly where his forehead rests beneath it. His breath hitches for a moment and the smile widens a little. “I like you, Din. A lot,” you admit, hand moving to his arm and gently rubbing the space between the beskar armor.

“I like you too, mesh’la,” he breathes out, a hand coming to your waist. “In fact, I absolutely adore you.” He brings you into a keldabe kiss, his forehead meeting yours with the layer of armor between them. It’s the most intimate gesture he can give while in armor, you’re fully aware, and it makes the butterflies scatter all over your body, making you absolutely tingle with the appreciation the Mandalorian’s voice held for you. 

“Din,” you ask softly, breaking your face away from his and smiling gently down at him. He cocks his head in response, waiting for the question that’s sure to follow. “What do you look like under this?” you ask, caressing the cheek of his helmet with your fingertips. 

He chuckles, a low rumble through the modulator. “You can find out when you stop being so damn stubborn, cyare.”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #din and grogu

[stars-falling]

late night at the local convenience store (elriel)

summary: elain, desperate for snacks, visits her local store late at night and bumps into her supposed rival (and he's hot).

prompt: esteemed rival chefs find each other shamefully buying ramen at 3 in the morning AU

word count: 1985

note: welcome to the first july upload! this piece was written for a writing month challenge and i had great fun with it! i'm really excited for the other pieces i'll be posting over the next month. i hope you enjoy them as much as i enjoyed writing them! i'll continue working on other pieces over the month too, so there will be more coming after july (hopefully i can finally finish part 2 of both a storm and a summer's day).

in the meantime, hope you enjoy!

lily (tysm for 760 followers btw! love you all <3)

read here on ao3 // masterlist

*******************************

Archeron’s Kitchen was the most popular restaurant in Velaris. It had the best food, the best drinks, the best atmosphere, and Elain had never been more proud to say that she was the Head Chef. It had taken years of hard work from both her and her two sisters to reach the level they were at now and they only continued to grow. The sisters worked closely together: Nesta (the eldest) directed the finance and other admin, Feyre (the youngest) worked on the design aspects and managed the staff and Elain manned the menus and the actual cooking. They worked well together, with only minor disagreements happening occasionally, and soon they had rocketed to the most well known and sought after restaurant in Velaris.

This was why she was contemplating her life choices as she pulled up to the local convenience store to buy ramen at 3 am. It wasn’t even the nice ramen; it was the crappy 50p packet of ramen that took less than a minute to cook. She often tried to utilise her skills to cook herself the healthiest and tastiest meals but recently she had been working overtime due to another restaurant's rising popularity. The two staff had even formed some sort of rivalry, trash-talking each other in the streets and slandering the other restaurant to their patrons. She found it childish, so Elain didn’t partake, but she did find it mildly amusing. The new restaurant was several streets over and it was the opposite of Archeron’s Kitchen in every way. Where they were warm and cosy, Starfall was sleek and modern. Where they focused on comfort foods, Starfall served new and innovative dishes. People went to the Archeron’s for the food, whereas people went to Starfall for the experience. And where the Archeron’s Kitchen was run by three sisters, Starfall was run by three brothers.

She had never actually met them. She knew their names and what they looked like but in terms of interactions she had only caught a glimpse of two of them once before. They had stood in the main square with Feyre and Nesta arguing about the importance of serving classic food. Her sisters had both come away grumbling about ‘upstart assholes with no sense of tradition’. As far as Elain was aware, the two brothers they had argued with weren’t actually in charge of the menu, making her unsure if they had full authority over the subject, but she didn’t want to start them off again so she refrained from mentioning it.

Elain pulled into an empty parking space and took a moment to lay her head against the headrest and close her eyes. She was tired and hungry. There was no food in the fridge, her bank account was looking quite sorry for itself and she still had more menus to plan and ideas for new dishes to brainstorm. Steeling herself, she hauled herself out of the car and locked it as she walked to the bright light of the store. She pulled the hood of the tattered sweatshirt she wore over her head as a precaution against recognition. With the status of a semi-famous chef, she didn’t want anyone to see her in the somewhat pitiful state she was in. The bell rang as she pushed open the door, signalling her entrance. The bright flickering lights and cool temperature made it feel like she was entering a separate dimension, one that lacked all sense of time and direction. Elain nodded at the cashier as she walked past them, making a beeline to the snacks aisle. She was greeted by a wide range of ramen, the different flavours and prices making it difficult to choose. She had about £1.50 in her purse and she desperately wanted a coffee too so she would have to be frugal. She was so engrossed with her ramen selection that she failed to notice a person coming up beside her. When she swivelled around to check the time on the obscenely large digital clock above the checkout, she crashed into them hard, causing her, them and the copious amounts of ramen they had piled in their arms to go flying to the floor.

Elain let out a yelp as she landed hard on her tailbone and felt her face heat up.

“I am so sorry!”

A deep, warm chuckle floated toward her and her head snapped up to look at its source. She found hazel eyes staring back. A large man with tan skin and dark hair sat in front of her, surrounded by many colourful packets of ramen. Her heart fluttered slightly as he smiled at her. He was handsome, even in this shitty convenience store lighting at 3 am dressed in similar attire to her.

“Don’t worry about it. I should have been paying more attention. Are you okay?”

She nodded before sitting up fully and helped to gather the ramen that lay around them. He smiled at her gratefully and they sat in content if not slightly awkward silence as they pulled the packets into a pile before finally rising. As she looked closer at him, a spark of recognition kindled within her.

“Do I know you?”

He looked at her curiously, tilting his head.

“I’m not sure but you do look familiar.”

They stood analysing each other. Normally the staring would make her uncomfortable, but with him, she found it didn’t bother her nearly as much as it should have. This went on for about a minute before she saw realisation set into his eyes.

“You’re Elain Archeron. The Head Chef for Archeron’s Kitchen. Why are you buying shitty ramen at 3 am? Shouldn’t you have made yourself a three-course meal by now?”

Elain felt something drop inside her. She hadn’t noticed that her hood had fallen off when she fell, exposing her and her shameful ramen buying to the whole world. But as he laughed softly, she remembered where she recognised him from.

She scowled at him as she said, “ Well you’re Azriel Knight, Starfall’s Head Chef, so you can’t exactly talk.”

She gestured to the stack of ramen that she had just helped pile into his arms. He turned away slightly as if to hide them.

“My stash had run out, okay. I need it to keep me going when I stay up late planning dishes.”

“I get that. That’s why I’m here right now.” She replied and a mutual understanding passed between them.

Elain knew she shouldn’t be talking to him right now, the reminders of the supposed rivalry between the two restaurants loomed like a shadow behind her. But the longer they spent together, the more she found herself not caring.

“I feel like we should be arguing,” He told her. “If my brothers were here, they would have been kicked out for yelling by now.”

She smiled, “Same for my sisters. But I’ve never really cared to be honest. I just want to focus on the food, not a silly competition that people seem to be taking too seriously.”

He nodded in agreement and they both began to walk to the cashier.

“So, what kind of dishes are you planning then?” She asked. “I promise I won’t steal any ideas. It’s not my style anyway.”

“I”m not a hundred percent sure on the actual contents of the dish right now, but I’m currently trying to create a more experimental menu. We recently unveiled a new line of drinks that have a more theatrical element to them. Colour changing, dry ice, bubbling, the whole shebang and I wanted to design a food menu that went along with that.”

He turned away from her to pay the cashier, giving her a moment to turn over his words in her head. She’d gotten a glimpse at some of the drinks and food from when she had taken a look at (read: stalked) their website and various social media sites. She had called it ‘scouting out the competition' when really she was curious to see what had set them apart enough for them to have such a rise in patronage. Whilst it wasn’t her style, she had always thought that she’d like to visit them and try what they had to offer. That was until the stupid rivalry had started and just walking by the restaurant was asking for trouble. Azriel finished paying and grabbed the plastic bag the cashier had placed his ramen in, moving out of the way so she could step up to the counter.

“That sounds amazing!” She replied. ‘I admit, I’ve always wanted to try some of your food but unfortunately, my sister’s might disown me if I even mention it. Calling them over-competitive would be the understatement of the century.”

He laughed at this and she took the opportunity to turn away and press the 50p coin into the cashier's hand. They nodded at her, satisfied and she turned back to Azriel. Together, they walked out of the door and into the cool night.

“I’d say you should stop by, but as you said, our siblings may not be too happy about that.” He let out a sigh. “As much as it amused me at first, I do wish we could just get along. I’d like to come and try some of your food too.”

He swivelled towards her, the white light from the store casting his face into shadows.

“I hope this isn’t too forward of me, but would you like to grab some coffee?”

She smiled at him, shoving the packet of ramen into her hoodie pocket.

“I’d love to. And maybe in the future, we could make some of our food for each other.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Like a date?”

She felt dread trickle in. Maybe she had misread the situation. They seemed to have been getting on well, and she had caught him checking her out when they first bumped into each other. Plus, he had just asked her to grab coffee with him. Perhaps he was just being friendly.

She swallowed anxiously before replying, “Yeah. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

He smiled at her brightly, making her heart stutter and skip a beat.

“I’d like that.”

They stood under the streetlamps in an almost abandoned parking lot. Two head chef’s from popular restaurants with bad ramen and a budding connection between them.

“What are you feeling? Starbucks or maybe that local coffee shop down the street? I think it’s called Veritas?”

Elain hummed as they started walking along the road.

“Veritas, I think. I can get a cup of tea for a pound.” She reached into her pocket to show him her single coin.

For the second time that evening (or was it morning?), he raised an eyebrow at her. “I thought I was buying?”

She glanced at him in confusion. “Since when?”

“I thought since I had asked you it was implied?”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “My god, we are bad at this. I think we need to get out of the kitchen more.”

“I’m not sure about that, I’ve got plenty of pick up lines I've stolen from my chefs.” He stepped in front of her, stopping her in her path. “Baby, you’re the crème to my brûlée.”

She groaned, hitting him on the arm as she pushed past him. “That was so bad! I might leave.”

“As if you could do better.”

She pulled out her phone, searching up ‘chef pick up lines’. She grimaced, “These are all so sexual! I think it might be best if we keep flirting out of the kitchen.”

They both doubled over in fits of laughter before continuing down the street. She was glad she gave in to her cravings and went to buy ramen at 3 am. She could tell that whatever this was, it was going to turn into something great.

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taglist + others who might be interested!

@amusedowl @court-of-fuck-me-daddy @akb12348 @illyrian-bookworm @actuallyacotartrash @thesirenwashere @julesherondalex @queen-of-glass @verifiefangirl @rhysanoodle @sadbitchlorcan @thefangirlofhp @abraxos-is-toothless @elrielllll @b00kworm @maastrash @rosssas @illyrianbeauty @nightcourtcinnamonroll @ireallyshouldsleeprn @tswaney17 @secretbondsandloveconfessions @sleeping-and-books @thewayshedreamed @rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @the-laughing-bubble @123moiaussi

let me know if you would like to be added/removed from my tag list!

#lily writes #late night at the local convenience store #my writing #elriel #elain archeron #azriel acotar #Azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #acotar fanfic #feyre archeron #nesta archeron #Rhysand #cassian #au #chef au #restaurant au #July upload #stars falling original