#also of note: my glasses have always been thick plastic

[law-iess]

❝ dear felix, ❞

pairing: hyunjin x felix genre: slice of life, angst, slight romance, hyunlix-centric, eventual idol au synopsis: he was the sunshine in a very dark place— hyunjin's pre-debut letter to felix, his sunshine and ever sky. tw/cw: major character death, hospital, terminal illness, heavy (?) angst word count: 2.01k

author's note/s: wrote this initially for a collab event last 2020, and was my first time writing a ship for a fic. let me know if i missed anything!

Dear Felix,

The hospital walls have always looked so dull. To say that I hated them was an understatement. Especially when the sickly, puke green walls of my room seem to loom over me each night that it suffocates every fiber of my being. There isn’t anything to see here, just white men in suits and lab gowns, nurses and their clipboards, and dying people.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. 

And neither should you.

“There’s a newbie,” Han had said once weeks ago over the breakfast table we had chosen to share since the first week we came in. I pick at my food, uninterested.

“You’re awfully excited,” Seungmin comments.

“You’re awfully boring,” Han snaps back. “It’ll be a nice change, to get see a new face. I’m sick and tired of my doctors going in and out of my room. And another FortNight player doesn’t sound so bad, yeah?”

It didn’t.

You moved in at the hall across from mine. The architecture of the building shaped it into a long H, and my room was directly across yours. I saw you come in that day, watched you through the glass of my windows while still in therapy. You had some lights strung up on the windows, blinking warm little spots that looked like stars and fireflies from the distance. I thought it was silly to decorate since being here meant you were probably on death row too. Your parents, though dejected to leave you there, eyed you with a great amount of passion. I was jealous for a second. My parents rarely visited. You looked happy—too happy— to be there, like an emanating ball of sunshine that just didn’t quite fit in.

I almost scoffed. This place isn’t one for sunshines. This place is a dark, cold, black hole. No light survives.

Except, maybe, you.

“Hi,” you greeted us. Your accent was thick, foreign. “I’m Felix.”

“Hyunjin,” I said, extending a hand to shake. We do. Your touch was warm, soft. It had been a while since I’ve felt something other than the needles and cold plastic pill bottles. It felt nice.

You sat with us at breakfast. You sat with us at lunch. You sat with us at dinner. It was awfully convenient to have Seungmin’s room so close to yours that we could freely move about the halls just to hang out. Of course, there wasn’t much to see but puke green walls and white suited men and nurses and dying people but we stuck together like glue and you blended in seamlessly with us; like it was meant to be.

I wanted you there. But not in just the way the others did. I never really was sure if you noticed the fleeting glances or the subtle nudges that I would throw your way. It never really came up in conversation nor did we try to push it any further. But your presence was addicting. The warmth was addicting. And it has been a while since I’ve felt like that. It felt nice.

The more you stuck around, the more radiant you became. And the more I looked at you, the more I felt that warm, sweater-fuzzy feeling in my chest that I am so, so addicted to.

But it seems the most radiant people also have the darkest shadows.

“What are you in for?” I asked you that night. We dared to venture to the rooftop when Han and Seungmin had decided to grab a few snacks from the kitchen downstairs. We wanted to prank them into a fright, but decided the air upstairs would be nicer and the view would look much better than shocked faces.

“Same as you,” you replied. You had trained your gaze upwards to the stairs, shutting one eye as you traced the belt of Orion with an index finger. “Stage four. The doctors don’t tell me but I know it’s only going to go down from here. I’m just sitting here, waiting.”

“I-I didn’t know,” I stammered. You didn’t seem weak. You had always looked so fun, so alive, so warm.

“It’s okay, mate,” you said, slinging an arm over my shoulder. I leaned into your touch, nestling my head on the crook of your neck into a half hug. This was normal here. Just two dying people comforting each other while waiting for the inevitable end.

“I reckon I’d still go earlier than you,” I half-joked. One could never truly tell, could they?

“Are you ready to?”

I tilted my head up to meet your eyes. Shrug.

“I was,” I confessed. “I mean, we’re like sitting ducks. We literally don’t know when it’s gonna hit, or how painful it’s gonna be. I think I’ve thought about it so much for so many nights that I’ve just gotten tired of wondering and just accepting the fact that I’m gonna go. But now…” I hesitate. My lip curls into the inside of my mouth.

“But now?” you prodded. Were you really going to make me say it?

“Well, now I’m not sure I want to. Not yet.” 

I held your gaze. It opened up the weight of vulnerability for me but I didn’t really mind. It was a new kind of weakness. It was the kind of weakness that I wanted there. It was the kind that couldn’t be cured by chemo, or by drugs, or any kind of surgery. It was the kind of weakness that I brought upon myself and the kind that I allowed myself to fester and grow until it became more powerful than the cancer; even more powerful than myself.

“Tell me something,” you suddenly said. It was so out of nowhere that it took me a few seconds to digest. “Come on. Tell me something about you. Something you’ve never told anyone.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What’s the point? I’m already an open book.”

“I don’t care,” you said. “Tell me something. Anything. Like introduce yourself again. Your name, age, what you like to do, stuff like that. But also make it into the things you want to do if you weren’t locked up in here.” When I looked at you with that face you make when you can’t believe what the other person is saying, you only made those puppy dog eyes of yours and whined a long “please.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wishing stars,” you said. “The universe might hear and give us a shot.”

“Fine,” I conceded, clearing my throat. “Hi,” I began. “I’m Hwang Hyunjin. I’m twenty-one. I like to dance. I’d like to graduate. I’d probably go to a performing school and study music. Or I’d be an interior decorator because why not?” You laughed at that. “And I’d also like a dog. I’d probably name it Kkami.”

“Why Kkami?” you asked. I swatted you away. 

“Just because I can.” I nod towards you. “Your turn.”

“Okay.” You rubbed your tiny hands together like you were so nervous and I laughed. Our breathes formed nice little clouds in the air. I shrugged my coat and hung it over the both of us. You grinned your thanks.

“Hello. I’m Felix. I’m twenty-one, surprise surprise. I like to dance and play games. I like dogs too, but my parents probably won’t let me have one until I move out of their place. I want to keep dancing too, and like, touch people with my dance. I might want to be a professional gamer or like an artist.” You paused. Moved your head to look at me.

“I’d be taking you out, and we’d find the perfect Kkami, and eat a lot. I actually know a really great pork belly place just around the corner of this hospital and we could take Han and Seungmin. Or it could also be just the two of us.” Your eyes had trained upward, towards the stars again. I couldn’t speak, nor move. I could only watch you. Listen to you. And to my heart that was beating so hard against my chest.

“I’d love to watch the stars with you, and curl up with you like this on the cold nights. I’d probably get you Americano in the morning because you wake up way later than me. And I would have wanted to fall asleep to you playing with my hair because it feels so calming. I’d probably spend the rest of my life loving you.”

“Felix—” My throat is dry when I find my voice.

“I don’t know when,” you told me. “I don’t know how, but somewhere, between the little memories over the very little time, I think this is the most I’ve felt human. And as cheesy as it could sound, I’ve only ever felt like that around you.”

“Felix—”

“Let’s make a swear then,” you kept cutting me off. You held out a pinky. “Let’s promise each other to ride out our dreams. To the best we can. No matter what. For ourselves and for each other.” My eyes glued to your little finger. I found myself wrapping mine around it. The smile on your face was brilliant—it was blinding—but even if I were to go blind staring at it, I would still do.

You were quick. You had pulled me closer, resting your forehead on mine. I could feel your breath against my face, could hear the pounding of your heart in sync with mine. The reality of the world collapsed over us like a tidal wave. There was a clock in the back of my mind and no matter what I did, it would not stop ticking down.

“Always find me,” you whispered. I felt your lips against the top of my head. So soft, so featherlight. The side of your finger comes up to my chin. You push my head—my eyes up at the twinkling little lights in the distance. “No matter where we are, or what we might be doing, don’t forget we’ll always be under the same sky.”

—

They cleared out your room two days later.

I can still feel the ache in my chest, even now when so many years have passed. The first few weeks felt like absolute hell. It all passed as a blur, Seungmin said I was inconsolable. There are days that I still feel like that, probably because I know that you’re a part of myself that I’m not going to let go. The pain is here, but so is the warmth, and so is the love that is so much stronger than the pain.

I’m about to go up now.

The crowd is crazy tonight. But I’m here, finally, Felix. I’m writing this letter to get all of this off my chest because tonight marks my debut. Somewhere in the crowd will be my folks and our little Kkami. I’ve yet to register her with a collar. I’ve been too busy with practices. I can’t wait to see the proud looks on our parents' faces. I’ll be looking for them.

My diploma also came in today. There’s a little celebration. I thought I’d bring Han and Seung too, at that pork belly place you said you liked. Han is flourishing as a rapper now and Seung is about to make the biggest break as the group’s main vocal. They’re both so talented, you should see them eating up the stage even on practices. You’d be so proud of them too.

I’ll also be looking for you. In those lights and the sea of people, in the wave of lights that look so much like the ones you used to hang outside your window, I’ll be looking for you. And up in the heavens and in the universe, I’ll look at you, still tracing Orion with your finger with the biggest, stupidest, sunshine smile on your face.

And I’ll tell you. Because I know, somehow, you’d still hear me and that the universe wouldn’t be so unfair as to not let me say this.

I’ll tell you, Felix.

I have kept my promise.

We made it.

I love you forever, Hyunjin

#stray kids #skz hyunjin #skz scenarios #skz imagines #skz #skz felix #thoughts #ao3 author #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #angst #oneshot #drabble #soulmate au #hyunlix #hwang hyunjin #lee felix

[ourrecipebook]

Six Easy Salmon Marinades

Serving: 4 (per marinade)

Ingredients

Lemon Garlic Marinade

1 Tbsp olive oil

¼ cup lemon juice - approx. one freshly squeezed lemon

2 garlic cloves - minced

1 tsp lemon zest

salt and pepper - to taste

Sweet and Spicy Marinade

1 Tbsp olive oil

¼ cup soy sauce - or tamari sauce

1 Tbsp honey - or maple syrup

1 Tbsp lemon juice

½ Tbsp hot sauce

salt and pepper - to taste

Honey Mustard Marinade

2 Tbsp olive oil

2 Tbsp dijon mustard

2 Tbsp honey

1 Tbsp whole grain mustard

½ tsp garlic powder

salt and pepper - to taste

Chili Lime Marinade

1 Tbsp olive oil

¼ cup lime juice - approx. 3 freshly squeezed limes

½ Tbsp lime zest

½ tsp chili powder

½ tsp garlic powder

¼ tsp paprika

salt and pepper - to taste

Italian Herb Marinade

1 Tbsp olive oil

2 Tbsp lemon juice

2 garlic cloves - minced

1 tsp Italian Seasoning

salt and pepper - to taste

Orange Ginger Marinade

1 Tbsp olive oil

¼ cup freshly squeezed orange juice

1 Tbsp orange zest

2 garlic cloves - minced

1 ½ tsp ground ginger

salt and pepper - to taste

Directions

Salmon Marinade Instructions

Add all marinade ingredients to a small bowl and mix together.

Add salmon to a glass container or plastic bag and pour marinade sauce overtop. Container should be small enough so that salmon can soak up the sauce. Seal the bag/container and let sit in fridge for 1-2 hours before cooking. Salmon can also marinade overnight in the fridge.

Baking Salmon Instructions

Preheat oven to 450°F. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper. Place salmon fillet skin side down on the baking sheet. Bake for 12-15 minutes or until salmon is easily flaked with a fork. (If you have small salmon fillets, just cook for less time).

Pan Frying Salmon Instructions

Heat a frying pan over medium-high heat with cooking oil. Once the pan is hot, add the salmon so skin side is facing up. Cook for 2-3 minutes then flip over so skin side is down. Pour the leftover marinade sauce over top of the salmon and cook for another 3-5 minutes. I like to watch the clock during this time because I’m not a fan of overcooked salmon.

At this point, depending on how thick the salmon is, the sides of the salmon should have just turned white and it should be cooked. To check you can use a fork to see if the salmon flakes easily. If it does, and the insides aren’t translucent, then it’s cooked. Remove from heat.

Grilling Salmon Instructions

Heat barbecue to medium heat, place salmon on the grill, skin side up. Cover and let cook for about 5 minutes, then flip. Pour extra marinade over top and cook an additional 5 minutes. Salmon will be done when easily flaked with a fork.

Air Frying Instructions

Lightly coat the inside of the air fryer tray or basket with olive oil or cooking spray. Add the salmon fillets skin side up to the tray. Cook at 400°F for 10 minutes, then flip them over and pour leftover marinade on top. Cook an additional 10 minutes, or until fully cooked.

Notes

Prepping Marinades

If you’re buying a large salmon fillet, I recommend slicing it into smaller portions first, as soon as you get home from the grocery store. This is also when you can add the marinade to the salmon. Get out multiple freezer bags to divide up the salmon, then place the marinade ingredients inside and seal. These can be placed in the fridge or freezer depending on when you’ll be using them.

Marinating Time

I like to marinate my salmon overnight to get the most flavor. But if I’m short on time, I’ll marinate for one hour minimum and then cook. Also, because the marinade has been in contact with raw salmon, it’s not safe to reuse it, so don’t save it for next time. You can still add the marinade with the salmon while it’s cooking. But discard any leftover marinade that has come in contact with the raw fish.

Storage Tips

You can use Ziploc freezer bags to freeze your salmon. When adding ingredients to your freezer bags, you can place the chicken in a glass container with a lid in the fridge for up to 2 days.

Defrosting Tips

I always take out my salmon from the freezer the night before I’m ready to cook and place it in a bowl of shallow water in the fridge. This will help to speed up the defrost process. Just make sure it’s completely sealed and that the top of the bag is not inside the water (you don’t want any water to get inside of the bag).

Cooking Tips

You can cook your marinating salmon in a variety of ways. I’ve cooked mine in the frying pan, baked it and even used the air fryer. I’ll go over how to cook your salmon in more detail below.

(Source)

#seafood #pan-asian #italian #european #sauces

[oflgtfol]

lmao hold on wait. shout out to that one boy in high school who, when playing dodgeball against a bunch of other high school boys plus only TWO girls, he threw a ball in one of said girls’ face, whom was Me. and i was the only one of us who was wearing glasses, and he threw the ball with such sheer unbridled Violence directly into my face that my glasses snapped straight in two pieces, right down the nose bridge, and i was already in a downward spiral for the past like month, so having that happen to me right in front of literally everyone, made me break down crying, right in front of literally everyone, and i had to go to the nurse to make sure i didnt have a head injury, and the gym teacher taped my glasses together, and they let me go home early so i had to call my mom and i was crying to her over the phone and then i had to go to school the next day with my glasses glued together cause my next pair wasnt ready yet LOL

#LITERALLY IT WAS SOO BAD I WAS ALREADY HAVING SUCH A SHITTY MONTH #i was already in a downward spiral and then the gym teacher made me and shannen play dodgeball with a bunch of violent teenage boys #which was just so humiliating and scary bc LIKE WHY ARE YOU SO FUCKING VIOLENT??? #ITS HIGH SCHOOL DODGEBALL WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU??? #anyway i didnt see which specific person threw the ball at my face but i hope he foreevr lives with this on his conscience #you made the Looks-Like-An-Eleven-Year-Old Girl cry bc u were so violent over high school dodgeball of all things #LITERALLY THEY FLUNG OFF MY FACEEEEEEEE #ive been hit in the face in dodgeball before so i was like momentarily stunned #and everyone was like OMG ARE U OKAY like they always are and i was just like yeah yeah im fine whatever #i was worried abt my glasses tho bc they were On The Floor but i just expected them to be like. bent out of shape #but as i went to pick them up it was like. OMG. NO THEYRE LITERALLY IN TWO PIECES........... #and i had never broken a pair of glasses before so i was also PANICKING .. lol #so i just. IMMEDIATELY BURST INTO TEARS YJTGFDSFGHGFDS #i hope that boy lives with that weighing on his conscience! you made me CRY!!!! #all bc u couldnt restrain ur violent animalistic urges to Throw Ball Like Its A Fucking Warzone!!!! #brot posts #also of note: my glasses have always been thick plastic #so the fact that my frames snapped directly down the bridge - the thickest part - says something abt how hard he threw that ball LOL

[savorysatori]

— 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘. ✗

“choke me, spank me, look at me, thank me.”

— sypnosis: working as a maid in a new house is very exciting, you get the money and everything goes well. although, once you’re introduced to the son of the parents, everything goes down hill.

cw, warning: size kink (?), creep!ushi, pictures without consent, nipple play, gn!reader, non-con, somnophilia, sloppy sex, dry humping, praise, panty stealer ushi.

% wc: 2234.

↷ a/n: y’all have no idea how long this was sitting in my drafts, for fucking 5 weeks plsssss- anyways I hope you all enjoy! this was rlly fun to do. also! shoutout to daisy, this collab was really cool! congratulations on 1K bb. <//3

— @daisy-bakugo, PORNSCAPE EVENT! ilyy.

You were everything he wanted, everything he fantasized about.

[1,000.]

That’s how much they were paying.

It was enough to have you accept the job immediately. It was enough to have you choose between two of the slightly revealing maid dresses and enough for you to be standing in front of the wakatoshi mansion. Briefcase in hand with a bucket of supplies you were instructed to bring. Everything was just right, you were prepared to clean, everything would go well.

The frilly material of the skirt swayed around your thighs and glided against the softness of your thigh-highs. Glistening jewels of your gold bracelets glimmering in the hot sun shining down on your skin. The thin line of thread held up the damp clothes, shredding any of the excess water soaked into them. All of the Wakatoshi’s clothing were fancy. Gold lining stitched in the middle or at the end of the cloth, it was clear they were wealthy. But, it somehow amazed you when your eyes glided to the very end of the line — some shirts & shorts were childlike. Pictures of guns and cars were painted onto a black shirt, it looked like something a 5th grader would do. ‘Maybe they had a child?’ You didn’t know, you only met the parents. Folding up the dry ones, you’d stuff them into the cart and push them towards the other line of clothes swishing in the breezy wind.

You finished doing the daily chores, slipping into their kitchen that was designed well with a beautiful interior. Cold marble was felt up against your skin as you tipped the bottle of wine into your glass, clacking against it. Your glossy lips propped up against the cup and took small sips of the fruity flavor. It slid down your throat and surged a zing of bitterness back up to take in the taste, so sweet and yet so unpleasant at the same time. You’d lick the juice off your lips and place it down steadily on the counter, looking up to see a heady gaze sharped on you.

6’2 and steady build towering over you with dark olive hair — was the wakatoshi’s son. Ushijima Wakatoshi.

Your body stayed still, unmoving. He wasn’t anywhere near a 3rd grader - more like a full grown adult. Tongue peeking out from your teeth to lick the dryness seeping between the cracks, your eyelids hooded.

“Uh- Hello! You must the wakatoshi’s son, I’m the new maid.” Extending your hand out to meet his; his hand stayed at his side, not seeming to shift to engulf yours. You’d drop it back beside you and nipped at your lip when the silence between you both continued.

“Well, I’ll see you around. Nice to meet you.. Ushijima! Your parents told me about you.”

You’d excuse yourself away from his intimidating gaze and close the door behind you. Maybe it’s a good idea to introduce myself another time.

The same look from before followed you out of the kitchen, watching you as you’d take up the laundry basket. His eyes kept gawking at your every move. Staring with every bit of emotion nobody could decipher, Toshi wasn’t a very talkative man and it was visible. He situated himself in the shadows and looked from above, staying out of any scandals his parents were exposed to. He did keep his eye on you. Stepping out of his secure area and making every note to try and approach you without seeming like a creep. His creep intentions did creep up back into his system when you started staying at his house, sleeping in a guest room 8 feet away from his room. It was easy; so easy to sneak into it when the moon raised in the dead of night.

Soft thuds of his feet against the carpet thankfully didn’t alert anyone, giving him the time to steal peeps at your sleeping state. Comforter pulled up. Oversized shirt to cover up the intimate parts of your body he dearly wanted to explore. Soft breaths left your pink lips to breathe it in again, his cock stirring at the sound of it. Toshi knew what was right from wrong, he knew that doing something like this would cost his life — but, dear god you were everything he dreamed of. He couldn’t stop now.

His calloused hands raised the shirt for him to be able to see your tummy, sliding his fingers down to the waistband of your panties. They were so simple and adorned your skin beautifully, keeping the heat between your legs warm just for him. His free hand unzipped his jeans and let them pool at his ankles, such as his boxers. You stirred slightly at the foreign touch, brows creasing forward. He stilled until you relaxed back into slumber, his fingers separated your thighs, and slowly slid the oozing head of his cock between them.

“Ah, princess, f-fuuck.” breath ragged, eyes shut closed to take in the bliss. Contentment streamed through him, his hips rocking against you to feel more, more of you. He was greedy. Toshi was insatiable, he wanted everything of you. He didn’t just want — he needed you. It was a plea. A whine for you, a need. The selfishness ran through his family, that’s how he inherited it. From his family. Was he ashamed? No. Not when you felt so good right now, not when he was about to reach the orgasm he was climbing to.

Sweat fanned down his toned chest, abs glistening with droplets of precipitation. His hips rocked forward one last time, cum spurting from his head and between the soft flesh of your thighs. It was sticky and slimy, rolling down to cover every little spot.

The sight of you sleeping soundly while his cum leaked from between your thighs, made the flaccid touch of his cock stir. You were just so pretty, a pretty little something he wanted to scoop up for himself. And he would do it with no trouble whatsoever. His hand slid down to grab his phone from the floor, lying face down. Toshi aimed right in the frame, snapping a picture for later. He stuffed it into the back pocket of his jeans and scurried away from your room, not bothering to clean up the mess of his dry cum smeared on you.

Pressing the ‘start’ button you watched the clothes in the machine swirl with bubbles of soap clouding over them. One hand on the machine and knocking it occasionally to make it turn on again. “Barely working.” You’d mutter.

Despite the Wakatoshi’s being filthy rich, their laundry room wasn’t at all cooperative. There were brown pieces of wood peeling off the wall with stains of what seemed to look like dry substance splattered on it. A bunch of plastic bags and socks were pushed to the corner of the room, dirty ones to be exact. Not much laid in the room other than the things you had listed — except for the posters of lewd manga hanging from the cluttered shelves.

The cool air of the basement door opening brushed up against you, your eyes drifting to see who it was. Standing there was Toshi. He was still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. His expression was the same as always, stern and uninterested. You were both met with the silence from yesterday, uneasiness creeping up back to you.

Bothering not to talk, you turned back to the machine to see it at twenty-one minutes. It was almost done and you could leave to wrench away from the awkward silence you were sitting in. You could still feel his presence, you knew he was there and it was uncomfortable. So many questions were left unanswered in your head, you couldn’t understand them.

The back of your skirt was flipped up to meet your back, his clothed length pressed against you. He was hard. There was no doubt he wasn’t big, and that was what made your eye sockets almost swell out. He slowly rocked the fabric of your panties along with his bulge. Fingernails digging into your hip and pushing you up more to gain more access and spread your legs.

“Ushijima-“ words of confusion scrabbled out from your mouth quickly, “w-what are you doing?”

“Shh.” He jabbed the curve of your back and made you lay pressed against the cold exterior of the rattling washing machine. His words flustered you, it provoked you to stay quiet. You had never heard his voice before and a situation like this only shook your brain into a deeper hole of complication. “J-Just — let me do this, let me try it out. Once.”

And you did. You let him try it just once, you let him delude into the fantasy he had been dreaming of. You let him do it. Once.

You calmed down from the aftershock of his tongue sending you to see stars, arms jerking when the feeling of his hot touch pressing your face against the door of the machine. Your fingers tightening around the handle and pulling on it slightly, cheeks swelling up with heat. The sounds of your whimpers and tiny jolts sent him to push along more, arm encircling around your stomach, his voice breathy against the shell of your ear. You were like a succubus, a being he couldn’t leave nor escape, so alluring, sweet and he had just met you not too long ago.

The smack of his cock meeting his stomach caused you to crank your head back, looking over to see a beautiful sight. Ushijima’s cock was thick, curving gently upwards. The skin was a light shade of cream, and the head was large, pink, expanding tip. “Ushi-“ your voice was wavery, unsure paring with it.

He’d shush you again, angling your leg up as his lips pressed a kiss to your glistening cunt. Toshi took notice of your expressions when he slid into the warmth delves; brows creased together and little words scampering out from your lips. Latching onto the handle and pulling it ever so often when he hit a certain spot, whenever the tip of his cock caressed against your cervix- it was so beautiful seeing you be reduced to a quivering, blubbering mess. A surreal sight he would only see.

“You’re so damn tight. So wet, so willing.. just like that baby.” The pump of his hips made you lose yourself over and over again, a mixture of sounds that were all kinds of slobbery and slurred due to your dizziness. His pace picked up with renewed energy, slick and wet sounds fill the air, sweaty bodies clamping against each other. The whines and pants of his name being drowned out, so pathetic- clinging to the latch and crumbling under his touch. It drove him like a mad man, his brain clattering, the way you took him in with no problem amazed him, you were so inviting and supple.

“S’too b-big! Ushi- ah! -“

The whines of him being too big impaled itself into his brain, your shivering body and cunt wrapped around all together had already made him blank out, now with your pleas, it caused a switch in his head to flip and jack-hammer himself into you. Pump after pump. It made your eyelashes flutter with droplets of tears risking to stream down the fat of your cheeks. His hands holding you firmly, brows furrowed with grunts flowing into your right ear. A grunt rippled from him as his cock throbbed harshly inside you, the feeling making him come undone right there.

“Just like that, ah, fuck you make me feel so good.”

Wrinkled skirt falling to the floor, his cock pulling out of you slowly with globs of cum dribbling out of you, he’d shuffle around till you faced him fully now with a perplexed look on your face. The shirt becoming loose as Toshi’s lips wrapped around the sensitive nipple, suckling and easing any leftover moans out from your throat. His hands placing you on the machine and attaching his lips back onto your nipple, tongue flat against your sweaty skin.

“Fuck, U-Ushi! holy- fuck, just like that.” Your back straining as you leaned back, gasping and threading your fingers through his hair to balance. Toshi wasn’t one with words, his statue being quiet and still. But, words poured out from his lips at the sound of your moans, when you were so good for him.

“So, good.. pretty. pretty, like a beauty.” He pulled off of it with a squelch, standing up high and cupping your chin to stare in your love drunk eyes. “You were so good for me, yeah?”

You nodded, vision hazy and eyes occasionally blinking to peer up at him with a blurry image. Your head rested in the crook of his neck, sniffling as he picked up the soiled panties from the floor and stuffed them into his back pocket. They were red and pink, swirly designs on them, he found them so cute. He slid your legs around him and walked out of the room, leaving the washing machine to rattle in the background with soap and water overflowing onto the ground.

Ushijima just couldn’t leave you after that day, he stuck to you like glue. Who could blame him? You were everything he wanted, everything he had fantasized about.

#ushijima x reader #ushijima smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu!! smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #pornscape collab!!👒 #cw noncon #cw somnophilia #cw size kink

[shreddedparchment]

Spa Day

03/04/2021

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader          Word Count: 7,559

Warnings: language, depression, past abuse, emotional abuse, fluff

A/N: I wrote this because I have been feeling pretty down on myself. It’s pure self indulgence to make me feel better. I hope it will help someone else and if not, I hope you at least get a smile or some entertainment from reading it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

You’re awkward, walking in. Feeling out of place.

This place was for special people. Well, people who mattered.

You’re not sure how you got the voucher. It all happened so quickly.

One minute you were sitting in Mr. Wayne’s office, twiddling your thumbs to expend some nervous energy as you awaited your firing then the next you were being shoved out his office door with a gentle but firm hand at the center of your back.

Mr. Wayne had smiled, his face relaxed and amused.

“It expires soon, so use it tomorrow,” he’d said.

“I work tomorrow,” you’d resisted, no intention of losing a full day’s paid work.

“Take the day. On me. Full pay,” As you opened your mouth to protest again, he quickly lifted his hand to silence you politely and tacked on, “There’s no use arguing with me. Now enjoy it or you’re fired.”

He’d shut the heavy wooden door in your face leaving you standing there, stunned. At a loss to think up a reason to not come here today but obviously you’ve failed seeing as you’re here.

“Good morning!” A young woman with soft to the touch looking blonde hair smiles at you from behind the modern pale wooden counter. The white marble top shines in your eyes.

“Hi. Morning,” you sputter.

“How can we help you today?”

She’s so nice. So polite. Professional. This place is super expensive looking. There’s a crystal chandelier behind you at the center of the small lobby space. Chic sofas line the wall behind you, large pots with dragon trees growing tall add a splash of color to the otherwise sterile and plain gray walls.

Despite its minimalist decor, the office exudes money.

You’re almost at the brink of following the impulse that wants to turn you towards the tinted glass door, but before you can make your escape, the receptionist’s kind voice interrupts you.

“Oh! You have one of our platinum vouchers! Lucky you,” she smiles, genuine in her glee. “Shall I take that?”

She holds out her hands, both of them and waits for you to place the thick and shiny ticket-like paper in them.

Quickly she gives it a read, turning it over and then placing it under a UV light by her computer. An image shines out from under the purple light of a shimmering diamond right at the center of the ticket.

“You’ve got the works. Was it a gift?” She looks up at you, not intending to insult you but you can’t help but feel a little stung by her assumption.

You can’t really blame her though. You reserve all of your best outfits for work. Casual yet distinguished pantsuits and skirts with matching tops or jackets.

Today you’ve chosen a simple floor length skirt. It sits snugly around your waist and hips. Your t-shirt, a simple graphic tee with the words “Touch the Radley House YOLO” printed in bold black letters.

“Uh, yeah,” you admit to the girl, wishing she’d just sign you in and let you go about your day. “My boss gave it to me.”

“Lucky, lucky. You must have a really nice boss,” she admires.

“Well, I lost his company nearly a hundred million dollars and he didn’t fire me, so…” you trail off, still lost as to why Mr. Wayne had been so adamant you take some time off and why he’d been so understanding about the Ronson account.

“Oh,” the girl says, blinking a few times as she tries to process what you just said. “A very nice boss then.”

Her conclusion brings a small smile to your lips because truthfully, Mr. Wayne is very kind. You’ve never heard him berate an employee and he’s usually only tough on his business associates. Members of his board and investors. Like Mr. Ronson.

If he wasn’t so out of your league, you’d even consider maybe letting yourself really look at him. He’s hot for sure, but he always seems so preoccupied. Like he has something he’s trying to keep buried.

Nice, but he has secrets. No one’s perfect.

“Well, we’ve got you all booked in. What you’ll want to do is head in through that door on your right, walk halfway down the hall and the lounge room should be there to your left. Someone will come and escort you to your first experience.”

You observe her vernacular. Every word she speaks is rehearsed and probably scripted to a certain point.

“Thank you,” you give her another small smile, still feeling out of place but a little more at ease.

“Enjoy!” she calls as you cross through the heavy wooden door.

It swings shut behind you silently, a soft hiss at it latches.

The hallway before you is just as simple yet chic as the lobby. The colors are less neutral, a calming turquoise with a black base and a thick silver stripe lining the center of the wall at about waist height.

The doors are pale wood, smooth to the touch. You pass several of them as you make your way to the lounge.

Inside the door to your left at the center of the hall you find the lounge room. Which actually turns out to be a locker room. Smaller than what you would have thought with only about fifteen lockers that look more like small safes. Each one has a digital keypad, a fingerprint reader, and an iris scanner.

“Sheesh…” you observe but pick one and move over to it to set up your passcode, fingerprint, and scan your eye so that you can come get your stuff when your day of relaxation is over.

Inside the locker you find a neatly folded outfit wrapped in sanitary plastic. Completely sealed.

Just in case you’re wrong about this being a spot where you can change, you look for a designated changing area but don’t find one.

With no other choice, you place your purse and keys inside the locker, then slowly begin to strip. Shoes, skirt underwear go into the locker but your nerves don’t let you remove your t-shirt just yet. Untucked from your skirt, it’s easier to tell that it’s intentionally oversized.

After another quick anxious look at the door you’d come in through, you hook your hands into the base of your shirt and pull it up...just as the door opens and a large clearly male body steps in.

You gasp, whirling around in surprise to reclothe your breasts.

Cool air blows against your bottom as your shirt also twists with your movement, but you reach back and yank it down.

“Oh, I am...uh, didn’t see anything?” The voice is deep, smooth. It puts you at ease even though you literally just exposed yourself to a complete stranger.

“No, no. It’s fine,” you tell him, voice strained with embarrassment. “It’s my fault, I didn’t know if there was a separate changing room. I just...didn’t see any.”

“Oh, um...it’s the door right across the hall. But you know what? I’ll actually just step right outside and let you finish.”

That’s so nice…”You don’t have to, I can just-”

You turn around to look at him, keeping your hands on your shirt to pull it down. One at the front. One behind.

Simultaneously, though you don’t notice, both your and his jaw drop.

It takes both of you a moment to find your voices and while he speaks, your mind is busy taking in his massive size.

He’s thick. Muscles bulking through the should-be loose wrap top he’s wearing. Like yours it’s a soft peach color, the same diamond shape you’d seen on your voucher under the UV light etched into the right breast.

With the top he wears loose pants, or somewhat loose around his knee and down to his ankles; there’s a pair of charcoal slippers on his feet. His thighs, like his arms and chest strain against the clothes he’d been given.

It’s clearly too small. You wonder if maybe this place doesn’t carry the outfit in his size. It’s very possible, considering his girth.

“Miss?”

His slightly concerned expression brings you back to yourself, now flustered because he’s caught you gawking at him.

“Sorry, I’m-you just surprised me and my brain’s a little-what did you say?”

“I’ll just step outside,” he doesn’t wait for you to respond as he backs up to the door then pulls it open and disappears through it, closing it gently behind him.

“What the hell was that?!” you gasp, angry at yourself for staring.

He’s hot! You couldn’t help it. He also looks familiar, though you can’t place the face. How you could possibly forget a face like that you have no idea.

While you change, you think about the smaller things you’d notice.

His hair is dark. Black. Curls that are carefully kept in place with hair products. His skin is a perfect pale peach. Not so pink as the clothes you’re pulling on, but it falls under the same shade. There didn’t seem to be a single blemish from what you were able to see.

A small tuft of chest hair had been peeking out of the V of the top. His face had been perfect, yes, but kind. There was a gentleness in it. The small curve of a smile had played on his rosebud pink lips. Not thin. Not thick. They were perfect.

He was perfect.

And those eyes...so blue. Like a clear spring sky. So bright and observant. There’s no way he didn’t catch you staring. Shit.

You note as you shove your underclothes into your locker out of where he might see them, that your own outfit for this spa leaves even less to the imagination than what must be the male uniforms.

Where the handsome stranger had pants, you were given very small shorts. Little more than boy short underwear in length. Parts of your bottom were threatening to overflow.

The top, while similar to the one the stranger wore, also came with a bandeau given the unique look of being wrapped around your chest when it so clearly is just one piece. You were expected to wear this underneath the looser wrap top.

Pulling it shut, you’re still tying the top closed around your waist as you hurry to the door where the stranger must still be waiting.

You open it...but he’s gone.

Disappointment floods through you. Surprising you.

You have no reason to want to see him, but you suppose you had just wanted to apologize for the awkwardness.

With a sigh you shut the door and move back to your locker to shove the rest of your belongings in just as a kind looking young woman no older than the receptionist at the front desk comes in with a smile.

“Are we ready for the diamond experience? You’re a very lucky lady!”

Even though you’re still only halfway sure you even want to go through with this whole thing, her excitement is catching and you find yourself nodding and scurrying after her as she shows you down the hall for your all expense paid spa day.

~~~~~~~~~~

You aren’t used to relaxation.

Not to this degree.

A gold facial? Full body exfoliation with sea salt and Indian kama oil? A rain massage which consisted of you being massaged with several different clays as warm water is cascaded down your body? An herbal bath with murky green water that leaves your skin feeling fresh--like mint but for your skin?

It’s too much!

You’re four hours into your spa session and you’re so sleepy you might pass out in this next one.

As you’re escorted by the same young lady who has been tending to you from the beginning, she opens the door of a long room, the outer wall of which is made up of endless glass panels that catch the rays of the sun.

As you step in, you’re assaulted by immediate drowsiness as your entire being is engulfed in slightly sticky heat.

This isn’t a sauna. It won’t make you sweat buckets. But it makes your skin dewy and your eyes droop.

“Oh, wow,” you gasp, suddenly wanting to run before you can collapse to the floor in unconsciousness.

Your escort laughs, “The hot room has that effect on all of our guests. Come, it looks like we’ve got a spot free over at the far end.”

Along this wall of glass, there are lounge chairs with soft cushions grouped in twos, separated by a lattice waterfall panel that tinkles pleasantly as it empties down into a bed of soft pebbles. On the table at the head of these seats is a pitcher of water, glasses, and a set of small handheld fans that one can use to cool off a bit in the heat. Just in case it becomes too much, you guess. Though you can’t imagine it will. The heat isn’t oppressive. Just consuming.

It’s everywhere but it’s not choking or frustrating.

“I hope you don’t mind if we put you next to one of our other single guests? Most of our diamond packages are used by couples, as you can see.”

Your escorts gestures at the chairs as you pass them and sure enough, every seat is taken with couples hiding behind large potted fan palms.

“No, I don’t mind,” you answer in single, as if you have any choice. “How long will I be in here?”

“An hour or so? If you’d like to exit early, there is a small button on the table by your lounge. Press it and I will come take you to your next experience,” she looks back and smiles at you.

You notice that you pass three spots without lounge seats and wonder silently why some of them have been removed. At the end of these empties is where the escort stops. A set of lounges in the very last spot against the wall.

“Here you are,” your escort smiles. “If you need anything, just give us a call.”

“Thank you,” you smile at her and squeeze between the potted palms.

Slightly nervous, you look for your unintended partner and gasp at the Adonis you’d thought you’d lost.

The sound draws his attention and his expression shifts from stoic concentration to soft smile, “Hey, it’s you again.”

It takes you a moment to find your voice because you’re too busy gawking again.

He’s not wearing a shirt or pants. That is, he’s wearing shorts. A lot longer than yours, reaching about the top of his thighs, but still short. Like briefs. It gives you a good view of every single muscle in his long legs and you suddenly envy anyone that’s ever had the privilege to ride that thigh.

What the fuck am I thinking?! You give our head a shake and try to focus on his face as he waits. It’s only a second too late.

“Yeah, hi. Sorry, I-” you avert your eyes and quickly take a seat in your own lounge chair to his left, keeping your eyes on anything other than the mass that is his chest.

Just as you’d thought, it’s covered in a mouthwatering line of chest hair that trailers down onto his stomach and makes an ever so subtle trail down, down, down...down...down…

He chuckles, “It’s alright. It’s only fair you get a good look too, right?”

You’re not even processing what he’s saying, unable to focus for a bit.

“You’re here alone?” It’s more an observation than a question but you answer anyway, grasping at the distraction.

“Yes,” you nod. “A gift from my boss.”

“Me too,” he turns a little in his seat so that he can look at you, but adjusting his angle so that he can still keep his legs up, one propped up as he rests his elbow on his knee. The other stretched out before him.

This draws your gaze back to him and you’re able to pay attention this time and ignore his very distracting body.

“Oh?”

“I mean, not my boss, but it was a gift from a friend. He thought I could use a nice relaxing day.”

The way he says it, sounds like you’re not the only one saddled with what you perceived was a burden or at the very least, a waste of time.

You grin, “Mine too. My boss. I saved the company I work with from a scandal and his idea of repaying me was to give me a spa day. A raise would have been more than enough.”

“Tell me about it,” the man says, smiling with stunning pearly whites.

His smile is gorgeous and you’re enamored again by how sweet he looks.

How can someone look like he can tear the head off a rhino and still look so adorable? It can’t be fair.

“Rent keeps going up and my job doesn’t pay nearly enough to keep up. At this rate I might end up having to move back to the farm.”

“Oh,” you reply lamely, piecing together where he might have grown his sculpted figure. Farm work can be grueling.

He gives you a look, assessing your response then waves his hand gently as if to swat away his complaint, “Sorry, don’t listen to me. I’ve got it better than most. You don’t need to be hearing about my problems.”

“No!” you rush to assuage his worry. “No, it’s okay. That sucks about your job. Is there no chance at a raise?”

“Not exactly, I have a uh, a hobby that keeps me from taking more work and I kind of get paid by assignment. I have a flat salary but working extra would definitely help with the bills.”

“What do you do?” you wonder, trying to picture this guy doing anything other than just looking like a God in a spa.

He could be a bodyguard? They get assignments. Construction? Personal trainer?

“I’m a journalist,” he tells you, speaking matter-of-factly as if it makes perfect sense.

You blink, then chuckle and then laugh once.

“What?” he asks, amused and smiling again as you chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “It’s just, journalist is not where my mind went.”

He doesn’t seem surprised but he also doesn’t say anything else.

The two of you lapse into silence. It’s not uncomfortable and at least you don’t feel like you need to say anything to fill the dead air.

Twenty minutes pass and you lean back in your chair to relax, sighing lightly and smiling at the immaculate aura that this stranger seems to emanate.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

The longer you lay there, suddenly not sleepy at all, the more your curiosity grows. Turning towards him, you find him already looking at you.

This startles you but in a good way. You smile and the soft curve of his lips breaks into a full toothed smile.

Both of you move your lips to speak, but before you can either of you get a word in a rustle of palm leaves pulls both your attentions behind your seats.

You sit up, twisting a little to look at who’s come, expecting to see your escort or some other spa staff.

Instead you find a woman you’d spotted laying in another spot with who you’d thought was the other half of her couple. Her waist-length auburn hair clings to the skin of her bare shoulders and sides. She’s removed her top, leaving her in her bandeau.

“Hi,” she says to your stranger-wait not your stranger. Shoot.

He looks confused but not unfriendly, “Hello.”

“My friend finally talked me into coming over and talking to you,” she informs him.

“I see,” your-the stranger says.

The girl seems to be expecting something but the stranger just looks up at her expectantly. Awkwardly.

He looks at you and you quickly turn away from their conversation, pushing yourself to the end of the lounge to sit with your hands holding onto the edge, feet flat on the ground.

You try not to eavesdrop but they’re right there.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” he asks her, sounded polite but not uninterested.

You can hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, probably pushing her hips from side to side. Her figure is nice. Not like yours. She’s attractive, in a conventional way. In a magazine accepted way.

Your mood sinks the longer you ponder on this random girl and the stranger. There’s an endless string of disappointments that have built you into this person you are.

Insecurities made worse by words spoken by people that should have supported you or those you thought were on your side. Affections misplaced. Kindness taken advantage of. Betrayal. Worst of all the betrayal. Some small. Some big.

You know that you should be less shaky in your self worth. You know that you’re more than the words spoken and the actions taken that brought you to this point. But how do you turn it off? How to fight the thoughts that bring you down?

It’s not something you can do all at once. You know this. And yet feeling bad about yourself makes you feel guilty because you know it’s bad and that makes you feel worse. It’s an endless cycle.

You’re fully wallowing in your own self-pity before the girl even has a chance to answer the stranger’s question.

“Well, I noticed you came by yourself and I was wondering if maybe you wanted to have dinner sometime? Or maybe coffee?”

You don’t dare turn back, you just resign yourself to a lack of luck and stare out at nothing even though the view is really nice.

“Thank, I appreciate the offer, but I’m not looking for a date right now, I don’t really have the time,” the stranger says, giving her a diplomatic response.

Letting her down without letting her down.

“Oh, well,” there’s a beat of silence. “In case you change your mind, here’s my number. Call me, if you find some time?”

You hear her retreat and the soft shift of what must be a business card against the wood of the table behind the stranger’s chair.

Movement shifts in your periphery and you see that the stranger has moved to the end of his own lounge, mimicking your pose though he’s much bulkier and takes up much more space.

“That was weird,” he says, a small puff of air passing between his lips as he huffs a laugh.

“Why?”

“Well, she just came up to me, out of nowhere,” he clarifies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not the first time that’s happened to you.”

The stranger seems to pick up on your mood shift, his face etched with concern as he tries to lean forward, head tilted a little as he strains for a better look at your face.

“Actually, that never happens to me,” he says. A lie?

“How about you?” he checks, probing gently to see if he can get you to talk.

“No. Never.”

“But you’re so-”

“I’m nothing,” you interrupt, the words an automatic response as if you’ve been hypnotized into saying those words exactly. A trained response.

The silence is no longer comfortable, but thick and heavy.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I’m nobody.”

It hurts to speak these words aloud. Words that have hurt you in the past. Words that have cut you time and again. Scars left behind by those people that should have loved you but didn’t.

“No one is nobody,” the stranger counters.

He watches you, observing.

You don’t like the front row seat he has to your wallowing. You try to pull yourself out of it but the hole just keeps getting deeper.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, stealing a quick glance at him.

He’s still got his head tilted a little in pure concentration as he watches you, brow crinkled with focus.

It’s not judgement though, just intent. You can tell he’s really listening and it makes your heart flutter. No one has ever listened to you before. Not like this. Not with a deep desire to understand like he does.

He shakes his head, “Was it the girl coming over?”

You look away, feeling embarrassed, “She reminded me of someone I knew. Someone I dated.”

Nodding, he indicates that he’s listening.

You smile without humor, hurt by the memory, “He thought I should look like her. Or...he didn’t say exactly like her, but he said he wished I looked better.”

He frowns, his deep dislike for your story honest, “He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t like, evil or anything, but yeah. Not a nice guy,” you admit, accepting that in that case, it was definitely your boyfriend’s problem.

“But that’s not it?”

You look at him.

“There’s more to it?” he guesses.

You look out at the scenic view finally, not really seeing it but appreciating the colors at least.

“This spa day?” you begin, stealing another glance at him.

He turns to sit facing you, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped as his listening intensifies.

“The only reason I got it was because as I said before I saved the company I work for from being dragged into scandal. I also lost a bunch of money by losing the client but my boss was pretty pleased.

“But the only reason I even touched the account was because I was sorta forced to?” Is that the best way to describe what happened?

“How were you forced to deal with that account?”

“Well, I’m not exactly the best with making friends? I mean, I have had friends before. I just--I got really sick a while back and I lost most of them because I cancelled on plans a lot or I didn’t have the energy to maintain contact? Even texting felt like such a chore. Just the act of responding and-I guess they thought that I thought being friends with them was a chore, and that wasn’t it.

“I just couldn’t find the energy to try to do anything. Some days I wouldn’t even eat because I’d have to get up and make myself food and I barely got up to go to the bathroom much less make a meal.

“Anyway, I just kind of gave up and they did to and now, I don’t really have an in with people? I don’t say much and it’s not that I don’t want to talk, I just don’t have anything worth saying. Or maybe I just can’t think of anything? I don’t know. But it affects work relationships too.”

“How?” he asks.

You take a deep breath, looking down at your hands clinging to the edge of the lounge before releasing it slowly.

“It’s really just me getting in my feelings,” you shrug.

“What you feel is what you feel, even if you don’t think you should. Our pasts can affect us well into our futures.”

His encouragement helps, and you feel a little less vulnerable to share with him.

“I work in the PR department. There are six of us in total. We’re a pretty big company. Multinational big. So there’s one of us for every form of media. Since we all work for the same clients, bridging the gap, we usually spread the workload evenly.

“Or, the other five members of my team do. Sometimes they just forget that I’m there and I usually get stuck with the leftover work. I’m not one to complain, so-” you shrug. “But they forget me for other stuff too. Company dinners. Competitions for prizes in the office. Secret Santa. Stuff like that.

“It makes me feel alone.”

You chance a glance at him, and he’s still watching you but his eyes are far away for a bit as if he’s remembering something.

“I know how that feels,” he nods. “I’ve felt alone almost all my life in some ways. Luckily, I’ve made a few friends to help me see things a little differently but that loneliness will never really go away.

“I understand.”

You smile, feeling more and more at peace again with him. Calm, like he really does get it.

He responds to the shift in your expression by relaxing his own. A small crinkle forms at the corners of his eyes, a subtle curve of his lips.

Now that you’re both feeling a little better, you can admit to yourself that you were jealous. Not just because the girl was everything that you were made to think you should be, but because this stranger, gorgeous as he is, is so nice.

He’s sweet and you want that in your next partner. You want to have someone care about you genuinely. You’re a little ashamed of wanting to claim him. Do you even dare entertain the thought?

“Yeah, I think you probably do,” you smile wider, turning in your seat to face him like he’s facing you.

“Now that you know all about my depression, would you like to know my name?” you ask him, teasing a smile.

He smiles more freely, “On a first date? Isn’t that moving kinda fast?”

Your stomach tumbles, heart sprinting at his words.

“A date?”

He only smiles wider, your heart stuttering before taking off at double speed again.

You tell him your name and then bite your lip, unable to believe your good luck.

“What about that other girl? You told her you weren’t looking for a date,” you wonder.

“Well, how can I be looking for a date when I’m already on one? Besides, how many girls do you think I can come across before I find another one wearing a shirt about my favorite book again?” he asks, all sincerity.

“Your favorite book is to Kill a Mockingbird?”

His smile is blinding.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” he nods, reaching out to shake your hand. “My name is Clark. Clark Kent.”

You take it and almost faint as your head goes dizzy at the soft touch of his skin.

The veins of his forearm bulge as he squeezes gently but he doesn’t actually shake it and instead seems to just hold your hand.

“Wait, I’ve seen your editorials before. You work at the Daily Planet.”

“I do,” he nods.

Your stomach suddenly falls, jealousy raking up along your ribs to settle around your heart to make it ache.

“Aren’t you dating Lois Lane? I thought-you two went to one of my boss’s parties together.”

It had been so long ago. Months and months. You remember Mr. Wayne going on about his friends Clark and Lois. You hadn’t met them, but Mr. Wayne had left to greet them when they’d arrived.

Clark’s own face falls just a tad, a small melancholic shift but it’s not deep. He keeps his smile, though smaller, and nods.

“We broke up last year,” he confesses, still not releasing your hand.

His thumb grazes against the back of it, sending goosebumps up from that point to spread along your arms and the rest of your body.

“I’m...not sorry?” you laugh, unable to help yourself because how can you be sorry about it now?

Clark also chuckles, “You know, right now, suddenly I’m not either.”

Before you can think of something cute to say, your stomach gurgles loudly, announcing to anyone close enough to hear that you’re hungry.

“Oh,” you utter, embarrassed as you finally take your hand back to rub your belly. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“They have a menu here, I’ll grab us one.”

He rises and is gone before you can stop him and holy hell does he have a nice butt.

Watching him leave, you contemplate the way he used the word “us” so casually and wiggle with the pleasure it gives you.

As quick as you can, you look for any reflective surface and settle on the window across from you on which you can barely see yourself.

It’s enough though and you quickly go about fixing your hair which is surprisingly not bad even after all the treatments you’ve undergone.

A soft voice calls your name, the young woman who’s been escorting you.

“Hi, are you ready for your next treatment?” she smiles at you politely, kindly even, her body slightly bent down so that she won’t speak too loud and disturb the other people enjoying the hot room.

“Oh, um...I’m actually super hungry and I was going to order something to eat?”

The idea of being taken away to somewhere that you can’t be around Clark devastates you. You haven’t been this into anyone in so long.

“Oh okay! What would you like to order? Did you get a menu?”

The young woman gestures over her shoulder as if asking if she should go get you one.

“Actually-” but you don’t get to explain because Clark suddenly steps up to loom over both of you.

He doesn’t mean to, you don’t think, he’s just so big and he kind of naturally just looms.

“Hi,” he greets her kindly, and she flushes.

You can’t blame her. She takes a step back to put some space between herself and Clark and she’s seriously flustered. He’s hot.

Clark squeezes back by and sits himself in his seat before opening the paper menu and leaning towards you to give you a look.

You read through the choices quickly and nothing looks too crazy.

“Ooh, this one looks good,” you tell him, pointing down at the bottom of the menu.

“Should we get that one?”

“Yeah!” you reply eagerly, excited for the food.

You’re really very hungry.

“Can we get the gourmet pizza?” Clark asks, “And an order of the mini muffins? What kind are they?”

“Blueberry today,” the girl informs him, back to her composed and professional attitude.

“Two orders of those. And…”

“You don’t offer any kind of burger?” you ask the young woman looking back at her.

She smiles kindly but shakes her head, “No, sorry. The closest would be the sandwiches. We have tuna, cucumber, egg salad, and ham.”

While they sound like normal sandwiches, you have a suspicion that they’re going to be fancy in one way or another.

“Can we have an order of the tuna?”

She nods.

“And we’ll get the chocolate fondue, for desert?” Clark adds, folding up the menu and handing it to your escort.

“Alrighty, and for drinks? We can bring just plain water or perhaps some herb infused tea?”

“Do you have any sweet tea?” you wonder.

She nods.

“Two please,” Clark smiles. “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” your escort says and hurries off to put in the order.

Both of you watch her go then when you meet Clark’s eyes, he laughs, just once. Failing to keep it inside.

“Did we order too much?” you wonder.

“I’m hungry too,” Clark assures you.

“I really wanted a burger,” you lament. “I mean, this food will probably be better than some greasy burger but-”

“A burger sounds like heaven. I love greasy burgers. Double meat. Triple cheese. Lots of pickles.”

He makes a funny face, pretending to salivate over the image he’s painted and while it’s a subtle change in his expression, you can tell that he’s more prone to being serious and that makes the gesture funnier for some reason.

You laugh, shaking your head.

He laughs with you, leaning back in his lounge.

You follow his lead, then turn onto your side and shove an arm underneath your head.

He mimics your pose, drawing his long legs up a little to bend them.

“I’m sorry about earlier, with the locker room? I really didn’t know that I wasn’t supposed to change in there.”

Clark’s smiles shift to a soft curve of his lips.

“I’m the one that should be apologizing,” he counters. “I walked in on you.”

“But you had no idea I’d be in there half naked, I kinda just thrust my body at you.”

There’s a beat, he looks down at your chair instead of maintaining eye contact, then, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Your neck is suddenly on fire. Cheeks, ears, the base of your belly. It all burns as your heart stutters.

As he looks up to meet your eyes again, those baby blues burning with a striking spark, something he said when you first came in here replays itself in your head.

You frown, narrowing your eyes at him, “Hey, when I came in here, I apologized for staring at your naked upper body and you said that it was only fair I get a good look too.

“Are you saying you saw me when you clearly said you didn’t in the locker room?!”

Clark averts his eyes, clearing his throat loudly before throwing himself onto his back to stare up at the ceiling.

“I’m gonna have to get my friend something really good in return for gifting me this spa day,” Clark says, pointedly changing the subject.

But he has a point. This has been the best little indulgence you’ve ever given yourself and none of it could have been possible without Mr. Wayne’s generosity.

“Me too. I’ll have to make sure my boss knows how glad I am that he forced me to come here.”

Clark smiles, “What’s your next treatment? Did you pick them before you came?”

“We could do that?” You gasp.

Clark just smiles wider.

“No, I’m just going with the flow. The girl who took our order has been suggesting stuff and I’ve just been going with it.”

“I have a fresh water soak after this. You should join me.” Clark offers.

After the hot room, a swim in some fresh water sounds like heaven. And extending your time with Clark is a definite bonus.

“Aren’t we not supposed to swim for thirty minutes after we eat?” you tease.

Clark chuckles, “It’s a soak.”

Then, his voice shifts and you’re knocked breathless as he basically pleads with you.

“Join me. Only if you want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to.”

Your brain is buzzing with that pleading voice of his. Gentle urging that betrays his want to be with you rather than wanting to control you.

“A fresh water soak sounds amazing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nothing could ever top today. You and Clark stuck together the rest of the day. It was fun getting to know him and exciting because the longer you two spent time together, the closer he sat to you.

As you dropped your spa outfit into a canvas souvenir bag that your attendee had given you at your last treatment--a couple’s massage that you and Clark had talked all the way through--Clark peeked around his own locker door, shutting it.

“So, I was thinking,” he began, moving to lean beside your locker as he towers over you, making you internally swoon with the curve of his lips.

“Yeah?” you urge him on, taking your other belongings and throwing them into the canvas bag along with your spa outfit which is also free for you to take.

“I have some things to do tonight but, how would you like to get some burgers tomorrow?”

“Are you asking me out on a second date, Clark?” as much as you wish you could sound like you were teasing, your excitement betrays you and Clark beams at your tone.

“Definitely,” he says low and deep.

Fuck, you’re totally screwed. You’re falling hard.

You really want to reach up and gently slide the curl falling on his forehead to the side lightly, but you resist the urge.

“I’d love to go out and get greasy burgers with you,” you bite your lip and Clark’s expression shifts a bit more serious but there’s a fire in his eyes, a darkening as his pupils dilate that makes your heart stutter.

“Come on,” Clark nods towards the door. “I’ll walk you out.”

He bumps into you, flirtatiously nudging you as he leads you out and you return his gentle push with your own.

“Had you been to a spa like this before?”

“No,” Clark shakes his head. “I actually don’t get much benefit at these places. It feels good, but it’s not really my thing. You?”

“I feel cleaner than I ever have,” you scoff. “But I could never afford it. Even the cheap places. I’d rather just take a walk around a park or something.”

“Me too,” Clark agrees, smiling.

As the two of you walk out into the parking lot, the cooler air outside feels pleasant against your treated skin.

In the setting sun light, Clark looks especially good and you can’t help yourself. You steal several glances at him with no worry as to hiding it.

You’re happy to see he’s doing it too.

“Oh good,” a familiar voice interrupts, pulling your feet to a stop as you search for your boss’s face. “You two met.”

“Wait, us two-?”

“Bruce?” Clark also stops beside you, eyes narrowed, a crinkle between his eyes.

You look between the two of them, confused but starting to put two and two together.

“Bruce? You-Mr. Wayne is your friend who gave you the voucher?” you realize.

Clark looks at you, his own realizations starting to manifest.

“Bruce is your boss?”

Mr. Wayne moves towards the two of you, hands shoved into his long charcoal gray coat. There’s a satisfied grin on his handsome face, a pride in what you realize must have been a carefully crafted maneuver.

Clark looks at you, a knowing smile on his face as if amused but maybe also a little irritated? Not with you, of course. Clearly his annoyance is with Mr. Wayne.

“You did this,” he accepts, looking back at Mr. Wayne with a tilt of his head.

“I didn’t do anything,” Mr. Wayne denies. “I just gave you two a free day at the spa. Did she tell you why I gave her the voucher?”

“She did,” Clark nods.

“Not every PR rep would overlook a five hundred million dollar investment in order to keep us clean from associating with a suspected illegal arms dealer. Most of them would just look the other way.” Mr. Wayne brags.

A look of understanding crossing Clark’s face and he looks down at you, smiling again as if he’s pieced together a puzzle.

“It was really nothing, Mr. Wayne, and thank you for today. I-I’m actually really glad I came. I would have hated it if the voucher expired.”

“Expired?” Clark asks, turning that confused look back on his friend. “They don’t expire.”

Mr. Wayne clears his throat and turns his full body away from you both, looking back at his shiny expensive sports car.

“Yeah, they do,” he says.

“Bruce,” Clark chides.

“We’re gonna be late,” Mr. Wayne says, ignoring Clark’s reprimand, then looks at you as he pretends he wasn’t just caught in a lie. “Do you have a ride home?”

“Yeah, I brought my car,” you gesture at a modest white sedan parked a few spots over.

“Good. I’ll see you on Monday. Clark?” Mr. Wayne urges him, then walks towards his car.

“I’ll be right there,” Clark tells him, then waits for you to lead the way to your car.

Your heart is still thrumming rapidly with the realization that Mr. Wayne went out of his way to make sure you and Clark met. A set up?

You stop by your car door and unlock it. Clark is quick to take the door from you as you open it and he holds it with his left arm as you turn to look up at him.

“I had a lot of fun today, despite the obvious premeditation of us meeting,” you scoff. “I’m glad I met you.”

You’re quickly becoming acquainted with the gentle curve of Clark’s lips, the peek of his pearly whites as he blushes and meets your eyes.

“I’m glad Bruce interfered,” he nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow for burgers?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” you assure him.

After a moment of hesitation, he reaches out and places his hand on your bicep then traces the length of your arm until he can take your hand.

It sets your skin on fire. It makes you dizzy and breathless.

“You have my number,” you remind him, eager to reconnect if he has the time.

He gives you that pearly smile, blue eyes full of excitement, “I’ll call you later. Tonight?”

You nod, “Tonight.”

He waits for you to get in, shutting the door for you when you’re sitting.

You lower the window as he backs away, “Bye.”

“Bye,” he nods, then turns to meet Mr. Wayne at his car.

“What?” Bruce asks, “It’s been months. She’s perfect for you.”

“Really?!” you can hear Clark demand, more annoyed with his friend again than any consequences his actions might have brought, however positive.

“You like her, don’t you?” Mr. Wayne asks.

“That’s not the point, Bruce. Boundaries.” Clark reminds him. “Why did you lie to her?”

“I knew you were coming today, I had to get her here,” Mr. Wayne explains. “Besides, you’re-”

As their doors shut, you’re cut off from their distant conversation. You shut your window, watch them speed out, and smile to yourself at the unexpected turn your spa day took.

#clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark x reader #dceu fanfiction #dc fanfiction #clark kent #superman #bruce wayne #batman #dc oneshot

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 4- You Cannot Cage A Wolf

Bucky Barnes x (f)reader Series Rewrite (Civil War, Infinity War/Endgame, TFATWS)

Summary: Fuck the police and Ironman for that matter, now how the hell are you and Bucky going to manage getting out of this mess?

Warning: violence no duh, bucky going through it, bit o angst, things getting hectic

Masterlist

To say you were pissed would be the understatement of the century, again, you were locked in a cage of steel and glass. Surrounded by enemies who’d rather see you dead, but maybe you deserved it. 

Maybe.

The Romanian combat police had locked you and Bucky into separate concealed glass confinements before loading the two of you into one long metal truck. Purposely facing the tiny prisons face to face with one another so that you would have full access to witnessing the discomfort and irritation on each other’s faces while armed officers sat to either side.

Well you’re not sure if it was exactly intentional, but still, at least you could make sure Bucky was okay and him you.

Your hands and legs are guarded by thick metal as your shoulders and upper arms keep firmly held by a small cage of steel; your body forced to sit for hours on end as the security trucks drive you both all the way to Berlin, Germany. A fucking 18 hour field trip by vehicle, at least you got some pee breaks.

Staring angrily at Bucky’s hand, you wish nothing more then to break out of here and fucking gut the assholes responsible for your unlawful imprisonments, Bucky did absolutely nothing to T’Challa and why the hell would they think you’re involved with his fathers death? It doesn’t make any sense. Not at all.

Why would anyone want the two of you for that matter?

Suddenly the truck jostles and stirs before stopping completely as you start to feel the shift of the vehicle reversing into something, your eyes immediately look up to find Bucky who’s already focused on you. His eyes are sad and full of pain for how they’ve treated you like an animal, caged you like a wild cat, more so then what they’ve done to himself. He never wanted you to deal with any shit like this again, not after the traumatic history Hydra had befallen on you for so many years. You don’t deserve this.

Returning a small smile, you give him a playful wink of reassurance before your glass and metal prison is rolled backwards and away from Bucky. Your fists clench in vexation and enmity for the current shit situation you happen to be sucked into, you feel like a beast at a goddamn freak show. Soon you’re rolled into a yawning chasmal underground parking garage of sorts, as flashing emergency lights from police cruisers blink annoyingly from your left while their riders park. 

This must be some government building here in Berlin, you think, eyes wandering around at the secured cavernous glass and metal interior. Sliding clear doors make the entrance way to your far left wall, while further into the spacious room is a large wall of cement, more doors in various areas and a large staircase ascending into a giant balcony onto the next floor up.

Bucky’s cell is placed next to yours by another forklift as he glances at Steve drearily, while you throw nothing but an irritated scowl at the back of Steve just as Sam and T’Challa exit the black security van. Guards dressed in black attire close by. They soon make a swift yet cautious admission over to greet some short salt and peppered haired man in a dull grey suit, a blonde woman also with an equal amount of security by his side. Three armed guards in the back and three behind Steve. 

What the hell are these people so afraid of? And why is any of this happening?

You can’t quit tell what’s being said from the concealed limitation of your moveable prison to where these assumingly high end important government officials are placed. It’s incredibly frustrating that you could just about scream, but now where would that get you? Probably smacked by some electrical shocking stick, those bastards, you think bitterly.

Soon the group appears to make some agreement before the shorter grey haired man nods an approval of invitation and with that does Steve, Sam, and T’Challa follow the short man and blonde woman farther away. All you or Bucky are able to witness before the doors to the new hallway you’re currently being pushed into closes, is the group walking for some glass doors that show a long hallway.

Then the giant metal doors slam shut in your face. 

——

The forklift holding onto your portable prison cell ascends down the hallway as armed guards keep watch from both sides, walking in step with the pace of the lift as a set of eight in total surround yours and Bucky’s confinements. A minute later they bring your steel box into a windowless cement room, turning you to face the exit, your cells are rolled separately across some caution tape before all comes to a halt. Finally.

Your eyes follow the movements of regular security guards as they take long thick wires from the side of the stone walls, plugging them into your prisons as the lights inside flicker for a brief moment, stabilizing in a second. One guard gives you a wary yet curious glance before snapping his head down when your fearsome glare just about smacks him in the face, quickly after that, everyone leaves before shutting the sliding metal doors that hide you both from the outside world.

Waiting a moment, your eyes dance suspiciously across the room, “Y/N.” Calls Bucky, causing you to snap your attention over to him.

“What?” You mumble somberly, gaze trailing all over his stoically pensive expression, he’s without a doubt not pleased to be here. Though having you next to him makes things more bearable. 

“Can you breath alright?” He asks worriedly, due to the thick plastic half face mask that prevents you from properly communicating with anyone, guess the Romanian police didn’t appreciate you calling them bastards. Among other things.

“Yeah.” You mumble out once again before pulling up on the metal clasps to no avail, what is this even made out of, “They got us pretty good, Buck. This might be a bit of a challenge to get out of...”

“You think we’re getting out of these things?”

“Well.......I’m being optimistic....so, uh.....there’s always a chance.”

The smallest of smile reveals itself for a flash of a second as Bucky forgets where you are and just welcomes your never ending humor, “You think they’re watching us?”

“Without a doubt. If I could flip them off I would.” You chuckle as your eyes trail up to the tiny dark sphere in your prison, yeah that’s definitely a camera. “Dickheads.” You mutter to whoever is listening.

“What do you think they’re going to do to us?” Wonders Bucky after a long moment of silence.

Taking a heavy breath you lean your head back, “Oh I don’t know. They’ll probably put me down like an old dog and then you’ll get broken out of jail by the Captain America himself.......you’ll probably be fine.”

Shaking his head, he looks over at your relatively bored face, “What if we’re not.”

Sensing his growing anxiety for your future placement, you turn to face him, “Then I’ll......uh........break us out of here?” You muse with an unsure shrug, well the best you can with the steel hugging your shoulders.

“Not all of us can take multiple bullets and survive.” Deadpans Bucky as you frown, he’s got you there.

“Okay uh.....let me think for a second.......uh, alright I got it..” You chirp enthusiastically before your face falls just as quickly as you let out a defeated, “...fuck never mind I don’t want murder charges.”

Bucky could have laughed, “I think we’d need to be more stealthy, and anyways there’s to many cameras.”

“Yeah.” You mutter dully, “Too many goddamn cameras.”

After about twenty minutes of mindlessly sitting in your cell while Bucky sits equally as bored from his own space a couple feet next to you, a man of relative height and stature walks into the large windowless cement room, a black book shaped travel bag hanging from his shoulder. He smiles in greeting at the two of you, though you can tell behind those glasses of his it’s anything but friendly. It’s strange, the way that his dark eyes reveal no true form of kindness or pleasantries. 

Who the hell is this now?

The dark blondes beady umber irises flicker curiously from Bucky to you and back to Bucky again, a sort of childlike wonder flashing through them as he steps closer to the nearby desk.

“Hello, Mr. Barnes.” Nods the man in an almost Sokovian like accent, kinda sounds like you, greeting set on Bucky before he sends you a devious grin, “Miss. Valerious.” He nods, inquisitive eyes studying your stoic face of pure daggers as you breath steadily in your muzzle, “I’ve been sent by the United Nations to evaluate your partner here, so you needn’t worry, your time is not with me. But I ask if you please give me my time with him, that is all.” Assures the strange man as he focuses his attention back on Bucky again; eh, not like you have much of a choice.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Asks the dark eyed man as Bucky simply stares, suspicious and bored out of his mind; you naturally roll your scrutinizing leer as the man seats himself next to a table farther away in front of you two.

Guess he’s not leaving anytime soon.

“You’re first name is James?” Wonders the man though you can tell he already knows the answer; with pursed lips does he shrug innocently, “I’m not here to judge you. I just want to ask a few questions. Do you know where you are James?”

Bucky keeps silent, and all you want to do is smack that annoying blondes glasses right off of his face, “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me, James.”

“My name is Bucky.” Begrudgingly mumbles your irritated companion, while your brows set hard in puzzlement for where this conversation is going.

Writing something down in his notes, the man nods, “Tell me something Bucky. You’ve seen a great deal, haven’t you?”

Bucky glares, “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You fear that if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop.” Mutters the blonde man as you scoff, his dark eyes instantly snap over to you.

“Come over here and I’ll show you something terrifying.” You threaten, though your voice is mumbled and husky through the damn mask covering your mouth from properly speaking. He hands you a fake smile in reply, appearing to enjoy your menacing presage nonetheless.

Dark eyes set back onto Bucky, he hums, “Don’t worry. We only have to talk about one.” You watch in curiosity as he looks down at his touchpad screen, a satisfied little grin appearing onto his thin lips when suddenly the lights go dark, sending the room into pitch blackness. 

Though your sight shifts to dull grays and blues to counter this with your enhanced vision. A second later the dim emergency lights glow from up above giving the room a dull blue tint. While a red one blinks off and on repetitively in the shadowed room. The fuck?

“What the hell is this?” Grumbles Bucky as your eyes trail warily and alert over to the man as he draws his chair back to stand, though he remains seated. 

“Why don’t we discuss your home? Not Romania. Certainly not Brooklyn, no.” Taking a faded red book out of his traveling bag, your eyes squint in suspicion as you notice a large black star printed on the front while he continues, “Your real home.”

oh, fuck

Turning to face Bucky, you’re alarmed to witness as his face appears conflicted and anxious; he’s afraid, soon the man rises to his feet before opening up the book and begins walking towards Bucky’s cell. A smile on his face as he begins speaking in Russian, “Longing.”

“No.” Mutters your lover as he blinks hard before staring hopelessly up at the ceiling.

“Rusted.”

“Stop.” Protests Bucky as he turns to throw you a pleading look, you frown, not sure what’s happening but you know it can’t be good. Hydra never did anything like this to you, no trigger words, just good old childhood manipulation and the occasional beating if you didn’t comply.

“Seventeen.” Speaks the man as Bucky’s face darkens with anger.

“Stop.” He growls furiously as heavy breaths push at his chest with building adrenaline.

“Daybreak.” A frustrated ragged scream emits from Bucky’s lips as his fists clench and muscles tighten, the man smirks as he gets closer to Bucky’s cage.

“Stop it!” You cry desperately while Bucky yells before ripping the metal from his left hand and breaking the metal clasp on his right, an animalistic growl sounding from deep within his throat as panic sets rooted into your stomach, “Fuck off!” You scream frantically, “I’ll gut you like a goddamn fish!”

Giving a pernicious grin, he ignores you, “Furnace.”

You watch in horror as Bucky emits a roaring cry of desperate anger as he begins pounding furiously against the glass. Coming back to your senses you ignore the mess happening next to you as your muscles contract and strain against the tight metal clasps caging your forearms, shoulders, and legs to the chair.

“Nine.”

You listen to more heavy pounding on glass as a hopeless ragged cry of futile rage rips forth from your throat in an anguished attempt at breaking free. Pulling your arms upward, your flesh strains viciously against the tough metal clasps while you struggle to free yourself. A moment later the metal clasps begin to groan and creak as they loosen accordingly, your strength forcing them into compliance.

“Benign.”

A thin sheet of sweat emits from the side of your face while you yell in frustration at the weight of the locks against your wrists, Bucky pounds furiously, soon metal fist starts cracking though thick glass as you finally rip the metal clasps from off of your right arm, “Fuck off!” You roar threateningly, eyes wild and raging like a bursting dragons flame unto a hopeless stick village, the man simply shifts his gaze back down to the book.

“Homecoming.”

He ignores you; heart beating a mile a minute, you unsheathe your right claws only to free your left hand from the abrasive metal lock as he continues to pound his fist against the slowly breaking glass door. Raising your hands to the back of your lower head, you forcefully rip the thick plastic muzzle from off of your face with a distinctive cracking sound emitting from the strong material.

“Nine.” Speaks the dark eyed blonde as he walks in between the two of your cells, appearing unafraid of your threats from earlier even as he witnesses you breaking free from the steel clasps on your legs now.

“Freight car.”

Crash! 

Instantly your head snaps up to watch as Bucky’s glass door flies violently across the room and onto the harsh ground below; your breath hitches as all goes silent. The mans back is to you as he calmly walks over to Bucky who’s crouched onto the floor like a predator ready to strike, a second later he slowly rises to his feet. Though all life is gone from his dark pools of inky blue, he’s not your Bucky anymore.

“Soldier?” Whispers the dark eyed man in wonder, confident that his plan has effectively worked, whatever the fuck kind of plan in question.

Eyes wide, you swallow thickly as Bucky stares at the door, face noticeably covered in sweat, his eyes stare forward like a beast waiting to kill. He’s nothing but a vessel for chaotic destruction.

Breathing heavily, Bucky speaks in Russian, “Ready to comply.”

Suddenly the frustration in you boils over into pure animalistic rage for what this fucker has done to him, screaming bitterly, you punch the glass, slicing three thin lines straight through the material. The blonde one gives you a wary glance before addressing the Winter Soldier, “Mission report. December 16, 1991.”

“Bucky, don’t tell him shit!” You cry frantically in Russian, hoping that the Winter Soldier consuming him might hear something familiar in your desperation; whatever this man wants, you know full well what happened that night which means his motives are anything but friendly. If that wasn’t already apparent.

Bucky blinks, eyes shifting to the new ringmaster in control.

It’s no use, he’s not there, it’s what Hydra had made of him and now he must obey; Bucky ignores as you pound and scream for him to stop, to shut the hell up and come back to you but it’s all in vain. He tells the bastard everything in a matter of seconds as your face falls.

Heart pounding with adrenaline, you slash a clean line that rips right through the bolts of the door in wild fury, it sparks against your Adamantuim claws while creaking in protest as you finally kick it open. The huge door clatters and clashes to the ground as you step out of the glass prison and onto the cement flooring of the large windowless room. Red emergency lights flashing behind you as they make your tense form appear as sort of a clawed beast rising from straight out of hell.

The dark eyed man warily turns to you, when a sudden childlike excitement dances across his features as he takes a cautious step back, a small thrilled smirk pulling at his lips. The mans obsidian pools flicker over to Bucky who keeps a steady death stare with the wall ahead, the man nods in approval for his painstaking work before trailing his eyes over to you, “Soldier. Kill the Hellcat.” Smirks the man as your eyes shift reluctantly from himself to Bucky. 

oh shit, you think miserably as your heart feels like its just sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Swallowing thickly, tears threaten to spill as your body shakes with racing adrenaline, your breaths noticeably heavier as you willingly begin retracting your claws. 

The familiar metal sinks painfully back into your skin as you stare them down distastefully. Frowning deeply, you slowly pull your hands up into fists, readying your stance for the fight that’s inevitably about to come.

Making a sickened face, you swallow nervously as Bucky takes a step forward with eyes set like a wolf to his prey. Reluctantly your feet move an apprehensive step closer, “Fuck.” You mutter under your breath as Bucky makes the first move. 

——

God why does your head hurt so damn much? Is the room spinning?

When you come to, the lights are still blinking an obnoxious red as you lay sprawled out across the cement floor, a puddle of blood trailing in a couple of dark-red thin lines from beneath your head to the yellow hazard stickers placed on the ground.

The air smells of blood and sweat as you suck in a deep breath before moving to sit up, at least the headache is gone, your eyes trail warily across the empty room as you touch the back of your head to get an understanding of what the hell happened here.

You can’t remember a thing.

A warm wetness greets your finger tips to no surprise, pulling them away, you study the murky crimson liquid staining your fingertips before your mind heals completely, your brain matter fusing back accordingly. Bits of the missing puzzle pieces soon form a coherent picture as you sit back in shock from the violent happenings that resulted in you bloody on the ground. 

 The man commanded Bucky to kill you.

The two of you indeed fought, but knowing that if you wanted to win you’d have to kill him yourself; Bucky kept his life as you let the Winter Soldier end yours. After dodging fist after fist thrown at you by Bucky, you finally gave in and let him pin you to the ground before he grabbed your face with his metal hand, smashing your skull against the cement floor in one dangerous deafening blow. Then it was over and...

Where even is he?

Picking yourself up, you quickly wander into the nearest opening only to be greeted by a multitude of unconscious guards, walking further down, you furrow your brows at the heavily dented elevator door where it appears that someone had been forced through. Touching the bent metal you sniff the air, it smells of Bucky and Steve. They couldn’t have been here less then thirty seconds ago.

Shifting to the right, you book it down the hallway to the sounds of strained grunts and fists hitting flesh. Soon you’ve found yourself at the edge of a large excessively windowed room, presumably the food court of sorts in this excessively ginormous place.

In the center is Bucky who’s absolutely beating the shit out of everyone making frugal attempts at stopping him. Your eyes observe Tony who’s positioned a good distance away as he breaths heavily from the floor, eyes wide in shock while he cradles one of his arms. The blonde haired woman from earlier appears in pain as she lays on her back, a broken table underneath her as the Black Widow squeezes Bucky’s neck with her thighs.

Natasha uses her elbows as a battering ram against his skull while he walks with her over to the closest table before slamming her roughly against the metal; he glares fiercely down at the Black Widow before using his titanium fist to choke the life out of her as she struggles against his weight.

Stepping into the huge room, your boots pound against the flooring as you deliver a powerful kick to Bucky’s strong waist, he tumbles across the thin carpeting before jumping to his feet in an instant. Natasha regains her lungs in a choked gasp as you throw a fist at Bucky’s chest, deflecting it, you use this new side lined momentum to duck under his approaching blow as you slide on the flooring, missing a fatal hit to your face by mere inches.

No more face shots please.

He whips around from the near miss, charging you once again; preparing for the worst of the Winter Soldier, your shoulders line up with his approaching body as your eyes calculate his next move. But when he readies his arm to punch, you slide to the side before swiftly twisting your body around to face him once more, all done within less then two seconds.

Watching his head turn left in confusion, you kick his back harshly onto the ground with the power enough to rival that of a lioness before huffing in frustration as he surges to his feet; you immediately halt in your tracks when out of nowhere T’Challa kicks Bucky across the floor. Soon the two men dance like two skilled warriors before Bucky takes the upper hand and whips the prince over the carpeted floor.

Blinking in bewilderment, you watch as he races up the stairs; the Winter Soldier doing his absolute best to get the fuck out of there, knowing he’s outnumbered by two and wary of getting his shit rocked by you again. Though he’s not even fully aware why you’re attacking him since his mind is back at Hydra and last he remembers you where on their side, and presumably bleeding out in another room.

Breathing heavily, you turn to share an awkward moment of uncertain eye contact with the prince of Wakanda before he throws you a half restrained dirty look, sprinting up the stairs after Bucky.

You’re able to take one step before a raspy voice snaps your attention over to a table, it’s Natasha, “Y/N.” She gasps through strained breaths.

Clenching your fists you leave those two to work it out as you swiftly approach the ex-assassin, “What?!” You snap.

Forcing herself into a seated position, she gingerly touches her bruising throat, “Guess you where right.” She chuckles painfully.

“Right about what?” You bark with a frown, eyes flickering over to Bucky and T’Challa as they throw jabs on the stairway landing.

“Last we met. You said I’d be lucky if we never met again. Guess you where right.”

“You’re an ex-assassin how lucky did you really expect to be?” You retort before taking a step for the ascending stairs when a hand takes your wrist.

“You have to stop him.” Urges Natasha, “No one here’s an equal force, you’re the Hellcat Y/N, you have to stop him no matter the cost.”

Throwing her an irritated glare at hearing your Hydra code name yet again, you growl like a wounded beast, “I’m not killing anyone!”

“You might not have a choice.” Challenges the red head with a pleading yet stern display, understanding that Bucky means more to you then just simple companionship.

“There’s always a choice!” You grumble angrily, heart pounding a mile a minute as you huff before turning for the stairs only to meet a disheveled and deeply confused prince, he’s sweating and looks rather conflicted as his dark eyes scan frantically around the room for any sign of Bucky.

Suddenly his eyes land on you, freezing in place, your mind swirls with what to do next; you’re a wanted criminal in plain sight and for some reason this prince wants Bucky and presumably you, dead.

Shifting your panicked gaze over to Nat, you shake your head before turning to T’Challa as you scowl like an angry brute, “If you touch me, I’ll gut you.” And with that heavy threat do you swiftly turn on your heels and race out the closest door and into the nearest hallway. Leaving Natasha and prince T’Challa with their lives.

Now where did Bucky go?

Running past door after door while the emergency lights annoyingly scream their bright red colors in caution of extreme danger, though you and Bucky are technically the “extreme danger”. Soon you take a hard right turn and immediately slam into the firm chest of Steve as he books it down the hallway for some door hanging open at the far end.

Falling into the closest wall, you don’t have time to wait on the pain emitting from your arm as he mutters a quick apology as the six foot two American hauls ass for the exit door. Recovering in no time, you press a bloody handprint against the wall before turning after Steve. Funny, you don’t ever remember cutting yourself on anything. Doesn’t matter.

Bursting open the cracked door, bright blinding rays of sunlight glare annoyingly in your eyes while your pupils adjust to the new terrain, soon your eyes catch the dramatic scene unfolding in front of you farther down on the helicopter landing area.

Perplexed, you stand in astonishment as Bucky attempts to take off in the chopper while Steve fruitfully leaps mid-air before tightly grasping onto the aircraft’s landing skids.

He pulls down hard, face straining in intense efforts to keep Bucky from escaping and heading into God-knows-where. Legs moving quickly, you race up the small flight of stairs leading onto the huge landing pad as Steve struggles fiercely to hold it down.

But before you’re able to aid in putting an end to Bucky’s fruitful efforts, he slams the chopper into the cement; causing you to leap backwards for fear of getting your guts sliced open by the blades. You’re helpless to watch as Steve narrowly misses becoming a decapitated corpse as the blades crash violently against the ground.

Chunks of stone and steel go flying in all directions as you shield your face from the debris. But as the dust settles, you peer from over your forearm to watch as Bucky’s metal arm bursts through the glass only to immediately grasp around Steve’s neck.

“Fuck.” Slips silently from out of your lips as you take a couple cautious steps forward while moving reluctantly towards the shit show; how has the last 20 hours gone so goddamn terribly?

Creeeek. Sounds the destroyed helicopter as it suddenly begins a slow ascend over the platform edge, where a large river awaits with open arms to presumably swallow whole the broken aircraft. Now in a panicked sprint, you race over the rubble as the last of the chopper, Bucky, and Steve are seen before they plummet to the waters below.

“No!” You cry helplessly as you reach the peak of the landing, nothing beneath you except for the broken tail of the chopper and a plethora of air bubbles.

-

Tagged: @diegos-butt @minigranger @bibliophilewednesday @holyhumorliteraturelight @lilacs-lavender @a-girl-who-loves-disney @starkssnarks @vikingqueen28 @bizarrebibitch @atomicpersonacheesecake @jmstz @staygoldsquatchling02 @marvelbros-oneshots @shawnartmendes​ @iamasimpingh0e

#bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #Bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #the winter soldier x y/n #the winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier x you #the winter soldier #tfatws x reader #marvel imagine #marvel x y/n #marvel x reader #marvel x you #fanfic #fanfiction #series rewrite

[lenle-g]

Oh absolutely! <3333

Scott, making his way up to their Father's desk ready to slide his completed mission report into the holo-records, has no idea that his astronaut brother is even home until he discovers a pale, John-shaped lump sprawled limply in the middle of their circle of sofas.

“What the…?” Scott’s breath catches, his eyes blow wide. His heart does a funny, sharp twisting thing in the middle of his chest that it's probably really not supposed to, and there's a beat or two of pure, unacceptable shock in which Scott's world just tunnels in on the presence of what is clearly blood smeared across John's lax, waxy face.

Big brother's chest attempts a hitched, stunted thing that can only be called breathing in the barest sense before Scott is sprinting across their living space and bellowing into the Comm watch at his wrist for help.

“virGIL?!?” Scott trips down the step and into the circle and, in an action his patella will regret later, crashes hard to his knees at his unconscious brother's side, yelling his head off for the most experienced medic in the family as he does so. “VIRGIL! GET IN HERE, NOW!"

The ‘on my way’ is instantaneous - Scott’s tone had clearly sparked a need for speed. No time to do anything but pull up the GPS location and run because there's a messy line of blood leaking from the astronaut’s nose, similar splotches of red pooling in his ears and an awful jagged slash scabbing across his forehead. John's breathing is light and shallow, his skin tone verging on grey and, perhaps most worryingly, he hasn’t responded at all to all the shouting Scott’s been doing and that’s just strikingly wrong. John's always first awake, first to respond - the young man has to be up and about in an instant if any of Thunderbird Five's alarms sound and so he’s trained to spring awake and into action at the slightest thing. They have to be careful not to walk past his room at night, for goodness sake, in case the sound of feet in the corridor wakes him.

This is not right.

Scott takes a sharp breath, the air like glass and his heart racing with terror as he reaches a fearful hand toward his sibling.

"John?" He tries, his fingers bumping against a hard chest. He lays his palm flat over his brother's heart and gives him a shake. "Hey Johnny, come on, wake up." John’s head lolls limply with the motion, and Scott feels a little sick at it, but gets no other obvious results.

"Ok.” He says aloud to himself, trying to think past the rising gorge of panic in his throat. He feels like a deer in headlights in a way he never would on a rescue. "Think Scott!" He slaps a palm against his own forehead, starting to get angry with himself now. "Patient non-responsive. What do you do?" Try and wake them up seems like the obvious answer, though that's failing so far.

Should he roll him into the recovery position, or should he not move him at all? Should he pinch his nose shut or might he choke? Should he...

"Come on John." Scott taps his brother's cheek softly, then a little harder, getting desperate to stir some kind of response now. Scott has to make a conscious effort to avoid getting blood on his fingers from the sheer amount of it that’s smeared across his brother’s face, still leaking sluggishly from John’s nose and spotted on the cushion that's supporting his head from where it's dripped from his ears. There's blood on the astronaut’s fingertips like he'd been trying to stem the flow before he'd passed out.

Hell. That’s not a sign of anything good.

A hundred horrifying scenarios come to mind. There’s so much that can go wrong living in space, and it can go wrong so quickly that you don’t even know you’re in danger until you’re dead. John could be dying right now in front of him and Scott doesn’t know what to...

"Scott! What's going…?" Virgil, skidding into the room with slippery socks against polished wood, trails off as he goes through a similar process of discovery shock to Scott’s, his eyes wide as saucers. “Jesus.” He says before he can stop himself. “What happened?” 

“I don’t know.” Scott can barely breathe around the anxiety. His whole mouth tastes like it's crammed full of fizzy static terror. He scoots around the back of the sofa, leaning over it to give Virgil, who's had the sense to grab a medkit from the wall, more room to work. “I just found him like this.” Scott explains, “How can I help?” He's kept his palm against his brother’s chest the whole time - the feeling of John's heart fluttering beneath his fingertips is the only thing keeping him from freaking out right now. 

Virgil’s knelt at John’s side, his fingers pressed to the pulse at his brother’s wrist. There's a deep, worried furrow between his thick eyebrow.

"Oxygen?" Scott suggests, loitering nervously, but Virgil shakes his head.

"Wait till the bleed stops. His BMP is a little fast. Help me roll him on his side so he's less likely to choke." Scott, complying, nearly kicks himself for not doing that earlier. It's hard to ignore how limp and silent their brother is as they do so - there's something incredibly unsettling about just how floppy he is - like a dead thing washed up on the beach.

Virgil distracts Scott by handing him a pair of latex gloves, snapping a pair on over his own fingers to match. He guides his brother's hand to pinch John's nose hard around the cartilage, clearly hoping it'll stem the bleed. Scott grimaces like he's just been asked to chop the man's leg off, but, to his credit, he holds on tight.

"What's brought this on then, hmm John?" Virgil asks, busy wrapping a pressure cuff around a limp forearm. "Some kind of sudden onset space-related injury?" He muses, inflating the cuff, honey brown eyes glued to the numbers, "Something must have gone wrong with re-entry.” 

He guesses, “A change in pressure in his head from being back on the planet could have ruptured something." 

And John's just been up here bleeding, alone, for who knows how long.

“Ah, his blood pressure is sky high.” Virgil reports the result grimly, noting them and his other readings down holographically at his wrist. "Barotrauma makes sense." It also means that this isn’t going to be a quick fix, John could be out of action for weeks. But what’s happened has happened and all they can do now is treat the symptoms. 

“Right. Let’s get him patched up. Astronauts typically lose ten to fourteen percent of their blood volume while up in space,” Virgil explains, ripping open a packet of steri-stips with his teeth and fumbling to peel one from its backing with his big fingers. “It usually takes a day or two home to regain it, so keep holding his nose while I patch up this cut. John can’t afford to lose much extra right now.”

Virgil pinches the gash together and works on sticking a neat, clean line of steri strips along it to try and keep it from bleeding.

"He's had long enough to get changed out of his spacesuit." Scott points out, he's been thinking about this while he watches his brother work. "But he didn’t flag anything up with us. It must have happened pretty suddenly." Only that doesn't quite add up because the angry red scrape at his temple that Virgil’s precautionarily sticking back together suggests some kind of earlier accident that they should have known about. “The way he’s hit his head looks like he collapsed, but there’s nothing hard to hit it on here.” There's anxious sweat, sticky around Scott's collar at the puzzle of it all. “Why wouldn’t he have called us?” His fingers ball into tight fists, his nails digging hard into his palms. Both rows of perfect teeth press hard against each other, grinding on his rising anger.

"I don't kn…" Virgil starts, but then stops, abruptly. Scott nearly drowns in a wave of terror that John's just died or something, but then he notices the same flutter of ginger lashes that his brother clearly has.

John’s coming round.

"John?" Scott prompts carefully, leaning further over the back of the sofa in a way that has Virgil worried that he's going to end up on top of them. "Hey, can you hear me, bro?" There's a pinched, pained scrunch appearing on their sibling’s forehead, tugging at the new plastic stitches. Slowly, the fluttering turns into blinking, but it takes a minute or two for hazy blue-green eyes to work out what focus is.

“John.” The relief in Virgil’s voice is almost palpable. “Do you know where you are? Do you remember what happened?”

It seems a bit early for interrogation. John is blinking glassily at Virgil, his breathing a little hitched. He’s clearly just as confused to be there as the rest of them are. Scott lets up on pinching his nose and both hovering brothers are relieved to find the bleeding seems to have stopped.

“H-Happened?” John eventually asks, blearily. He’s... not sure. All John knows for sure is that he hurts very badly, all over. His head is pounding and the world seems distant and fuzzy like he’s viewing it through a veil of gauze. His brother’s voice sounds muffled and warped, like he’s listening from underwater. "I... I don’t know…" John's mouth shapes the words, though they taste coppery and strange and the vowels sound wet. One of his brother’s presses the hard plastic of an oxygen mask over his mouth and throbbing nose and that doesn't much help his comprehensibility either.

"It’s ok, I should have expected you’d be confused." Virgil smoothes a calming hand the size of a dinner plate gently over his brother's hair, the fine ginger strands slippery between his fingers. "Give it a minute or two, ok? It looks like you hit your head.”

While he waits, Virgil finds a sterile wipe and begins ever so gently cleaning rusty red from John’s skin. A horrific amount of colour leeches out into the fabric as he does so, the stain spreading through the wet fibres and creeping up toward his fingers. John sinks into silence again - staring blankly to the side, blinking lots like he's dizzy even though he’s lying down.

Last thing John really remembers clearly he’d been in the Space Elevator, making his way down from Thunderbird Five. It’d been a rougher ride than usual, but nothing that had screamed imminent danger. Though… if he thinks harder about it, he realises his head had started feeling floaty around halfway down, and there’d been that warning bleep on the 02 readings that he couldn’t explain. He remembers a brief, strange spill of red pressure readings onto his holoscreens, a warning error message, or several, but he would swear they hadn’t felt significant at the time. He’d just felt… floaty and distant. Which should have been a warning sign all of its own.

From the way his head is pounding now, John realises that the craft must have been depressuring around him without him even noticing. It’s a lucky thing that the Elevator is so fast from orbit to Earth. A cold, horrible realisation slithers up John’s spine that, had it been any slower at it, he probably would have died.

"I… the readings were wrong." John manages, though as he does so Virgil notices flecks of blood on his lips and teeth from where it's trickled down the back of his throat. “I think the Elevator was venting atmosphere and I didn’t…” He blinks again, slow and sluggish. “It felt off, but not… I didn’t think anything of it.” He adds. “I… My head hurts.” He squeezes both eyes shut again, his face noticeably growing paler.

“Hang in there J, I’ll give you something for the pain and to lower that BP in a sec,” Virgil promises, his voice considerately much quieter. He lays a palm against his brother’s forehead to feel the heat of it, and is relieved to find it warm but dry. No fever. “We’ll get Brains to check the Elevator over before anyone goes near it again,” Virgil promises, from somewhere above him. “Do you remember hitting your head?”

“I think… uh, I think I fell down the stairs.” The astronaut decides promptly without even opening his eyes, surprising neither of them. “I remember being at the top after getting changed in my room... but I’ve got no memory of anything after that…” 

Scott’s got an awful mental image of his brother dragging himself semi-consciously to the sofa before he passed out and feels sick about it.

“Jesus John...” Big brother echoes Virgil’s sentiment from earlier, then trails off, not knowing what else to say. Virgil clearly sees right through him, recognising Scott’s indecision and wallowing fear as something that really won’t help John right now, and shifts into his all-business-get-things-done-mode.

“Right.” The bigger man says, clear cut, “I want to get a brain scan to check everything’s all right in there.” He imagines there’ll be some cerebral swelling and he’ll have to go through all the cognitive and hearing tests, but John seems much more lucid now than he’d anticipated and that’s a good sign. “And we’re having a talk about your platelet count when you're conscious enough to process it." Virgil promises, narrowing his eyes at John, who, to his credit, at least has the decency to look sheepish about it. “If you’re feeling ill from re-entry… more ill than usual,” He corrects himself, “You need to let us know.” There’s a sigh and then Virgil’s voice goes a lot softer. “You shouldn’t feel like the world has to end before you stop working, John. You shouldn’t be working like this at all. If you’re going to live up in space for such long stints you need to…”

“Take the proper precautions. I know, I know.” John rubs a weak hand over his throbbing eyes. He clearly thinks now isn’t the time for a lecture either. “NASA trained, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” Virgil isn’t letting this one go. “Sometimes you need to remember it too.” He adds, pointedly. “Right, let's get you to bed for now. I'll have to do some scans and a blood test and monitor your pulse and breathing, but I don't see any reason that can't happen in your own room - clean sheets, blackout blinds, the works." He knows the signs that John’s got a space-induced headache from a mile off, and this must be a particular cracker of one, no pun intended. “I'll have to get some saline and glucose in you to bring your levels up to something acceptable." He adds, apologetically, because that means an IV, which John hates, but really it can't be helped. “We'll have to sit with him in shifts.” His focus shifts to Scott. “If he throws up, check for blood and let me know.”

“I’m not gonna throw up.” John tells him, but he doesn’t sound convinced. “Let’s go...” He shifts his bodyweight, his head wobbly and weak and, with both his brother’s diving to provide support, he makes to sit up. The world shutters abruptly into black and white static but, somehow, John remains sitting, waiting for it to pass.

“Hey Virg…” After a few moments, a weak hand curls its long fingers around his wrist, and Virgil finds his bloodied brother looking guiltily up at him. “I… Sorry about this.” There’re flecks of paint at his brother’s cuffs like he’d been interrupted while painting. He turns to his older brother and makes a note of the fear still there. “Scott, I… thankyou.” John breathes, in a rare, awkward moment of vulnerability. “I don’t…” He can’t actually imagine what might have happened if they’d not been there - if he’d been alone like he usually is.

“I’m just glad you’re ok.” Scott presses a warm hand to the back of his brother’s neck, “You sure scared me there, little bro, I thought...” He trails off, leaving Virgil to hum something agreeable in his place as he scoops a thick arm around John’s back.

“Right.” Virgil says again, focusing himself and his brother’s firmly away from the what-ifs, “Time to get you to bed.”

#Thunderbirds #TAG #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #John Tracy #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #yeaHHHH this is my JAM #thanks for the ask omg XDDD #here's... a thing???? #yes it's reMARablY similar to the christmas john i did #which is bc i used the line art bc ive been wanting to add blood to it for months XDDDD #yEET I GUESS #tw:blood #tw: injury #just in case <333 #hope this is ok AAAA

[omg-im-such-a-masochist]

📽 📼LET’S (NOT) KEEP IT PG PART 3 📼 📽

Prompt: Drew and Y/N are reunited once again

Word count: Long!

Pairing: Drew McIntyre x Reader

Warnings: +18, fluff (by the end), smut, vaginal sex, anal sex, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), 69, anal plug, dirty talking, trichophilia (hair kink - pulling), asphyxiation kink (breath play - chocking) in other words: just pure filth😈

Tagging: @jibbles26 , @akiko-tanaka , @blondekel77 , @theworldofotps , @new-zealand-chic

Notes: Originally this shouldn’t be up until March but you already know me: I have no self respect at all! In a conversation with the lovely Marissa aka MJ, aka @howdareyouhydra. She asked if I could come up with a part 2 and 3 for the original “Let’s (Not) Keep It PG”. Part 1 and 2 are already up (you can read it on my Masterlist) and this is the finale: part 3! I thought to myself: Go big or go home! So here’s the result of it! Also: I tried to keep it “as real as possible” SPECIALLY with the first time anal thing. I just want to put it out there that communication is KEY and HIGHLY important kiddos, so please before doing the dirty business find someone who will truly care about you and your wellbeing! Not only with their own pleasure, ok?!...Y’all know the drill loves,sorry for misspellings,english isn’t my first language (bla bla bla),check out my other stories if you’d like to(it would make your girl here very happy 😊)You can check out my other stories on my Masterlist and my newest story as a fixed post. Okay,now let’s get to the fun part,shall we? Hope you’ll enjoy 😉

❤️Drewy❤️: I’ll be home in 20 minutes

I reread the message Drew sent me once more. Staring to feel the goosebumps all over my skin.

I was patiently waiting for him in the bedroom, dressed in a lavender mini circle skirt; nude underneath it, a white tulle crop top with my breasts bare and some sheer white medium length socks.

I listen to the sounds of Drew’s heavy footsteps upon the dark wooden stairs, that are now leading him to our bedroom.

The door swung open and an impatient Drew, dressed in a black dress shirt and pants comes in my direction.

“Finally!” He grunts, giving me a bear hug while inhaling deeply upon the nape of my neck “Argh, I missed ya so much. I missed your smell, your skin, your lips” He kisses me urgently.

“I missed you too baby, those two months without you were a literal hell” I close my grip tighter around his neck.

“I know, princess” He coos “But we’ll have one whole week to make up for lost time” Smiling he kissed me again

“How’s daddy’s little girl doing?” He whispered

“Lonely, without you,”

“We’ll fix that right away, love” He began to kiss my neck

“Daddy...I have a surprise for you” I smirked when he backed away to look at me

“Surprise?”

I nod “Yeah, while daddy was away I took the time to prepare myself so daddy can claim the one thing he hasn’t claimed yet”

I watch as all the blood from Drew’s face is drained in disbelief

“Did you really?” He breathlessly asked

“Yes, do you wanna see it daddy?” I deviously grinned

Drew just nods, completely speechless as I lean in all fours on top of the bed with my bottom facing him. He scooted closer and lift my skirt slowly up to my hips, moaning a long ‘fuck me’ in a thick accent when his eyes encounter the beautiful dark pink with a flower base, glass butt plug.

“Did you liked my surprise, daddy?” I smiled innocently, looking at him over my shoulder.

“Liked? Oh love, I hope you’re not planning to go somewhere tomorrow ‘cause I’m sure you won’t be able to even get up from the bed!” He caresses my butt cheeks “You’re so perfect, princess. So fucking perfect” He praised “Turn over and lay down for me, love”

Drew unbuttoned his dress shirt, eyes glued to mine. He slowly takes the shirt off, letting it slide through his arms until it reached the floor, followed by his pants and underwear.

He kneels down, dragging me closer to him. The movement made my skirt go up to my waist.

“I missed this sweet pussy” He let a glob of spit fall upon my clit so it would drip down to my entrance. Drew watched until his spit reached the bedsheet, only then leaning in to give me long, teasing licks until he focused on my clit and slid one finger in.

“You managed to get even tighter without daddy, love?” He added a second finger in “I can barely fit two fingers inside of you”

He moves his fingers at a slow pace as he incredibly softly sucks on my clit.

Low moans fell from my lips when he speeds the pace of his fingers and tongue

“Daddy, please” I beg

“What do you want, princess?”

“I want daddy’s cock on my mouth” I babble

Drew slowly removes his fingers, lay down on the bed and motions for me crawl to him.

“Straddle my face, baby” He says panting

As soon as he has his face between my thighs he pulls my core towards his face and I lean down to suck him off.

The bedroom soon filled with our muffled moans of pleasure. I can feel my orgasm reaching close, making me suck Drew even harder. He slides two fingers in, pumped twice and that was enough to make me reach my high. With Drew’s own orgasm followed by, once he feels my walls suck his fingers in.

I swallowed his seed, turning over to meet his blue eyes.

“Come here” He beckons me

I crawl to him, hovering his body. He rapidly pulled me up, so he could kiss me vigorously.

“Think you can take another round right now? ‘Cause I want that pussy AND that ass” He nibs my jaw

“I’ve been waiting two months for that. Ruin me, daddy” I smirked

“Oh princess, you should’ve chose wiser words” He laughs, entering my core in one swift motion and wasting no time to pound me roughly.

“Oh fuck” I moaned. The way the butt plug pushed my walls further to the front, made the whole pounding feel like it never felt before. The whole sensation was like being doubled penetrated.

Drew close his fingers around my neck, pressing it lightly as he kisses me, tossing his free arm around my waist to keep me in place.

“Did you missed daddy’s cock, princess?”

I nod lightly

He releases his grip on my neck to only keep my head in place by locking his thick fingers on top of my head, firmly gripping my hair.

“Did you missed the way how daddy’s cock stretches your pussy, love?”

I nod again

“I bet your vibrator can’t do that, can it?”

“No, daddy. Only you can” I whispered

“Argh” He growls and pounds me even harder “I love how your pussy feels around my cock baby” He pulls me down by my hair so his lips can whisper in my ear every kind of obscenity you can think off: how good I felt, how his cock missed me, how he couldn’t wait to fuck my ass...With every filthy word his accent grew thicker and thicker. Drew always knew that dirty talking was my weakness and also the fastest way to make me cum.

It didn’t take long for me to reach my second orgasm, he continued to pound me but this time it was softer, making the orgasm last longer.

Drew caresses my cheeks, whispering

“Are you ok?”

*Always so thoughtful* I thought

“I’ll be better once you fuck me in the ass” I giggled and he laughs

“There’s nothing that I want more right now than to fuck your ass, baby. But I don’t want to push ya too far...I don’t wanna hurt ya” He brushes my hair with his fingers

“Drew” I caress his beard “I love how much you care about my wellbeing, but trust me, tiger: You won’t hurt me and I’m still really turned on, so would you please, kindly, fuck me?” I bat my lashes

“You’re gonna kill me someday, woman” He grunts, carefully sliding out of me

“Where’s the lube?” He asks in a raspy voice

“Nightstand”

He got up from the bed and took the plastic bottle on his hand, leaning down to kiss me softly

“I love you Y/N”

“I love you too, Drewy”

He smiles fondly “Turn around, princess”

Drew squirted some of the lube on his length, carefully took out the glass plug and squirted more lube upon my hole, inserting one finger in and out

“Are you ready, love?”

“Drew, stop teasing me” I yelped

“So eager, aren’t you?” He laughs, positioning his cock’s head upon my hole, carefully entering me.

The feeling was...new, the fact that I took my time to prepare myself with the plugs undoubtedly helped, a lot! He entered easier than if I didn’t had, but at the same time Drew is thicker and bigger than the butt plug so the pressure was different. Not hurtful, just new. He was half way in when he stop it.

“Are you ok, baby?” He asks, drawing soothing circles with his palm on my back

“Yeah, it’s just different”

“Different good or different bad?”

“Different...weird” I laughed lightly

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No”

“Y/N, love. Talk to me, I need to know how you’re feeling” Worry surrounding his voice

“It doesn’t hurt or anything like that, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’s just that you’re bigger AND thicker than the plug, so it’s a new feeling that’s all. But not bad, you’ve got the green light Scotsman” I joke

“Ok” He chuckled “But if at anytime you feel like you wanna stop, you let me know ok?”

I nod

“I’m serious Y/N, at ANYTIME”

“Noted!” I mock him and gained a hard slap on my ass

Drew slowly moved until he was buried deep inside.

“Motherfucker” He faintly moaned and stayed still for what it felt like ages

“Drew, are you ok back there?” I mock “Aren’t you gonna move?” I ask

“Yeah, yeah, just give me a second” His voice breathless “I need to focus, because you feel too fucking good and I will be damned if I cum just now! So I just needed to breathe” He says and slowly started to move.

The once weird feeling became extremely erotic when he started to move. It was still different, but incredibly good.

“Daddy” I call

And look behind my shoulder to see Drew’s eyes glued to the sight of his cock going in and out of my ass and I could swear, I saw some drool escaping his lips. I’ve never seen him so turned on before and the vision woke up a primal part in me.

“Daddy” I call again, but this time louder

He awakens from his lust haze and stopped moving

“What’s wrong princess? Do ya want daddy to stop?”

“No” I whined “I want daddy to go faster”

“Faster? Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please daddy” My eyes pleaded to him

Drew circled one arm around my waist, pulling me up and out of my in all fours position so I could be kneeling down on the bed and started to increase his pace.

One arm around my waist, another vigorously gripping my hip and a fast pounding got me moaning loudly.

He started to bite my cheek, neck and jaw line, making me lift my arm up so I could bury my fingers on his dark hair, keeping his face glued to mine.

Drew releases his grip upon my hips to roam down and rub my clit.

“In, put it in, please” I babble incoherently but he (thankfully) understood

Entering my core with two fingers and roughly finger fucking me.

It was all too much and too good. His cock inside my hole, his fingers in my core, the biting, the moaning...it was all so dirty and lustful.

“I’m gonna need you to cum princess, Right now!” He mumbled

With two more thrusts I came the most eye rolling orgasm I’ve ever had in my life! I was coming down from my high, when I felt Drew pulling out and the hot spurts of his thick seed landing on my butt cheeks.

I collapse onto the bed, with Drew landing by my side a few seconds later, after cleaning us up.

“That was...beyond this world” I mumbled with my face pressed against the mattress

He laughed loudly before saying

“YOU are beyond this world!” He pulls me towards him like a rag doll, turning me over so I could lay on my back “Are you ok?”

“Drew, I’m fine! More than fine” I giggled

“Are you sure I wasn’t too rough?”

I lightly touch the frown between his eyebrows “You’re never too rough, you’re a perfect gentleman every single time” I pecked his lips

He shyly smiles, slightly blushing

“Thank you for the surprise. I really, really loved” He said and stared at me for a few minutes

“What?” I ask, feeling incredibly exposed due to his intense staring

“You’re so beautiful, on the outside undoubtedly! But on the inside as well. Just so beautiful...I can’t imagine my life without you” His voice is in pure awe

I never knew how to react whenever he said those sort of sweet and deep words to me, Drew was always the romantic one: expressing himself, talking about his feelings and wishes. Me? I was the complete opposite: shut down, didn’t like to show that many emotions, didn’t knew how to express my feelings. I was ‘the ice queen’ as he used to tease me ever since we’ve met. It took me precisely 2 YEARS to take the courage to finally say that I loved him, when he was able to do it after 2 months!

I didn’t knew how to reply to his beautiful, kind, loving words so I decided to deal with it, my way: Break the uncomfortableness with a joke

“Does that means my Voodoo dolls have worked then?” I narrowed my eyes “You got no choice but to stay with me forever, McIntyre” I chanted as if it was a spell

He laughs like a child, cups my cheeks and says

“I do have a choice, love! And I choose you, everyday! Today, tomorrow and forever! My one only gal” He winks and I blushed

Already thinking what other joke could I crack in order to break the spell he casted on me now...

Please let me know your thoughts on this? Feedback is always appreciated 🥰😘

#drew mcintyre imagine #drew mcintyre smut #drew mcintyre fanfic #drew mcintyre x oc #drew mcintyre x reader #drew mcintyre one shot #drew galloway #drew mcintyre #wwe x reader #wwe smut #wwe imagine #wwe fanfiction #wwe one shot #masochist writes

[ahatintimepieces]

He’s Going to be Okay

I wrote a little fic for @doodledrawsthings ahit “Coffee shop AU” about one of Luka’s early days working at The Horizon! Nothing fancy but I got the idea and just went with it. Please enjoy!

              Luka flexed his four fingers against his coiled torso, staring at the thick purple prongs with tempered despair. Yes, he had been getting used to his new fluid body after traveling around for a few years, but now that he had recently started working at The Horizon, he found himself aching for his human body even more.

              Whenever he shapeshifted, he became acutely aware of just how much he had changed. While making coffee or wiping down tables, he could feel how flexible his arms and fingers were, like they were those cylindrical jelly toys meant to slip out of children’s hands the second they were squeezed too hard. He always feared if he grabbed a carafe or a customer’s change too firmly, his hands would melt back into purple goop.

              Blinking, he ran his hand through the fur on his head. He had to get up. Hattie was at school, which he was so grateful that a chance for her to have a normal life as a kid again, and he had work, which was another wonderful blessing. But he was so tired.

              Shaking himself as he uncoiled and floated over to the bathroom, he gazed at his reflection in the mirror. His pair of golden, glowing eyes and jack-o-lantern smile stared back at him. He longed for nothing more than to see his familiar, human features, but just the idea of shapeshifting just then drained him of non-existent energy.

              Come on! He could do this! He had been working full time and taking grad classes on top of being a single father before all of this! He didn’t know the meaning of fatigue! Surely, he could keep his liquid body in the right shape for one measly shift!

              Determined, he shrunk himself enough to curl his tail at the base of the sink as he gripped the edges. He stared into the mirror. It was only his forth day on the job and he wasn’t going to be late! He stared at his golden eyes, using the promise of coffee to summon enough strength to—

              He groaned and hunched over the sink, closing his eyes and shaking his head.

              Okay. New plan! He would grab some clothes and commute as a noodle. Maybe a short flight through the forest would wake his body up enough to change.

              Once he collected his things, he shrunk himself and snuck outside through his bedroom window. Luckily, most everyone in the complex had either left for work or school, so he only needed to slip past an older couple sitting on a bench at the boarder of the forest. He flew behind him, using their own shadows for cover, and darted into the woods.

              Use the shadows to hide. Think about the coffee waiting at work. Remember he’s doing this for Hattie. Hattie. He has to be able to support her. His daughter is all he had left, and he knew he could be okay as long as he had her.

              Feeling a touch more rejuvenated from both his mental pep talk and the fresh forest air, Luka landed behind the usual tree he used as cover when he started to slip in work. From his tree, he could smell the roasted coffee and his mouth watered. While Hattie did make him breakfast that morning—complete with lots of bacon, as if his sweetheart knew he needed an extra boost—he found himself still hungry. He vaguely wondered if all the shapeshifting lately required more fuel as well as sleep, but he shoved those thoughts down swiftly.

              He didn’t really have time to dwell on these things.

              With concentration, he first focused on shifting into a humanoid shape. The fluff around his neck easily molded into tufts of soft hair and shrinking his length to his human height was also a breeze. The hard part was splitting his tail into legs and his mittens into hands. But soon, he found himself standing—oh standing! How he missed feeling firmly planted on the ground on two feet!—and he could flex his humanoid fingers and thumbs. Next came his features, which he manifested while he shimmied into his pants.

              Nose. Teeth that weren’t fangs. Human eyes—with pupils and everything!—and brows. He skipped the ears because he figured his hair would cover them anyway and he was still so tired. Cutting corners on his appearance might help. Soon enough, he felt himself in proper human-shape, even if he still felt like a water balloon with his innards shifting around in a magic shell.

              As he buttoned his shirt—something so normal felt so good—he focused on changing his color to match how he was before. Brown hair, chestnut eyes, and not a drop of purple anywhere on his skin. He inhaled a steadying breath and walked around the shop and towards the entrance.

              “Hey there, Luka,” MJ called from the cash register as Luka briskly walked towards the back. “How was drop-off?”

              Drop-off? It took Luka a second as he put on his apron before he registered that MJ was asking about dropping Hattie off at school—the reason Luka had said he couldn’t take an early shift.

              “Oh, yeah,” Luka offered a nervous smile. He felt bad not only that he had to lie about the real reason but also because he wished he could have walked Hattie to school instead of being confined to the apartment as a weird purple snake monster. “It was fine. She seems to be making friends already.”

              That, he realized gratefully, was true and he couldn’t be happier for his daughter.

              But it also meant he really needed to make sure he didn’t screw up this job.

              “That’s great!” MJ offered a warm smile before turning back to the customers, his blue hair bouncing on top his head with his movement.

              Luka glanced down as he tied his apron, smiling softly.

              “Enough chatting!” Clover appeared from the back with a tray of plastic-wrapped pastries in hand. “Luka, can you get started on making drinks?”

              “Oui, Chef!” Luka saluted, which earned an eyeroll from Clover.

              “We outsource the pastries, you goof!” She gave him a gentle nudge before restocking the reserves beneath the display case.

              Instead of quipping back, Luka just laughed as he crossed over to the espresso machine, where cups with orders were already lined up.

              It felt good, he marveled, laughing with coworkers. How long had it been since he just spent time with friends? His gaze lingered on his human hand as he grabbed a cup.

              Too long, he decided.

              The first half of the shift went by in a blur. The mornings were always busiest, leaving Luka pushing out cup after cup. It wasn’t until MJ handed him the last order that Luka let himself relax long enough to breathe. Even then, when he read MJ’s instructions on what coffee to make, it just read, “Luka’s Favorite.”

              “What?” Luka glanced over at MJ, taking a moment to briefly scan the room for anyone waiting for coffee.

              “You’ve earned it,” MJ answered as his gaze narrowed on something in front of him and furrowed his brows. MJ removed his red-rimmed glasses and frowned at an apparent smudge before using the edge of his apron to clean up the lens. “I don’t know your favorite though,” MJ looked back up, squinting slightly at Luka without his glasses. “You’ll have to tell me a few times before I remember, as a heads up.”

              “Chestnut-infused Columbian Bean with cream and sugar,” Luka replied softly, smiling as he started to make himself a cup. “What about you?”

              MJ pushed his glasses back onto his nose and was about to respond before he titled his head with concern.

              “Dude, you alright? You’ve got some pretty gnarly bags under your eyes.”

              Luka’s heart dropped into his stomach as he instinctively lifted a hand to his face.

              “Um, mind if I—” Luka gestured towards the bathroom and MJ nodded. Luka practically threw himself into the cramped employee bathroom and glanced up.

              Oh no.

              Sure enough, purple was starting to spread, starting at the base of his eyes. In addition, his chestnut irises were starting to reflect gold in the dim bathroom light. He glanced down at his hands, his usual indicator that he was out of time in his human-shape. They remained untouched by purple and he still had his thumbs.

              Okay. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. He had made it through most of the shift and might be able to stick it out the rest of the day. Looking exhausted was fine, so long as he still looked human.

              He inhaled a deep, calming breath. He would be fine. He just needed a cup of coffee and that should tide him over. He could stick it out! He could do this!

              He returned to the counter with an anxious smile plastered on his face. MJ was wiping down the top of the display case when Luka went to finished making his coffee. While he poured the cream, he noted his hands were shaking but he ignored them.

              “Luka,” MJ asked as Luka lifted the steaming cup to his lips, “is everything okay?”

              “Oh yeah!” Luka smiled but he soon felt two sharp somethings—his fangs, he realized with dread—dig into his bottom lip. Panic gripped his chest and he glanced down at his hand holding the coffee cup.

              The tips of his fingers were turning purple.

              “Actually,” Luka’s shoulders slumped with resignation. He shifted the coffee cup into his other hand—which was still free of purple—and hid his changing hand behind his back. “I’m not—I think I need to—”

              MJ zeroed in on his hand and for a second, Luka feared the purple was spreading and the cat was out of the bag, but his fears were soon assuaged when MJ spoke.

              “Your hand is shaking more than my old dryer!” MJ explained in disbelief and worry. “Listen, do you need to go home? I can cover for the rest of the day.”

              “I hate to leave you mid-shift again and with Clover off getting more cup sleeves—” Luka winced from the way his growing fangs scratched against his mouth as he stepped back towards the door.

              “It’s all good,” MJ promised, his brows tight with concern. “Just get some rest before you need to pick up your daughter.”

              “Thank you!” Luka just about dashed out the back door, “It won’t happen again!”

              He barely made it outside before the purple creeped up his arm and his fingers on his one hand clenched back into cumbersome mittens. He ducked behind the tree and let out a frustrated groan as his thin control over his body dissolved.

              Not wanting to ruin another pair of clothes, he placed his coffee down and swiftly undressed. He tried to maintain fingers on the hand that was just turning purple as he struggled with the buttons on his shirt. It took a few tries but he finally managed. The second he shed his shirt and pants, his purple form ballooned into the now familiar form of a large snake with fur and noodle arms.

              Luka sighed, leaning against the bark as fatigue and sorrow ate at his spirit. Wet, golden tears slipped down familiar paths etched into his cheeks. He momentarily entertained the idea of remaining there, in the shadow of the tree and stewing in his sorry state, but on the other side of The Horizon, he could hear the hustle and bustle of the people of Subcon. The longer he remained in the open, the more he risked being seen.

              Willing himself through the motions, he collected his clothes and draped them over his arm before scooping up his coffee cup between two thick fingers. Careful not to let the cup slip through his fingers because he knew that a little spilled coffee in that moment was all it would take to send him into a spiral of despair he might not be able to recover from, he headed home.

              He hovered through the deeper part of the woods since he had nowhere to be anytime soon. Of course, he wanted to be home before Hattie, but that wasn’t for another hour or two. So, he took his time, letting his tail wiggle lackadaisically as he flitted from shadow to shadow. The warm coffee in his hand was a small comfort and the toasted flavor of the beans soothed him to the core.

              He was mid-sip—eyes half-closed—when a small gasp came from below.

              Luka’s eyes snapped fully open as he glanced down over his coffee cup. A young child in a dark purple hood with fluffy brown bangs that concealed most of their features was craning their neck to look up at him.

              The two remained frozen as they stared at each other for a second. Luka clutched his clothes draped around his one arm and still held the coffee cup to his mouth while the child’s jaw hung open.

              “Wowie! What are—” The child’s awe-filled voice snapped Luka out of his petrification and before the child could finish their sentence, Luka flew away.

              Peck! He was seen! Sure, he had been seen before but usually not mid-day and never that up close! He glanced back at the kid, who thankfully wasn’t following him, just watching in shock.

              That might come back to haunt him…

              Oh well, Luka tried to console himself as he zipped back home. At least the kid didn’t see him shapeshifting, which was more likely to give away his identity. The thought of Luka being found out and having to tear Hattie from another home gripped his chest like ice, but he immediately forced himself to take deep breaths.

              It was okay. The kid saw a purple noodle in the forest with coffee. It was fine. There was no reason to think he was at risk of being found out.

              It was going to be okay. He would be okay. Hattie was safe and happy. Everything was okay.

              The area behind the apartment was void of life and Luka had no trouble shrinking and flying up to his bedroom window, which he had left open for easy access. He flew in and soon expanded to fill the empty room. Sighing, he gingerly set down his cup before folding his clothes and stacking them by the closet. Exhaustion overwhelmed him and he curled around himself, resting his head on his hands on the topmost coil.

              His eyelids drooped as he flicked the tip of his tail back and forth. He wished he could have finished his shift. He wished he could have kept laughing with MJ and that he could have been there when Clover came back.

              He squeezed his eyes shut, as if it would keep a few more tears from slipping out. No such luck. He heaved out a worn sign before shifting his focus on getting some sleep. Maybe if he rested enough, he would have enough energy to maintain a humanoid shape so he could cook a good dinner for Hattie. That would be nice.

              He fell asleep repeating his new mantra.

              It would be okay. He was going to be okay.

#a hat in time #ahit coffee shop au #doodledrawsthings #i hope this is okay! #i just really love this au and this was fun to write! #not sure i got all the details right #also i don't know MJs fav coffee order haha so i cut him off #but also i love this au right because coffee is like my fav thing and i'll take any excuse to give a character some coffee #that part about luka not wanting to drop his cup? that's absolutely me projecting and im sorry not sorry #but if you havent please check out doodledrawsthings! #their art is incredible #but yeah that's all i got #again reeeeally sorry if I messed up some key details but i hope this does the au justice! #my writing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Irreconcilable

Warnings: nonconsent sex, violence.

This is dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You and Steve come to a breaking point but he’s not ready to let you go.

Note: My current kink is Steve Rogers being a bad motherfucker with a hint of insanity. Like he really coming in hot here. Oh and he got a touch of breeding kink. Enjoy <3

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

You had come a long way since you were a naive SHIELD agent mooning over the one and only Steve Rogers. You were no longer an agent, you had married Steve Rogers, and now you were divorcing Steve Rogers. Five years went by in a flash and yet it felt like an eternity. It was like you were starting over again.

New job, new house, new you. Just you. Alone.

It was a breath of fresh air. You had spent so long in denial that acceptance felt like freedom. In the two years of wedded misery you spent with Steve, you had convinced yourself it was bliss. Something about that ring had changed him and he had expected you to change too.

Well you did, just not how he wanted. 

It was subtle at first. He was still sweet and your honeymoon was immaculate. When you got home, back in the thick of things, he started to grow irritable. At home, on missions, in bed. First, it started with a breakfast you failed to cook. Then he didn’t think you should be working so much as he was eager to start a family. The revelation that you were in no such hurry, further agitated him. And when it came to intimacy…

When you were just dating, he was doting, gentle, diligent. He worshipped you and made you feel beautiful. Then he turned relentless. Foreplay dwindled to a slap on the ass and a growled order. On nights you denied him, for a headache or some report you had to read, he slept on the couch. And when you didn’t reject him, it was as if he was intent upon hurting you. Punishing you for daring to defy him.

And when you tried to talk it out, there was nothing to talk about. He grew silent and restless. He didn’t have the patience to stay and delve into whatever had turned him so cruel. He had work to do or at least, something better. 

And he attended a single counseling session before he stormed out and declared it nonsense. In his day, couples made it work, through thick and thin. Well, in his day, husbands also got away with slapping around their wives and children. You liked to think that the new century had improved upon the formula.

Then his missions grew longer and he started going out with the boys a little too often. Sam and Bucky liked to have a beer now and then but you’d never known them to keep fratboy hours. You couldn’t disprove Steve’s plans but you also couldn’t be certain of them. You guessed he was cheating but you didn’t need the excuse to get out. You were already done.

So you went to Stark and Fury and discussed your departure. They agreed not to tell Steve while you figured things out. Then you went to a lawyer and drew up the papers. You didn’t want anything, just out. And, you suspected, Steve didn’t want you anymore either. 

You waited until you got a position as head of security at a government office downtown. Well-paying and respectable. Fury’s referral had gone a long way. A desk job was a dream after years of fieldwork. It was all going to be different and you were finally ready for the change.

Steve was due home from his latest mission at four. It was already seven and the boxes had already been packed up and taken to your new condo. You would let him keep the furniture. Still, the house looked empty… well, it had for a while now.

You paced across the front room for another hour and at last you heard his car. A month ago, you’d be ready to tear into him. Ready to rant and rave until your head hurt. Not anymore. You had no energy left for this relationship.

He came in quietly. He stopped short as he entered the living room. He looked around and sighed. His hands went to his hips. The Captain stance. His eyes turned deadly as he looked at you. You quit your pacing and crossed to the coffee table. You took the large envelope and went to him. You held it out.

“Everything is yours,” You said as he stared at the envelope. “Clean break. I don’t want anything. Just out.”

“What?” He brushed past the envelope and walked the perimeter of the room. “You can’t be serious.”

“Steve, you know this isn’t working.” You followed him. “We’re both miserable.”

“No, you’re miserable,” He turned on you. “I’ve only been trying to help you and you just sit there and sulk. And now you’re-- you’re trying to divorce me.”

“I am divorcing you,” You pushed the envelope to his chest. “This doesn’t have to be difficult.”

“You made a vow--”

“Jesus, Steve, this isn’t 1366,” You huffed. “I can’t live like this anymore. I won’t.”

He was silent as his jaw ticked. He backed away and crossed his arms.

“You know I still love you right,” He said quietly.

“And? Love can’t fix whatever this is,” You insisted. “Steve, come on, this doesn’t have to be difficult. You sign and it’s done. Take it to a lawyer, you’ll see it’s a good break. You get the house, the furniture, everything. We leave with what we came with; you get more than that.”

He spun back. He had the grace to look hurt.

“Think about this, please,” He pleaded, “You don’t want to do this.”

“Steve, you won’t talk to me, you won’t listen to me, what is there left to think about?” You asked. “It’s done. We’re done. You think I haven’t been thinking about this for months?”

He nodded and his jaw squared. His brows drew together and he tilted his head as he stared at the envelope in your hand.

“Fine,” He conceded. “I’ll take it to my lawyer…”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” You tried to near him and he turned his back on you again. You set it on the coffee table instead. “It’s just here, okay?”

“If you were sorry, you would try,” He growled. “Oh, and let me tell you, this will not be easy.” He peered over his shoulder, “I’ll make sure of that.”

The anger in his voice startled you. You swallowed and backed away from the table. You took your purse and your jacket in the deathly lull that followed. Steve didn’t move as he stared at the artificial fireplace.

“Goodbye, Steve,” You said as you hovered in the doorway.

“Get out,” He sneered. “Trust me, this isn’t goodbye.”

💍

Your last day at Stark Tower was the same day you served Steve the papers. You had planned it so delicately but you knew now he would not go along with it. Not peacefully. You spent your weekend unpacking and on Monday began your new position in the city. 

You were only a block away from the Tower but you avoided the area. Tony and Fury promised not to tell Steve where you were working. You suspected that wouldn’t go well for them but you trusted them. They’d faced much worse than a bitter Steve Rogers.

Coming home to your new place was no different than before. What was different was that you could breath. There was no oppressive shadow hovering over you. You opened a bottle of wine and turned on the series that Steve always complained was too vapid. He couldn’t say anything now. He could sit and watch his dry war documentaries as he preened over any mention of himself. He sure was up his own ass.

You fell asleep on the couch. You woke and repeated the same day. It all became routine and you slipped easily into the single life. Single and unwilling to mingle. 

Woven into your newly found serenity, was a thread of insecurity. Steve’s promise echoed in your head as you closed your eyes at night. “This will not be easy”. You found yourself staring at your phone as you waited for the call from your lawyer. It didn’t come for a whole month. Steve wanted a deposition. It was to be scheduled for the next week.

You set your phone down and sighed. Of course. You knew it. He wanted to be messy and surely he knew the extra lawyer fees wouldn’t make this any easier. You couldn’t fathom, however, what else he could want from you. Your settlement had swayed heavily in his favour. Well, you could guess he wanted the final word. A final victory.

Captain America never failed.

You’d have to book the day off and only a month into the job. You were sure they’d understand. Your superiors were few and your team was competent. It only annoyed you how even now, Steve could get in the way of your work.

Well, better to get it done and over with. Maybe when it was all signed and sealed, you could leave New York. It would be terribly difficult to find another job and the city had grown dull. These were his streets, his people. You would just be the woman who walked out on the first Avenger.

💍

You sat in the stiff plastic chair and stared through the clear glass wall of the deposition room. The court reporter was within, readying for the meeting. Your lawyer, Donald Calliers, was beside you and tried to calm you down with assurances that it was nothing more than a formality. There was no reason for this to go beyond a single day and he didn’t suspect much would change in the settlement.

Steve arrived ten minutes before the meeting was to begin. You peeked at him, hoping he wouldn’t catch you. He had grown out his beard and his hair was getting long. He looked very much unlike the man you’d married, albeit he was well-kempt and put together for the occasion. He was accompanied by three lawyers. That made your stomach drop.

“Three lawyers?” You whispered to Donald. “Is that bad?”

“It’s a show. Trust me. I run depositions in my sleep. No one needs that amount of representation at these things. Quality over quantity.” He said under his breath.

“I hope your right,” You replied. “I don’t think I can afford three of you.”

“Good thing there’s only one of me,” He kidded. “One of a kind.”

You forced a small laugh and tried not to fidget. You had barely been able to keep still before Steve showed up, and now you felt as if your entire body was shaking. You could feel his eyes on you and hear his own low whispers to his lawyers.

The door opened and saved you from sinking into doubt. Steve and his team stood and waited for you to enter first. You sat on the far side of the table and they took the seats across from you. The court reporter took the chair at the head of the table and cleared his throat. He swore each of you in and signalled the beginning of the deposition. Steve’s lawyers allowed no delay.

“Mrs. Rogers,” The tall blonde woman with the square jaw, Ms. Lauer, began.  “We’ll start with your monthly expenses.”

Donald shuffled through his folder and slid over the copies of your statements. The lawyers read over them and nodded as they made notes.

“And on average, thinking of only you, how often do you travel throughout the year for pleasure?” Another lawyer asked. This one a bald man called Mr. Harin.

“Once, maybe. I tend to work more than I vacation,” You answered.

“And how often do you dine out?” The third asked; Mr. Pollard.

“Couple times a month, maybe,” You avoided Steve’s gaze as it never wavered. He seemed not to even hear the questions or your answers.

“And your debt? You have any credit card debt? And outstanding loans owing?”

“I have a card I am currently paying off but it’s only a couple hundred owing,” You replied evenly. This was ridiculous. Was he really going to try to fleece you? He still made more than you did.

“And you cited irreconcilable differences on your papers,” Harin said. “We would ask what exactly these differences are?”

You looked at Steve and the angles of his face hardened.

“It’s not much of a marriage when you never see each other and when you do, you don’t talk,” You said. “And when you do communicate, it is nothing short of hostile.”

“Oh, and would you classify this hostility as abuse?” Pollard asked.

“No, not really,” You answered. “Just unhealthy and unbearable.”

“So you would file on the grounds of irretrievable breakdown but as our client would state, any such breakdown has not been evident for the required period.” Harin intoned. “In fact, he say you’ve surprised him with such a claim and you would cite no other valid grounds for the divorce.”

“Our marriage has been little more than a shell for the last year,” You said. “As I’ve been informed, it is only six months required to make a claim.”

“But you never made such a claim to your husband, thus how could he recognize and try to reconcile these differences?” Lauer prodded.

“I did. I have a statement from a counselour that confirms that were seeking help nine months ago,” You insisted. 

“We have seen that but you did not attend further after that instance.” Harin argued.

“And… he wouldn’t go,” You accused. “He wouldn’t try any sort of reconciliation.”

“And do you have proof of his refusal?” Lauer asked.

You looked to Donald who shifted in his chair. “It is not required to have proof of this claim,” He said. “She did recognize that the relationship was declining and she made a visible effort to amend that.”

“Once in two years,” Harin countered. “And she would not claim abuse or inhumane cruelty and we’ve heard no mention of adultery.”

“It does not invalidate her claims of irreconcilable differences. You might refer to their schedules and the amount of time they spent apart.” Donald retorted.

“Occupational absence does not account for personal neglect,” Pollard said.

“So…” You looked along the line of lawyers.

“This settlement you’ve offered is completely invalid. There are no grounds for it.” Lauer stated.

“But...but…”

“We cannot allow our client to sign these papers knowing them to be of such questionable validity thus we ask that you withdraw the claim.” Pollard declared. “We have faith that your lawyer is competent enough to agree with us.”

Donald frowned and turned to you. You spun your chair around as he leaned over and whispered quietly. “They’re right.”

“But they can’t disprove my claims,” You hissed.

“Sure but that’s not their job. If we went before a judge, we’d be overruled easily.” He explained. “You’ll have to sign a separation first and wait a year. If it was uncontested, sure, I’d have you out by the end of the week but he’s putting up a fight.”

“A year?” You shook your head.

“Separated. You just have to live apart for a year. No contact required but you have to maintain residency in the state.” 

“Really?”

“We can probably get it signed today, I’m sure,” Donald assured. “It’s the best we can hope for.”

“Fine. If it’s a means to and end.”

You turned back and Donald reached for his briefcase and shuffled around.

“My client proposes that instead of the settlement, that an order of separation might be more appropriate for the circumstance.” Donald said. “Would your client agree?”

Steve looked to Harin and gave a single nod. He wasn’t happy.

“Alright, we’ll have it drawn up and faxed over to your offices to be signed by the end of the week.” Donald said. “Is that agreeable?”

“It is,” Lauer accepted. “In the meantime, we would ask that your client prepares a full statement of her expenses over the next year and we would also require a report of her personal activities within the last year of her marriage.”

“Personal activities?” You said.

“Our client has his own accounted for. We only wish to cover our bases.”

You shrugged and Donald agreed to it. You couldn’t look at Steve. You knew what he was implying. He thought you were unfaithful or was at least petty enough to raise the accusation.

“Are we done here?” You whispered.

💍

Another month and even more wine. Your days had grown endless. When you were at work, you could forget about your legal connection to the asshole who chose to make your nights a living hell. Ever since your failed deposition, he had broken his silence.

It started with a text. Sweet, even. ‘I miss you, we should think this through.’ That was until the separation was finalized. Then they turned nasty; ‘you won’t get away that easily’; ‘we’ll see if you last a year’. Then you changed your number and deleted his. 

That was when it all caught up to you. Your marriage had failed, you’d had to flip your entire life because of him, and now you were all alone in a condo that was way too big for just you. And you couldn’t leave the state until this was all over.

You were awoken one night by the chiming of your phone. You could still the acrid wine on your tongue as you reached for it. A video call? You answered in your sleepy haze and were stunned by the image that met you. The loud slapping that rose from the speakers and the low purr of some unknown woman. Her wavy auburn hair spilled over her shoulders as her round ass clapped against a pelvis. You recognized the hand that gripped her hip.

“This should be you,” Steve said from behind the camera. “Fuck, I wish it was.”

You hung up and fumbled with the phone. It fell onto the floor as you sat up. You turned on the lamp and pressed your palms to the side of your head. What the fuck was that? You let out a grunt of frustration as you heard the phone ringing again. You picked it up and declined the call. You couldn’t block the private number.

You silenced your phone and shoved it in your dresser. You went to the kitchen and got a glass of water. You felt sick to your stomach. You knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep. Not after that. So you went to the couch and turned on Netflix. It would be a long day at work.

💍

You slept for about an hour before your alarm blared from the other room. You stumbled off the couch to slap the clock and retrieved your phone from the drawer. You gather your clothes for the day and made your coffee. You sat with the steaming mug and unlocked your phone. He’d sent a video. It played automatically. It showed him coming down the woman’s thigh. You deleted it and grumbled at your coffee. 

What the fuck was wrong with him?

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and forced yourself to get dressed. If he called again, you wouldn’t answer. You’d have to change your number; again.

The office was quiet. Thankfully. You had another coffee as you went over logistics and kept an eye on the screen mounted in the corner that showed you every camera in the building. You liked having the view. An alert went up for the bank down the street and you keyed in the response measures. It was a faulty trip.

You looked back to the cameras and your chair almost rolled out from under you. It couldn’t be. You got up and walked to the screen. Steve was just down the hall by the receptionist's desk. Several of your employees were gathered around him. You could hear their voices through your door.

“Fuck,” You swore and thought of locking your office. 

You slipped out into the hall and sneaked down to the bathroom instead. You listened against the door as fragments floated through the air. ‘THE Captain America?’ ‘So honoured to meet you’...

You waited twenty minutes before it all died down. The silence that followed was eerie and you slowly cracked open the door to peer down at your office. You didn’t see anyone. You let out a long breath and stepped out. You tiptoed along and peered down towards the receptionist. All had gone back to their work but chattered here and there about their visitor.

You opened your office door and he was there. He sat in your chair as he swung the seat back and forth. He smirked at you. You blinked and let the door fall closed behind you.

“What are you doing here?” You asked.

“Just wanted to see the new gig,” He said. “Must be boring pent up in here all day.”

“Not at all,” You crossed your arms. “Steve, leave.”

“Come on, don’t you miss it?” He ignored you. “You remember how it used to be in the field? You remember when I fucked you on the jet? Or maybe at that little party where we were supposed to be posing as arms dealers. Tight space but we made it work.”

“What is wrong with you?” You marched over to your desk and leaned on it as you glared at him. “You need to go. Now. This is my job.”

“Wouldn’t mind having a go here,” He put his foot up on your desk and crossed his other leg over. “Bend you over. You think you could keep quiet?”

“Steve.” You hissed. “I mean it, go. I work in security. Don’t make me call them.”

“I’m sure they’re all too eager to escort me out,” He taunted. “You really think they would? After I signed their mugs and ridiculous posters.”

“I’ll call the police then,” You said.

“False reports can get you a hefty fine, even some time,” He leaned back in your chair. “Unless you truly think they’ll listen to you?”

“Why are you doing this?” You asked.

“Because you still think you’re going to get away,” He said. “And I assure you that last night was just a taste of what I have planned for you.”

“Steve…”

“Steve,” He mimicked breathily, “’Oh, Steve, harder, harder’… I miss that.”

“Well, I don’t,” You sneered. “Last night was disgusting. You are disgusting.” You stared at him. “What happened to you?”

“What happened to us?” He pulled his feet from the desk and sat up. “You said you would be with me forever. You are my wife.”

“Not for much longer, Steve,” You said. “Stop making this worse for yourself.”

“Oh, I’m having a hell of a time,” He stood slowly. “And let me tell you this, that girl, meant nothing. A toy to me. You… oh, I’ll make sure you have something to remember me by.” He rounded the desk. “I’ll make sure you’re never rid of me.”

You reached around blindly as you turned to him and grabbed your stapler. You hit the release as he got closer and held it up shakily.

“Don’t come near me,” You said. “Go.”

“Or what?” He took another step.

“Steve,” You warned.

“Oh, I just want a little fun. How about--”

He tried to grab you and you lunged at him. You hit the stapler as it met his chest and he barely flinched. You pulled it back and held it by the bottom and swung it again. This time, you smacked him in the shoulder and his jaw ticked.

“You’re getting rusty,” He laughed as he knocked the stapler from your hands. 

“Steve,” You backed away and he stopped suddenly.

He looked you up and down and pulled out his phone. He lifted a brow and tucked it away.

“Damn, looks like I’m already running late,” He sighed. “Tony’s not gonna be too pleased but… I’ll let him know you say hi.” He headed for the door as you watched him in terror. “Oh, and… I did mean it. Til death do us part.”

💍

You didn’t see Steve again. A whole week passed and the only hint of his existence were the texts you didn’t read. Ten and a half months to go. You could do it. He was just playing with you. Trying to change your mind. He would admit defeat as soon as the final paper was signed. He had to.

You got home and uncorked your Friday night wine. You’d been abstaining for a while as you didn’t want to make it a habit but you were so on edge, you needed to just chill. You poured a healthy glass and pulled a throw over your shoulders as you sank into the couch. You really didn’t mind living alone.

You almost finished the bottle and laid back on the sofa. You were cozy in the heat of the wine and the fuzzy blanket. You dozed off as soon as the theme of the next episode stopped playing. You floated in a haze and your eyes opened only as a shadow passed on the other side.

You sat up dizzily and glanced around. You gripped your spinning head as you stood and clumsily walked around your front room. It was likely just the television. You shook your head and told yourself it was nothing. You were drunk and falling asleep in front of a screen often left you restless.

You fell back down onto the couch and leaned into it. You skipped the episode back, suddenly awake. Slowly, the alcohol dragged you down and you began to slump against the cushions. Your head began to loll and you felt a warmth brush over your cheek.

“A place like this must get lonely,” Steve’s voice startled you as his breath tickled your skin.

You tried to jump up and caught you below your arms and pulled you back over the couch. You wrestled with him as your vision wobbled. You flailed and kicked as his arm slipped up and he wrapped it around your neck. He squeezed until a weight settled in your limbs and he slowly lowered you to the floor.

“It’s okay, honey,” He slithered as the void welcomed you. “You won’t be lonely anymore.”

💍

You awoke slowly. Your head was heavy from excess. You knew the place but it wasn’t your condo. You laid in the bed you once shared with Steve. You groaned as you stretched your arm across the mattress. It was just you. You sat up and found Steve watching you.

He stood from the chair near the window and you quickly rolled to the other edge of the bed. He jumped across and caught you before you could take another step. He pulled you back and turned so that you were pinned beneath him. You screamed and he covered your mouth.

“I’ve done a lot since you left. A lot of time to think,” He said. “Soundproofing, renovations, redecorating.”

You mumbled into his palm and he rolled his hips against you. 

“All for you.” He snarled. “I’ve waited too long.”

You tried to peel his hand away from your lips and he only clung tighter.

“I got the nursery done though. It’s nice. I think you’ll like it,” He continued. “The only thing I haven’t done is thought of names.”

You finally pried his hand down to your chin and gasped. “Steve, please…”

“I think this might just be the reconciliation we need,” He said. “Don’t you?”

“No,” You begged. “No, Steve, get off--”

“I don’t think you were meant to be a wife. You were meant to be a mommy,” He nuzzled your head. 

“Steve, stop. Get off of me right now. Or--”

“Or what? Doesn’t look good when the soon-to-be ex-wife breaks into her spouse’s house.” He growled. “Something like that, that could lose you your job and it definitely wouldn’t look could in a deposition.”

“Steve,” You sobbed. “You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt me!” He snapped. “You understand?! You hurt me and you’re not going to take my life from me.” 

He pushed himself off you roughly and grabbed the back of your neck as he pulled you up after him. He turned you to him and gripped your head between his large hands.

“You’ll find someone else. Someone who can give you that life, Steve,” You begged. “It’s just not me.”

“It is you.” He sneered. “Only you.”

“Please, don’t--”

“Shut up,” He shouted. “I’m done talking with you. You never listened to me. Ever.” He shoved you away. “So you’re going to listen now.”

You glanced at the door and he caught your chin and turned you back to him.

“You think you can get out of this room? Think you can get past me?” He challenged.

You stared at him and your heart sank. Fight as you might, you could never beat the Captain. He was always one step ahead; in the field and off.

“Answer me,” He rescinded his hand and slapped you across the cheek. “Now.”

You were stunned by the force of the strike. You stumbled back and tears rose in your eyes.

“St-Steve…” You stammered but his eyes were distant. “No, I can’t.” You admitted weakly. “You know I can’t.”

“Finally talking some sense,” He smirked. “Now, we’ll start easy.”

Your lips parted but you didn’t know what else to say. You hung your head. A silent surrender.

“I didn’t hear you,” He mocked. You looked up at him confused. “That’s a ‘yes, husband’.”

You blinked at him. Your lip trembled as you forced the words out and he shuddered in delight.

“Now, you can undress me first.” He said.

You uttered another ‘yes, husband’ and crossed to him. You lifted his tee and he bent to help you sweep it over his head. His eyes never left you. You shakily undid his jeans and you gulped back a sob. It felt like the first time again, except you were shaking from excitement. This was fear.

When at last you bared him of his briefs, he was hard. He stroked himself without shame and rubbed the tip against your shirt. 

“Your turn,” He said.

You stripped a piece at a time. It was mechanical, instinctual. You didn’t think as you dropped your clothes on the floor. You stood before him entirely vulnerable. Naked. You had loved this man once, but you weren’t sure he had ever loved you. Only wanted what he could get out of you. Be it his pleasure, some reassurance of his insecurities, or the life he’d romanticized for so long.

“Turn around,” He commanded and you obeyed with a ‘yes, husband’. He hummed at that. He pushed on your shoulders until you bent. “Grab your ankles… and stay like that.”

He went to the closet and returned. He held straps you’d never seen before. Your sex had never been bland but he’d never gone beyond the usual. Never wanted toys or lube; just you. He secured your wrists to your ankles. He lifted your chin and looked into your eyes.

“I’m gonna fuck you like never before. For all those times I slept on that goddamn couch,” He pushed his mouth against yours. “I’m done holding back.”

He stood and rounded you. He slapped your ass and you almost fell. He steadied you and pushed your feet apart as far as they could go. You were entirely imbalanced, barely able to keep yourself up. His hands slipped down your thighs and back up and he gripped your hips.

He pressed against you and wiggled his hips as his cock rubbed against your ass. 

“It didn’t have to be like this,” He growled. “You made it this way.”

You shook your head and stayed silent. He was too far gone. Whatever you said would only anger him further.

He reached between you and pushed his cock down to your cunt. He eased into you an inch at a time. Your walls resisted him as you were unprepared for the intrusion. As he got further in, it hurt more and more. You whined and he cursed as he slapped your ass so hard it stung.

“Come on, honey,” He bucked his hips and filled you entirely. You cried out at the pain. “I know you can take it.”

He thrust against and you shook. He rocked his hips until your body reacted. Each delve inside grew easier as your arousal leaked from your core. He kept you moving steadily along his cock as his groans swirled around you. His pelvis clapped against your ass.

“Yeah, yeah, this is what I wanted,” He breathed. “This is what I imagined. Only you…”

He moved you against him as his grunts grew deeper and deeper. Your legs trembled and he held your waist tighter as he slammed you back against him. His thrusts turned slower but sharper. He inched your foot forward with his and then the other. He walked you over to the bed until your faced was pressed to the mattress.

He rutted into you harder. You yelped into the bed and seemed riled from the sound.

“Louder! Louder!” He demanded, speeding up until you cried out again and again. “Oh fuck, honey, I missed us so much.” He kneaded your ass hungrily. “Maybe if you had let me fuck you like this before, you never would’ve made such a stupid mistake.”

He sank into you completely and stopped. He pulled out of you but only to flip you onto the bed. You landed on your back awkwardly and bent your legs as they remained bound to your wrist. He climbed up swiftly and was upon you in a moment. He entered you easily and snaked his arms around your thighs as he caught his rhythm.

You bit your lip as you felt your core swelling. He reached down and pressed his thumb against your clit. You squeaked in surprise and his hips moved faster. You mewled as he swirled around your bud and gritted your teeth against the rise.

“Cum for me,” He said. “I know you can, honey.”

You grunted as you couldn’t help but climax. Your walls pulsed around his cock and you quivered violently. Your muscles ached terribly from how you were tangled beneath him and he sped up once more. He curled your back as he raised himself on his knees and lifted your ass off the bed. You felt as if you fold in on yourself.

“Fuck, fuck, you’re going to look so good…” His hand crawled up and spread over your stomach. “With my baby inside of you.”

You closed your eyes and turned your head away.

“Here it comes, honey,” He rasped. “I’m gonna cum… I’m gonna fill you up.”

He exclaimed and you felt his release as it seeped into you. His hips moved spasmodically against you as he slowly lowered your ass and leaned back on his heels as he stilled. He let out a deep snarl and squeezed your thigh.

“Mmmm, I can’t wait…”” He hummed and rubbed your stomach. “I can’t wait to see you grow.”

#Steve Rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #one shot #dark!steve rogers x reader #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #au #mcu #marvel #captain america

[wordynerdygurl]

A Wonderful Christmastime

Author’s Note:  Well Hello All!  I hope that you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying well!  My tag-list is open and you know I love the validation of reblogs, shares, tags and adds!! I have been working on a larger OC story which has kept my from my Loki writings, but I entered a challenge posted by @toomanystoriessolittletime​ for the Christmas holiday.  If you aren’t following, please do as she’s got a great little Advent Calendar of seasonal stories for you!  One a day through the month of December!  

I chose a prompt based off of my least favorite Christmas song.  Ever.  Like in the history of humanity.  Like, my family torture me with it because of how much I dislike it.  This story is a chance to take a little lighthearted revenge on Sir Paul McCartney and also, hopefully, help you all enjoy a Wonderful Christmastime!   Also, isn’t this gif the cutest thing in the world?  My thanks to the OP and creator for it... it’s amazing and I love Christmas Loki!! Pairing:  Female Reader x Loki

Summary:  Everyone has a favorite holiday song... when Loki learns which one you dislike, he uses it to his advantage. Warnings:  Christmas holiday mentions, SMUT, Oral (F receiving) and MF Sex, also, the over use of a certain song that makes me, personally, crazy!

This was it.  That perfect moment when all of the holiday hustle was behind you.  Nothing to buy, nothing to ship, nothing to wrap, nothing to bake.  It was all over.  You had made it through another Christmas Eve.

Your well decorated tree sat in the corner, presents tucked below for you and Loki in the morning.  The frittata was resting in the fridge along with the two bottles of Prosecco you planned to have with brunch.  Hell, it was the holidays, after all.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight you were relaxing after an afternoon of family Christmas fun.  Nieces and nephews, piles of shredded paper, stacks of snacks and so much laughter your belly muscles were sore.  And through it all Loki had been a champ! Holding your hand, rubbing the small of your back, pulling out your chair; Loki had put the other partners to shame.  Whether he was telling bawdy but tasteful jokes to the men who drank cheap beer around the TV, sharing hair care tips with your sister’s oldest girl or whispering with your mom in the kitchen, he was always where he needed to be.  For the first time in ages, you had been able to enjoy the day fully, and you knew Loki was the reason why. After getting home, trading your dress and boots for comfy shorts and a sweatshirt, you padded into the living room.  Loki was there, sitting cross legged, digging through your bag of swag.  He had put seasonal music on in the background while munching through a plate of Auntie’s sugar cookies, two well poured goblets of red wine waiting to be had at his side.  God, he was good. “Is one of those for me?”  You couldn’t help smiling.  Loki, looking like a little kid, over excited and surrounded by all the trapping of Christmas just felt so precious. It took him a moment to reply as he was solely focused on the handmade puzzle box your mother had crafted for all the guys this year, “Hmm?  Yes… one’s for you…” Kissing the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his Rudolf blinking antler headband, a gift to Loki from your youngest nephew, you moved towards the couch.  Sipping from your glass of wine, snuggled under the softest chenille blanket your sister-in-law could find, you sighed contentedly.  Victory over the holiday season felt amazing.  Now all that was left on your to-do list was eating, drinking, and enjoying alone time with Loki until New Year’s.  Suddenly exhausted, you felt the lovely warm drag of drowsiness and snuggled deeper into the sofa.  Shuttering your tired eyes, you listened as Loki stood up, off to hunt up some more food, no doubt.  Visions of sugarplums danced in your head as you started to succumb to a sweet slumber. That’s when you heard it.  

“The moon is right, The spirit’s up, We’re here tonight and that’s enough…” Groaning, wide awake now, you sat up with a shout, “Loki?!”  Like magic his raven head popped around the doorframe, his reindeer antlers askew, a candy cane hanging out of his mouth, “Yes?”

“Um… question:  What are we listening to?” Stepping back into the living room, his new holiday flannel shirt open at the neck, Loki leaned over you, husking playfully,  “Music.  At least, that’s what I believe you Midgardians call it.” “Ha ha.  Yes, I know it’s music, but this particular song?”  You couldn’t keep the tartness from your tone as you pressed your nose into the handsome one on Loki’s face. Pausing, listening intently, Loki cocked his head to the side.  Singing along, his bells jingling, “Simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” “Ugh.  That’s what I was afraid of!”  Flinging a hand over your eyes, you grumbled, burrowing back into the cozy couch as a means of blocking out the obnoxious noise of the worst holiday song in the history of humanity. Making himself comfortable at your feet, pouring himself another glass of vino, “I like it.  It’s simple.  Direct.  What are you doing?  Me?  I’m simply having a wonderful Christmastime!” From deep in the cushions, muffled but forceful, you pleaded, “Make it stop!  Please!” “What for?  It is still Christmastime, is it not?  And we are enjoying a wonderful time, aren’t we?” Turning back to face him, a Scrooge-like scowl on your suddenly serious face, “I’ll do anything to get you to turn that off.” That got his attention, “Anything?”  Sitting up quickly, you reached for your blanket only to feel Loki snatching it out of your grasp, “You said anything, darling.” Tugging on the plush fabric, practically pouting, “You’re not going to take my new fluffy blankie, are you?” “Oh no.  That’s not nearly enough to stop me from playing my favorite Christmas carol.”

“It’s your favorite, now?  Loki, you just heard it.” Waving your gripes away, pinning you under his arms and under your blanket, “I love it.  It’s my favorite.  You can’t mess with perfection.”

You wiggled, trying to free an arm or a hand, anything to help defend yourself from Loki’s soft, but effective attack, "Perfection?  Loki, it's awful."

"I disagree.  But…”  Brushing a gentle kiss to your captive lips, making you melt into his warm touch, Loki made sure to keep you immobile.  Unraveling under his ardent attention, you gave up fighting, focusing on Loki’s roving hands through the protective layer of your new throw.  

Lost in his lips, you ignored the wretched recording still spinning, until sitting back with a sly smile Loki continued, “Regardless of my newly acquired antlers, I am a reasonable man.  I'm willing to hear your side of things.  Convince me, dove."

Looking up at him through your lashes, licking over your bottom lip that tasted of Loki's peppermint, it took you a moment to refocus on your argument.  Sighing doggedly, “It’s just garbage.  Too sweet, too synth-pop.  It’s plastic.  There’s no substance to it.”

At least Loki did you the service of considering your answer.  He paused, listening to the offending tune, starting to hum along once more.  “I don’t know.  It sounds like church bells ringing.  And I like when the kids start singing!”

“You couldn't.  Those are two of the worst things about it!  There’s not a single redeemable factor in it’s trite,  super saccharine, four minute run time.”  Agitated now and edging into anger, your voice kept rising, spurned on by the inability to get away from Loki’s plush prison, “Also, get off me!” “Can’t do it.  But-” nuzzling into your neck, tasting along the tendon there, “-I can replay this song.”  “That’s it!”  Fury tinted your words as you tried harder than ever to break free of your fleece prison but Loki was brick heavy, unmovable, and impossibly giddy at your predicament.  All things which only added fuel to your fire.  Wriggling like mad, struggling to kick a foot free, you squirmed desperately for leverage.  His response?  A deep chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, darling?”  Laying those long, lanky bones on top of you, holding down the throw’s corners in a way that made fighting futile, Loki smirked at your distress, “I still don’t see why you hate it so much.  It is a simple song because we’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime!  It’s in the title after all.” With cheeks hot from exertion, fully frustrated and forced to listen to Paul McCartney’s bland holiday ballad start a second time, you nearly shrieked, "I hate it, Loki!  Loathe it, really!  The lyrics are basic, the keyboard is tinny, and Sir Paul is better than that!” “Is that all?” “No!  It's even worse when someone else sings it, like those kids from Glee or an up and coming Country artist making their first holiday record!"

Beneath the blanket your chest rose and fell with bothered breaths.  From rubbing against the couch your hair stuck up in odd angles and you could feel heat rising off your neck.  How had you gone from almost asleep to a blanket related battle royale?  Loki, taking advantage of your confinement, kissed your forehead sweetly, and the change in tactic caught you off guard.  His lips grazed the tip of your nose as you huffed out a pout, eager to see where his mischief making would lead.  Pressing his forehead to yours, that deep sonorous voice whispering lowly for your ears alone, "Not a compelling enough argument for me to turn it off, I'm afraid." And to your holiday horror the song in question started again.  Grousing, "Don’t play it again!  Please!  I’m begging you!” “Already begging darling?”  Thick with mocking, Loki slotted himself between your thighs, keeping you from fighting back with any power. Whining full out now, poking out your bottom lip, “Come on!  Please, let me up and turn this off!” “Why, of course, my pearl.”  With no effort on his part, Loki scooped you up, blankie and all, pulling you tightly to his chest.  Gripping your bottom, his fingers firm through the cotton of your pj pants, he squeezed hard enough for you to yelp. “Hey!”  But that’s all you managed before his talented tongue invaded your mouth.  Now the only thing you could hear was the shaky exhale of your shared sighs and your own needy mewls when Loki started to withdraw.

Godly hands drew your thick and comfy sweatshirt over your head, leaving you bare against the cuddly softness of your new blanket, a perfect dichotomy to the heated hardness of Loki’s chest.  With your arms finally free you tangled your hands in the long tresses of your lover, distracted from the awful music by his groan, “Easy darling.” But now that the tables were tipped in your favor, you had no intention of going easy on Loki.  Not after his antics tonight, not a chance.  Tugging hard enough for him to wince, you ground against his lap with a nip to his neck, “Turn it off then.”

“Now, why would I do that?  Aren’t we still enjoying a Wonderful Christmastime?” Bouncing in his lap, purposefully teasing your mischief maker with a smirk, “We were until you let this terrible song play!” Laughing heartily, Loki stroked over your bare shoulder, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek.  “If I wanted to, my darling, I could change your mind.  I could make you adore this song.” “Is that so, Odinson?  I doubt it.”

“Doubt me?  On this, Christmas Eve!  When you know the feelin’s here that only comes once a year?” A confident nod was all he got for an answer.  In a flash you were laying on the soft rug, your legs wrapped over Loki’s and your new blanket tossed to the side.  Fiery kisses to your chest and neck led him to the shell of your ear where he hummed hungrily, “The moon is right, the spirits up…” Enjoying his mouth but not his music, you shoved against his shoulders, panting, “Don’t sing, just kiss me.” Licking into your mouth, Loki’s tongue obliged your need as his hands skated over the curve of your hip, breaking your kiss to croon, “We’re here tonight, dove… and that’s enough.”

“Loki… please stop…”  You fisted his shirt, pulling at the buttons until his muscular torso was under your fingers, strong and solid.  Pushing the plaid cotton off his shoulders, you let your nails drag over Loki’s naked back as you shifted your hips, subtlety be damned. He took the hint.  Nipping a trail over your tummy, Loki kept his eyes on yours as he shucked your shorts, snorting, “No panties?  Naughty!” “If that’s naughty, Loki, then what you’re doing to me is positively evil.” That made your lover grin, his eyebrows lifting in a wickedly Grinchy smile before caressing the inner skin of your thigh with his clever mouth.  Slithering closer to your center, sweeping his tongue in swirls, you couldn’t help the excited shiver he created.  It was enough to block out the terrible song now that you had something more arousing to hold your attention. Using those long, deft fingers, Loki parted your folds with a murmured moan, “You’re so wet, darling.  Maybe you like this song more than you let on?” A curse for him and his rotten taste in Christmas music died in your throat as Loki connected to your sacred skin through a carnal kiss.  Those strong forearms ensured that your knees stayed open wide as his tongue tasted, teasing your clenching cleft, humming with appreciation at your body’s response.  Circling your clit, sucking gently before changing direction and licking your lower lips once more, Loki had you teetering on the cliff of climax in minutes.

Your stomach tensed, ready for release.  Delicious waves of orgasmic bliss were pulsing through you, needing just a touch more friction, a little more pressure in order to crash over you.  Gasping out incoherent whimpers, fingers ruffling Loki’s dark hair, you can’t fight the neediness that he’s created in you. It just feels so incredible, something Loki knows you’re enjoying, “Like that, darling?” Passion clouds your vision as your desire crests, unfulfilled, “You know I do, Loki…” Fingers slide sensually through your slit, his bright eyes on you, “How much?  How much do you like it?” Shaking your head, still foggy with needs unmet, “So much, baby.  I love making love to you so much.” Bumping against your swollen bud, pressing down firmly, Loki begins using his hands to entice you towards ecstasy.  Two fingers enter you easily, delightful, sure, but not as filling as Loki’s hard member.  Reaching for him, you want to lose yourself in loving and being loved by your space god, “Sing for me, dove.” Beseeching you breathlessly, Loki’s hand stills, keeping you at the fringe of falling apart.  Waiting for your reply impatiently he asks again, “Sing, please.” “A song?” His reply is a shake of his dark head.  Slowly, smoothly, Loki withdraws his fingers, only to press them into your yielding flesh once more, “Yes, my darling.  Sing my favorite song!”

Sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh, those fingers of his spreading your walls, the exquisite pressure on your straining clitoris.  Any one of these distractions would have been hard to concentrate through.  Experiencing them all together?  Overwhelming.

And that’s the excuse you would use to explain what happened next.  “The party’s on… The feeling’s here…” As soon as the words left your lips, Loki’s attention resumed in earnest, “That’s it, dove!  Keep going!” “That only comes, this time of year… Ah!  Loki!” Loki watched you lustily.  Your eyes half closed, legs splayed lewdly, a nervous grin on your face.  He never wanted you more.  Slipping out of his jeans, wasting no time, Loki guided his hardened cock into you with a satisfying sigh. Your response to his abundance?  “Oh shit, Loki!  Yes!”  Snapping his hips against your pelvis, iron banded arms clinging to you, Loki stuttered, “I don’t hear you singing!” “We’re simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!”  How many times did you repeat the chorus?  Hard to say.  It became a mantra.  A thing to chant in time with everyone of Loki’s deliberate and deep thrusts. This time, when you felt the familiar stirring of your satisfaction, Loki didn’t stop you.  Encouraging you with a soulful kiss, his stroke surging in time with Paul McCartney’s crooning, you came apart in each other’s arms with a smile.  The song started again and you couldn’t stop the giggles from bursting out of you, “What’s so funny, dove?” “You said you could make me like this terrible, horrible, awful song.” Sitting up and taking you with him, Loki chuckled as he kissed your hand, “Hey, don’t make fun of the best holiday song I have ever heard.”  Pulling your new blanket around the both of you, “I still hate it, but-”

“But?”, his eyebrow arched in surprise, waiting for you to continue.

“But I don’t hate it as much.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, playfully ribbing you, “Do I have to force you into having another Wonderful Christmastime?” Biting your bottom lip, you returned the favor by sweeping a stray lock of Loki’s black hair over his shoulder, “Babe, you could make crazy, insane love to me each day and every night… and-” “And?”  Kissing Loki lightly on the nose, you stood up on shaky legs and started towards the hallway.  At the entry way you turned back letting the blanket fall to the floor, “-And Wonderful Christmastime would still suck.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Many Minxes:  @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith

#stephschristmaswritingchallenge #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki holiday #loki christmas #loki christmas smut #marvel smut #marvel holiday #marvel holiday smut

[maryniss]

The Match Is Still Going

Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs

Summary:  2 times Chuuya dyed Dazai's hair and one time he didn't.

Relationships: Dazai Osamu/Chuuya Nakahara

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Chuuya Nakahara

Tags: Fluff; Kinda?; idk - Freeform; 5 Times; its actually three times; 2 times + one bonus cause i had no idea; Hair Dyeing

Notes:  this. i wanted to finish this for so long. but now the fic is here and im not really proud of it. but it s ok cause yeah. idk. enjoy anyway byebye i.

 i.

Chuuya decided to dye Dazai the second that insufferable man dared to make fun of Chuuya’s hair color. That meaning Chuuya decided to dye Dazai thirty minutes after meeting him.

Knowing him now, he was surprised that he didn’t say anything earlier. But, as fifteen year-old Chuuya was sneaking into his new partner’s apartment -soundlessly, not that it mattered, ‘cause Dazai was sleeping like he was dead (some people’ wishes just can’t come true)

Chuuya snickered under his breath as he tip-toed into Dazai’s bedroom. The brown-haired man (not for long, though) was snoring loudly and the only thing Chuuya could think about was that ad he had seen on TV, about how to stop your husband from snoring excessively, or something like that. It was probably an ad for nose spray.

           Verixil! And all the problems are gone! Sleep tight!

Chuuya shook his head and he looked at the objects in his hands. A tube of red hair dye, a brush and a towel. Did he know what to do with those?

No.

Did that stop him?

Also no.

Chuuya opened the lid of the tube and he poured some substance into his gloved hands (plastic hands, of course, he would never ruin his gloves only for that) and as he squeezed hard, the tube made a sound like a fart and Chuuya stopped. Dazai didn’t even react, but the redhead was tense and his didn’t breathe, waiting for something to happen.

Nothing did, so he just poured some more and then he took a wavy strand of Dazai’s hair and scrubbed the dye onto it until it was slick. He did two more strands and then he got bored and just put the whole thing onto Dazai’s scalp, not caring what the dyes was going to stain.

He then left and closed the door behind him, going to bed in his own apartment.

He slept well and he woke up even better. Dazai was screaming and he was trying to wash his hair, to make the ugly, neon orange color go away. Chuuya rolled on the floor with laughter and his sides started to hurt. The dye was spread uneven and parts of Dazai’s hair had now the color of poop.

He won this time.

1-0  for Chuuya.

***

Actually, let’s make that 1-1 because Dazai also dyed Chuuya’s hair purple the very next night and there were no words to describe how ugly it looked. Even if there were none, Dazai still found some and Chuuya also found words to describe how ugly Dazai looked.

Koyo took a photo, even neither of them wanted to.

They still keep the phot in their drawer. None of them admits it.

***

ii.                                  

Chuuya was walking down the street and he was in a bad mood. No particular reason. He just felt down and he didn’t have any plans to even try to make himself look happy. What was the point? There was no one who cared anyways. It had been like that since he was little. And then there was a period when there really was someone who asked if he was ok; if he said he was not, then that someone would just nod and walk away. But, it was something…

Chuuya stopped and he looked at the barber on the other side of the road. A slim and tall silhouette disappeared inside right before Chuuya could actually tell that it was Dazai. The redhead rolled his eyes (out of habit) and he tucked his hands in his pockets and continued to walk. He wanted that coffee right now or he felt he would die. A common feeling that Chuuya was sick of. The coffee was going to solve everything…

His feet did not take him to the closest café, instead he entered the barber shop. The bell rang, but Dazai didn’t even bat an eye.

“So only a quick cut, right?” asked the barber, a small man wearing thick glasses, their lenses yellow. He was smiling and the air around him was cheer-full.

“Yeah, only a quick cut, and if you could show me how to make a hole through my skull painlessly while you are there, it would be great.

A French melody started playing and Chuuya rolled his eyes and smiled. The room was quiet but Dazai was practically radiating and the barber looked at him with an uncertain look.

“Uhm, I guess I could? But not painlessly, though.” Dazai sighed and closed his eyes.

“No, it’s ok. I’ll try elsewhere.” Both of them seemed to forget that Chuuya was there. But, suddenly, the hairdresser looked up and he was probably on his way to say “Can I help you?”, but Chuuya quickly put a finger to his lips and the man shut his mouth.

The people that just entered were dangerous; he could feel it. So, he just did what everyone would do: “I am going to bring my scissors and we can start.” Dazai didn’t say anything.

The man run to another room and closed the door. Chuuya lifted himself up a little bit and floated where Dazai was, looking in the mirror in front of him

He could now recognize the melody that was playing? How could he not? It was `La vie en rose` by Edith Piaf. Koyo was obsessed with this one some time ago when she was dumped by a cute barista from the coffee shop across the Port Mafia’s office.

Dazai’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be sleeping. Chuuya looked around and then he saw it: a botte full of a light-green hair dye, looking very much like wasabi. He didn’t hesitate and he took a spoonful of it.

Dazai snored. Chuuya put the substance gently onto Dazai’s scalp and spread it with his fingers. The brown-haired man (whose hair color was once red and also poop-like) opened his eyes and looked up at Chuuya.

They both stared into each other’s eyes for twenty-three seconds. Chuuya had counted it. He then smiled and left, Dazai looking dumfounded. He then looked into the mirror and saw the mess on his hair or that his hair was. He sat up quickly and went after Chuuya.

But the redhead was gone. And “La vie en rose” was pouring on the street and in the hot summer day and it seemed somewhat romantic.

Dazai would kill Chuuya the next time he would see him. There was no other chance now for the small man; he was obliged to commit a double suicide with Dazai.

2-1 for Chuuya.

 iii.

Because Chuuya knew Dazai. That’s why he didn’t respond all of his messages that begged him to come over. Because he knew that Dazai was probably drunk.

What he didn’t expect was for Dazai to actually come to his apartment, knocking insistently at his door and shouting some nonsense. Chuuya tried to ignore him, but he forgot one crucial detail: he did give Dazai a copy of his keys, so, when Dazai entered in the bathroom where Chuuya was soaking in the tub, drinking some wine, the only thing the small man could do was to curse at his foolishness.

He shouted and cursed and almost spilled the wine, but Dazai didn’t move: he only sat there with a big smile plastered onto his doll face, and Chuuya was creeped out of his mind. He could only ignore him and that’s what he did.

It had been a hard day in the Port Mafia, ok? That’s why he fell asleep in the bath tub, with Dazai watching him intently.

He let his guard down and when he woke up, the apartment was empty. But his hair was a wonderful, delicate, simply beautiful, what more could we say, tone of blue, only strands of it still being that red Chuuya was so proud of.

***

Only later did he find the photo of them when they were smaller, glued to his bathroom mirror. He smiled and he when he flipped it over, he saw only saw a ‘2-2’.

If you look at it from another point, it could mean something else; Chuuya knew and his heart let itself sink in that sensation for a bit.            

2-2 and match is still going.

They are still chasing after each other, trying to always be the best. Both of them know that they are unstoppable when they are together. They knew and they didn’t care because in their world, that is smaller than it seems, the arbiter hadn’t blown in the whistle yet.

  Notes:  Cause they love each other duh please stop being so dumb

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #Dazai Osamu #chuuya nakara #dazai x chuuya #skk fic #bsd fic #AO3 fic #fluff #bsd fluff

[queenbirbs]

the mountain between us | Ethan x MC

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Sloane McTavish)

Rating: E

Warnings: language, adult content, N*FW, description of a panic attack

Word count: 8.1k

Summary: In which the return to Edenbrook doesn’t go as planned, or: Ethan and Sloane get the hell out of Dodge Boston. 

Notes: This story continues off my previous fic, waiting for rain , although this can be read as a stand-alone. It is a sort of AU of chapter 12, in which Danny has a separate funeral of his own (I mean, I get why PB wrote it to save time/redundancies, but I don’t see them somehow managing to secure burial plots right next to each other? Anyway, the wonders of fiction aside…). 

------

She makes it to the diagnostic office with two seconds to spare. 

The muffled thump of the door meeting the casing is like a gunshot, echoing in the quiet room. She stumbles past the table and over to the couch, trying to get out of direct line of sight. The leather creaks under her weight as she collapses onto the cushion. That constant undercurrent of dread builds into a wave, washing over her. Her hands start to shake and soon, the rest of her body follows suit. The faux-wood grain of the coffee table before her is the only thing in focus; the rest of the world is warped, as if she’s viewing it through binoculars. Her heart feels as if someone has a fist around it and is trying to pull it free through her throat. 

“Stop… fucking… crying,” she hisses, wiping furiously at her cheeks. But her lacrimal glands pay no mind to her threats, nor does the rest of her when she begs it to stop panicking. 

All this, she bemoans, over plastic wrap -- just a patient’s sandwich that he asked for her help unwrapping. But the moment she touched it and felt it crinkle under her hands, she was back in that tented room, shrouded by the thick plastic draped over the walls, sealed in and suffocated by the opaque sheeting, waiting and waiting and waiting to die.

She doesn’t remember what terrible joke she made about not being a fan of tuna, nor does she remember the trip from the oncology ward to here, several floors down. None of her friends must have seen her, because none of them have followed her in here, at the ready with their hugs and assurances, suffocating in their own loving way.

“You’re the worst… person on earth,” she whispers, clenching her jaw in an effort to stave off another round of tears.

“Sloane?” 

She glances up to see Ethan stepping into the room, his mouth crumpled into that familiar frown of worry -- the one he’s worn ever since she returned. He says her name like it’s a question, as if she has the option to shake her head no and become someone else. It’s a tempting idea. Her reply is at the ready, as natural as breathing now. Not that she’s doing a very good job of doing the latter.

“I’m fine.” 

“I see that.” Though the words should be harsh, his tone is anything but -- weighed down by all the concern in the world, it seems. His gaze roves over her, observing and diagnosing her like the specimen she is, walking through Edenbrook’s halls once more. “You’re having a panic attack,” he says, more to himself than to her.

“Correction: my second. First was in the supply closet. Decided I wanted a change of scenery.” 

Although it’s a struggle to get the words out, her audience doesn’t seem to appreciate the joke.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” he asks.

“Please.” The plea is whispered into her clasped hands. She tightens her grip, trying in vain to stop the tremors working through her. 

Ethan crosses the room and takes a seat next to her, giving her the illusion of space by twisting at the waist to look at her. In blocking her view of the hallway, he also blocks them from seeing her. His hand comes to rest on the space between them, a show of support that doesn’t make her feel crowded or trapped. She could kiss him right now, if it weren’t for the whole world-feeling-like-it’s-falling-out-from-underneath-her sensation. Her lungs ache with each choppy, shallow breath she drags in. 

“I’m here. You’re safe with me.” 

Untangling her laced hands, she reaches down and rests her hand atop his. With a gentle motion, his fingers shift to nestle alongside hers, grounding her with the pleasant warmth of his touch. With her eyes closed, she focuses on the smooth breaths he takes, mimicking them as best she can. Seconds turn to minutes, marked only by his murmured phrases of assurance and his pulse, sure and steady under her palm. Gradually, her breath begins to ebb and flow, rolling in and out of her lungs in languid sweeps. 

She opens her eyes. The office fades into focus. The track lighting is still too bright, so she turns to Ethan. The sympathy welling in his eyes almost makes her want to shut hers again. His gaze tracks over her in a fitful dance; he’s mapping out each tear that stains her cheeks and neck.  

“I’m okay,” she tries this time. 

His eyebrows scrunch down as he studies her. 

“No, you’re not.”

“Okay, fine, I’m not.” Sloane leans forward and rubs at her cheeks. If she puts her hair down, she could maybe make it to the bathroom and wash away the evidence before a staff member notices. “Have you thought any more about Aurora’s proposal?”

“The one you two dropped on me at the private memorial we had on Tuesday morning? No, I can’t say that I have.” Shaking his head, he pinches at the bridge of his nose and sighs. “God, Sloane, I don’t want to talk about the hospital. I don’t give a damn about it right now. I only care about you.” 

The cushion creaks as she shifts, uncertain how to drive the conversation away from her. She goes with the best tactic: avoidance. 

“Well, thanks, then. But I should go. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. I’ve got to pick up some labs and check up on Mr. Evans and see what Baz wanted from--” 

Ethan puts his hand on her shoulder and squeezes, once, then again. 

“Stop. Stop worrying about everybody else for a second.”

She snorts out a humorless laugh at that. “I’m serious,” he continues, pressing on her shoulder and urging her to look at him. “I know that you practically begged Naveen to let you come back to work, even after I told you no, but I think you need to give yourself more time. I think you pushed yourself too hard.”

“I was stuck here for three days, and then stuck at home for another four. I’m done waiting around. I can only take so much medical leave. And I can’t just… sit at home cowering in fear.”

“So you thought doing it at work would be better?” he asks candidly.

“Fuck you.” 

Sloane jumps to her feet and rounds the table, leaving him to throw his pity party for her all by himself -- then freezes. Outside the glass walls, the hallway is teeming with people. Nurses and orderlies and patients mill about, pushing gurneys and cleaning carts and wheelchairs. Several nurses at the station spot her and then, like marionettes on shared strings, turn towards each other at once, their chins tipped low as they converse. She feels like a zoo animal, on display for the hospital to ogle at. 

“Go home, Sloane,” comes Ethan’s voice from behind her. His footsteps drag across the rug as he approaches. “For another day or two, at least. Please.”

She turns from the hallway and brings her arms around her chest to hug herself tight. 

“I… it’s no walk in the park there, either. Being there alone is frightening enough, but when everybody’s home, they walk on eggshells around me. Even Jackie, who I can always count on to be a certified bitch, has been coddling me. It’s... I hate being home. It’s like they’re too afraid to say something that might -- I don’t know, offend me? -- so they don’t say anything at all. It’s like living with a ghost, except I’m Bruce Willis in this scenario.” She stops short, figuring she’ll have to explain that one, but he holds up his palm to keep the synopsis at bay. 

“I understand your reference. You know, I have seen a film or two.” 

“Coulda fooled me.” 

She tries for the usual smile that wants to form when making fun of his limited pop culture knowledge. Her bravado falls away, though, as he comes to stand close to her. His arms cross over his chest, as if attempting to keep his hands to himself in front of their audience. “You know what it was like for me,” she continues, “being in that room, doing nothing--”

He cuts her off, his blue eyes suddenly ablaze.

“That isn’t what I saw. You stood by Rafael’s side. You helped him when you yourself couldn’t walk without falling over. You lost every semblance of control during the worst moment of your life, and you still were able to relay the changes in your symptoms. You saved Rafael’s life--”

“That was all Tobias and the team’s--”

“You know as well as I do that patient care is more than an antidote in a syringe. You think that if we’d stuck him in a room alone, away from you, or inside one of those glass boxes that he would still be alive? Think again, Rookie.” 

The passion and heat in his voice, along with the return of her nickname, sends a tingle up the length of her spine. “I watched you struggle to be by his side. I watched you have all your faculties ripped away. Which is why I’m so worried that you’re pushing yourself too hard.”

“Ethan--” she starts, but he barrels right over the deflection attempt.

“If you had a patient who was experiencing the same symptoms at work, would you tell them to get over it? Would you tell them to push past their fears and their anxieties, in order to stay on the clock?” 

Her lips purse at his point, knowing that he’s right. But she doesn’t want to let him win this one.

“Doctors do a lot of things they tell their patients not to. We’re the biggest hypocrites of them all.”

“No, I think that honor falls on politicians,” he quips.  

The little laugh feels foreign in her mouth. She can’t help but notice the way his eyes light up in response to the noise. 

“I have an idea.” She raises a brow in interest, spurring him on. “Let me take you somewhere. Anywhere you’d like. We can leave today, spend a long weekend away. We’ll swing by your place, pack you a bag, and go.”

“And you think we can just… leave? Slack off on our duties like that? What about our patients?”

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a smirk. 

“You’re talking to the person who does the scheduling. And I happen to know your boss wouldn’t mind. My boss has been not-so-subtly sending me couples vacation rentals after seeing our appearance on national television.” 

Taking a deep breath, Sloane considers the offer as he watches her, not an ounce of hesitation on his face. That tingling sensation returns, banking higher and higher within her. 

“Okay,” she agrees, hating how her heart beats a little faster at the brilliant smile on his face. “I like the way you think. Let’s go.”

------

Within two hours, they load up Ethan’s car and make their way out of Boston, Jenner wiggling happily in the backseat. 

The city center gives way to the urban sprawl. That soon becomes overtaken by suburbia and its penchant for shopping outlets and tract housing. Sloane can’t help the sigh of relief that comes when they reach Medford and the city skyline drops away in the rearview. They leave the coastal lowlands of Massachusetts behind, heading north along the interstate and up into New Hampshire. Though she packed a bag with what little information he gave her, she’s curious still when they stop at a food truck for lunch. 

“You realize you could hit the navigation screen on the GPS, right?” Ethan points out. “It’ll tell you exactly where we’re going.” 

“That’s cheating. I thought you taught me to be a better doctor than that.”

“No, I taught you how to be a smarter doctor. Besides, you’re the one knowledgeable about technology.” When she doesn’t immediately outright ask, he settles back in his chair and pets Jenner when she approaches for attention. “All right, then. Diagnose it.”

Sloane’s fork pauses on its way to her mouth. She shoots him an incredulous look, but when he simply cocks an eyebrow, she takes the bait. 

“We’re headed north. At first, I thought Maine, especially with what you suggested I bring, but we’ve gone too far west now. It wouldn’t make any sense to make a big right turn and head east. And we’re not going as far as Canada, because you didn’t tell me to bring my passport -- which I do have, by the way, though I’ve only gotten to use it one time.”

“I know,” he tells her. “There’s several photos of your semester abroad on your Pictagram page.” 

“Those photos are from my senior year of undergrad. That means you scrolled for quite a while, Dr. Ramsey.” It’s impossible to miss the blush burning along his cheeks and up his ears. Sloane tips her head to the side, eyes wide, her words teasing: “Were you that interested in Stockholm?”

“It’s a lovely city.” 

That thick, bottom lip of his ticks up in a grin. The little cafe suddenly feels too warm for her, but she resists the urge to tug at her sweater.

“Right. So, not Canada. I have to admit, I’m not well-versed in what New Hampshire or Vermont have to offer, other than maple syrup and hiking. Ooh, and Ben and Jerry’s.” Twirling her straw wrapper around her finger, she looks him over for another minute before giving up with a shrug. “Nope, I’ve got nothin’.”

“Some dedicated physician you are.” 

His grin widens as the balled-up wrapper hits his chest. 

------

They leave the interstate behind after entering Vermont.

Instead, the state highway takes them through the proper countryside. When the satellite radio fails to connect, Sloane steals the aux cord and plugs in her phone. Ethan’s protests quiet down soon enough when, instead of the pop drivel he expects, Nat King Cole croons out of the speakers. 

The Taconic mountains roll along beside them, as if shielding them from the outside world; Sloane appreciates the gesture. Clusters of horses and cattle float along in their fenced-in pastures, the grass rippling under a light wind blowing off the mountains. Towns seem to sneak up on them as the road curves through the valley. Tiny stores and tiny gas stations and tiny churches, Johnson’s Hardware and Morgan’s Jewelry and Lee’s Drugstore line up along the roadside. Hanging signs advertise berry farms and local maple syrup, their arrows pointing up into the hills. Then the highway curves again, and the towns disappear from the rearview. 

Sloane watches it all from her reclined position against the center console, her hand in Ethan’s as he drives. Jenner’s wet nose bumps against her cheek when the Boxer mix demands affection. Though they swore off it back in Massachusetts, they talk about work, which leads them to medical articles, which leads them to the inaccuracies in medical dramas. Serenading about her need for a Sunday kind of love, Etta James joins them as they cross into New York. 

It doesn’t take too long before the feminine voice of the GPS announces that they’ve arrived. Sloane does a double-take at the welcome sign as they pass it. 

“Wait -- isn’t this where that horror movie was set?” she asks. 

“The film took place in Maine, actually.”

“How are you suddenly an expert on horror movies from the late nineties? And how did I not know that? Did I finally find your film niche?” 

“My friend forced me to attend his Halloween party in high school,” he admits with a sigh. 

They pass by the shops and bars and restaurants that line Main Street, all the brick facades and rugged decor blocking the view. Locals and fellow tourists clog the sidewalks, meandering in and out of the storefronts as they enjoy the afternoon sunshine. Eventually, the buildings fall away, and the world is filled with nothing but a cloudless sky and clear water that stretches wide beyond the guardrail. Just over a stretch of land, Lake Placid burns a deep blue in the sunlight.

Sloane keeps her eyes on the sights, but shifts her attention back to the man in the driver’s seat.

“Okay, now I have to know: what was your costume?” 

“A doctor,” he says, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

She chuckles at the image of a teenage Ethan in his white coat and his patterned tie, swimming in his tailored shirts and trousers, lecturing his friends on the risks of alcohol poisoning.  

“Oh my god, of course you did. Did you at least dump fake blood on yourself or something?”

“No.” His brow crinkles as he glances over at her, confused. “Why would I have done that?”

“To look scary.”

A smirk appears on his face at the idea. “Right. And what did you dress up as when you were sixteen?”

“I’m pretty sure I went as Daphne. My girlfriend Ruby went as Velma.”

“What, you didn’t douse yourself with fake blood?”

“Honestly, we should have. That would’ve looked badass.”  

Ethan shakes his head at her, but she can see that smirk of his hasn’t disappeared. Turning off the main drag, he takes them down a one-lane road that winds back into the wilderness. After passing the town lodge, the occasional driveway and accompanying mailbox are the only signs of human life among the towering pines.

The house is tucked back off the road, a pretty little cottage painted robin’s egg blue. Two rocking chairs frame either side of the front door. Once Sloane releases her, Jenner darts out and takes full advantage of the lush front lawn, sniffing along the shrubs and tree line. Leaving Jenner to her exploring, Ethan hauls in their bags with Sloane following behind. The rustic decor leans too far towards kitschy for both of them, but she finds the log bed frame and large, dramatic painting of a howling wolf charming. The real draw, though, is the wide back deck, where the sea of trees parts to offer a stunning view of the lake. 

It’s the perfect place, she decides later while sipping from her second glass of scotch, to watch the sunset. From his position, Ethan seems to agree. His arms are wrapped around her waist as they spread out across the porch swing. Bundled up in scarves and blankets to ward off the evening chill, they watch the sky turn from blue to orange to black. The stars, when they fade into view, are thrown into sharp relief against the night. It’s almost dizzying to be able to see so many. 

It reminds her of back home, of lying on Ruby’s hood in her grandparents’ driveway under the pretense of looking for falling stars, but actually making out under the cover of darkness. 

Curled up atop their feet, Jenner sighs in her sleep; Sloane mimics the noise, stretching out against Ethan. Her eyes flutter closed at the sensation of his lips against her temple.  

“Do you remember the Stevensons’ house down in North Quincy?” he asks, continuing before she can respond, because he knows that she doesn’t forget a patient. “This place reminds me of that. But the desire for peace and solitude makes a lot more sense to me, now.”

She shifts in his arms to rest her cheek against his shoulder. 

“It reminds me of where I grew up, in this one-horse town in Virginia.” It’s a detour of the conversation he wants to have, but she can’t help but avoid talking about That for just a little while longer. “I mean, really, a real hole-in-the-wall kind of place. My grandparents lived there for sixty years, though, so that was home. When I was nine, my mom dropped me and my brother off at their house and never came back. So, it became our home, too. They took us in and let us have the run of the land -- which was easy to do, since we were surrounded on all sides by mountains. I was happy there -- happier than I’d been with my mom. But I spent a lot of time daydreaming about living in the big city, going to all the college parties that I saw on television, and travelling the world.” 

His grip tightens around her. “And then you didn’t,” he murmurs. 

“No, I didn’t,” is all she says, knowing he’s replaying her deathbed confession in his head, just as she is. “Though I blame that more on becoming infatuated with this diagnostician who wrote all these amazing books, and who inspired me to go to medical school and one day become one of the country’s greatest doctors.”

“What do you mean?” At her hum of confusion, he clarifies. “You already are, Sloane.” 

Tears spring to her eyes at his declaration, but she hides them by burrowing closer into his warmth. 

“But yeah, despite growing up in the middle of nowhere, it’s nice to be there again. I mean, you can’t get views like this back in Boston.” She waves a hand towards the thick spread of stars above them.  

“Your file didn’t list your grandparents as contacts.”

The invitation to talk about her past lies in the proverbial space between them; she takes it.  

“They passed within a few months of each other when I was seventeen. They left what little they had to me and my brother, and I used that to get to college.” 

She tells him about the farmhouse and how it would become so big and lonely; and the vintage, rose-patterned sofas that would collect dust; and the little kitchen at the back that would never smell of fresh coffee and banana bread again. 

She doesn’t tell him about how it felt like being abandoned all over again. 

Time has healed the wound’s edges, but it flares to life on occasion. Over the years, she’s learned to sit with the grief, to take long moments to study it and inspect it and move through it. It’s how she knows, despite the horrific tragedy at Edenbrook, that she’ll be okay. Maybe not right now, or next week, or next month, but someday. 

From inside, muffled through the French doors, comes Gladys Knight singing about life’s ups and downs. Sloane closes her eyes, focusing on the song and on the steady brush of Ethan’s thumb as he strokes her arm. Across the dark expanse of the woods, a whippoorwill calls out, its warble echoing off the water. 

At some point, she stirs to the sensation of movement, of warm lines of pressure along her back and behind her knees. Ethan is talking to Jenner in that low, gravelly voice of his, as if trying not to wake her. Before she can tease him for it, the blanket of sleep wraps around her once more. 

------

After a lengthy argument on staying in bed versus exploring the town, Ethan takes the loss with a surprising amount of grace. 

Oh, he grumbles a bit as he tugs on his sweater and makes several comments on how proper vacation etiquette does not include rising before nine a.m. But once she gets him downtown to the farmer’s market and gives him the task of finding the ugliest souvenir for her to give to her roommates, he perks right up. 

Under a stretch of white tents, card tables are laden with wares and plants and produce. Buckets of brightly-colored croton and chrysanthemums flare against the white tablecloths. Necklaces, fishing lures, and welded sculptures glint, swing, and jingle, catching the attention of passers-by. Wines and cheeses and honey are bottled and wrapped and canned, their labels touting how local, how fresh, how organic they are. From somewhere along the thoroughfare comes the smell of hot apple cider as it drifts between the stalls. 

Sloane is marveling at a collection of wind chimes that she has no use for whatsoever when she feels a hand settle on her lower back.  

“I found it.” There’s a strange sense of pride in his voice as he lifts a nondescript, brown paper bag up for emphasis. Jenner knocks her body into his legs, as if reminding him of her role in the game. “Alright, well, technically Jenner did.” 

“What is it?”

“As per your request, the most hideous object known to mankind.”

“I don’t think I was that--”

“Fine,” he concedes, “known to this region -- or state, at the very least.” 

Out from the Lake Placid News’s crumpled pages comes a tankard of a coffee mug with Don’t confuse your GOOGLE search with my Medical Degree! printed along the side. Then, stamped underneath as if an afterthought: Adirondack Mountains, NY. Sloane stares at it with a sort of horrified amazement. 

“It’s…” she trails off, unable to form words. 

“I know,” Ethan agrees, turning the mug around to read over it again. Looped around his wrist is another smaller bag.

“What else did you get?” 

“That one’s a surprise.”

Jostling the tote bag on her shoulder, she gestures to the cork sticking out. “I bought us some wine to go with dinner. C’mon, show me what you bought.” It may sound like she’s whining, but she’s not. 

“Are you unaware of how surprises work?” he questions, raising a brow at her insistence. 

“Okay, fine.” She lets the topic slide, grinning and rolling her eyes at his desire for secrecy.

Reaching towards him, he answers in kind by sliding his arm through hers. They spend the rest of the morning strolling through the stalls together. He buys a nice bottle of bourbon for Naveen; she buys a little box of self-care items for Sienna. When Sloane comments to the shop owner on the pretty photo printed around the candle, he mentions that it’s his own photograph of a nearby trail. 

“It’s a short hike, no more than three miles roundtrip,” Terry tells them as he wraps up her gift. “You pass Lake Placid Lodge and keep going about four, four ‘n a half miles, and the trail is at the end of the road. You can’t miss it.” 

------

Terry was right. 

It’s impossible to miss the trail, given that four-hundred feet past their cottage, the road dead ends in a gravel semi-circle. Two boulders and a single post mark the trailhead: Kiver Mountain, 1.4 miles. After dropping off their purchases and changing into more terrain-friendly shoes, they set off on foot from the cottage.  

Despite autumn’s grip on the foliage above, the last vestiges of late summer remain on the forest floor. Thick, leafy undergrowth makes the trees appear as if swimming in a downy sea of green. The hike’s elevation gain is slow and steady, which Sloane is grateful for, considering that eighty percent of her exercise comes in the form of running up and down hospital hallways. The other twenty percent is spent with ‘the boys’ in their dungeon gym that hasn’t seen the wet side of a paint roller since the Clinton administration. The views there, however, certainly make up for the lack of decor.  

It’s the same view she’s enjoying now, what with Ethan in front of her. There is something to be said about wearing the proper apparel for such an activity, she’s finding.

“Sloane?” 

Her gaze shoots up just as Ethan twists to look over his shoulder. “Were you listening?”

“No, sorry, I was--” she fumbles for something to say. The altitude must be getting to her, she reasons, because the next words out of her mouth were about to be ‘staring at your ass.’ “--um, I thought I saw a… snake.”

“They’re usually more afraid of you than you are of them.”

“You’ve never experienced me with a snake before.” 

“I’ll make sure to warn them of your presence if I see one, then.”   

“All snakes in the surrounding area just gave a collective sigh of relief.”

Her poor attempt at humor earns her an exasperated sigh, though she does catch the chuckle that follows. Ethan keeps talking, but she doesn’t really hear him. Mostly due to the fact that Jenner and he keep going, while her attention is caught by a small, branching path through the trees.

It’s been a long time since she spent a weekend away from the city. When her friends spent fall break camping or borrowing a friend of a friend’s uncle’s boat to cruise around on the lake, she stayed holed up at her desk, studying and outlining. Her first copy of Diagnostic Principles looks like she closed it around a rainbow, what with all of the colorful sticky notes peeking out from the pages. That same copy moved with her through every dorm at Duke, all the way across the Atlantic for her semester at Karolinska, and then at every off-campus apartment at Johns Hopkins. 

After she left for college, the closest she came to the wilderness were the views on her Pictagram feed, or the nature documentaries Aurora likes to watch. Here, as Sloane pushes past bristly limbs, the scenery stretches out before her, live and in full-color. Drenched in sunlight, the valley stretches wide to whatever direction she’s facing. A trio of birds swoop down from above her, heading towards the staggering shelves of trees that line the distant hills. At the furthest edge, the blue shadows of the mountains melt into a spatter of gray clouds. It’s all very picturesque, so much so that when she hears a noise on the path behind her, she expects to turn and see a frolicking deer. 

“Did you not hear me calling your name? What are you doing?” Ethan demands, his jaw firmly set as he looks her over. Trotting along beside him, Jenner sniffs at the ground, unaware of the impending argument. Sloane hops down from the outcropping she climbed for a better view.

“Sorry, I was--”

“You shouldn’t go off on your own like that.” The heat of frustration burns along his reprimand, surprising her with its intensity for such a small offense. “This isn’t a walk around the block back home. I was-- you can’t disappear on me like that.” 

Sloane tries to let his tone roll off, but she also isn’t going to roll over for him. She sucks in a breath and mentally counts to five. 

“Wow, okay. You’ve never fought me before about something so absurd. What’s this really about?”

In an instant, the fire is gone from his eyes. Ethan wipes a hand across his face and over his jaw; he gives his head a little shake, as if rousing himself from the spell of anger. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, the blue of his eyes burning cool now. “I hoped that if we got away from the hospital that…” his words trail away under the birdsongs echoing around them. 

Sloane takes Jenner’s leash and motions for Ethan to keep moving up the trail. She gives him an encouraging look when he glances over, embarrassment tinging his cheeks. The gentle slope becomes steep stone steps that they trudge up, climbing higher and higher, wary of the loose ones that wiggle under their feet. 

“I thought that I would get better at this,” he finally says.

“This?” she prods.

“At coming to terms with what happened. And not just with you, although that’s a large part of it, obviously. But when Naveen was sick, when he was damn near death, I could still work. I could still be Doctor Ramsey. But when you…” he swallows and shakes his head again. At his sides, his hands clench into fists. “I was terrified, and I think some parts of me still are. But when I was in that lab with Travis, and I saw him lying on that bed near death, I felt vindicated in some horrible way. I was happy that he was in pain, for what he did to you.” 

“Ethan--”

“He refused to give me any information,” he bowls over her attempt at reassurances, his voice strained. “Then he begged me to ease his suffering. It was his dying request and I walked away. As someone whose friends he had killed and injured, I can compartmentalize that. But as a physician, how can I continue treating patients? How can I work with them when I not only failed, but refused to ease another patient’s suffering?”

They reach the top and step out onto the cliff.

Over the edge, purple-tipped shrubs choke the rock shelves that stagger down the cliff until they reach the forest floor below. The valley dips low before them, cradled by a long line of mountains in the distance. They roll along in a lazy sort of wave, deepening to a hazy blue the farther they stretch. True to its name, the water of Lake Placid is calm and still, reflecting the foliage’s vibrant array of colors, fuschias and reds and oranges peppering the mountains that flank the lake. Pale crags of rock decorate some of their peaks, so bleached from the sun that they almost look like snow.

Keeping a firm grip on Jenner’s leash, she breaks the silence they’ve fallen into. 

“Unfortunately, you suffer from something incurable.” At his answering noise of interest, she wraps an arm around his waist and hugs him close. “You’re human.”

His hand sweeps across her back, holding her tight. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She shoves down her need to use humor as an emotional crutch by mentioning this must be a record number of apologies for him. Instead, she lets her head rest on his shoulder. 

“What for?” 

“For burdening you with my problems, which pale in comparison to what you went through. It’s not fair to--”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, hugging him tighter for a beat. “You can’t work through the trauma if you discount it like that.”

“You sound just like Naveen.”

“Smart minds think alike.” 

Her heart squeezes at his familiar, half-formed huff of laughter. They spend a good length of time at the top, enjoying the peaceful view and watching clouds roll in from the west. Eventually, her stomach growls and he teases her about doing strenuous activity on an empty stomach. Jenner leads the way as they start back down the trail. 

The two boulders and trailhead sign come into sight just as the rain arrives. 

Fat raindrops plod the canopy above, drumming through the leaves and onto them. Ethan lets out an undignified yelp when cold rain lands on him, prompting a full-throated laugh from Sloane. They race down the path, sprinting between the boulders and down the road. Jenner barks with excitement when she tugs free of Sloane’s grip and barrels ahead of them.  

They reach the cottage, Jenner at his heels when Ethan rushes inside for towels. He makes it to the hall closet before realizing that Sloane isn’t following. Retracing his steps, he returns to the little porch and finds her standing out on the front path. Her arms are stretched out beside her as the rain soaks her clothes and hair. He sets the towels down on the rocking chair and approaches her, raising his voice to be heard above the downpour. 

“What are you doing?” 

“It’s silly,” she answers with a shrug. Contentment and grief coat the words; it’s an effort to push them free of her throat. This close, he can see the rivulets of water running along her trembling lips. “But I was waiting for this. It’s been sunny every day since… and all I wanted was for it to rain.” 

It’s not difficult to recall her angry words as they drove away from Danny’s funeral. 

“It’s not silly.” Reaching for her, he takes her hand and guides her under the porch and out of the storm. “Silly would be how I worry about you constantly now -- that if I leave you alone, or you go off somewhere without me knowing, that it could happen again. I’m terrified, Sloane, of losing you again. Every patient room you step into could lead to another disaster, and it might be another one that I can’t fix.”

He keeps busy while he talks, picking up a towel and wrapping it around her shoulders. With another he dries her hair; his fingers clench and release the wavy strands like he saw her do a lifetime ago in their shared hotel room.  

“It’s why I’ve been keeping tabs on you this week,” he says with no small amount of embarrassment. “Why I’ve been following you around the hospital. It’s how I knew to go to the office yesterday. And I know that’s awful and overbearing of me, and I understand on every sensible level that you’re safe. But there’s that one percent of something that keeps me at it.”

Sloane reaches up for the towel in his hands and tugs it away, letting it drop to the ground. He cups the back of her head and settles her against his chest, right against his heart where she belongs. 

“I’ve spent enough years being a cynic and a pessimist, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Ethan clears his throat, swallows, and steadies on. “But when I held your hand that night, I didn’t think about what the next hour would bring, because I wasn’t sure if that next hour would include you. And to have to stand there and watch you -- you, who’s always brave in the face of death and danger -- accept your fate in those last hours, that scared me more than anything.” 

“I knew it would hurt more if I begged you all to save me.” She feels the shaky rise of his chest, the tension of the muscles as he goes rigid at her words. “But I’m glad I wasn’t alone.” Her cheeks are wet with tears -- whether his or hers, she isn’t sure. “I -- my grandma, we didn’t make it to the hospital in time before she passed, and she died alone, and I know that hurt my grandpa more than anything. So I’m glad you were with me.” 

When he speaks, the passion and heartache in his tone unfurls something in her chest. 

“I don’t want to waste what time we have left. I’m tired of playing pretend. I’m tired of holding myself back. I don’t know what to do, other than tell you that I care about you, and that I want to be with you. And I know it’ll be messy, and I don’t have all the answers for how we go about it, but I know that I want you so goddamn much, Sloane, that I don’t care anymore.” 

Gripping his wet shirt, she pulls him down for a kiss. He answers in kind, his lips dragging against hers; his hands come up to frame her face, to keep her close as he drops another kiss, then two, then three against the corner of her mouth. The roar of the rain turns to a muffled drum as they fumble their way through the door and down the hall. 

The bedroom is lit only by the tall windows, reflecting what weak sunlight manages through the cloudy sky. A wall of fog floats between the trees, blocking out the rest of the world. Sloane leans down to the nightstand and flicks on the Tiffany lamp. Honeyed shafts of light fill the space, warming the room with their glow. 

Ethan peels their wet clothes away, stripping the both of them bare. His lips cruise every inch of her damp skin; she shivers at the cool, stagnant air of the bedroom, then again at the heat of his mouth as he kisses her shoulder, her breast, her belly. He guides her to the bed and she sinks onto the soft mattress, the sheets smelling of them: his soap and her shampoo, his aftershave and her lotion. It’s a scent she wants to wake up to every morning. 

“I never got to take my time with you,” he laments as he lays her down. Goosebumps follow in his wake as he runs the backs of his knuckles down her throat. He cups one breast and then the other, brushing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipples. Mesmerizing, he thinks, of the sweet noises she makes and the way her hips shift in time to his touch. 

“We’ve got time,” she assures him, her fingers trailing up and down his ribs. She’s unable to hide her grin when he squirms, obviously ticklish around his sixth and seventh rib. Lifting up onto his knees just enough to capture her hands, he presses her to the bed and takes a long moment to admire.

Frizzled from the rain, her strands spread across the pillow and dampen it -- no doubt the one that he’ll end up being forced to sleep on. The light dusting of freckles across her nose and shoulders are more pronounced in the yellow light. There’s the scar along her inner thigh from climbing over chicken wire to feed the hens, the burn mark on her inner arm from fumbling a hot pan of cinnamon rolls. He kisses the sharp cut of her cheekbone and the soft skin of her stomach, reveling in every facet of her. He takes a deep breath, and then another; they feel like his first real ones since approaching the window of that damned room. 

Her hands, along with the rest of her, squirm underneath his hold.   

“Ethan.” 

He doesn’t ask what she’s demanding; he takes one of his hands back and urges her thighs apart, pressing the heel of his palm against her and circling her wet heat. Her response is almost as erotic as the act itself; her knees jerk up, her muscles stuttering as her body rolls into his touch. Her freed hand snakes down her body to circle his wrist, her nail digging into his pulse point as she directs him how she likes. Increasing the pressure, Ethan can feel his cock growing harder as he watches her enjoyment. He’s too enthralled by her; his grip loosens on her other hand. In a flurry of movement, she’s got an arm around his neck and hauls him down to her for a messy kiss. He retaliates by changing gears; he slides two fingers inside her, delighted at the strangled moan that escapes her. 

“Is it good?” he asks, unable to stop the smarmy grin on his face. 

“Yes,” Sloane breathes out. She rolls her hips down when he curls his fingers and strokes her with all the precision in the world. “Yes, it’s good, it’s--” the words are lost to the crest of another wave as it pounds through her. She squeezes his wrist in a vice-like grip, keeping him where she needs him, and croaks out his name as she comes. 

He eases the glide of his fingers, but doesn’t stop until he’s got her climbing again.

“God, you’re still so tight.” He nuzzles the arm she has planted against his shoulder, nipping at the sweat-tinged skin. Her fingers dig into his flesh in time with his thrusts. “So responsive, all for me.” 

“Please,” she begs, “please, Ethan, I need--”

In a flash, he slides down her body, scoops up her hips, and drags the flat of his tongue across her. Sloane cries out, arching up into the wet heat of his mouth. His knees ache as he kneels before her and worships, coaxing hymns from her lips until she’s dragged under once more. Ethan eases her down from her high, running his fingers up and over her hip as her equilibrium returns. He rouses from his own arousal-induced haze at the sensation of fingers stroking through his hair.

“Come here.” 

He goes, without question, into the circle of her awaiting arms. She meets him with a messy kiss, her tongue tracing the corner of his mouth. His blood pulses hot underneath his skin, knowing she’s tasting herself on his lips. One of her curious hands skims along his stomach and down to wrap around his cock. 

“I want to make you feel good, too,” she murmurs, stroking him with a quick, little twist at the base, her thumb swiping across the swollen head. He barely holds it together, clenching his jaw to keep from thrusting into her hand like some horny teenager. “I… ever since that last time, you’re all I think about.”

“It’s the same for me,” he admits, too many emotions bubbling to the surface that he isn’t comfortable with declaring right now. Pressed against the long line of her body, he feels the vibration of her laughter when it comes, ringing through the room. 

“Well, yeah, that too. I was mostly talking about when I masturbate, though.” 

“Oh.” The word tumbles out before his brain has a chance to catch up and say something suave. It gets another giggle out of her, though -- and he finds that the taste of her laughter is even better than the sound of it. “Christ, Sloane,” he groans when he breaks their kiss, “tell me what you need.”

“You,” she says in a matter-of-fact way, as if he were stupid for expecting another answer.  

Ethan slides an arm across her back, cradling her close, needing to feel her against every inch of him. He pushes into her soaked heat, his breath escaping him in a moan when she digs her nails into his shoulders. Giving her a moment to adjust to the stretch, he nips at the soft skin of her breasts, pleased with the rosy marks that bloom from his attention. One of her hands drifts down to his ass and squeezes. 

“Move,” she begs.

At her command, he does; he wraps his free hand around her hip and uses the leverage to drag his cock in and out of her with short, heavy strokes. Her legs come up to encircle his waist, her body rocking up to meet his. The new angle is sweeter, deeper than before. Sloane gasps at his next thrust. Words fall free from his lips, nothing more than murmurs of praise. She writhes and keens underneath him; he has enough wherewithal to slide a hand down between them, knowing exactly what she needs. The rhythmic clenching of her sends him overboard with her, the both of them are dragged under the warm sea of pleasure. He pulls out and collapses next to her, nestling close when she slings an arm across him. The room spins around them as they wait for their breathing to turn to normal. 

As his heart rate slows, he finally hears it: the rain, beating steadily against the tin roof, a cocoon of white noise that shelters them from the outside. Before he can speak, he hears another familiar sound. Sloane rubs her nose against his shoulder and chuckles. 

“What was it that you said about strenuous activity on an empty stomach?” 

His laughter echoes through the room. After some poking and prodding, he manages to convince her to get out of bed and meet him in the kitchen. Ethan is reprimanding Jenner for dancing around his feet and gathering ingredients when she wanders in, dressed only in his button-down and a pair of wool socks. He manages to not whack his head against the upper cabinets, but only just barely. 

“Hey, you never showed me what you bought.” 

He follows her finger to the little brown bag, still sitting on the bar where he dropped it off earlier.

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he says. 

“And satisfaction brought it back,” she replies in a sing-songy tone.  

“Go ahead. Open it.” 

He watches her sift through the tissue paper and lift the object out. The snow globe catches in the kitchen’s recessed lights. Inside the glass is an overly-contrasted photo of Lake Placid, looking out towards Whiteface Mountain and the surrounding Adirondacks. “I figured you could add this to your collection.”

Sloane looks up in confusion. “My collection?”

“When I visited your apartment, I noticed the one you had from Stockholm on your shelf. Now, the next time you travel, you’ll know what tacky souvenir to buy yourself.” 

“Why would I do that, when I have you to do it for me?” she teases. 

Setting the snow globe down on the table and away from Jenner’s interested nose, she crosses the kitchen and slides her arms around his waist. The kiss she gives him is gentle and sweet, her lips curled into a smile as they press against his; he wishes for a thousand more. “But that’s a good idea. Too bad I didn’t get one in Miami.” 

He switches on the gas stove, glancing back at her with an impish grin. 

“We could always go back.”

“You know,” she hums, “I like the way you think.”

------ 

Author’s notes and what-have-yous: 

There’s probably a reference to something recognizable in here, but the only one I can think of is a line from an Alan Jackson song (don’t ask, I’m just having fun). 

#open heart #choices #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart fic #Kaila writes things #f: the mountain between us #also if you read this after 9/23 I did some minor editing on the backstory part because I forgot it's canon that MC has a brother

[occasionaltouhou]

wow, a prompt !

also every time i write reimari it seems to get even fluffier. it’s giving me powers i didn’t even know i had

The relentless blizzard that had torn through the Forest of Magic for almost a month had begun to abate with the resolution of the incident that had caused it, and so Reimu and Marisa had begun work on clearing the snow that had almost buried the ordinary magician’s home.

It was still dark, dismal work; the Sun barely pierced through the thick layers of clouds even as nature returned to normal, and the snow was dense, dull, and constantly agitated by the remaining wind that endlessly scattered what remained.

But after hours of work, the roof was cleared, and the small house seemed to return to its former self, freed from its frozen burden.

Reimu collapsed into a snowdrift. “That was so rough…” she moaned. “I almost want to go complain to Okina again, just for that…”

“It wouldn’t have gotten so bad if you hadn’t been ignoring it, Reimu,” noted Marisa, leaning wearily on a shovel. “It’s as much your fault as hers, I figure.”

“How was I meant to know it was an incident?!” protested Reimu. “All I got at the shrine was nice weather!”

“The cherry blossoms were blooming and everything!” replied Marisa, gesturing. “‘Sides, I told you that it was getting really cold here! Something was clearly up!”

Reimu gestured a bit in response, then gave up, sinking further into her snowdrift. “I prefer it when the incident’s just someone causing a big mess,” she muttered. “Honestly, what gives Okina the right to go and do something like this…?”

“She’s one of the Sages, ain’t she?” Marisa shrugged. “I guess that lets her do what she likes, just like with Yukari.”

“Two Yukaris…” murmured Reimu, and shivered, an action that sent her even further into the snow.

Marisa grabbed her hand before she sunk any further, and pulled her up. “There’s still more work to be done,” she said brightly, “and you’re not getting out of it by freezing to death!”

Reimu continued to grumble, but accepted the hand and began dusting herself off. Marisa grinned at her.

“We’ll take a break for now, though,” she said. “I’ve got a reward for your hard work, too! Something special I picked up, that’s perfect for a day like today.”

“Something special…?”

Marisa’s grin widened, and she walked inside her little home, Reimu following shortly after. Reimu hadn’t been there in a while; mostly, Marisa came to her own home, and Reimu couldn’t really leave the Shrine too often. Ironically, it was only because Okina and her retainers were temporarily staying at the Shrine that she’d been able to make this trip.

Marisa’s home was always in disarray, and more now than ever; the rampaging blizzard had thrown everything off the walls, leaving the floor covered in battered, much-read books taken from the libraries of several of Gensokyo’s magicians, half a dozen scattered magical brooms, shattered glass and split plastic vials, and the pots, pans, and utensils that Marisa used to prepare her explosive magic. But even with the chaos -- or perhaps, because of it -- it felt lived in, in a way that Reimu’s sparse little Shrine never could.

“Sorry ‘bout the mess!” said Marisa. “Well, I was waiting for you to help me tidy it up, so--”

“You’re not too sorry, then,” replied Reimu lightly, picking up a book off the ground. Whatever had spilt on it had torn through the pages, leaving it half-eaten. She glanced at Marisa, but the other magician shrugged.

“I made sure I got all the important ones safe,” she said. “Patchy would really kill me if I damaged any of ‘em, after all. Then again, she might kill me anyway.”

Reimu dropped the ruined book back on the ground, stepping gingerly over the mess. “You should get Sakuya to tidy this up, not me,” she noted. “I’m sure she’s more used to tidying up magical messes.”

Marisa thought for a moment. “Might not be a bad idea, actually,” she mused. “But she wasn’t the one who trashed my house, was she?”

“Neither was I!” protested Reimu, and then sighed. “I’ll start tidying up whilst you get whatever it is you’re getting.”

“Huh?” started Marisa, and Reimu glanced at her in surprise. “Oh-- that’d be great, Reimu. Thanks.”

Reimu took one of the brooms from the floor and began to sweep whilst Marisa rattled around in the drawers, looking for something. Reimu was interested in what Marisa had in store, but was also worried; half the time when the magician said she had something special, it meant she’d prepared some new concoction made of suspicious mushrooms from the depths of the Forest of Magic.

--Well, hopefully the fact that the Forest was currently buried in snow meant that was less likely to be the case. But it wasn’t like the Forest was the only place she could find something weird, either…

Marisa seemed to have noticed her hesitant curiosity, because once she found whatever she was looking for, she grabbed a couple of pots, bolted into her smaller kitchen, almost unused in comparison to the magician’s laboratory in which Reimu stood, and shut the door behind her.

Reimu kept sweeping, and before long a sickly sweet aroma began to drift from the room beyond. She picked up another of the books, and examined it carefully; unlike the one she’d found earlier, this one was intact, if somewhat scuffed, so she placed it back onto the bookshelf. As she always inevitably did, she found her opinion of Marisa’s house moving from “homely” to “disorganised”, which always made her feel better about her own home.

She’d only managed to clean maybe a tenth of the mess on the floor of the room by the time Marisa came back, jumping over the shards of glass scattered across the ground and holding two mugs filled with a thick brown liquid that radiated that overpoweringly sweet scent.

Marisa handed one to Reimu, who smelt it suspiciously, then carefully took a sip.

She was quiet for a moment. “It’s chocolate.”

“It’s hot chocolate,” replied Marisa. “Kourin managed to get his hands on some.” She took a sip from her cup, then thought for a moment. “Actually, c’mon, it’ll be better outside.”

The two of them went out and sat on Marisa’s doorstep. The blustering winds that had swept the snow into a gale had become a gentle breeze, filling the air with floating snowflakes; the clouds had cleared ever-so-slightly, and the sunlight that pierced through the clouds turned the dull heaps of snow into a glittering white field.

“It’s nice,” murmured Reimu.

Marisa grinned. “Glad to hear! Apparently, you’ve gotta have some special chocolate for hot chocolate, and Kourin only gave me a little bit of it, so I had to get it perfect first go.” She took another sip, and laughed quietly. “I was actually saving it for a special occasion, but…”

“Sorry to make you waste it, then,” said Reimu quietly.

“Huh?” replied Marisa, surprised. “I’m not wasting it, I’m sharing it with you.”

“It’s not a special occasion, though,” said Reimu. She took another sip, letting the overly sweet taste linger on her tongue for a few moments. She so rarely had anything this sweet, and she was going to savour all of it.

“‘Course it’s a special occasion!” said Marisa cheerfully. “Because I’m sharing hot chocolate with you. What could be more special than that?”

The snow wasn’t so cold, suddenly, and it must have been the heat from the hot chocolate that rose to Reimu’s cheeks. As she watched, a snowflake drifted down into her cup and dissolved instantly.

--No, there wasn’t really any point denying it.

“I should have known you’d say that,” said Reimu softly. “But you’re right, of course.” She placed her hand on Marisa’s, and was gratified in finding the magician’s hand just as warm as her own. “I can’t think of anything more special than this.”

Now the magician was the one blushing, and for a single, special moment they sat there, lingering in that sweet warmth, and watching the snowflakes dance.

#touhou #reimu hakurei #marisa kirisame #reimari #occasional fics #occasional prompts #one day i'll write some reimari so fluffy it kills me. the dream

[ricksroaches]

Namjoon - Dysphoria ch. 3

pairing: Yoongi x Reader, OT7 x Reader (platonic)

Summary: As a last resort, Namjoon tells his strict, overbearing father something that isn’t exactly true. He ends up having to find a way to prove his bluff.

Notes: Namjoon is also a junior. Jungkook and Taehyung are sophomores, Jimin, Y/N, and Namjoon are juniors, and Hoseok and Yoongi are seniors. Jin has graduated but still hangs out w them.

word count: 5.4k

warnings: cursing, mentions of drug use, mentions of mental hospitalization

Prev chapter Next chapter

Perfection.

The Merriam Webster Dictionary defines perfection as: freedom from fault or defect.

Perfection was the standard held over Namjoon’s head since the day he could walk. His dad expected perfection. Not excellence, no. Excellence has the stain of room for error. Perfection was pure, unscathed by failure. Freedom from fault or defect. And he accepted nothing less. He was obsessive. His mom always said that’s where he got it from.

When Namjoon was 13, he stayed up all night binge watching Star Wars. He didn’t mean to, the time just flew by. What he forgot though, was an Algebra unit test he had that day. He snuck a cup of coffee from the pot and felt tip top, but by the time 5th hour came around, he was dying. You know that feeling when your in class dozing in and out and time kinda warps and every time you blink, 10 minutes have gone by? It’s also not easy to think about quadrilaterals and Euclidean triangle proofs while your at it.

He made a C. He never scored less than an A. Ever. He was sure his fate was sealed. The walk home alone had his palms sweating.

Namjoon remembered a lot of screaming that night. At him, his mom, his brother. No one was safe. Even long after they’d been sent to bed, he could hear their shouts, muffled by the walls. Sleep didn’t come to him that night either.

Naturally, he grew to resent his dad, but then strive for his approval at the same time. All that stress festered into rage. The kind that would put the fear of God in anyone. It scared him, and he was smart enough to know he needed to do something about it. Every time he felt that twinge, that compulsive urge to bash someone’s head in, he’d do push-ups. 10 turned to 20, 20 turned to 50, 50 turned to 100.

By 14, he had developed a strict diet and workout schedule. His body fat dropped from 23% to 10%.

He joined the football team by his dads wishes as a freshman and quickly excelled. By sophomore year, he was not only the starting quarterback, but the team captain. His IQ and OCD allowed him to see patterns in the other team’s offense that others were too brain damaged to notice. He was basically the team’s strategist and often took the coach’s job of giving the rundown before games.

He loved to win. He loved the endless cheers and adoration they showered him with. None of that, however, could compare to the feeling of seeing his dad watching in the stands with a proud, contained smile. His dad’s approval wasn’t Namjoon’s driving force. It was the wrath that he’d do anything to be spared from.

Beads of sweat were blown from Namjoon’s forehead as he sprinted around the track surrounding the school football field. His heart hammered in his chest and his legs begged for rest, but he needed to make exactly 7 laps without stopping or he had to start all over again.

He could see the finish line inching closer in the distance and he pumped his legs even harder to go even faster until he sped over the thick white line. With a parting ‘fuck you,’ his muscles went slack and he collapsed into the grass. He couldn’t hear himself think over the all consuming sound of his heart thundering in his ears and him gasping for air.

Once his pulse slowed to a non frightening pace, he pulled the hem of his jersey up to wipe the sweat from his eyes. He laid his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun and let his body sink further into the grass.

He thought he fell asleep, because the light reaching through his eyelids faded, and he couldn’t feel the cancer waves beating down on his arm. Confused, he peeked under his arm-“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!”

Y/N was standing at his side staring down at him. He didn’t fall asleep, he was just laying in the long shadow she cast. “What the fuck what are you fucking Annabelle?!”

“I called your name like twice.”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Okay first of all,” she took the sucker she had out of her mouth and pointed it at him “watch it. Second of all, Jimin told me you needed a ride home, so I’m telling your ungrateful ass ahead of time.”

“Why aren’t you in class?” She put the sucker back in her cheek.

“Skip n trip.”

“You’re a dumbass. There’s no way they won’t notice your gone.”

“Joon this school’s budget is $300 and a handful of Chuck E. Cheese’s tokens. Those teachers could give a shit. Besides, this isn’t my first rodeo.”

“What did you take?”

“Shrooms.”

“What are you gonna do until I get out?”

“Dunno. I might rescue a cat from a tree, might steal the Constitution. You never know.”

“Okay well I need to shower before next period so,” Before he could finish she offered him her hand. He took it and she heaved him up a lot easier than he’d expected for a 5’4 druggie.

“Thanks. Now begone, demon.” With the small shove he gave her arm, she turned and meandered to the front of campus.

~~~

Namjoon’s stomach fluttered when his 7th period teacher started talking about what they were going to do tomorrow. A key sign of the end of class nearing. He watched the clock make its way around and around until finally, the bell rang.

He came down the brick front steps of the main hall, eyes sweeping for Y/N’s car. Nothing. With an annoyed huff, he made his way to the parking lot. “Why can’t you use the carpool like a human?”

He was nearing the back of the parking lot when the 1993 Corolla e100 came into view. Its dusty blue paint job and modifications courtesy of Yoongi and his father’s garage that he worked at. A pair of converse hung out the passenger window. When he got closer he saw Y/N laid across the front seat, plastic sunglasses balanced on her nose, hands folded behind her head.

He wrenched the door open making her feet flop to the seat hard enough to wake her with a choked snore. He swatted the bottom of her feet so she’d move. He sunk into the passenger seat and watched her hastily rub her eyes trying to wake up, glasses now perched in her hair. “You good?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why the hell were you asleep when you were supposed to pick me up.” She rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

“Sorry. Shroom come downs make me hella sleepy.”

“Do you want me to drive?”

“Nah, just hand me a Monster. I keep some in the pocket behind your seat.” He gave her a concerned look but reached around and pulled a lime green can from the pocket. She shifted the car in reverse and cut the turn to exit the parking lot, opening the can in her hand with her teeth in the process.

“I could’ve gotten that for you.”

“And not look badass? I think not.”

“That wasn’t badass.”

“Sure it wasn’t.”

~~~

Y/N wanted burritos and Namjoon was getting hungry so they stopped by La Michoacana, their favorite Mexican place, and ate them on the hood of her car.

By the time she pulled in his driveway, the sun was beginning to sink below the trees and buildings. He grabbed his backpack and sports bag from the trunk and walked around to her window, leaning his forearm on the edge and bending to be eye-level. “Thanks for the ride. My dad's home so don’t floor it out of here okay?”

“No problemo brochacho.” She gave him an OK sign before pulling her shades back down and driving off with two small growls of her engine.

His family was already having dinner when he came through the door. “Joon honey, is that you?”

“Yeah mom!” Who else would it be?

“Come eat dinner will you?”

“It’s fine I already ate-”

“Come sit with your family.” His neck hairs prickled at the sound of his dad's voice. He knew better than to keep him waiting. He dropped his bags by the coat rack and made his way to the dining room. He took his seat across from his older brother, Geongmin. “Care to tell us why you were late coming home?” His dad, at the head of the table, finally spoke.

“I was just getting something to eat with my friend who gave me a ride home.” His dad took in his answer before giving a dismissive nod and returning to his plate. Another wave of silence carried the table for another few minutes before his mom spoke up.

“So, Mrs Kwon told me today that her daughter Somin is still looking for someone. Why don’t you give her a call?”

“What? Mom, no. Why?”

“Aw come on sweetie it could be fun you never know. You need at least one highschool relationship before you graduate.”

The truth was, he’d actually had a few relationships in the past. He just never let them find out about it.

“Listen to your mother, she’s right. If you want to understand women enough to marry one, you better start learning now.”

“But…I just can’t.” His dad's gaze zeroed in on him.

“And why is that?” The words came out before he had time to rethink his idea.

“Because I already have a girlfriend.” His mom dropped her fork. Geongmin let out a snort and choked on his iced tea.

“What?” She placed a hand on her chest. His dad didn’t seem too mad. Yet. He set his silverware down neatly and folded his hands in front of his mouth.

“Who is it?” Oohhhhh shit. Now everyone was staring at him, waiting for an answer. Okay Namjoon, just say a female name. Any name, just say something.

“Y/N.” FUCK!

“Y/N? Y/N who?” His mom jumped in.

“L/N.” SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU IDIOT!

“Hmmm…. I've never heard of her.”

“You wouldn’t have.” He turned back to his dad who was still eyeing him. He could tell something wasn’t right, only making Namjoon’s thighs sweat more against the seat.

“I want to meet her.”

FUCK! FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK! NAMJOON YOU STUPID ASS MOTHERFUCKER WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?

“Okay.”

Fuck a duck.

~~~

Y/N took a thoughtful hit of her joint. “So you're telling me…that I have to go to dinner with you…to meet your parents…because you said you had a girlfriend?”

“Yes.” The pair were sitting on the school roof during lunch. Her usual hiding spot.

“You know,” she blew out the wispy cloud, “for a genius, you’re really fuckin stupid.”

“Please Y/N they’re trying to get me to date this girl I used to go to preschool with. We hate each other!”

“Woah woah chill my guy. I never said I wouldn’t.” His eyes lit up and she held her joint above her head to avoid it being crushed by Namjoon’s hug.

“Thank you so much I mean it! I owe you big time.”

“All you have to do now is ask Yoongi.” She had to hold in her laugh when she felt his body stiffen, and ever so slightly take his hands off her.

“Oh…right.”

~~~

“Hey, Yoongs.” Y/N tapped one of the boots jutting out from underneath one of the various cars in the garage. The raven haired boy rolled out from under the car, laying on one of those rolly things. He looked up at her with streaks of motor oil and sweat on his face. His eyes lit up when he recognized the lame stance and shaggy hair that was his person.

“Hey, N/N.” In one swift motion, he was on his feet, wiping his hands on the red rag that was tucked in his waistband. He noticed Namjoon standing behind. “Sup. What are you guys doing here?”

“You see…about that.” Namjoon scratched the back of his neck.

“Come on Joon, spit it out.” She shoved him forward.

“Fuck’s wrong with him?” Yoongi pointed at him with his thumb.

“He has to ask you something.”

“Well on with it I have a job to do.”

“IneedtotakeY/NtodinnerwithmyparentscauseIsaidshewasmygirlfriendtogetoutofthemsettingmeupwithsomeone.” Namjoon squeezed his eyes shut and braced for his reaction.

“I don’t think that was a question, but okay.” His eyes popped open.

“Wait, really??”

“Yeah. If she’s willing to clean up your mess that’s all I care about.”

“I told you he’d say yes.” She bumped his arm with her elbow with a smirk. The wave of relief washed over him like jumping in a pool on a hot summer day.

“There are rules that come with that.”

“State your terms.”

“No touching below her waist, no pet names, no staring, and have her home before 10. You’re also allowed exactly one kiss if things get sticky.”

“Deal.”

“So when is it?” Yoongi listened to Namjoon explaining their plans while Y/N took his rag and started wiping the grease off his cheeks, nose, and forehead. Namjoon watched him sit still while she practically climbed all over him like a jungle gym. His patience with her was simply astounding.

By the time she finished and tucked the rag back in his waistband, Namjoon got a call. It only lasted a few seconds before he hung up. “That was my dad. I gotta get home.”

“Ight. That means me too. Bye Yoongs.” She spun around and followed Namjoon to the car.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She turned around. Yoongi held his hand up and made a ‘come here’ motion with his index finger.

“Oh shit!” She came bounding back and threw herself on him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He held her chin and planted a kiss on her lips. He made eye contact with Namjoon over her shoulder and gestured around her figure clinging to his body, dramatically mouthing ‘mine.’ Namjoon chuckled and climbed in the passenger side and waited for the lovebirds to finish their visit.

~~~

Y/N had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel when there was a knock at her door. She padded to the door and opened it. “Jimin! You learned to use the door!”

He rolled his eyes and stepped in.

“I was told I’m needed for assistance.” She swung open her bedroom door and they entered.

“Yeah, I need your help picking an outfit that won’t get Namjoon killed.”

“Hmm. I see.” He put his finger to his lip and eyed her closet. “Are they religious?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Old school or progressive?”

“Pretty old school I think.”

“Underlying misogyny?”

“What? Fuc- Jimin I don’t know.” He simply eyed her hair, face, and body, nodding.

“Okay, I think I have an idea.”

“And what is thAH!” Her towel was ripped off and he began rifling through her drawers. “JIMIN!”

“Oh please, nothing I haven’t seen before. Let's see…” He tossed a plain bra and a pair of underwear over his shoulder to her.

“Something comfortable, since you won’t be getting lucky tonight.” He moved to her closet nonchalantly while she scrambled to clothe herself. He pulled out an armload of clothes and tossed them on the bed. It was funny how he seemed to know her closet better than she did.

After countless trial and error, he finally decided on an outfit. A white, one shoulder long sleeved bodysuit with a black velvet pencil skirt.

Next was hair. “Jesus what am I gonna do with all this?” He held locks of her curls in each hand. It ended up not being as big of a problem as he thought. A nice bun with a few curls hanging out suited the look well. It was messy, but not too messy, and made her look put together.

Last was makeup. He opted for nude shades on her lids, minimal foundation and contour and a soft peach lip gloss. “In case they’re secretly Amish, I don’t want them thinking you're some whore.” She chuckled, his light hearted nature broke through her nerves. He pulled her in front of the mirror and admired his work. “You look stunning.” She couldn’t help the bashful smile that she hid behind her hands. Suddenly he gasped. “SHOES!” He raced to the closet and looked through her meager collection. He settled on a pair of white block heels, the white strap across her toes complimenting their fresh white pedicure. She slipped them on and he repositioned her in front of the mirror. “Now,” he slid his hands down her arms and rested his chin on her shoulder, “you look perfect.”

Her phone buzzed on the bed, interrupting the sweet moment.

Joon🦒: I’m almost there.

“Okay he’s almost here, do I look like a good girlfriend?”

“The best.” With a smile and a peck on his cheek, she slipped into the bathroom and shut the door. She opened the medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of Hydroxyzine. Namjoon had asked her to refrain from being stoned at dinner, since she tended to say some crazy shit when she was. Granted, he didn’t say sober, just not fucked up. Shaking out three capsules, she eyed them before tossing them into her mouth.

Namjoon’s grey BMW M4 pulled into the driveway, it’s headlights pouring through the front kitchen window. Y/N and Jimin shot up in unison. He grabbed her by the shoulders and faced her. “I know you're probably freaking out right now, but just remember, you got this. There’s no way you can fuck up so bad they never want him to see you again.”

“Way to put that in my head.” He just smirked and opened the door for her.

“Go get ‘em tiger.” He landed a playful swat on her ass, sending her out the door for him to close behind her. No going back now. She made her way down the front steps and Namjoon got out wearing a matching charcoal grey suit and met her on the passenger side. He opened the door for her and held her hand for support until she was settled before shutting it gently. His car was spotless. Yoongi took great care of his car but even he had maybe a jacket laying in the backseat. It looked like he just rolled out of the dealership.

He climbed in the drivers side and pulled out of the driveway. “Was that Jimin?”

“Haha yeah. He helped me get ready.”

“How is he gonna get home if you don’t get back ‘til 10?”

“Hobi’s on his way to pick him up. Apparently they’re gonna drop and watch scary movies.”

“Hobi? Watching horror movies. You're kidding.”

“I've done it with him a few times, it’s quite entertaining.”

“I’m sure it is.”

~~~

It wasn’t a long drive to the restaurant they were meant to meet his parents at. It was a restaurant she’d never heard of, and probably would never be able to afford. He offered her his arm which she gladly took and they entered.

She was immediately hit with the smell of olive oil and fresh bread. Italian music floated over the light din of patrons dining on luxury dishes. Namjoon leaned down and whispered, “I didn’t think they’d pick such a nice place.” A hostess carrying an arm full of menus approached them.

“Mr. Kim?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Right this way please.” Y/N almost couldn’t keep up in her heels with the swift steps the hostess made. She remembered why she never wore them.

The woman led them past table after table, until they reached another smaller room, lit with candles and a crystal chandelier. It was quieter than the front, but still filled with the light chatter of diners sipping million dollar champagne. Okay, she knew Namjoon was wealthy, but this? God damn. She might as well be meeting the President.

They eventually stopped at a table with a couple already sitting. His parents. She put on her best face and gave a polite bow when they stood to greet her. “안녕하세요 당신을 만나서 매우 기쁘게 생각합니다” She looked back up to see them both frozen in surprise. His mom looked to Namjoon.

“You never told us she could speak Korean.”

“주금” Y/N held her index finger and thumb close together with a humble smile. This was good. She’s off to a good start. Once they exchanged pleasantries, they all sat down. A waitress came by for their drink orders. His parents ordered wine and they both ordered sparkling water.

“So, Y/N, how did you get to know our son?” His mom was the first to speak. She was clearly the more excited one. His dad looked like he was at an interrogation.

“We met at a pep rally sophomore year, and I noticed he kept visiting the art room where I worked after school, so when junior year came around I just risked it and asked him out.” His mom melted over the story she made up on the fly. God bless her wicked creativity. It wasn’t until he met his dad's eye that his smile tapered. Although it wasn't noticeable to anyone else, it was obvious to Namjoon. His dad wasn’t happy. Allowing himself to wait around to be asked out by a girl? Disgraceful.

Y/N basically lied about everything she was asked. Where she lived, who her parents were, plans for the future. Somehow the conversation shifted to religion.

“Are you religious, Y/N?” His dad asked. She definitely feared talking to him the most, given the few rants Namjoon went on in the past.

“I was raised Catholic, mass on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, the whole deal, but nowadays we hardly have time to go.”

“Were you confirmed?”

“No sir.”

“Why not?”

“We…” Her mind froze. She couldn’t get past the memories of that age. Cold metal bed frames and IVs, stringless hoodies and slip on shoes. “We moved and by the time we found a church to join, my parents were too busy with new work to take me to the classes. So it never really happened.”

“Aw, well that’s a shame.” His mom remarked. And the conversation moved on.

Y/N barely remembered the rest of dinner. Her mind still stuck in the padded rooms. Eventually, the last of dessert was finished and it was finally time to go. She briefly excused herself to use the restroom. She was feeling pretty good while she washed her hands. She said all the right things, they didn’t seem annoyed or too judgmental. She pushed the door open and nearly ran into Namjoon’s dad on the way to the mens’ room.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s alright. Listen, I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”

“Okay?”

“You and my son seem to have a strong bond. I can tell he likes you a lot. But just between us, I know you lied to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach. “I know you don’t live uptown, I know you don’t live with your parents. I know where you actually live.”

“W-what?” She was frozen in place as he stepped closer. “I understand you may be embarrassed of your financial standing and I’m proud of Namjoon for accepting you for who you are. But I’ll tell you one thing.” He leaned in her ear. “You will never be good enough for my son.” With that, he turned and vanished into the restroom.

All Y/N could do was plod back to the table where Namjoon and his mom were standing. “Joonie? Would it be okay if we went now? I’m starting to get cramps.”

“Oh no please. Namjoon, take the poor girl home.” Best. Excuse. Ever. Works every time.

Once they were inside the car, she let out the breath she’d been holding. Had she been holding it the entire time? It felt like it.

“Ohhhh shit.”

“Dear god what now.”

“Don’t look now but my parents are staring at us from inside. I don’t think my mom believes us.”

“Why?”

“She’s talking about how I wasn’t affectionate enough.”

“How do you know that?”

“I've seen countless of their conversations, I don’t need to hear to know what they’re talking about.”

“Nuclear option?”

“Going nuclear.” With that he leaned across the console and cupped her cheek, melding his lips to hers. It wasn’t as bad as she expected it to be. She thought it’d be rigid and awkward, but he had a way of making them feel comfortable. They parted and he shifted back into his seat.

“Did it work?”

“My mom is jumping up and down. I think it worked.”

He started up the car and pulled out onto the road to her apartment. “What you said about cramps, was that true?”

“Yeah.” She didn’t dare tell him the real reason. Knowing Namjoon she knew that would only turn out one way. He reached over and popped open the glove box in front of her. Inside were tampons, pads, makeup wipes, muscle relaxers, and more lined up in neat rows. She gladly took one of the pills. “How you don’t have a girlfriend yet I’ll never know.” Namjoon may be a compulsive hothead, but at least he knows how to treat a lady.

“Hey, N/N?”

“Yup.”

“Are you actually Catholic?”

“Yeah. All of it was true except for the moving part.”

“Did you, you know, believe in it? In God?”

“I mean it’s kinda like Santa. Your parents tell you he’s real and you’re too naïve to think for yourself so you believe. To answer your question, yes, I used to at least.”

“What happened?”

Hospital gowns, bed restraints, pills in little paper cups.

“….I pretty much lost faith in anything I couldn’t see the moment I was admitted to that place. Shit like that kinda breaks down your character.”

“Are there still times where you think you might still believe?”

“What are you, Jehovah's witness?”

“I’m just curious. You’re the last person I’d expect to be religious.”

“Rarely. I only turn to a higher power when I think there’s nothing left between me and death. When I’m so sure that my life is coming to an end that the only thing I can think to do is pray that heaven is real.”

“H-how many times has that happened?”

“Three times.”

“Oh.”

“Namjoon, promise me something. If one day you see me with my rosary, I need you to throw me in a mental ward and burn all of my religious shit. The whole box I keep in my closet. All of it.”

“I…I promise.”

~~~

The Beemer pulled into her driveway and he helped her out of the car, heels in hand. She took the shoes from him and he gave her a warm hug. “Thank you.”

“No problemo brochacho.” He mocked a scoff and pushed her away.

“Ruined it.” He circled around and climbed back into the driver's seat. Y/N made her way up the steps and turned around. She gave him a wave and he waved back from behind the windshield. With a chuckle, she went inside.

She was met by Yoongi and Taehyung sitting cross legged at her kitchen table. “And just where have you been all this time, young lady?”

“Yoongi, why is it here?” Tae sipped from the mug he carried daintily in one hand.

“Heard Yoongi whored you out. I tagged along to watch the drama.” She chuckled.

“There isn’t any. Go home Tae.”

“Can’t.”

“Yes you can. We were gonna hang out tomorrow anyway.” Yoongi fished his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to the fluffy haired pervert. “Leave even a scratch and I’ll skin you. Make sure you lock the garage cause if someone jacks it then I’m really gonna come for you.” Taehyung gave him an exaggerated salute and a boxy grin before he bounded out the door and to the car like Tigger. Yoongi shut the door behind him and spun to face her. “What’s wrong.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play that game with me, you know it never works.” She let out a long sigh and flopped onto the couch. The cushion dipped beside her when Yoongi sat down. She instinctively laid her head in his lap. He began plucking out the bobby pins holding her wild hair in place. “So how did it go?”

“It was fine at first. I pretty much had to lie about everything so they wouldn’t think I’m some gold digger.” He loosened the hair tie, finally setting her locks free. His fingers rubbed her scalp to ease the tension from the tight hairstyle.

“That’s obviously not the problem. You have no shame lying.” She giggled.

“It was pretty much fine halfway through, then for some reason they started asking if I was religious.” His veiny fingers mindlessly scratched her head, nearly sending her to sleep. “His dad asked if I went through confirmation, but it just reminded me of other stuff.”

“The hospital?”

“…yeah.”

“What about the other half?”

“I couldn’t really focus after that so I’m sure my conversation wasn’t the best.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, I was pretty much in a different place after that.” He tucked a piece of hair that was hanging in her eyes behind her ear. “After dinner, I went to the bathroom and ran into his dad on the way out.” Yoongi stilled.

“Relax, he didn’t diddle me or anything.”

“What did he do?”

“He knew I lied about where I lived. Luckily he still believed we were actually together, cause then he told me that I would never be good enough for his son.” The head scratches halted all together. “It’s really not that big of a deal, it’s not like it matters. We’re not even dating.”

“Y/N look at me.” He met those e/c eyes and made sure he had her full attention. “You don’t actually believe that do you?”

“Believe what?”

“That you're not good enough.”

“I mean….no?”

“That didn’t sound very certain.” She turned her head back so her temple rested on his thigh.

“I mean I haven’t exactly been the gold standard in my lifetime.”

“You don’t have to be. Name someone you think is perfect. I’m talking not a single flaw inside or out.”

“….”

“So, why do you think you have to be?” She was quiet. He didn’t need her to answer, he just wanted to plant the thought in her mind. The softest sniffle could be heard. “Hey, come here.” He laid longways and guided her on top of him. She pressed her ear to his heart and he cupped the back of her head in his hand. He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “You might not be good enough for him, but you're too good for me.”

“I think I can live with that.” He could feel the small smile grow against his chest.

After a half assed shower, Yoongi tucked them both in bed. Once again her head was on his chest. “Did you tell Joon?”

“No.”

“Good.

“Although we did get kinda deep on the way home.”

“Like what.”

“My religious awakenings.”

“Oh, you really went balls deep didn’t you?” Her head bobbed when he chuckled.

“Ha, yeah. Speaking of which, there’s something I forgot to mention earlier.”

“Oh boy.”

“When we were leaving, his parents were starting to get suspicious because the entire night he didn’t touch me once.”

“I don’t see the problem here.”

“So he had to kiss me in the car where they could see.”

“…”

“Hey you can’t get mad you said he could.”

“I’m not mad. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” He gently rolled her off him and he peeled the covers back. “Where are you going?”

“Hold on, I gotta piss.” She just laughed and watched him lumber out of the room in his t-shirt and boxers.

When he came back, she was sitting up with her knees hugged to her chest. “So what were you thinking about?”

“Was it good?”

“Was what good?”

“The kiss.” She thought for a second.

“I’m gonna be honest, it was unexpectedly pleasant, but you have nothing to worry about.” He came to stand at the foot of the bed.

“Why’s that?” She stood and bounced to the end of the mattress. She grabbed both his shoulders and looked down at him.

“Why would I cheat when I already have the best sex I’ve ever had?” He gave her a long, cool look.

“Until now.” He grabbed the backs of her knees and swept her onto her back with a surprised yelp. He crawled onto the mattress and attacked her with a barrage of kisses anywhere he could reach. It was going to be a long night.

#bts x reader #bts #bts fanfic #bts angst #namjoon #namjoon x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic