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hailsatanacab · 5 months

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Family Dinners - dpxdc

"Holy shit, you're Bruce Wayne!" Danny gaped, jabbing a finger at the man sitting at the head of the table.

The bustling dining room goes silent as everyone turns to look at him.

"Danny, who did you think was going to be here?" Tim asks, disbelief plain in his voice and Danny feels his face flush red.

"Sorry, I, uh, I guess I just never put it together. Tim Drake-Wayne. Wayne Manor. It, uh, makes sense now." He laughs sheepishly and scrubs at his neck before slumping back down into his chair.

"Well," Tim says with an indulgent sigh, "at least I know you're not just friends with me for my connections."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry, I just never thought about it, I guess."

Danny sinks lower as everyone around him laughs. Come to dinner, he said, the food is the best, he said, ignore the family, he said. Danny really wishes he'd listened to Tim and just ignored them—almost as much as he's regretting accepting the offer in the first place—but... he's having dinner with Batman.

Ancients, that's so weird!

The last time he saw Batman was in the future and, suffice it to say, it was not going well. There hadn't really been time for family dinners there.

Wait. Family dinners?

He peers around the table, openly gawking at everyone as it all clicks into place.

"Everything alright, Danny? Now realising who everyone else is?" Tim asks with a roll of his eyes.

"Uh... something like that..." Danny mumbles as everyone laughs again.

From further down the table, the smallest Wayne scoffs and clicks his tongue.

"I thought you said he was smart, Drake?"

"So, you all do it, too, then?" he asks, ignoring the jibe. Danny's only a little bit jealous as he thinks of how much easier they must have it, how much easier it'd be if his family had been on his side, too. "You all work together?"

"Nah," Dick says from across the table with a brilliant grin. "Tim's the only one that works with Bruce, we all have different jobs. I'm a police officer in Bludhaven."

"Disgusting." Danny blurts out without thinking—because seriously, what kind of self-respecting vigilante would also be a police officer?—before clapping a hand over his mouth. "Sorry."

The whole table laughs again, the loudest being the blonde girl a few spaces down from Dick. Look, Danny wasn't really paying attention to names when they were all paraded in front of him. Dick only gets remembered because his name is a joke.

Come on, Danny, recover!

"That's, uh, not what I meant, though."

"Oh?" Dick asks, cocking his head slightly to the side. Is it Danny's imagination or does his smile tense slightly?

"Yeah, I mean like, you know, in costume. It must make it so much easier to have everyone together like this."

"Costume? What do you mean?"

Yeah, Danny's not imagining it, everyone tenses up at that. It's really only now that he's realising that this probably isn't how he should bring up that he knows about their... night time activities. In fact, he probably shouldn't be bringing it up at all.

"Uuhhh..." Danny looks wildly around the table as he continues making his stupid noise. Think, think, think! There must be a way out of this!

"Danny?" Tim asks, looking concerned.

"Oh, Ancients, this isn't how I wanted it to go at all," he mutters, slipping even further into his chair. He's almost on the floor now and he so, so wishes it could just swallow him up.

His real first meeting with Batman was meant to be cool! He had planned to be Phantom, maybe save them from a tight spot, prove his worth as a mysterious and powerful ally as thanks for the help Batman gave him in the future.

"Danny, what are you talking about?" Tim starts tugging on his sleeve in an attempt to pull him back up from his pit of despair.

Eventually, Danny relents and sits up straighter, hiding his face in his hands and whining all the while.

"I'm sorry, I just didn't expect him to be here and it threw me off so now I look stupid and it's so embarrassing!" he wails, flailing his arms wide. "Why wouldn't you warn me that Batman was your adopted dad, Tim? Couldn't you have let me know?"

"I'm sorry, what? Danny are you alright? There's no way Bruce can be Batman, look at him!"

"Yeah," the blonde girl laughs from the bottom of the table, "look at him! That's a wet noodle of a man! Batman can actually do things, B is incapable of pretty much everything."

"Thank you, Stephanie," Bruce sighs, massaging his forehead.

It's... Those are the first words Danny's heard Batman say since everything went down and it's enough to knock him out of his embarrassment.

It's really good to hear his voice again. Especially now, when it's strong and healthy and full of personality—even if that personality is little more than a tired father right now—far better than how it had been, at the end.

Danny sits up, back straight, and grins. He's got this. He remembers it perfectly. Some people count sheep to fall asleep, Danny repeats his mantra to be certain that he'll never forget it.

"Gamma alpha upsilon tau iota mu epsilon, 42, 63, 28, 1 colon 65 dash 9."

Once again, the whole table falls into silence.

"Holy shit..." breathes the other D name (Duke? Danny's pretty sure he's Signal) from opposite Stephanie. "Isn't that...?"

"The time travelling code." The littlest Wayne says stiffly. "We have met in the future?"

"That's not just the time travelling code, Dami." Dick says, looking between Danny and Bruce. "That's the family time travelling code."

Danny's grin freezes in place.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"1 colon 65 dash 9." Dick explains, still flicking between him and Bruce. "It means you've been adopted into the family and we should all treat you as such, no questions asked."

"Tell you what, I'm about to ask a question." Danny says, dumbstruck. "You just told me it was a code to identify time travellers, not anything about being adopted! What the hell, B?"

Bruce looks about as shellshocked as Danny feels.

"We must have been close," he says finally, after opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water a few times.

"No! Not that close!" Danny reels back, taking a deep breath ready to refute it all, but... "Well, I mean, you found me when I first got stuck, and you helped me get better despite being... And then we fought together against the, uh, bad guy, before he, um, he... before you couldn't."

An uncomfortable beat passes while they all pick up on what Danny tried so hard not to say.

"So, you're not from the future, then, you travelled there and came back?" Tim asks, breaking the tension and leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

"Yeah, it was a whole end of the world thing, but don't worry about it," Danny says with a hand wave, "It's all kosher now, won't ever happen."

"What did happen?"

"Seriously, don't worry about it, we cool."

"How long in the future was it?"

"About ten years? You were pretty spry for an old man, B," Danny laughs, wishing they'd get off the topic of what happened and get back to the adoption bit.

Everyone shares degrees of a cautious smile as they relax out of the shock, and Dick—whose grin is the biggest—says, "No wonder you got the family code, you're already riffing on him like one of us. How long were you there for?"

"A week, before I managed to get back to my present and stop him then."

"A week? Jeez, B, that has to set some kind of record, seriously."

"Oh!" Danny says, sitting bolt upright and blinking in surprise before pointing at Dick and bouncing in his seat. "You're Nightwing!"

"What?"

"That's exactly what Nightwing said when Batman told me the code! Makes so much more sense now."

Dick laughs and claps his hands, delighted.

"You were not formally adopted?" The grumpy small one—Dami?—asks, his face pinched.

"I didn't even know I was informally adopted."

"And your parents? Are they alive or dead?"

"Damian, stop—"

"They were dead in the future, but they're alive now." Danny says, looking down. He fiddles with the tablecloth, twisting the fabric around his fingers as he fights down the pang of sadness that he always feels when he thinks of them now. He forces a bright smile on his face and hopes it doesn’t look too strained. "I just, uh, can't talk to them much, anymore."

"Damian," Dick warns, "1 colon 65 dash 9. Treat them as family, no questions asked."

"This is Damian treating him as family, the little turd has no manners." Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes, but he gently bumps shoulders with Danny to knock him out of his funk. Danny can't help but send him a watery smile.

"I have the most exemplary manners, Drake, unlike some people." Damian spits, crossing his arms with a pout. "I was merely ascertaining his status to see how he could possibly fit into the family."

"I know this is all a bit sudden, Danny," Bruce smiles, ignoring Damian and reaching out to lay a warm hand on his arm, "for all of us. But if I felt strongly enough to give you that code after spending a week with you in the future, then you are more than welcome in this family, if you so choose it. I think I can speak for all of us when I say we'd like to get to know you a bit more."

"I know a threat when I hear it, Bruce." Danny snorts. "But, yeah, I get it. I'm sorry this is all so weird, it really wasn't how I wanted to find you again, but... I'm glad I did."

"So are we, Danny." Dick says, with a warm smile. "And formally or not, 1 colon 65 dash 9 means you're family. Welcome to the fun house! No take backs or refunds, sorry. You're stuck with us."

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #batpham #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #look. this has been in my mind for so long guys so long - and idk if its canon that the batfam have codes for time travel situations or what #but i feel like ive seen it before and if its not canon it should be #so here - how i think that would be funny to go down #i have so many thoughts about TUE and its place in a dpxdc crossover like holy shit there's so many ways it can go!!#i have another wip in the works thats kinda similar to this but with superman and i cannot wait to work on it again #there are so many ways i wanted this to go but i just couldnt get there - i wanted to keep it on the shorter side but like #perhaps ill have to expand #i just love the idea that like. theres a stranger at your table who knows you and knows you well. who knows the secret that youd die to keep #there's a stranger at your table and he says something and you know he's family. you know you're strangers but now...#now you have to be something more #oh man theres so many juicy ways it can go and I KNOW I DID NONE OF THEM #i want to write this whole plot again and make it angstier #(me with everything)#anyway! sorry love you all hope you enjoy it!!

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erwinsvow · 1 month

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an idea… rafe and shy reader having sex for the first time

everything's overwhelming with rafe, but this is particularly so. you thought you were completely ready for it, from the way you had handled everything else so well. in fact, rafe was the one taking things at the slowest pace possible, trying to make sure he didn’t pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

you didn’t like it—thought he was trying to be something he’s not. he’s gentle with you but never like this, never to this extent. it must be a big deal then, sleeping with rafe, giving him your virginity, you finally decide, if he’s acting so differently about it.

in fact, you think you’ve been ready to give it up since you first started dating him. rafe brings it out of you, coaxes a different side of you out with gentle words and soft touches. you’re going mad over it. you can’t count the amount of times you’ve crawled into his lap at any given opportunity, anywhere the two of you are alone—his truck, the couch in your living room and at tannyhill, the hidden booth at the country club. you’re begging for it, not sure how much more obvious you can get.

you finally decide tonight’s the night—following a nice dinner with the two of you. you had spent extra long getting dressed up, a pretty white lingerie set on underneath your blue dress, all done up for rafe. finally back at tannyhill, entire body vibrating and tingling with excitement, you don’t wait another moment, crawling into rafe’s lap and kissing him hard. you take off your dress and rafe stops just for a second to take in how forward you’re being.

“hey,” he finally breathes against your lips, pulling away. “c’mon, you’re not ready for this.”

“yes i am!” you whine, impatient and horny, feeling rafe get hard underneath you. you want him to be able to do all the things you know he wants to do, want them done to you. “i am, i am-” and you lean back to kiss him, ending up pinned underneath him before long.

he knows you’re not, but he plays along. you’re so wet already he doesn’t have to do much, but he makes you cum all over his fingers anyways, hoping it’ll satiate you.

“please, rafe,” you moan against his mouth, pushing in for another needy kiss. “wan’ it inside. please.” and he does know you, knows everything about you, but even he can’t resist when you say things like that.

you watch with big eyes while he lines himself up with your wet hole, hovering over you. you think you’re so ready, that three of rafe’s fingers inside you should be comparable to what you’re about to feel, that you’re more than prepared. your eyes squeeze shut when rafe pushes inside, all the air leaving your lungs. you try to moan out but it’s more of a gasp than anything else, one that rafe swallows into a kiss.

your eyes get watery—it’s just habit. it hurts, too, because rafe is so much bigger than you expected. you bite your cheek, looking up at rafe through teary eyes and clasping a hand over your mouth—you don’t want to admit that he was right.

“c’mon kid, give it up. y’not ready for this, i know you,” rafe says, leaning in close to your ear to whisper it quietly. he’s not even half-way inside you.

“i-i can take it,” you hiccup. you hate disappointing rafe.

and it’s not that he doesn’t want to—he does, desperately so, wants to fuck you within an inch of your sanity every time you walk into a room and look at him with your shy eyes and sweet smile. he wants to break you, wants you cumming on his dick until there’s nothing left in your head, no shyness left in your heart. but he wants it when you’re ready for it, not like this.

it only takes another minute, you finally admit you’re not ready, and rafe pulls out of you. you feel like crying, terribly sad and dejected, wishing you could just be normal for rafe for once, be what he wants.

“stop,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. his arm rests over your stomach, trying to get you to lighten up. “when you’re ready for it, i’ll fuck you until you can’t think. s’just not today, kid.”

you finally agree when he says that, getting over it because you know without a doubt in your mind—rafe knows you better than you know yourself.

#omg what a lovely lovely prompt thank you babe <3 #this may not be what you were expecting #to me the very first time they have sex its too much for shy reader so it doesn't actually happen happen... but it is still the first time #i rlly wanted to write something like what you guys would expect but i really felt like this is more real of their relationship lol #anyways <3 i hope you like it!#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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thesunisatangerine · 6 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part nine

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of grief, suggestive material, hurt/comfort

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 6.6k

words in italics: whatever language you like

Before this misunderstanding could get any bigger, you stepped in quickly.

“Alexia, this is Elisa, my daughter and that’s my brother’s husband, Robert. Elisa, Robert, this is Alexia.”

At that, Alexia’s gaze softened but when she met your eyes, questions swam in those hazel pools, ones that you sensed concerned your daughter. You gave Alexia a tight-lipped smile in answer–this was neither the time nor place to talk about something like that.

“Oh, I see. It’s nice to meet you both,” Alexia spoke in English.

She walked closer to the stands to where Robert stood and reached out a hand for him to shake. Robert–who finally got some of his color back after Alexia stopped leering at him–regarded Alexia’s hand with an uneasy look like it was something dangerous before he eventually shook it. Then Alexia turned to Elisa and offered her a closed fist while your daughter only gawked at Alexia, obviously starstruck. “And it’s nice to meet you, too, Elisa.”

Elisa remained still and unusually quiet so you coaxed softly, “ladybug?”

That seemed to snap Elisa out from her starstruck stupor and as she came back to herself, her eyes darted to you. You smiled at her, encouraging, then you tilted your head at Alexia’s direction. Slowly, Elisa bumped her fist against Alexia’s, cheeks reddening immediately as she scurried off behind Robert right after, peeking through the gap between her uncle’s hip and arm to look at Alexia shyly.

“Do you want me to sign your shirt?”

Elisa nodded. Robert passed the shirt to Alexia, who signed it, before she passed it back to Robert.

“Thank you,” came Elisa’s bashful gratitude.

When your eyes flitted back to Alexia’s face, you found her brows tilted upwards which allowed the stadium lights to brighten her already fair eyes. She looked on at Elisa’s timid display with warmth and the sight of such softness in her demeanour tugged at your heartstring.

Without tearing her attention away from Elisa, Alexia said through a small smile, “she’s adorable, no?”

“She’s a little shy but she’s actually a big fan of yours. You should see her practicing your moves–”

“Mom…” Elisa whined, stopping you from embarrassing her further. You sent her an apologetic smile before you mouthed an ‘I’m sorry’ to her.

“Oh, you play football? How old are you?” Alexia asked softly.

After a moment of silence, you took the helm when you noticed Elisa wasn’t going to answer. Her reaction to Alexia was completely understandable. Alexia, despite being one of the warmest people you knew, could easily intimidate some with her presence due to her reserved and stoic nature. Her gaze–especially for the ones who were new to meet her–could be so intense and disarming that it was hard not to look away or, in this case, shy away from her.

“She turned twelve last February. And yes, she’s actually enrolled in a Barça Academy located near our city.”

Alexia’s brows rose with interest. She regarded Elisa again as she spoke, switching to Spanish this time, with clear approval in her tone. “So she has Blaugrana in her blood. What position does she play?”

“Barça is by far her favorite club and it doesn’t help that you play in it. And she plays forward.” You answered in the same tongue.

Alexia hummed, the corner of her lips quirking up. You knew that look so when she turned back to you, you raised a brow at her.

“What? Disappointed she doesn’t play midfield like you?”

She flashed you a sheepish half-smile and rubbed her cheek with a finger, a gesture that you still found so endearing, before she threw her hands up in false surrender. “I’m just saying! And you can’t really blame me for having a bias.”

“No, of course not. How could I hold that against you?” You said in an excessively dry tone. What you didn’t expect was for Alexia to throw her head back as laughter bubbled out from her throat in a familiar melody that tickled your ear, and you couldn’t help the grin that made its way to your lips at her amusement. She looked so beautiful like this: her hair–now back to its light brown shade–untamed with the way baby strands clung to the slight dampness on her temple, and the rosy blush painted upon her cheeks and nose from the events that just occurred; she looked so carefree in this moment, in the aftermath of their victory, that the glow of her youth shone right through, unfiltered.

When your eyes flitted over to Elisa and Robert, you found them gaping at your interaction with wide eyes, looking very much unsure on what to make of it. Then you also realised Alexia’d stopped laughing and she was now looking at you with a small smile on her lips. Your cheeks warmed at the attention, at having been caught staring, so you casted your eyes down to your feet, clearing your throat as you kicked an invisible pebble.

It surprised you, the ease with which you were able to fall back in playful banter with Alexia as if the fifteen months that made strangers from the both you never existed. Alexia must’d thought the same thing because when you looked at her again, Alexia’s smile had dimmed somewhat but the warmth in her eyes never left.

“Congratulations on the win, by the way. You earned it. All of you did.” You said, indicating at the golden medal around her neck. The urge to hug her as you spoke pervaded you but you managed to brush it off.

Alexia looked down at it, her lips quirking up into a small proud smile.

“Thank you.” A pause as she regarded you. And then, “want to hold it?”

The suggestion took you aback and you were quick to dismiss her. “Oh, no, I’m good–”

Alexia, being Alexia, stepped into you space anyway, took your right hand and placed the medal on your palm. You tried not to focus too much on how her touch electrified you by focusing on how the surface of the metal cooled your skin, its weight surprisingly heavier than it looked, and you traced its intricate engravings with the pads of your fingers, admiring the details.

“Can we talk?” Alexia said in a low voice that only the both of you would be able to hear. She was standing less than an arm’s length away from you–when did she get so close?–and the softness you found in her hazel eyes when you gazed up at her made you want to reach out and brush your thumb over the skin beneath them.

At your silence Alexia touched your right wrist and you felt her thumb grazed ove the bracelet she gave you. Her gaze was magnetic and you were powerless against her pull.

You began, “I–”

“Alexia! Come on, we have to go!” Both of your heads turned to the voice. It was Misa who was waving Alexia over to where their other teammates were gathering. Alexia gave Misa a gesture to wait and she looked back at you again but with desperation now in her eyes.

“Go. I’ll be in Barcelona for a week starting next Thursday. We can talk sometime then?”

Alexia nodded, gave you a small smile before she turned to walk away. She startled you when she faced you again and before you knew it, her arms were wrapped around your shoulders.

“Same place?” She whispered in your ear.

You snaked your arms around her waist.

“You know where to find me.”

So it was then on this late, warm Friday evening in Barcelona the week after the Olympics final, you found yourself opening the door to Alexia.

You had agreed to meet the next day for lunch so it was more than a surprise to you to find her under the warm glow of the porch light right then. And before a word could even leave your mouth to voice your confusion, Alexia strode into your space, crowding you until your back hit the cool surface of the wall next to the door as it swung close.

Alexia was in front of you now, the distance between you so sparse that you could feel the heat that emanated from her body. You stared up at her, breathless when you were finally able to speak, “Alexia–”

“Are you seeing someone right now?” Her tone was even though the crease in her brows and the fervid depth in her eyes made you shiver.

“Wait, what are–”

“Just answer me!”

“No! Why–”

Before you knew it, her hand cradled your jaw as she brought her lips to yours, and the only thing you could do was gasp from the sudden heat of it all. It was filled with such ardour, Alexia’s kiss, that each movement of her lips threatened to both destroy and mend you again, each pull as devastating and as sweet as the last. But the sweetness didn’t last long; not after you felt the warmth against your cheeks and tasted salt on your tongue.

Alexia was crying.

She was aching, you knew it–could feel it in the slight quiver of her lips, in the frantic way with which her fingers tangled in your hair. And from her pain came yours, unfurling from your heart, into your throat, longing–reaching–to comfort and be soothed by her, your almost lover. Though it hurt, it made your teeth ache with the bittersweetness of it all because here she was breathing the same air as you, sharing the same heat as her lips melted with yours, and, god, how it felt like coming home–like the first breath once you breached the surface after being submerged for so long.

Was this what it felt like to be exhumed? Was this what life tasted like?

The kiss was slow and deep, the way only two almost lovers knew how to; the both of you took your time mapping each other’s lips, learning how to move in the same rhythm again. It was familiar but the tenderness–that gentle ardour–was above all else amplified, warming your flesh and blood to a delicate simmer.

You sighed against Alexia’s lips as you pressed your body further into her, and in response she to you, and you relished how in spite of the strength that rested beneath the firmness of her self, everything about her remained, oh, so soft. And it was this want for more closeness that prompted you to tighten the grip around her hand that cupped your jaw, an unspoken plea for her to not let go–to not let you go.

How had you gone on for so long without her touch?

A familiar scream ruptured the silence, shattering the moment instantly.

It was automatic and immediate your reaction to it: you tore yourself from Alexia’s embrace and rushed towards Elisa’s bedroom, ignoring the way your vision blurred from the sudden exertion, your lungs protested as you hurried up the stairs. You were already expecting it but like all the times you were faced with it, your heart broke all the same at the sight of Elisa sitting up by the headboard of her bed, spine crooked as she curled in on herself, head lowered to the top of her knees while her hands pressed against her ears. Upon your intrusion, she lifted her head to reveal wide eyes that darted to you, frantic at first, but the apprehension in them dimmed when she saw you.

You tried to compose yourself as you approached her slowly, before you placed yourself just by the edge of her bed.

Gently, you called out, “ladybug?”

Not a second later did Elisa throw herself into your embrace and immediately hid her face in the crook of your neck, her hands clawing and gripping at the fabric of your shirt while her sobs made rattles from her bones. All of her self was tense, taught and coiled, her pain’s physical manifestation–all the intangible grief violently wrought into existence.

Elisa clung to you as she cried and you could do nothing in the moment but offer comfort through your embrace, hugging her just as tight, brushing back her hair–consoling–as you began a common lullaby in her mother tongue, rocking her to its gentle rhythm in the hopes that it could salve the wounds of her past even a little.

In her own time, Elisa emerged from the throes of her grief, her grip on your soaked shirt loosened, her sobs now reduced to hiccups and sniffles. You carded your fingers through her damp hair and wiped the sweat that lined her forehead.

As softly as you could, you whispered, “want to talk about it, ladybug?”

Elisa didn’t answer as she seemed to gather herself, gnawing on her lower lips, brows creased in a pained frown. You were about to remind her that she didn’t have to when she answered in a voice so small that made the rawness in it all the more pronounced.

“I saw Mother’s… I saw her dead beside me again.” She cuddled closer to you before she continued, “it’s always been her but when I looked this time I–”

Fresh tears sprung to her eyes, they fell when she squeezed them shut, and your heart broke a little more. You were quick to hug her tighter, pressing a kiss on the top of her head to console her. Elisa sniffled then she continued, “this time I–I saw you instead. I saw you dead.”

Elisa whimpered and she clung to you again.

“Oh, ladybug. That must have been difficult to see.” You hugged her tighter. “Were you scared?”

Nod.

“What were you scared of?”

Silence.

“I was scared because I thought I was alone again. I was scared you left me, too.”

Her answer made you pause and you regarded her, your worry now twofold.

“What else do you feel, Elisa?”

“I don’t know,” Elisa shrugged. She pressed a fist to her chest, “but it hurts right here. I hate it. I want it to disappear. Why does it still hurt so much?”

The state of her pained you enough as it was but how much more agonising this must be for Elisa? So you pressed your temple on her head as you began, soft but firm when the words passed through your lips.

“It aches so it’s not surprising you want it to go away. And you hate it because it stays with you. And it hurts because you’re still grieving, Elisa. A year may feel like a long time but what happened to you is not an easy thing to move on from. You’re still trying to heal.”

“If there is part of you that’s telling you it’s your fault your family died, I want you to remember that it isn’t. It isn’t your fault. You were so loved, Elisa, and you loved them just as much. And you still are loved.”

“I won’t leave you. As long as we’re here–your Uncle Derek, Uncle Robert, Nana, and I–as long as you want us to be, we’ll be your family and we love you. And death might come for all of us, and it is scary, terrifying and painful most times, but our love will never fade. The love given to you and the love that made you, they will never leave you, Elisa. Love comes and goes, and it may change its form, but it is never lost. You’re right here with me and you’re safe, and I love you. You’re never alone, ladybug, don’t you ever forget that.”

Elisa turned her head to look up at you and in the warm glow of her nightlight, you saw her chin quiver. “Promise you’ll never leave me?”

“As long as I breathe, I promise.”

You pressed a kiss on the top of her head, on her temple, then on her forehead before you hugged her again. Elisa sagged in your embrace as a watery sigh escaped her lips, and though she sniffled, she shed no more tears.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

In response, you kissed her forehead.

“How are you feeling now, ladybug?”

“A lot better, thank you.”

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Water, please?”

“Okay. Do you want to come with me downstairs or are you alright with me going for a bit?”

Elisa thought about it before she said, “I’ll be alright here.”

You smiled at your daughter, half encouraging and more than proud, as your chest filled with warmth at her display of bravery. You stood, grabbed a fresh shirt from her closet and placed it on her lap so she could change out of her damp one. “Okay. How about you change into this while I’m gone, hmm? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded and you darted out of the room but not after you placed another kiss on top of her head and squeezed her knee for reassurance. So engrossed were you in your aim that you nearly ran into Alexia who was just standing off to the side of the doorway, an unopened bottle of water in hand. As soon as she saw you, she offered it to you without a word with a soft look in her eyes made warmer by the dim, yellow glow of the wall lamp beside her head. It was a simple gesture but your heart expanded from the thought behind it, so much so that you nearly cried when you took the bottle from her.

“Is there anything else you need?” Alexia whispered as she stepped into your space, brushing the back of her hand over your cheek gently. You leant into the comfort of her touch and sighed, before you shook your head in answer.

“This is more than enough, thank you.” You met Alexia’s gaze one more time before you knocked on Elisa’s door and slipped back into it upon her consent. Once inside, you opened the bottle and gave it to Elisa and as she sipped from it, you ventured into her closet again to grab a small towel to dry her sweat with.

“How do you feel, ladybug?” You asked as you ran the towel over her face and the back of her neck.

“Sleepy,” she said with a small smile. You returned it in kind.

“Do you want to try going back to sleep? I’ll stay here if you want.”

Elisa yawned her agreement as she nodded so you tucked her in. Then you reclined against her headboard and began a lullaby, gently dragging the back of your finger in the space between her eyes until her eyelids fluttered close before her breathing deepened and eventually evened out. You remained there until you were certain Elisa had fallen asleep completely before you slipped back out, making sure to leave a slight gap between the door and the frame just in case Elisa woke up again.

It wasn’t a surprise when you found Alexia still patiently waiting out in the hall, who pushed herself from the wall she was leaning on upon seeing you.

“Is she okay?” She asked softly, looking over your shoulder at Elisa’s door, concern apparent in her tone and the crease between her brows.

“She’s… she’ll get there. She’s been through a lot for someone so young but she’s getting better.” It was getting frequent again, you noted with more than a hint of worry, Elisa’s recurring nightmares about the horrors she’d witnessed. You knew you needed to talk to Elisa about her therapy and if she’d be inclined to take more sessions to unpack this because there was only so much you could do to help her.

“What happened to her?”

You looked at Alexia at that, unable to answer her–had no desire to if you were being honest. How could you come up with the words to explain it especially when doing so would lead to questions about what happened to you? And that was something you truly didn’t want to, or even knew how to, talk about.

Alexia must had found something in your eyes because she just nodded at your reticence and casted her gaze down. You grazed your knuckles over the back of her hand, partly in appreciation for her respect and partly for her to follow you, while you stepped past her to the stairs down to the living room, Alexia’s footsteps not too far behind you.

The both of you entered the living room in silence, the tension from what transpired between the two of you upon Alexia’s arrival and the weight of what you were about to talk about made the air thick for breathing.

With crossed arms you settled on the wingback chair on the far side of the coffee table while Alexia situated herself on the other at the opposite side, leaving the couch unoccupied; the memories in it far too intimate for two people who’d grown apart.

During this reprieve, you finally allowed yourself the luxury to take Alexia in. You didn’t really get the chance to, it had all been a blur the moment she strode through the door, but now your eyes roamed over her freely.

She had a pair of low rise denims on, a leather jacket over a white shirt that revealed a strip of her stomach while her loose, light brown hair framed her face. Even when sitting down, her character remained undiminished especially with the way she sat with her legs parted, one hand hanging over the chair’s arm while the other was on her chin, fingers splayed over her lips as she regarded you quietly in a fixing gaze that left you feeling exposed–vulnerable.

Alexia brushed her lower lip with her fingers as she sank further against the upholstered back of the chair, tilting her chin up slightly as she kept her eyes trained at you. Her movement caused the warm glow of the light to touch her lips, drawing your attention to them, and you noted how they still glistened from the sheen of your lip balm from when she’d kissed you before, and the reminder made you burn, unpleasant in the way it ached, a bittersweet mixture of your immense desire and longing for the woman before you. It was intentional the way she moved; you knew it from the way Alexia’s eyes challenged you to speak up but you couldn’t quite find the words to say–you didn’t dare to.

“Are they real?” Came the question.

It was low and even, how Alexia posed it, but the abruptness with which the silence was broken made you flinch. That didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia it seemed because her gaze immediately softened.

“Are what real?”

“What you wrote in those notes you left me. Are they?”

The silence that settled in the space between you pressed against your chest, made even heavier with the weight in Alexia’s eyes. You tore your gaze away from her and you didn’t dare look back up.

“Look at me and tell me those didn’t mean a thing and I’ll leave.” ‘Just like you left me’, you heard the words Alexia left unspoken and then she continued, “I’ll leave and I won’t bother you again.”

She was serious. You knew if you lied and told her otherwise, she’d keep her word; she’d be out of your life completely. Were you willing to run? Were you ready to live a life without her for good?

Still without meeting her eyes you voiced barely above a whisper, “I… I can’t.”

Then you heard Alexia draw a breath, long and deep, followed by the unmistakable rustle of clothes before the air stilled once more. Not a moment later though a choked sound broke the quiet and immediately, your head whipped to the sound and found Alexia now bent forward, elbows resting on the top of her knees, her head bowed into the cradle of her open palms while her hair formed a curtain around her face.

“‘What’s happening to me? I’ve not know desire like this–like how it is with you. How, then, can I go on without you now that I found you?’” Each word came out strained as her breath stuttered and yours, too, hitched at what Alexia just recited. Then she lifted her head up a fraction but it was enough for you to see the undisguised pain reflected in those eyes and the sight of them made yours burn.

“You didn’t even give me a chance. You wrote and left those words to me but what was I supposed to do with them? What was I meant to do?”

A pause.

“I thought I knew what feeling lost was like. My ACL taught me that and when my father–” Alexia screwed her eyes shut as she drew in a heavy breath. She continued after a moment, “but after you went away, I felt lost again. I didn’t know what to do with myself, didn’t know how or what to feel. All I knew was I was mad at you for leaving, for what you said to me, for not responding… I was hurt. And I felt so empty that I didn’t look through that damn bag you left me.”

“But I missed you. God, I missed you, so I opened it and what did I find? Your fucking notes.” Alexia laughed, flat and void of any warmth, and she shook her head as if in disbelief, digging the heels of her palms into her sockets before looking back at you with raw eyes. “‘With every kiss, every touch, I become more yours. If you ask me to, I will surrender myself to you.’ If you truly meant that, why did you leave?”

“Won’t you even tell me why?” Alexia repeated, now pleading.

“I–” You began but the words caught in your throat as you turned her question over in her head because why, why did you leave?

“I was… I was afraid.” You admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Afraid of what?”

“To hear that I meant nothing to you, to know I felt more for you than you did for me. I was just one of your girls, right?” You laughed bitterly, hating the way tears immediately fell down your cheeks, as you looked over Alexia’s shoulder, unable to look her in the eye as you spoke. You were weak enough as it was, so bare that one word from her could make you bleed if she wanted to.

“I couldn’t bear to hear that from you so I left. And perhaps it was cruel of me to leave those notes behind but I didn’t want to take them with me. I didn’t want the reminder of what we had and what we could’ve been. And I guess, deep down, I just wanted you to know how you made me feel because even if it ended, even if it meant nothing to you, that doesn’t change the fact that you made me happy.”

“‘Nothing?’ What do you mean–” Confusion first swam in her hazel eyes but her eyes suddenly widened. “That day… you were there?”

You hastily wiped your tears away with the back of your hand. “Yes.”

“Oh my god,” Alexia whispered as she lowered her head even further, fingers digging into her scalp as she shook her head. You heard her mutter something in Catalan that you couldn’t quite understand, barely catching the familiar Spanish words for ‘kill’ and ‘two’ from whatever she said.

Then Alexia gazed up at you with fire in her eyes. “If what we had meant nothing to me, I wouldn’t be here. Whatever you heard that day, there’s no truth to it.”

“All of it? Then tell me, what did Mapi mean when she said I’m one of your girls?”

At that, Alexia opened her mouth before closing it again, then she casted her gaze aside.

Your heart dropped.

She wrung her fingers, the muscle in her jaw ticked while her frown deepened but she found the courage to look you in the eye again as she began to speak. “After I got injured, I was a wreck. It was one of the lowest points of my life. I felt like I was stuck, like my life was playing out in front of me and I couldn’t do anything but watch.”

“The world moved on but I couldn’t. I couldn’t get past it, what happened and what would come after. It was a constant one step forward, three steps back. So I… I slept around because I needed control. I was spiralling when you met me and it’s–it’s true I had others while I was with you.”

Oh, how her words branded you! Perhaps there was still a small part of you that hoped Alexia would deny it but as the words spilled from Alexia’s lips, that vision was immediately dashed and in its place bloomed anguish. Your eyes burnt as you took Alexia in, she–with her lips pressed in a thin line and the corners of them crooked downwards, brows furrowed so deep her eyes were almost covered–looked guilty and in as much pain as you upon her own admittance.

“I had others but not after the first time we had dinner together. At that point, I stopped. I stopped because I hoped… I hoped that we could be more. I still do. But it never meant nothing to me, you never meant nothing to me. I just want you to know that.”

You bit your lip as her words sank in, and your stomach dropped even further as you realised something. The falling out, it was all your fault, wasn’t it? If you’d just talked to her, none of this would’ve happened.

The silence must had lasted longer than you realised because you heard Alexia’s whispered plea, “please, say something.”

“I… I want nothing more than to be with you, Alexia. In my mind, it had always been you and instead of telling you, I didn’t do anything. I didn’t make my intentions clear and it was unfair of me to expect you to know them. I was going to–I was going to ask you to be mine that night but when I heard you say those words, I lost it.”

Tears tracked down your cheeks as you choked out, “I’m sorry. I broke us, didn’t I?”

Alexia was quick to answer.

“No, you were scared and hurting. I can’t hold that against you. And it’s not just you, it’s not like I was very vocal about what I wanted either. I should’ve told you what you meant to me, I should’ve made it clear what I wanted from this–from us.” Alexia looked into your eye with an ardent disposition that made you shiver while a small, hopeful smile graced her lips. “I still want you. If you still want me, have me.”

Her declaration moved you and this wasn’t the first time tonight that her words made your heart ache–fed fuel to the fire that was your yearning. The temptation to accept her offer was too much but you stopped yourself; the logical part of you who knew that you weren’t the same person as the one Alexia met prevented you from saying yes.

“I’m not the same person I was from before, Alexia. And I have a child. I don’t want you to trick yourself into thinking you want what comes with me just because you want me.”

“Then let me in! Let me know this version of yourself and don’t decide for me if I want or don’t want to be with you. Let me make that choice this time.” Alexia said, almost exasperated in the way she threw her hands up but desperation weighed heavier in her voice. “We don’t need to label it. You’re mine and I’m yours, isn’t that what matters?”

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

“And if it does? And now that we know what we want from each other, it’s not like how it was before.” Alexia countered easily. Then she added with a half smile, teasing. “C’mon. I thought you’re the optimistic one in this relationship?”

You couldn’t help it, you smiled at her lightness. Then you nodded.

“Okay. So, can we start over slow?”

“That sounds good.” Then Alexia grinned, mischievous with the way she brushed her thumb over her nose and how her dimple gilded the corner of her lips. “Hi, I’m Alexia. What’s your name?”

The absurdity of what she said caught you off guard, even more so the laughter that bubbled out from your throat. As your laughter faded and Alexia’s grin dimmed to a small smile, a vacuous silence settled over the both of you, a welcome reprieve from the weight and tension that filled the air moments ago. Your eyes roamed over Alexia’s figure in silent appraisal, and hers over yours, as you mapped the familiar contours of her silhouette. Then you noticed a change in her demeanour: her eyes darkened, a look you were well acquainted with fifteen months–a look that your body remembered all too well with the way your flesh burnt.

“Did you have others?” The question took you aback and you were sure that you weren’t able to hide the surprise from your face because where the hell did that come from? Still, you indulged her.

“Not in the way you think. I can’t even kiss anyone without thinking of you. It’s not fair to them if I take them on as my lover when I know I’m still hung up on you.”

“‘Still’, huh?” Alexia hummed in response and her gaze only became darker, eyes now lidded.

You scoffed at her arrogance but it lacked any real bite because it was true anyway. Your cheeks warmed at her attention and you crossed your legs, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Alexia–the way she bit her lower lip made it known to you she knew just what she was doing to you–before you casted your eyes aside, down to the floor. “Don’t be an ass about it.”

At the sound of clothes rustling, you looked back up only to find Alexia had already crossed the distance and now stood an arm’s length away. Your body, always in tune to her presence, parted your legs before you could think better of it and Alexia claimed what little space between you, her knees now against the edge of the chair.

She planted both hands on either side of your chair’s arms as she leant down, craning her neck so that you could feel the warmth of her breath against your cheek.

“I’m being serious.”

The words were whispered so close to your lips that you could feel the heat of hers as they brushed over yours.

“I tried. But you… you had others, didn’t you? I saw the photos.” You tilted your head, relished the way Alexia followed and ghosted over your lips as you did so, whispering the words against her jaw.

She shivered.

“One. Just the one before I read your notes.” And she leant in again and this time, you could almost taste her lips from how close she was to you. “She never touched me. And besides, who do you think she looked like?”

An image of the woman came to your mind. You didn’t realise it then but now her resemblance to you became apparent: the colour of her hair and the length of it, the colour of her eyes, her height. They were all similar to you.

“But you touched her.” It wasn’t a question and the silence that followed was confirmation enough. You didn’t hold that against her–couldn’t–but it hurt you still. You didn’t even know you’d teared up until Alexia swept her thumb over the corner of your eye, soft and careful; apologetic. And then a fire sparked in you, an all consuming green that prompted you to ghost your lips back to Alexia’s neck. You didn’t miss the way her pulse jumped when you left a light kiss there.

“Tell me, Ale. Did she feel better than me?”

“No,” Alexia choked out and the heat of it warmed your ear.

A kiss to the corner of her jaw. “Did she moan your name like I did?”

“No.”

You placed another kiss to the lobe of her ear before you whispered, low and cruel, and obscenely shameless.

“Did she come for you like I did?”

That did it.

Alexia took the back of your head in her hand and pulled you in for a kiss. A soft moan left your mouth–or was it from Alexia–as you surrendered to her heat, melting instantly and lips parting for her and her only. You felt her other hand creep down to the small of your back where she pulled you forward, urging you to stand up. When you did, and without breaking the kiss, Alexia manoeuvred the both of you until you felt the soft texture of the couch against the skin of your calves.

You pulled away with a gasp and before Alexia could upon her eyes, you stepped aside and pushed her just enough for her to end up on the couch, eyes flying in surprise at the sudden change of position. She opened her mouth, as if to protest, but she quickly shut it when you straddled her lap, hands automatically over her jaw and neck as you sank into her lips again.

Alexia dragged her lips away from yours and you were about to sigh in disappointment until you felt her tracing the lobe of your ear with her tongue. Then she nipped along your jaw as she whispered, a smile clear in her voice, “that’s right… You like being on top.”

You shivered as her hands traced your silhouette but when you felt her hands move from your ass to the edge of your shirt, brushing against the skin of your back with clear intentions, the haze lifted immediately as apprehension filled you. The words didn’t even leave your mouth before Alexia stopped her ministrations, pulling away from your lips gently, and she opened her eyes, which revealed at first the deep desire in them, now replaced with concern as she met your gaze.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Shaking your head, you placed a slow, lingering kiss on her lips before you broke away again, breathing heavily as you rested your forehead on hers.

“I’m sorry. And no, you didn’t. It’s not that I don’t want you because I do. God, I want you so much, you don’t even know, but I’m not–I think we’re going too fast and Elisa…” You trailed off, cheeks warming.

Without another word, Alexia fixed the hem of your shirt so the strip of exposed skin was covered, and placed a tender kiss on your cheek. Then she shifted beneath you, shrugged off her leather jacket and placed it on the coffee table, before she lied down.

A gentle hand on your back urged you down on her chest and upon doing so, you sighed as a sense of peace washed over you and you found yourself sinking into her tender warmth, into the safety of her arms wrapped around your waist.

She brushed back hair from your temple and you felt the flutter of her hum against your cheek before you heard it. “Are you comfortable?”

The gesture made you ache and you feared your words would fail you if you spoke so you only nodded, nuzzling the column of her neck with your nose and placed a kiss there as a form of gratitude.

Alexia pressed her lips on top of your head and then you heard her sigh, content. “Good.”

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n:#i told yall last time words will be spoken so here they are finally #kept changing my mind on where to put some of the scenes/dialogues. i cut out a pretty juicy one from this part for future use (hopefully)#dead tired but i finished it yall 🥲 i dont have fresh eyes atm so extra sorry for any mistakes in grammar/prose/spelling etc.#hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 7 months

Text

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Rebound

Part two to Underground

Pairing: Fighter!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You lose your last tether to the normal world and Bucky has to make a decision. You’re officially part of the Underground. Does he help you, or not?

Warnings: 18+. Angst, violence, fluff and smut.

Words: 5OOO

The demanding throbbing in your feet nearly feels delightful as you drag yourself home to your cramped apartment. As the sun rises and the city turns pink and orange, your building starts to come alive. Though you can barely manage to keep your eyes open.

You can tell the Underground is starting to toughen you up. You make longer days, are a bit paler in your face, making your features sharper, and the bravado you muster as you survive every night is surely something that has started to cling to your face and posture permanently. The people that start their days at sunrise, the ones that weren’t blipped from society and still have a life to return to, they walk around you in a big circle now.

It only makes you feel smug. The society slowly casting you out – starting to fear you.

However, your confidence has a short lifespan when you walk up to the front door of your apartment. The fresh paper with red capital letters stamped on it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You have tried to hold this moment off for as long as possible, going even as far as to take small side jobs in the fighting dome to make some extra money.

You suppose it was only a matter of time before you’d have the words ‘EVICTION NOTICE’ stamped across your door.

And your adrenaline spikes again, realising the time has come that you are officially homeless. You have been well and truly cast out by society, something both you and Natasha had been trying to fight and hold off for as long as possible. This is why the spy had introduced you to the Underground, to make some sort of living. And Nat had never judged you for staying in denial a little longer, even though you knew you would have to get used to the Underground fast, because it was only a matter of time before it would be your new home.

So no sleep for now.

You rip open the door and start packing, leaving all the old furniture that was already there and ending up with one big, stuffed duffel bag and a smaller bag. And then you stand in your place that is no longer your place and truly has never really felt like your place. You look around and feel angry …and hurt. After all, you have been chewed up and spit out, like so many before you.

You stuff that feeling far, far away and vacate the building right as de evening rolls back in. Evening already – since you have tried to put off this moment for as long as possible, have extended packing for hours. Since you don’t have a clue where Natasha lives, if she even resides in the country right now, you are forced to step to the one person you do not want to go to…

As you enter the dome, the place eerily quiet since the nightlife is a long way from commencing, you mildly greet the bartenders and crewmembers readying for the night. You scrunch your face at the stench, wondering if the place ever really gets cleaned. In the darker corners you see things that you decide are none of your business and you drag yourself through centre of the Underground, the capitol of dodgy business.

Making your way to the locker room, you breathe a sigh of relief when you find it empty. Finding a locker in the far back, you stuff it full with your last belongings and pray that none of it gets stolen. Maybe you can find a place in this building to sleep in. You have definitely seen other people crash here for the night, though you debate how safe you’d be. You hardly think you’d close an eye in a place like this.

Then, all the hairs on your body stand up straight.

You slowly turn to find Bucky staring at you, one brow quirked and that being the only sign of his curiosity. “Why are you already here?”

You swallow, “Just trying to get some extra work in.”

Neither of you have talked about what happened nearly a month ago. How you rode his leg with his fingers inside of you until you had one of the most intense orgasms of your life. And how that had been enough for him to come nearly untouched. Well, you say untouched, but you had felt just how heavy he was on your tongue and that’s where you wanted him coming next. Badly.

And you can’t exactly say the tension between you has shifted much. Something that made you realise just how high tensions between you already were. But you dropped it, so had he.

“You have to be careful with those side businesses,” he tells you as he turns to his own locker, one that does have a lock. “People will take advantage of a woman like you.”

“I can take care of myself just fine, thank you,” you snap at him and move to find your bag of supplies for the fight. You try to calm your breathing as you find the bag, kneel down and rummage through it, checking if you need to restock any of your supplies, if only to give yourself something to do for the upcoming hours.

But your spine stiffens again and it’s a little darker around you. So you turn and immediately stand up with you see Bucky looming over you. His eyes rove over your face, peering straight through to your soul, where it quivers before him.

“If you could take care of yourself,” he drawls, “you wouldn’t be homeless right now.”

You startle, “What? How do you know?”

He smiles, but it feels more vindictive than smug. “Because word travels fast, sweetheart, and a pretty girl like you on the loose is gold in the Underground.” He pauses and then his smirk turns smug, “Especially when she’s desperate.”

“I’m not desperate!” You squawk in outrage and he takes a step closer, close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face.

He clenches his jaw, eyes hardening. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“That is none of your concern.”

Bucky lets out a humourless laugh, tilting his head up and running his tongue over his teeth in annoyance before he lowers his gaze back to yours. “You see, it seems like I’ve signed a stupid fuckin’ contract where that is my concern. So please tell me you have a plan and I don’t have to intervene.”

“Intervene?” you sneer and roll your eyes. “Please, it’s not like you can offer me anything out of this place. You’re not here by choice.”

He quirks his brow, seemingly intrigued by that assumption. “Is that what you think? What if I was here by choice, huh? What if I chose this life?”

You fall silent at that, and decide to keep it like that. An argument with him won’t be worth it. Besides, what are you going to tell him? You have nothing and no one. You are officially at your wit’s end and for you, that is saying a lot. The silence stretches… and stretches…

“Give me something to do,” you tell him quietly –deflated– when he doesn’t break the silence either. You don’t see Bucky’s face soften when he watches the defeat in your face before you stare down at the ground.

Bucky’s skin prickles like there is electricity in the air. Because he’s angry. He’s pissed and furious and so fucking angry. That the world can spit out a woman like you, like it has let down so many good people after the Blip.

And the anger doesn’t seize. It only gets worse, like magma bubbling under his skin and boiling his bones. That night, he beats up opponent after opponent in what seems like a record time. People get killed in these fights all the time, they fight to the death all the time. After all, there are too many people and you know what you signed up for when you enter this place. Yet, it’s a line Bucky has never crossed, never will cross. Not anymore.

It’s difficult, to stay of this side of that line tonight. He wants to kill. He feels the soldier crawling under his skin, flipping knives in anticipation, begging Bucky to unleash him. And he thinks he has hardly been this angry before. Bucky yanks on that leash and fights, each punch and kick doing nothing to quench his thirst for justice.

Win after win, Bucky ruins everyone who dares to take it up against him. But he doesn’t hear the crowd – the screams for more blood and sensation, the cheers that he is the most dangerous man in the Underground. He only hears the rushing of his blood in his ears as he thinks about the woman the world has abandoned – as he thinks about you.

…

“Grab your bags. You’re coming with me.”

You gape at your two bags sitting on the leather bench and peer back at all of the lockers, each of them seeming like they have been ripped open with brute force, some of them dented in a manner that looks like a metal hand gripped its edges. You briefly glance at his metal hand and then up to his face.

Unflinching. His command and his face.

So you grab your bags and follow after him silently. Through countless of alleys and wild crowds that seem to think the night of violence has only just begun, even though the sky is turning lilac with dawn. You sometimes hobble to catch up with the soldier, your arms quaking under the weight of your duffel bag. But you keep marching onward, the last dregs of your energy fuelled by what is to come.

The stairs of the industrial building are almost too much, but you try not to stumble since Bucky is walking behind you and that would severely hurt your pride. The fatigue is making every step feel like torture, like you’re climbing a sandy hill and you have to move carefully to keep from slipping into the dark depths. When you do stumble slightly, the weight of your duffel tipping you backwards, you feel the faintest nudge of a warm hand at your lower back, just enough to tip you back and let you continue your trek up the stairs.

Bucky overtakes you at last and opens a door with around twenty locks attached to it, all of them unlocked. He walks in like it’s habitual and you trudge after him, your energy spiking enough to take in the sight. Bucky walks over to the floor to ceiling windows and rolls down the beige canvas curtains. Just as the sun peaks over the horizon of the city and orange light pours into what you can only assume is Bucky’s home.

It's big. Simple and imposing, but cosy nonetheless. There are plants, a fact that has you fighting to keep from smiling. And brown leather furniture, a beautiful and clean kitchen… You turn your gaze back to the man of the house, who is now standing beside a massive bed with cream sheets and fluffy pillows. Your eyes become bleary at the sight, sleep fighting its way to the surface and threatening to drag you to the floor.

Bucky panics slightly at the look on your face and strides over, grasping your bag from your trembling arms. He has to hold back from cursing at the thought that you must not have slept for over forty-eight hours and how dreadful the past day must have been for you.

He guides you to his bed and lets you collapse into the sheets as he pulls off your boots. Bucky knows you would have put up more of a fight if you weren’t so exhausted, but he won’t use it against you. Just like you didn’t use his weakness against him when you were massaging him.

That massage.

He cannot cast the thought from his brain. Never mind what followed the massage. The woman that was on his knees for him, that came around his fingers and was moaning for him so beautifully – she seems like such a far cry from the woman before him. How you can be so careful and feisty, yet such a dream when it comes to his most sinful fantasies. What you did to him in that locker room that day has been playing in his head on repeat. And he wants to slap himself for wanting to crawl beneath the sheets now, drag those clothes off your body, spread your thighs and bury his face between them–

He quickly stands from the bed and clears his throat, casting you one more look before he’s off to the kitchen area and refill his energy in other ways.

…

When you wake up, it’s dark again. It takes you a while to orient yourself, your body fighting off the heavy blanket of sleep you have been swaddled in. The bed below you is more comfortable than anything you have ever felt and the smell–

Pushing up to a seat, your body becomes alert of your surroundings just in time to hear the rattle of about twenty locks opening. In walks Bucky, slumping as he moves his bruised body across his own floors. He notices you, doesn’t pay you any mind, and then plants himself to sit at the edge of the bed you are laying in. He bends down with a quiet grunt, unlacing his boots and peeling them from his feet.

He seems exhausted. And judging by the darkness, he has called in an early night. You push off the sheets and crawl towards him. Bucky tenses almost imperceptibly, but you gently put your palms on his wide shoulders. You swear you see him shudder, before his back bends over more in relaxation.

“I lost tonight,” he tells you as you slowly circle your warm palms over his back.

He lost. That’s unlikely. Something must have happened for him to lose. He must have been distracted. Or someone new has joined the Underground. Something’s maybe different. Shit, you were supposed to take care of him yesterday. He’d fought harder than you’d ever seen him fight. He must have been broken this morning– But, no. He has fought fights without your care for God knows how long. It couldn’t have made a difference now.

“What happened?” you ask, doubtful he’ll open up to you.

His head snaps backwards and you flinch at the look in his eyes. “What do you mean ‘what happened’? You happened. Can’t fucking focus with you being all dramatic with your personal bullshit.”

You draw back. “Excuse me?! I don’t recall making my problems yours!”

“Well, they are now, aren’t they?” he snipes back and runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

And you think maybe it’s not you he’s frustrated with.

“What do you want from me?” you ask quietly. Timidly.

You barely hear him, his voice muffled by his hands as he speaks, “I want you on all fours.”

But you did hear him. Some part of you heard him, that’s for sure. The heat that left your body after your endless sleep is returning to you in a different form, pebbling your skin with anticipation. You swallow hard and barely manage to get out, “What?”

Bucky takes a deep breath and slowly turns to you.

“Lie on your stomach.” The order is soft, but so, so clear and not gentle by any means. You search his eyes frantically, but only find his immovable self. Your traitorous body lights on fire at what she finds. So you do as you’re told.

And you wait.

Two large, warm hands travel up your clothed legs. Kneading your calves, your thighs, until they knead your ass. You cannot help but push your hips back to seek the pressure. You feel his looming presence crawl over you and you hold your breath. Soft lips press to your shoulder that got exposed after your shirt slipped slightly.

His hands slip around your hips and under them. The feeling of your jeans popping open, makes your core throb with need. He pulls your jeans down, but not off. No, just far enough down for access and to keep you in place, barely enough give even allow you to squirm.

Then, you feel his weight press into your body and you could have never imagined feeling his weight would be enough to make you want to moan. That’s when you register the feeling of his hard bulge against your ass and you push up against him again. Bucky answers with a muffled growl against your shoulder, followed by a gentle bite as a warning.

“Careful,” he drawls, one hand holding him up slightly as his other spreads over your side and slips under your shirt to feel your bare skin. You shudder at the feeling and bite your lip, your fingers curling into the pillow below your head.

How is this even possible? How can you deteriorate so quickly when he has barely touched you? His breaths turn heavy against your neck and you twist your head to hear him better, your mouth so close to his now. You wonder why it is that his breathing is coming out more laboured, but the only thing you can come up with is that it’s plain old restraint that is stiffening his body, his lungs.

One of your hands reaches back and up, and you scrape the pads of your fingers over his stubble. Bucky’s grip on the sheets tightens and his hips roll down into you in response. His mouth attaches itself to your neck and he hums as he grazes his teeth over your skin, his tongue soothing the pain instantly.

“Bucky,” you whisper and he rolls his hips again. The hand under your shirt slides to your front and grabs your breast, kneading the flesh in his hand. Desperate, clingy. He groans.

Something is shifting between the two of you and you feel a rawness coming to the surface. You remind yourself Bucky is requesting this for a reason, but he might be lost in it. In you. Then, you hear him mumble against your skin. Something you’re not sure he wants you to hear, but you give a soft coo to urge him to repeat himself.

“Please,” he moans softly. “Please.”

His hand slides down and wastes no time before slipping into your underwear, his entire hand cupping your cunt as he rolls his fingers through your folds. You gasp and let out a moan, writhing your hips when you cannot choose between moving up or down.

He’s rutting into you like a starved man, his fingers indulging in their exploration like he’ll find salvation between your legs. You open your mouth to ask him what he wants, but he rolls his fingers over your clit and you let out a whimper instead, making Bucky nuzzle his nose right below your ear.

“You’re all warm,” he mumbles and kisses your neck, your jaw – so close to your lips. His fingers are torture, so devious yet so innocent. As if he’s completely content playing with you like this for hours. Your belly flutters and tightens and warms at the sensations he coaxes to the surface.

It’s selfish, what he’s doing. This is all him, trying to console himself.

“Don’t,” you breathe desperately and roll your hips into his hand. “Don’t tease, Bucky.”

“ ‘M not. Just feeling you,” he whispers and you open your mouth to fight him on it, but then his warm mouth covers yours and the moan that spills from your throat is sinful. His tongue immediately invades you and you melt as he consumes you everywhere that he can. One finger slips through your wetness and into you and Bucky inhales the response you give him, groaning in response.

He grinds down, so do you, completely out of sync and with mouths moving desperately over each other. You cling to your pillow with one hand and bury your other in Bucky’s hair, pulling when he adds another finger and his weight keeps you from moving into him more. You whine against him, sensations at war within you when he keeps playing with you like a selfish cat.

“I’m so fucking wet,” you whimper and Bucky grunts in agreement, nibbling on your bottom lip. “Just stop playing–”

Bucky laughs then – laughs – a manly chuckle as he nudges his nose against yours. You want to cry for mercy and your toes curl when his fingers do, making you clench around him tightly. Your orgasm is being dangled in front of you like a carrot and you wonder if he just wants you to feel the way he feels. Frustrated, angry. Like he has no control whatsoever.

But what he does next goes so fast, it makes your head spin. Your body goes cold when his fingers leave you and when his body rises from yours, leaving you behind. But your hips get lifted and the pillow below your head gets snatched and shoved beneath your hips. You try to move, if only to accommodate his inexplicable actions, but your jeans are keeping you from moving.

You feel him crawl over you again and this time, you do moan at the pressure, bending your back to press up against him. He grinds down in response and you feel the pressure of the pillow against your womb, shooting tingles through your limbs when you realise what he’s done.

One of Bucky’s hands slides over yours and pins it to the mattress, your fingers automatically curling around the security of his. And it’s nice, the feeling of him engulfing you. It feels safe and warm and insanely intense. You turn your head, hoping to find him near. Your heart swells when he presses a kiss to your cheekbone.

“I want to fuck you,” he murmurs against you skin and you nod frantically, making him chuckle again. “I’m not against begging for it at this point.”

And apparently, you’re not entirely gone, since your lips curl into a smirk and your voice drops to a low purr when you tell him, “Please beg for me.”

How ironic, to beg someone to beg for you. Though, your brief confidence doesn’t falter. If anything, it is about to skyrocket.

“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your ear, his soft lips moving against the sensitive skin. “Let me inside you. Let me make you feel good.” He sounds so genuine, so depraved and full of longing. You have to swallow down the carnal desire that crawls up your throat. You nearly choke when you feel the tip of his bare cock nudge against your folds. “Open up for me. Let me slip right in and I’ll fuck you into the mattress, okay? My mattress.”

You nearly whine, all ready to completely cave for him. And then he finishes it with a whisper in your ear, “Please, sweetheart. Let me have you.”

Yeah. Yes. Oh, yes. You mouth the words, but no sound comes out. You might be slipping outside of your body. The way Bucky sounds – his voice so deep, yet needy. You can only nod your head and squeeze his hand, rubbing yourself up against the tip of him.

“Hm, good girl.”

He slides home with one easy thrust, pressing you down into the mattress and skating his cock over each of your swollen walls. You cannot form a sound, or a thought, or catch a fucking breath. Especially not when he rotates his hips slightly and presses down even further.

You nearly choke, quiet for a long second, before you heave in all the oxygen that you can manage, “Oh my god!”

He pulls out slightly and rolls back in, keeping you full and stuffed and only nudging your spot with the tip of him. Over, and over, and over–

“That’s the spot, huh?” he pants against your ear and ruts into you further. “Right… there.” You gasp on a whine and he presses a kiss to your temple. The pillow adds a delicious pressure and you wish to put your hand there, just to feel him move in and out of you.

It’s so perfect, so sating, so much and deep and– You didn’t know it could be like this. Didn’t know it was possible to suddenly realise how screwed you are for the future. How nothing and no one will ever be able to compare to this. To him.

Your orgasm crawls closer and it feels like nothing you have felt before. Your clit is throbbing and aching and your walls are hugging Bucky like he’s never allowed to leave. Your hips tighten and your shoulders scrunch as your orgasm clamps down on you like a snake ready to strike.

“Bucky, I’m–”

He tightens his grip on your hand and latches onto your hip. “Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

You hear the strain in his voice, the hint of disappointment and you scramble to get your brain back in order. “Come in me, Bucky. Come inside me,” you rush out through quick breaths. You can’t elaborate. You just need him to fill you.

He leans back over and slows his thrusts, his breath fanning over your flushed skin. “Yeah? You want me to make a mess of you? You want proof that I fucked you deep enough?”

You let out a grumpy whine and he laughs beautifully as he drops his forehead to the back of your head. He picks up his thrusts, slow and deep and steady. His swollen cock slides over every cushion inside of you and you shudder at how sensitive your are so close to your orgasm. But it comes quicker than you anticipated. You wanted him to go faster, but with this tempo, you feel the orgasm that is coming closer might drown you.

You open your mouth to protest, to tell him to speed up, but the wave has already reached the shore and your ears hollow out.

The tremors seem to start from within as you swell with pleasure, seizing around Bucky and threatening to curl up. You think you might be grasping for something to hold onto as Bucky remains consistent through your orgasm, fucking into you with a steady rhythm and meeting you with every contraction of your high.

It is so completely overwhelming that you barely feel it when he comes, if it isn’t for the litany of beautiful moans and whimpers from him against your neck. He bites your skin to ground himself through his own orgasm and then melts over your body, pulling your hand to his lips.

Bucky quiets his own breaths to make sure he hears yours and is happy to learn how sated and satisfied you sound with your soft pants. He crawls off of you and gently tugs you over on your back, smiling as he watches you bend to his will.

Peeling off your jeans, he keeps his eyes on you, mesmerised with the sight and the feeling of having you in his bed. A feeling he had yesterday, too. Not just lust…

Your eyes peel open and you peer down at him while he strokes his sweaty palms up and down your calves and thighs. “Is this part of my ruse as a physical therapist and personal nurse now?”

Bucky quirks a brow at your wit and you feel something unfamiliar at the relaxation on him. How he seems more expressive and gentle and less guarded.

“No, this is private.”

Bucky’s eyes rove over your body and you flush with warmth, both from his words and from his assessing stare. You feel him drip from between your legs and swallow, fighting the urge to close your thighs. But Bucky, ever the trained assassin, immediately notices and lets a smirk crawl over his face.

He leans down and presses his lips to your left knee, eyes narrowing in on your cunt. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack when you told me to come inside of you.” You freeze at his words and keep a close eye on him. “I fucking knew the sight would be good, but–”

He lets out a starved groan.

You sound wary, “Bucky.”

He spreads your knees and crawls down to kneel at the foot of the bed, tugging you towards the edge. Surely, he wouldn’t–

You throw your head back when Bucky dives head first between your legs, running a flat tongue through your folds. You’re not sure if it’s the taste or simply the idea of him licking you clean of himself, but Bucky growls and hauls you closer, nudging his nose against your clit like he’ll never find anything better than what’s between your thighs.

You cannot help but bury your fingers in his hair, the wild throbbing between your legs pushing your mixed essences out and onto his tongue where Bucky drinks it up appreciatively. His fingers dig into your flesh and it takes a while for Bucky’s ministrations to have any other purpose than to taste you. But when he sucks your clit into his mouth, you tug on his hair with warning, making him chuckle.

“You don’t fight fair,” you choke out and he grins up at you.

“Oh, sweetheart, if you knew what the prize was, you wouldn’t fight fair either,” he murmurs and moans in delight as he continues his feasting. “Now how about you give me that prize and come on my tongue, huh?”

No, Bucky didn’t lose tonight.

#I did it #and under 6k words like HOW?!#who knew i was still even capable of that?#ok not a lot of people liked underground but the ones that did liked it A LOT #this is for you guys #and oops - i made him needy #i hope you enjoy it and as always please let me know what you think???#I need the validation THANKS #writing #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #e to l

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luceafarul-de-dimineata · 4 days

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"What will you do once I pass away?" The question came out of the blue, but such strange questions were par for the course at this point. Gamigin was nuzzling to your neck when you spoke, but he wasn't phased.

"I'll revive you. Death won't be permenent in Paradise Lost for as long as I'm around to stop it." You were running a hand through his blue hair, playing with a strand of it.

"But what if you don't revive me? If you can't revive me? What will you do then?" The dragon stopped kissing up your neck and shifted so he would be at eye level with you on the bed. He looked confused and hurt which almost made you ashamed that you asked the question.

"My staff can bring anyone back from the dead."

"Ok, but I age and demons don't what about that? What if I get so old I want to die to end my mysery."

Gamigin looked even more confused by your words. He didn't quite understand why humans aged so fast. He pouted in thought and stared at the ceiling. After a while, with a stern voice he asks "How long do humans usually live for?"

You try to remember your anthropology classes and what the avarage age of death was for your country, but you just can't put your finger on it. "I don't know, 70 or something like that." "70! Only 70 years!?!" He pushed you to the bed and pinned you to it with a shocked expression. His mind was working overtime trying to calculate just how long that timespan felt like.

Finally, he turns to you and holds your hands softly kissing them both. He stares determined in your eyes. "You are going to have the most exciting life ever. I promise you. What do you wish to do before you die?"

You've never seen him so stern, but the question was one that you've many times asked yourself yet never seemed to have an answer to. Gamigin's glare was starting to intimidate you so you gently slap his face.

"Don't look at me like that! You're making me nervous! I don't know what I want to do before I die. I just kind of want to see where life takes me."

Gamigin smiles like he usually does and pins you to the bed with a hug. His staff, which he kept in one hand at all times, jiggled lively as you both collapsed on the cottage bed.

"Well then, I want to cuddle with you and rewatch the 'How to Train Your Dragon' trilogy. And then we can play blackjack and whoever wins has to wash the dishes after dinner!" Gamigin proclaimed before kissing your cheek and nuzzling into it.

"Who tought you blackjack?" It was strange hearing your usually innocent boyfriend putting forth the idea of blackjack of all things.

"My brother Buer. He also thought me the dishes strategy as well. Jokes on him, I won." His giggle was contagious and you two ended up just cuddling and watching movies for the better half of the night.

If your relationship with Gamigin thought you anything, it was that you didn't have to live through bombastic experiences to enjoy life. You were having the time of your life just being close to him.

#whb #what in hell is bad #whb gamigin #whb fluff #whb x reader #I'm experimenting with writing formats #to see which ones I like the best #for now I can say that I love writing dialog #but I struggle with narrative and especially serious one #let's hope practice will improve on this issue over time #and you'll get to see it!#did you guys know I'm a published author of non fiction #crazy world out there #if you read all of this through #hi #you're really cool #thank you for caring about my stuff

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crybaby-bkg · 2 years

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I love jealous Bakugou who starts peacocking after a while to get all of your attention.

going to a party and Kiri carelessly picks you up to spin you during a dance, drunken laughter shared between you two. Bakugou watches on the couch the whole time, eyes slitted as he nurses the same beer he’s had all night. he listens to you giggle over the music about how strong Kiri is and—fuck it, he’ll show you strength. he takes the opportunity to scoop you off of your feet next time you guys are out and there’s a puddle in the middle of the road, puffs his chest out a little as he cradles you against him, when you let out that lighthearted giggle but for him this time.

Bakugou catches you chatting deku up, squeezing at his biceps when you tease him about how big he’s been getting. you only do it bc you know it flusters the green haired man, and you think it’s cute how he looks like a strawberry whenever you coo at him. But Bakugou only sees that as the push to go to the gym more, focusing even more on his arms, wearing all of his tanks around you. puffs his chest out again when he puts his arms behind his head and you pat at the bulging muscle and find yourself tracing the veins on his arms.

He sees you dancing with Sero at another squad gathering, something fast and sensual, your arms around his neck while he holds your waist. his face is buried into your neck and it makes you giggle whenever he whispers where to move your feet next. and does Bakugou take that as an active threat against his crush on you? of course he does. finds himself holding you against him at a party, swaying with you, way out of his comfort zone but he wants to show you that he can dance too, damnit.

Denki makes some offhanded comment about holding your bags when you go out to an amusement park, something else about going with you when you need the bathroom too. Bakugou is most definitely shoving him out of the way, manhandling all of your bags from you as he pushes you in the direction of the bathrooms instead. finds his chest practically spilling out of his shirt when you hug him by the end of the night, thanking him for being so kind, telling him that he’s the best friend you could ask for.

and does his heart drop to his ass when he hears the word friend? maybe. just a little.

#a hint of angst in the end lol a little unrequited love if you will #I wrote this last night while sleeping meds were in my system #so I hope this makes sense #I was thinking about jealous peacocking bkg tho all day yesterday #bc I wore this cute ass maxi dress and was like #he’d be so pressed to say that he was my bf lol #I want him obsessed just a liddol 🤏🏾#oh and I loveeeee the thought of dancing with Sero so so so much #like hip to hip #faces close as you breathe in the same breath #and he’s smiling down at you all cheeky bc he sees how flustered you are just from dancing #I’m slowly becoming a Sero simp omg o vant #I CANT #what the hel is o vant #anyway #I wanna either do my makeup today or keep writing my original story #not enough hours in the day :(#have a great one guys!!!#—another tasty treat! 🍬#mha sweets! 🍬#bakugou treats! 🍬

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itsdefinitely · 4 months

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i wanna know more about the jerries/jeris

do you want to know the most horrific thing about them?

the lords did nothing to make them the way they are.

yes, the jerry jr was turned into the axeman because of the witchwood, which does what it does because of the lords, but everything leading up to that is just human nature. i see the "girl jeri is nibbly" or "they were influenced by a lord to do the thngs they do" and i need people to understand that that's just. not true. they're just like that. they were taught to be like that by their parents and, more accurately, their church. it's horrifyingly accurate how religion has shaped them into non-functional human beings, who would rather potentially lose their child to the many, many dangers of the literal woods than admit that they had sex outside of marriage.

it's only because it's hatchetfield that jerry jr grew the way he did. there was no lord's intervention in their decision to keep the baby, or to drop out of school to care for him, or to keep him seperated from any other people, or to revolve their lives around the idea that they'd committed a sin and needed to pay by pushing celibacy rather than. i don't know. properly raising their child. it was the way they were taught. the toxic pushing of overexaggerated christian ideals is what molded them. can you imagine being in their place? being a scared teenager and knowing that if you told any of the people you care about most your secret that they would shun you and disown you?

the only people they felt any kind of safe around were each other; of course they're going to be codependent. and even then, they're disgusted by each other for leading them to sin. they're stuck together unwillingly, because without the other, they're alone.

#definitely an ask #and thats not to MENTION what kind of stress they were under when jerry jr started getting less and less human #imagine being completely and utterly alienated from everyone and everything except your parents who pretty much hate each other #and learning one thing: abstinence before marriage #that would do something to your psyche #and im gonna be quickly mentioning my minotaur stuff because im insane #people are terrified of the minotaur purely because he was born the way he was. and he was put in the labyrinth for no fault of his own #in which he THEN became a monster. not because he was one from birth #but because people treated him like one. and youre built by those around you #can you see the connection here #boy jerry #girl jeri #the axeman #abstinence camp #nightmare time 2 #hatchetfield #you guys severely underestimate how unwell i am about them #i keep. trying. to draw. but all my hands want to do is write paragraphs about the jeri/rys #anyway working on an axeman drawing godbless #lets hope this makes sense and im not just pulling words out of my ass #I KEEP FORGETTING HE HAS A NAME OTHER THAN LIL JERRY AND CALLING HIM THE AXEMAN. SORRY LUMBER AXE

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fafrogke · 4 months

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Inspired by THISSSS post that made a lot of sense and made my brain shake so hard it melted, i wanted to try to assign my angel's favorites so i put them together!

thinking that Ren could make friends with pokemon... one can just dream.,.. they're a menace

#14 days with you #14dwy ren #14dwy redacted #14dwy oc #me mad bc there was not space for me to write <- my brother in christ you made the space??? half cooked its ok #in all honesty i don't know much about these little guys i just did research bc i was curious and it sounds fun and friendship yyeeyy #hope nobody minds the disproportion of heights or tries to make sense of the weights my mind it's already beating itself with that #WHY ARE THE LITTLE GUYS SO BIG AND HEAVY i mean it makes sense but #i just wanted to draw and my brain got fried thinking about making sense of the compositions with the data i was searching #and i just got tired thinking about 4 and i wanted to do moreee aaughhf #like Vi's pokemon having a theme of elegance and whimsy with strenght or Leon with themes of strenght to protect and keeping #an eye on what they care for and taking pride on it and Moth with their cool bugcore team and Elanor chilling with company #im getting too conscious the rush of finishing this is dissipating just post it just do it you ca #okback to my enclosure 🍖#i waited 2 days bc i got scared hiii goodnighhhtt

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ratwithhands · 1 month

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Decided to polish some jacket designs!

Emmet originally received a strait from the League after they thought he posed a safety risk to others and mandated him to wear it. Big surprise, they literally just went to a Unovan hospital and asked if they had any of the old jackets lying around. It's ill-fitting and unpleasant, not to mention the hasty edits they made to his uniform to act as a secondary restraint looks awful. As much as he is still operating as usual, having to walk around in the strait is humiliating and dehumanizing, especially because of the stares from other people.

Of course this crime against dignity and fashion had to be corrected, so Elesa called her designers and offered to make the League Council a more appropriate uniform for him. The only rule given was that it must still restrain as well as the original straitjacket, so Elesa ended up modelling the jacket after a vest and the secondary restraint after a double-breasted greatcoat. It's meant to look like clothing, more like everyday wear than something out of an asylum. It also uses hand covers (i.e. socks) instead of a grossly oversized sleeve to keep the hands restrained.

It resolves a lot of the issues Emmet had with the original, namely that it blends in with the crowd rather than making him stick out. It also has an air of professionalism and formality that the original didn't have. He's much more willing to wear it and keep it on, as well as being more comfortable in it.

I'm struggling to describe this in sentences so as for the differences:

League Straitjacket:

actual retired straitjacket from hospital storage

made of old canvas and leather

uses oversized belted sleeves to restrain arms

uses belts and buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

can't fit anything thicker than a tank top underneath

Elesa's Modified Straitvest:

bespoke articles custom tailored to Emmet's measurements

made from stiff cotton and fabric staps

uses belted cuffs and hand covers to restrain arms

uses straps and locking slide buckles to restrain upper arms and tighten back

able to fit a collared shirt underneath

Elesa's outfit also has the added bonus of being more breathable, soft, and being able to function as regular clothes.

Anyways bonus sketch comic:

Dignity restored.

#tw straitjacket #straitjacket #submas #submas au #au #ingo #subway master ingo #ingo pokemon #nobori #emmet #subway master emmet #emmet pokemon #kudari #When they brought the finished pieces in for Emmet to try on he nearly broke down #like yes it was more comfortable‚ but the sentiment and effort put into it didn't even make it feel like it was constricting him #no matter how tight the straps are pulled‚ the knowledge that it was made out of concern for him‚ for his comfort‚ for his humanity‚#it was just like any other piece of clothing #I really wanted to draw what his first day being “free” in his new uniform was like #if only to show his relief after so long being bound like a rabid animal #unfortunately I don't have enough motivation or writing ability to pull that comic off convincingly so we just have these #I hope you guys will enjoy them though! I had fun drawing them so I want them to entertain you guys too #you guys let me know if you have questions/want to see stuff about Battle Addict‚ It's fun getting to share AUs like this #see ya later

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thelaurenshippen · 1 year

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HI HELLO DO YOU LIKE AUDIO DRAMAS, WOULD YOU LIKE TO MAKE YOUR OWN AUDIO DRAMA well do I have news for you

for quite some time, I have been working on putting every bit of practical information I have about making a podcast into some kind of readable resource and I'm very happy to say that, by george, I think I've done it.

that link will take you to our resource page which has links to a 35-page handbook that takes you through every step of podcast production (on our merch page, but you can download for zero dollars! do it!) and a direct download of a 15-page pdf about how I take an idea from development through scripting.

this is by no means the be-all-end-all definitive correct guide on how to make an audio drama. as I emphasize many times throughout, this is just how I do things, but it's a pretty thorough rundown of how I do things. if you've been too overwhelmed to start your own show, I sincerely hope this helps you!

#audio drama #podcasting #indie podcasts #lauren shippen #atypical artists #free resources #writing #I'm gonna be honest you guys #I'm...pretty fucking proud of this thing #it's 50 pages of - what I think is - pretty practical advice and genuinely helpful tips #I really believe in keeping AD a place where indie shows can thrive and anyone can try their hand at production #which is why I've spent so much of my own money through the years making other ppl's indie shows #and I can't really do that anymore financially #but I still believe in the spirit of that #and I think this is a nice way to keep that alive #anyway! I hope you like it and find is useful!#and obviously if you are so inclined #you can also pay any amount of money to download the pdf #it was a BONKERS amount of work #so that's always appreciated!

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thesunisatangerine · 6 months

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against all odds (to wait for you is all i can do) – part seven

alexia putellas x photojournalist!reader

warnings: mentions of death/dying

(a/n in the tags) [parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve]

word count: 5k

A dull, stabbing pain throbbed in your right rib and you put a hand over it–you hoped to ease it somehow but it remained–as you replied, “I… I don’t know, Derek. I’m not sure if I’m ready for that.”

The movement didn’t go unnoticed from Derek’s watchful gaze, especially when he was sitting right there beside you on the couch, and his blue eyes shone with the familiar question, ‘Are you okay?’ You answered him silently with a reassuring raise of your brows and a wave of your hand. Seemingly placated for the time being, he put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed gently.

“There’s no pressure. I just thought I’d let you know before I pass it on over to Jersey and before I inform the client she’ll go in place of you. But if you’re interested in just going to watch, we can arrange that, too.” Derek paused, opened his mouth then closed it, and he looked a bit unsure about the words he wanted to say.

Then he continued, “I… I think it will be good for you.”

The thought of returning back to the field, albeit for sporting coverage, still instilled anxiety in your stomach. Sure you had made enough progress in therapy to pick up a camera again without having a breakdown–you remembered crying out in relief when you did it for the first time after your last photojournalistic coverage–but covering the Olympics with tens of thousands of people present, one of them being Alexia?

It was painfully obvious that that was something truly out of your depth. You just weren’t ready.

But the thing was, would Alexia even care if she saw you there? You hadn’t spoken to or seen her in person in, what, fourteen months? What would she even say? What would you say? Considering that you were just a fling, you doubted that Alexia would even recognise you, much less care. The last time you were tempted to search up her name, you burnt yourself when you saw a candid photo of her and another woman. And the fact still stood that–and she said so herself, didn’t she?–you meant nothing to her.

Another firm refusal was poised on the tip of your tongue when a round of giggles that erupted from the backyard, carefree and full of glee, captured your attention. Through the open sliding door of the living room you found your daughter with her Uncle Robert, head thrown back in a heartfelt laugh at whatever her uncle was telling her with his animated gestures.

You smiled at the sight, chest immediately feeling full and warm.

“For the both of you.” Derek added and when you looked back at him, you found his focus directed to where yours was only a moment ago. You regarded the scene again, fiddling with the string on your wrist as you mulled his words over.

More than a year ago, you couldn’t even fathom imagining that you’d be able to behold a scene such as this. More than a year ago, you almost died–no, you did die–and the months that followed were nothing short of arduous, the first few weeks after you woke up even more so. It was as if the time between then and now existed on its own plane; you remembered it so vividly that sometimes when you sink into the darkest recesses of your mind, it almost felt like you were still there, and this–the now–was an illusion your lamenting mind had conjured to mollify yourself.

This almost felt too good to be real–too tranquil.

And as if awoken by the mere whisper of it, the memories pulled you away from reality and made a spectator out of you as you sank back into the most difficult time in your life.

From nothingness came the noises, followed by sensations, gentle in their intrusion at first before they made their presence more pronounced, rousing you finally.

There was a steady beeping and a gentle, mechanical hum coming from somewhere beside you and as the scope of your hearing widened, muffled footsteps and chattering registered not a moment later. Your mouth was parched but when you tried to swallow, a tightness in your throat prevented you from doing so and you groaned. Then you felt a dull ache along your right side, from the top of your shoulder, to your ribcage, and down to just by the side of your abdomen.

It took considerable effort to lift your eyelids but you managed. You found a grey ceiling to begin with but as your eyes fleeted through the room you were apparently in, you eventually found your mom asleep just beside your bed. She was curled in on herself, bent and tense, knees tucked close to her chin while her arm supported her head as a makeshift pillow against the chair’s arm. Even in her slumber, she didn’t look at peace: her brows were furrowed, the corners of her mouth tilted low, her lower eyelids looked red and raw, cheeks void of their usual carmine tint. From where you were, you could see the lines that had etched themselves on her face as if years had passed since you had last seen her.

She flinched as if a rough hand had jolted her awake, her eyes weary as she opened them at first. The moment she caught your eye she froze–she didn’t even breathe–before her eyes lit up with tears. Then she was beside you, enveloping your head in her gentle cradle as her tears fell on you, searing against your cold cheeks.

In that moment, you didn’t realise how cold you were until you felt your mom’s tender warmth and the comfort it brought. Emotion bubbled in your throat and you sobbed around the apparatus in your mouth for your mom’s presence. So enraptured were you by her grace that you didn’t even realise that the both of you weren’t alone anymore until a nurse urged your mom to step aside so the doctor could check on you.

You’d been slipping in and out of consciousness for the past twelve hours after waking up from an eleven-day coma, the doctor told you in a gentle manner as she assessed you. Satisfied with what she saw, she turned to your mom and gave her a reassuring smile. She said that your state looked promising, that the likelihood of you slipping back into a coma was slim, but you should expect to sleep more deeply–for more than twelve hours a day–during the next week or so due to the damage in your right lung and your increased brain activity. True enough, just the brief interaction and exposure to the stimulants had taken a decent chunk of your energy, and you were beginning to feel exhausted already.

The doctor and nurse left shortly after that and your mom stuck by your side. She clung to your hand, her fear that you would disappear if she even let go for a second as apparent as the tears in her eyes. Her grip was crushing you but even if you could tell her, you didn’t have the heart to do it because you saw how much she needed the closeness, the physical contact, how much it brought her relief so you let it be. And if you were being honest, the slight pain grounded you to her presence–to be present in that very moment.

The door of your ward opened again, the movement catching your attention, and in came your brother. His cheeks were red and he was heaving his breaths through his open mouth, blue eyes wide and shining with unshed tears. As his gaze found yours, his mouth closed in a tight line but not before a sob left his lips, chin shaking and brows furrowing which made the tears in his eyes to finally fall. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to your side, his arms immediately around your head as he sobbed out apology after apology against your temple.

Tears welled in your eyes and you longed to grab his face, to put your palms over his ears, and tell him that he had nothing to apologise for. Your heart broke and when you felt the warmth of your mom’s arms around the both of you and felt her own tears against your cheek again, a gravity pressed against your chest as the realisation of what nearly happened finally sank in.

You wept then as it hit you, sobbing into the arms of the people you cared most about in the world.

You cried in relief.

You cried in grief.

And you cried because you were alive to do it.

The next time you woke, a nurse stopped by to take out the ventilator tube from your airway and replaced it with a nasal cannula for your oxygen support. She said that depending on the rate at which your right lung would recuperate, you needed to be on oxygen support for six to eight more weeks.

Your throat felt raw from the extraction but the relief that came from it was very much welcome. You’d been itching to ask your family about what you missed and what exactly happened. There was an empty space in your memory where memories as to how you ended up in the hospital should be–at that point you couldn’t recall anything about the child, the gunfire that wounded you, the dreams; your mind was completely out of the loop.

And you did just that.

In response, your mom pursed her lips in a thin line, stern and stubborn as mothers often were when they got protective of their children, before she shook her head firmly.

“You heard the doctor, hon. You need to rest for now.”

You tried a couple more times that day, even with Derek, to gain some insight but your family remained resolute in preventing you from being stressed out. They reminded you that you had plenty of time to put the pieces together.

Then familiar faces jumped in your mind and the guilt blazed in you, unforgiving. How could you have forgotten about them?

“Derek. Where’s Jones and Gilda?” Tremors made the rawness of your voice all the more apparent, and you stared at you brother in apprehension. The monitor began to beep as it detected your accelerated heartbeat, and your mom was automatically beside you to hold your hand, brushing the hair on your crown to soothe you.

“They’re fine, sis. Breathe.” Derek replied quickly, patting your covered foot over the blanket. “Gilda fractured her wrist and Jones is actually on standby.”

You sighed, tension immediately leaving your body at the information. You nodded your thanks to your brother for at least putting your mind at ease by telling you that.

“That’s enough for today.” Your mom said sternly before she pointed at you. “You. Rest. Now. And you, zip it.”

Derek put his hands up, pulling his brows up and the corners of his mouth down in an exaggerated manner, and at that, you laughed.

Despite your growing impatience over the days that followed, bits and pieces of your memory finally returned to you but not without some help. On one occasion your mom, albeit with a tightness in her voice as if the mere act of speaking about it brought her terrible pain, finally told you what happened after you lost consciousness.

She recounted what she’d been told by the first doctor that took care of you: how a returning convoy with a paramedic onboard heard the gunshots and managed to get to you on time. Any longer and they wouldn’t have been able to–she stopped to wipe her tears and tried to find her voice again–they wouldn’t have been able to resuscitate you when your heart stopped on the way back to camp. Your right lung had collapsed from the penetrating wound in your chest and, along with the ones in your right abdomen and shoulder, you’d lost a lot of blood already that by the time you were put under surgery, you slipped away again. This time, you very nearly succumbed to your wounds for good, and it was a miracle you came back–that the surgeon said you were lucky to have lived.

Derek put a comforting arm around your mom as she put her face in her hands, breaking down again. You ached to do the same but weakness still occupied all parts of your body so the only thing you could do was offer your words.

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She straightened her back and wiped her tears away, seeming to have calmed down now but Derek continued to rub her back with a soothing hand and continued where she left off.

They found your press ID badge and contacted the photojournalism firm you were under. After receiving the news, Derek told your mom who–even though Derek told her to wait so he could go with her–flew herself out on the first plane there. He flew himself the next day after he sorted things out around the firm.

“If you’re here, who did you leave in charge?”

“Robert. Don’t worry, he’s fine. I may or may not have told him I’d break up with him if he messed up.”

Your mom gasped at that, scandalised, smacking Derek’s shoulder. “Derek!”

“What? I’m just joking!” Derek asked looking very much like a reprimanded child with his eyes wide in disbelief at being told off. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head at your brother’s antics but you knew that your future brother-in-law was very much capable of keeping the firm afloat.

“Poor Robert. You’re a menace, you know that right?”

“He knows it, sis, why do you think he’s with me?” He wagged his brows and you grimaced at the innuendo–the last thing you’d like to think about was your brother’s sex life. “Anyway, after I landed, Mom and I decided that we should move you to a different hospital. Farther away from the conflict zone. So we took your belongings there and now you’re here. Which reminds me, we have your rolls of film and camera at the hotel.”

At the mention of your camera, images flooded in: the explosions, the guns, the massacre, the blood… and the child. The child! Where was she now? Was she okay? What happened–

“What? What is it?” The sound of Derek’s voice, thick with apprehension, disrupted your thoughts.

“The little girl. I was with a little girl when I got shot. Derek, where is she?” The words gushed out of your mouth.

“I–I don’t know. They didn’t tell me anything about–”

“Derek, please. You have to find her. She’s probably still in the other hospital. I–Derek, I need to know if she’s alright. Please, Derek–” Tremors wracked through your body and your breathing deepened, quickened, every fiber of muscle rigid with tension as the gruesome scenes from that day played like a movie in your mind–the shadows and all the blood and… the beacon of hope–the future–that shone bright in those young eyes.

“Honey, listen to me. Breathe. Breathe.” You felt your mom’s warm hand brushing over your forehead before the sounds and the blurry figures in front of you registered in your mind. There was an incessant beeeping noise coming from the monitor and you didn’t realise a nurse had come in to help calm you down as Derek stood by the foot of the bed with his arms crossed, a hand over his mouth as he watched on with glassy eyes.

After the nurse had left and you’d finally calmed down, Derek sat by your side and took your hand in a gentle grip.

“Okay. I’ll do the best I can.”

You blinked slowly in gratitude and allowed yourself to drift off to another dreamless sleep.

“I think I found her.” Derek’s voice filtered through the room as he entered. You tensed and the instinct to sit up was only dampened by the weakness of your muscles, and the straps and tubes wrapped around you.

“Where? Where is she?”

“The paramedic who was there that day remembered you so he also recognised who I was looking for, thankfully. She’s still in the same hospital but she’s about to be discharged in a few days because they’re running out of space.” Derek began as he sat by the otherwise unoccupied chair beside you since your mom went back to the hotel to get some rest–you insisted for her to go. “Is this her?”

He pulled out his phone, swiped and tapped for a moment, before he held it out so you could see the screen. There, you found a familiar face and it was like a weight had been lifted from your shoulders to know that the little girl was alive. She looked thinner than how you recalled but the light in those eyes remained.

“What’s her name, do you know? Has she found her family?”

“Her name is Elisa. And from what I’ve gathered so far, no.”

Your heart ached as another image came to you, this time it was of the unconscious woman next to Elisa when you found her. What was their relation to each other? Were they family? Her sister? Her mother?

You chewed on your lower lip. “Is… is it possible to transfer her to this hospital? Only if she feels comfortable, of course.”

“Already on it. And I’ve already started asking around for information about her family.”

“Thank you, Derek.”

“What?”

You stared, not believing the words that just left your brother’s mouth.

It was a few days after Elisa was moved to the hospital you were in that Derek brought you the news. He was hunched over himself in the chair beside you like a weight was pressed against his shoulders, head in his hands, shaking his head as if he, too, couldn’t believe the words he just told you.

“They’re dead. All of them.”

And the universe screamed in harmony with the dead’s unheard agony.

During the weeks that followed, your schedule was routine; prosaic.

You were bedridden and sleeping for the most part of your recovery, mainly due to the delicate nature of your injury. You were told it was normal to feel fatigued most of the time and to feel the occasional chest pains but those should go away after enough time had passed. The lightheadedness and breathlessness, though, were a different matter: the damage was irreversible, your breathing now impaired for life, and the risk of experiencing a spontaneous collapsed lung event would forever be with you.

Your schedule was routine and so with that much time in your hand, you began to write.

Elisa’s therapy was going well, you heard from one of the nurses–as well as it could get for someone who had suffered the loss she had at the tender age of eleven. Physically, she was doing so much better. She’d put on a little weight after being transferred and after a few weeks since her initial arrival, she started visiting you and began hanging out at your ward.

During this time, the Women’s World Cup just began and you noticed the way Elisa straightened as she sat cross-legged at the foot of your bed, eyes raptly glued on the mounted TV in your room, animated and dynamic in expressing what she felt as the match unfolded before her. That was the exact moment you knew that Elisa loved football with a passion.

And so a sort of ritual was established, changing your routine and, once again, brought Alexia back into your life as you kept up with Spain’s matches, Elisa’s favorite team. Despite that fact however, you were grateful that Elisa could find reprieve in watching football even for ninety minutes from the ongoing turmoil and her grief.

It was Spain against the Netherlands when you asked Elisa a question. She was curled up beside you, eyes peeking through the blanket she’d wrapped around herself while your mom dozed off in the chair, brows pulled tight in concentration as she scanned over the players on screen. Maybe it was one of the universe’s cruel tricks or maybe it was a sign, but her answer caught you off guard and you wondered how a single name could have this much effect on you; how a name could disarm you completely.

“Who’s your favorite player?”

Without any hesitation and without even taking her eyes off the screen, Elisa replied with enthusiasm, “Alexia Putellas.”

As you watched Spain’s match against Japan with only Derek for company–Elisa had pouted when she found out she couldn’t watch the match live as she needed to go to a therapy session during that time–your brother suddenly exclaimed and pointed at the TV. The noise and the movement startled you, the monitor beeped loudly in response to the spike in your heartbeat.

Derek looked at you abashed, scratching the back of his head as he apologised. “Sorry. But it’s her!”

You looked at the person who he was pointing to: Alexia. You schooled your features and tried to maintain an even tone when you replied. “What about her?”

“She contacted us multiple times asking about you and your work a few days after you left to be here.”

At his words, you heart quickened and the monitor responded to the rise in the rhythm of your heart accordingly. Derek’s eyes flicked from you, to the monitor, to the TV where Alexia was still being filmed, and then back to you.

You cleared your throat, cheeks warm which you hoped your brother wouldn’t take notice of. “And what did you say?”

“That you were unavailable, of course.”

A pause.

“Wait, did you two–”

“No.” The sharpness in your voice nearly made you flinch as your firm gaze bored directly into the blue ones of your brother’s, hoping that he would get the message to drop the subject. Derek opened his mouth but closed it almost immediately. Then he sighed, turning his attention back to the game.

It wasn’t until several minites later that Derek spoke again.

“I have a feeling she’s the reason why you left Barcelona early. But I’m not going to ask. I just want you to know that I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it, sis.”

That night, what Derek told you kept you awake. Did Alexia really asked for you–was she missing you? Ever since you left Barcelona, not once did you let yourself give into the temptation but this new knowledge cut the last thread of your will. So you searched up her name but what you saw made you wish you hadn’t.

A photo of Alexia with another woman: Alexia with her sunglasses on, a black leather jacket over her bralette, and high waisted pants; an arm around the other woman’s shoulder who had her lips on Alexia’s neck and had a possessive hand over Alexia’s jaw. It was recent, you noticed, the article the candid photo belonged to.

You dropped the phone as your hand shook, and you stared up the ceiling. The lights from the passing cars and the nightlife outside created dancing shadows through the gap in the curtain. Closing you eyes, you felt a tear fall dawn and you stuttered out a breath as you reminded yourself.

She wasn’t yours.

She never was.

Yet still… you ached.

It wasn’t until the next morning did the dreams–the ones of your family, of your deceased parents, of Alexia–finally returned to you in vivid clarity. And the pain from the night before returned to you twofold.

Before you knew it, the Women’s World Cup ended with Spain emerging triumphant in the end as they blazed their way through the tournament. In spite of yourself, pride bloomed in your chest at the result knowing how hard these women fought–endured and resisted–in this competition and the fact that they did so while resisting their federation made their accomplishment all the more admirable.

An image of Alexia, weary and exhausted, materialised in your mind.

You remembered the way she dragged her feet as she entered the door, eyes downcast and hair ruffled, shoulders hunched forward. When she found you standing in the archway, she clung to you without a word and you felt the gravity on her shoulders, the pressure of being who she was–of being La Reina–settled against your bones. That night, the both of you ended up sleeping on the couch, Alexia’s head against your chest, your fingers threading through her hair to soothe her even just for a moment.

“You’re so strong, Alexia,” you’d whispered, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve carried so much for so long that sometimes it’s easy to forget that you have people on your side in this fight. You’re never alone, Alexia. Please don’t ever forget that.”

And as you watched her with her people on that stage lifting the trophy, the urge to whisper the same words returned to you. Even though you couldn’t, in your mind you did.

In your mind, the words echoed: I’m so proud of you.

Upon your insistence and with a lot of reassurance, Derek reluctantly agreed to leave you to return back to the firm. You promised you would video call with him every night to appease him so now, you were left with your mom and Elisa’s company to keep. But after being bedridden for nearing two and a half months, finally, you were excited to be moving around even if you were aided with a wheelchair.

When you began your physiotherapy, you couldn’t walk for no longer than fifteen minutes before you felt lightheaded. But as the weeks passed on and as you pushed yourself a bit more each day, little by little, you built up your tolerance. The next thing you knew, you didn’t have to be put in a wheelchair anymore, a small triumph but a triumph nonetheless.

The moment the doctor medically discharged you was one of the best moments of your life. But instead of going back home with your mom, you stayed behind as you needed to sort out one important thing.

Throughout your recovery, Elisa had been one of the constant in your life. The moment you knew she had no family left, your heart instantly knew what you had to do and the idea of adoption took root in your mind. You sorted out the paperworks, carefully explained to Elisa what you planned to do–that you wanted to be her legal guardian, sister, aunt, or mother; whatever Elisa wished for you to be–and gave her time to decide herself if she wanted to go through with it.

As you waited for the paperworks and for Elisa’s consent, you supported Elisa through her therapy sessions all the while you busied yourself with being immersed in as much of Elisa’s language and culture as you could out of respect for her family. Elisa was patient with you during the times you couldn’t quite accomodate the phonetics of her language, speaking slowly and enunciating the words multiple times until you got it.

A few months later, you walked through the airport with two passports, Elisa’s hand in yours, heading towards home. The road was not without difficulties, of course, and it took a long time but the fact that you were there was enough.

Even though the conflict abated just before your departure, the tension was very much alive and the cost forever unjustifiable; senseless, a transgression against those that paid for it: the dead and the ever-hungry living. For Elisa, months of therapy had helped–the first time you heard her laugh was truly one of the best moments of your life–but you knew that the wound would never truly heal, the cut too deep that even the sands of time would do little to fill it completely.

But as you looked into Elisa’s wide eyes, hope filled you as you saw it: that eternal flame that burnt in every person, passed to each other as one life touched another, a bright beacon in what seemed to be a never-ending night made from humanity’s long shadow.

A guiding light to a better future.

As the plane took to the early morning sky, as the sun peeked through the clouds to paint everything in its soft, golden glow, you made a promise. For as long as you live–for as long as Elisa would let you–you would do everything to preserve that light.

“And I don’t know exactly what happened between the two of you, but she still asks for you, you know? Sure, it’s through her agent or through her club’s PR department but it’s still her.”

Derek’s voice pulled you back from your memories.

Again, you fiddled with the string on your wrist. The more you thought about it, the more your reluctance grew. But when you looked at Elisa with her Barcelona kit, the number eleven and Alexia’s name bold and proud on her back, seamlessly stepping over the ball as her Uncle Robert tried to defend against her before she performed a rainbow flick that had the ball soaring past her defender, you knew then what your decision was going to be.

It would be good for her.

Your daughter’s love for football was there before you even met her, and it shook you to your core when you learnt that Alexia was her inspiration. She’d told you she loved football enough to pursue a career in it, a dream that was both hers and her parents–her remaining connection to them–a dream that you would do everything to preserve as long as your daughter wanted to chase it.

“Okay. I’ll do it.” You told Derek as you kept your attention glued to your daughter.

As if sensing your eye, your daughter looked over her shoulder to you, the light of the sinking sun made gold from her hair, and you watched her smile at you, dimples and all.

You smiled back.

Yes, that’s right.

After all, you did make a promise, didn’t you?

#ap11 #not proofread #mine #my writing #a/n: a 5k part for yall #also i wrote 7 revisions of this part cause i didnt know how to present it lol #also an extra round of apologies for any grammar/spelling mistakes for this one #hope you guys like this and would love to know what you think about the story so far #apologies for any grammar and spelling mistakes ill work on em later #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader

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adrinktostopyourthirst · 13 days

Text

Bucky Barnes | Series | Loose

Part two of the Rebellion Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: You and Bucky have no idea whether you can trust each other. There is an understanding, but you're not sure of what that understanding is and why it seems to run so deep.

Warning: Angst, violence and fluff (?)

Words: 4,1OO

It is hard enough already for Bucky to fall asleep at night. Yes, it has gotten better in recent years, but there will always be that part of him – awake and aware – that registers every sound and movement, even when he should be knocked out. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that part of him sat more alert ever since you had joined the building. Perhaps because Bucky still wasn’t so confident in your allegiance.

He can’t stop overthinking it. He has seen what you’re capable of. Would you be capable of even more if people cornered you? If you felt like you had no other choice but to manipulate and kill your way out? After all, wasn’t it possible that you felt like you had moved from one prison to the next?

You’d been a delight at dinner two nights ago, but Bucky can’t turn off his brain. This is the part that made you win people over. The way you’d gotten along with Natasha like a house on fire, the way you’d shared stories like you and his team had been friends all along… Yet you had no trouble letting a side of yours slip through the cracks that tantalised Bucky beyond belief. The way you had looked at him, teased him–

The faintest rustle has Bucky shooting back to his current place in time. Lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. He holds his breath in an effort to hear better.

Nothing.

However, something doesn’t sit right. Something is off. He’d learned that hypervigilance was a side effect of his trauma, but he had a hard time believing his intuition would betray him like that. Not when he had relied on it so successfully for years.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” he whispers to the dark ceiling.

“Yes, sergeant Barnes?”

“Is everyone in their respectable rooms?” he tries.

“I cannot divulge that information,” the voice sounds and Bucky sighs. He musters up some strength and swings off his duvet before climbing out of bed.

Yeah, he doesn’t trust you for a second.

…

Your heart is pounding in your throat. This isn’t part of your skillset – the escape and combat. Though perhaps if you do the former correctly, you won’t have to resort to the latter. Escaping the compound had been surprisingly easy, which strangely made your chest hurt. It was way too easy to escape. But it made sense. Steve had told you that you weren’t being held captive and you being here was all in good faith.

Faith you just broke by making your escape.

You probably should have been more patient. Winning their trust a bit more and then making an escape, make sure they really don’t see it coming. But the dinner had made you antsy and impatient. You had to get out.

If you’re entirely honest with yourself, you know that getting attached to a new group of people and deciding to escape then – or worse, leading them into their demise later – would be worse than getting away now that no one has attached themselves to you. Or you to them…

Breaching the edge of the surrounding forest, you finally let go of the breath you’ve been holding. You did it. Out of sight, out of mind. You’re free. No more captivity, no more expectations. All you need to do now is leave the country, change your name and possibly dye your hair. Sounds easy enough. A bit dramatic, but not impossible.

That is, until you get dragged backwards by a hand over your mouth and you lose your footing. The hard body behind you is the only thing keeping you from tumbling to the muddy forest grounds. Your breathing is ragged as your hands both fly to grab the forearm attached to the hand covering your yelp.

The metal forearm.

“Rule number one of making your escape: never assume you’re in the clear,” Bucky’s voice rumbles through the night air, his mouth so very close to your ear. “Shouldn’t have dropped your guard when you reached the edge of the forest.”

His gloved hand removes itself from your mouth, but you know better than to make a run for it, or to scream. He twists you by your shoulders and you muster some playful guilt to your face, masking your disappointment. Disappointment… but you feel strangely relieved. Maybe the largeness of finally being free felt somewhat overwhelming. Move to another country and change your name? It’s ridiculous. And that, when the people here have been so patient and kind to you…

You let out a soft laugh, “Worth a shot, no?”

Bucky studies you intently and something in your gut stirs at it. Not even Natasha seems to have as good of a read on you as Bucky does. It makes you feel naked. Makes you feel like all of your carefully crafted plans are flimsy and no good. Makes you feel like you have to stay far, far away from Bucky. Like you need to run. Now.

And how the hell did he manage to figure out you were making your escape?

You wait for him to tell you off, preach against your indolence and call in backup to shove you into something more similar to a prison cell. But Bucky sighs, disappointed and tired.

He seems so, so tired.

“Let’s go back inside,” he says and you furrow your brows at him.

His defeat has your chest clenching tightly. You want him to punish you, scold you. At least show that he cares. Why? You’re not sure. Maybe you need to know that the relief you felt from being caught is somewhat mutual in a sense. That the people here don’t just see you as a weapon, despite the burden, but that you’re someone worth saving. Worth keeping around.

Worth healing.

“That’s it?” you ask. “No scolding or punishment?”

Bucky scoffs humourlessly. “You get a kick out of punishment, darling?”

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.”

“I’m not your fucking baby sitter,” he mutters and starts walking back to the building, rightfully assuming you’ll follow. “If you want, I can ask Steve to tell you off in the morning. He’s better at that sort of thing anyway.”

Some pathetic part of you wants to sulk at his response like an ill-tempered child. “Then why come after me?”

It stays quiet for a second as you cross the field towards the compound. “I couldn’t let a poor escape plan be successful.”

You can’t help but snort at that answer and decide that fine, you’d play along for now. But you wonder if the curious Bucky you’d seen a few days ago had completely vanished since that dinner.

…

The next morning, Bucky gets cornered by you after breakfast. He looks down his nose at your defiant face.

“You didn’t tell anyone about last night?” you ask him and he raises his brows, unimpressed.

It had surprised you that no one at breakfast mentioned anything or gave you even so much as a dirty look. Clearly, none of them are aware that you tried to make your escape last night. And you cannot for the life of you figure out why Bucky is taking it easy on you. Is he smart enough to assume that your own guilt will do more damage than he ever could? Is this part of some bigger scheme of his? Perhaps he is actually as tired and unbothered as he looked when you saw him in those woods.

“What happened last night?” he asks with a telling smirk. The current look on your face is worth the lack of sleep he had tonight. It’s too easy to rattle you. You roll your eyes and Bucky smirks even wider at that. Is he… flirting?

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” you try again.

Bucky remains quiet and fights to keep a straight face. He did expect your question, but why didn’t he tell anyone? Because he thought you and him would get along after those tiny moments during that first dinner. Because the team would have let you walk away. Because Bucky doesn’t want you to go. Because he thinks he can help. Help the world. Help you. He thinks he can help you. And you can help him. And–

“Want me to tell them now?” he says instead.

He barely notices the flash of panic in your eyes before you cover it with an annoyed scoff and turn on your heel to walk away. He watches you. Every step until you are out of sight.

“You said she trusts you,” Steve’s voice sounds from behind him and Bucky schools his face back to bland interest before he turns to Steve. “That doesn’t look like she trusts you.”

“It’s a work in progress.”

Steve frowns pensively. “Well, speed up the process. We have an important mission and we need her for it.”

“What?” Bucky almost loses his restraint, his body flaring in alarm. “Steve, she hasn’t had any training. She was locked up for months. It’s too big of a risk–”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t desperate, Buck,” Steve tells him regretfully, but instantly notices that Bucky isn’t buying it. “This is the thing we needed her for.”

“She isn’t some kind of weapon!” Bucky exclaims and he notices Natasha turning away from her conversation in the nearest common room to see what the commotion is about. He gives her a warning look, then lowers his voice. “Steve. This could’ve been me,” Bucky breathes. And there it is. Recognition flickers in Steve’s eyes. “We can’t use her like this. She’s all alone.”

Steve looks past Bucky’s shoulder as if you’re still walking away from him. Angry frown, uptilted chin and swaying hips– Bucky almost looks. Then Steve sighs and looks back at his friend. “Take all the time you need. If she’s ready, I’ll explain the mission to her. I think she might want to help.”

…

Bucky reads over the file until his eyes turn bleary. Steve was right, you will want to help.

He thinks you can handle it, but… what if you encounter a trigger on the way? What if it all becomes too much? Bucky realises he isn’t nearly close enough to care this much, and he doesn’t, but who else but him is going to care whether you live or die? Sometimes Bucky wonders if even you care whether you live or die. What would have happened to Bucky if everyone had given up on him? He knows damn well that he’d be long dead if not so many people found him useful.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Bucky never had a choice. So he finds himself knocking at your door at 10pm with the file in hand.

After opening the door, you barely manage to get a word out before Bucky extends the folder towards you. “Steve needs your help on this. It should be fine, but the choice is up to you.”

Quick. Brief. He’s just the messenger and the decision is all yours. Bucky turns and makes to walk away – before you can spot all of the thoughts crossing his mind – but your voice stops him.

“Will you be there?”

The question takes him by surprise. Turning back towards you and slowly walking to the doorframe you’re standing under, he creases his brows together. “You need me to come along?”

You shrug abashedly. “Will you?”

Bucky studies your face intently. “Yes,” he lies. He’ll figure something out with Steve.

“What if I can’t do what you need me to do?” There it is again. He doesn’t get why this vulnerable side of you keeps surprising him so much.

“You’ll be useful,” are his terrible words of comfort. He wants to palm himself in the face.

The suppressed smile you give him heats his face and he’s sure you’ll call him out on his horrible people skills, but you stay quiet. The silence grows and grows and Bucky starts to shift nonchalantly, wondering if he should walk off and let you read the file in private.

“Okay,” you say softly.

“You’re coming?”

“Yes,” you affirm and look up at him, handing the file back. “Do you not want me to go?”

“It’s your choice,” he tells you and gently takes the folder.

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Some wall snaps up inside of him at that tone – at that hopeful look in your eyes. “You could use the mission to make your escape,” he says with a shrug and makes to turn away from you again. “I won’t stop you this time.”

He walks away, leaving you to gape at his retreating form.

…

The mission was simple enough.

Sam, Natasha, Bucky and you would be attending a gala. Supposedly, there is a certain divide between the guests in attendance. Your job is mainly to feel out just who will be willing to join your cause. What goes unsaid is that you’re also required to butter them up to spring into action when your team would deem it necessary.

The party is in full swing and everyone is finally losing their mask of formality and enjoying their evening. You just hit the sweet spot of their susceptibility and you sweep into casual conversation about politics. Seeing who keeps quiet, who isn’t scared to speak up, whose faces harden at the prospect of change, etcetera. All of your antennas are on and when you know people have stopped paying attention to you, that’s when you dare a glance across the room where you know Bucky is standing.

All dapper and handsome, wearing a very expensive suit.

All of you have taken thorough action to look exceptional and to blend in perfectly with the high class crowd. Being charming is easy enough, looking it was a necessity – yet, all of it does still feel very far removed from yourself. Like a betrayal to the woman who was locked up mere weeks ago. However, being a true professional, you don’t allow your thoughts to linger too much and channel back to the matter at hand.

Then you feel it.

The searing heat that starts at your legs and spreads all the way up to your chest and cheeks. Like a virus burning over your skin. And you know what it is – know who it is. So you look back in the direction of Bucky, if only to catch him in the act.

But he’s unbothered. Brooding and observing from the bar in the shadow of the room, somehow alone and undiscovered by most of the crowd (a skill you assume he has acquired over the years). And his eyes are still on you. They glide down and back up for even more emphasis and you swallow away the dryness in your throat.

Gliding a sensual hand over the arm of the man next to you, you excuse yourself with a warm smile and slowly stride over to the culprit. Bucky waits patiently, and you swear you see a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as you walk over. He hands you a spare glass of champagne and turns his back to the room when you’re close enough to hear him.

“It’s working,” he says and you swear he sounds slightly impressed.

“Did you assume I’d fuck up?” you taunt and lean over the bar, sipping at the glass flute between your fingers. Bucky turns to you and his eyes sweep over the curve of your partly exposed back, the hollow of your spine and the curve of your ass. Then he holds his breath for a moment.

“Wouldn’t be mad if you did,” he tells you and his tone sounds gentle. You know that’s why he’s here, even though neither of you said it out loud, you know he’s here to stick up for you if you can’t get it done yet. If you’re not ready to be that person again.

Just like he probably knows that you’re here because the guilt of trying to escape from your saviours was eating you alive. And you didn’t want to prove Bucky right by escaping. You had glanced at the exits a few times and debated it, yes, but then looked at your team and thought against it. Looked at Bucky and–

“We’ll leave in five minutes,” Bucky murmurs as he finishes his glass. “I noted down all the people you signed as potential allies and who definitely isn’t.”

“There’s a few we can convince to help,” you cut in.

“What? The woman who runs that capitalist shitshow?” Bucky frowns. “Nah, she’s only motivated by money.”

You smile at him knowingly. “Money is a great motivator and our movement could benefit her greatly, so you just have to nudge her in the right direction.”

Bucky studies your face then and you might have found it less penetrating when he looked at your body with that stare. That intrigue. “And you already have a plan to tip her over to our side,” he concludes.

“You chose me for this for a reason, did you not?” you ask.

His eyes drop to your mouth. “I like a woman who takes her job seriously.”

You have no idea where that came from, but decide to go along with it anyway. You smirk and empty your flute, gently setting it down on the bar after. “Here I was, thinking you didn’t like anyone,” you purr and saunter off to find your other teammates and round up today’s mission.

You turn around when you hear Bucky yelling out your name, but then the room spins and debris flies everywhere. You’d cry out if the wind didn’t whoosh from your body and your ears don’t hollow out. You want to voice your discovery, as futile as it is, but the scream dies in your throat.

Someone just blew up the building.

…

It feels like there’s ash in your mouth. And throat. Your body bleats in pain, but nothing too severely. Maybe you’re in shock. Maybe you can’t feel a limb that’s no longer there. Maybe–

The room is dark except for an orange hue that travels over the ceiling and walls every few seconds. You’re slumped in a velvet chair and your fingers pluck softly at the fabric. One by one, your senses weave together and you hear the soft sounds of someone working on something. Paper ruffling, some gentle work, someone who’s trying to be quiet. You rasp in a raw breath and see a shadow at the bottom of your vision. But your body is relaxed. Or… Well, as relaxed as it can be.

There was an explosion.

“Have some water,” Bucky offers from his kneeling position between your legs and nudges his chin to the glass at the small table next to your chair. His voice is soft, raw. And when you squint at him while you blindly reach for the glass, you see soot on his face, dust on his suit.

“Are you alright?” you ask and your voice reminds you to take the drink. The water feels like heaven in your throat and you nearly gulp down the whole glass.

Bucky pauses at your question and surely he didn’t expect that to be your first question. “I’m fine,” he grumbles and focuses on the task at hand. Which, you quickly realise, is cleaning up the wound on your thigh.

Next to him, there’s a small container with small shards of glass in there and a used pair of tweezers. You feel the prickle of the wound at your thigh and observe closely as he presses some gauze to the puncture wounds. His hands are firm and steady as he wraps a bandage around your thigh to secure the gauze. His calluses scrape against your soft skin and you almost swear he takes more time than he should securing the bandage.

You heave a deep sigh and straighten up in the chair. “Natasha and Sam?”

“Natasha was sent to hunt down the ones responsible and needed an aerial patrol, so she took Sam.” Bucky clenches his jaw and you have a feeling it took some convincing to get Bucky to not go after the bastards himself, to let Natasha handle it instead. “There were deaths, lots of wounded.”

You flinch at that.

Bucky notices it. The glaze over your eyes and the tightening of your fingers into the soft fabric of the chair. He barely allows himself to hesitate and he cover your left hand with his right one, taking your fingers and stroking his thumb over your knuckles. “We got out as many as we could, no one saw the explosion coming,” he explains and hopes the information brings you some peace. He’s desperate to take that haunted look off your face, but doesn’t know how.

He gives you time then. Allows you to sort through your memories and shush them. He strokes his thumb gently and squeezes your fingers every once in a while to anchor you to here, to being safe. Your breaths go from shallow to deep as they slow. He hears your heartbeat steady and watches clarity fill your eyes again.

Fuck him. Those eyes.

“Tomorrow, we go over your list and see what we can do. Let’s get some rest for now.” He pushes to a stand and moves to remove his hand from yours, but you hold onto him.

“I’m sorry for trying to escape,” you rasp and Bucky tenses at that. He did not expect that confession. Didn’t expect an apology either – he didn’t think one was warranted.

You slowly push to a stand and Bucky’s heartbeat spikes as you wobble on your legs before you steady yourself. His eyes search your face frantically and he tries not to linger at your lips for too long. You gently stroke a hand down his arm before brushing past him in thanks, and Bucky has to take a deep breath. A flash of you doing the same thing to one of tonight’s guests comes to him and jealousy hits him, a little too viciously. Just like it did when he saw it earlier tonight.

He turns around and watches as you walk up the small bag he packed for an instance like this. You pull out some clothes and Bucky shamelessly stares while you do it. He almost sighs as the sight of that orange hue travelling over your form, most of the sleek dress still intact and definitely still doing its job of making you look good enough to eat.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” he blurts. But he stands still as he watches you freeze. You slowly turn to him and tilt your head at him curiously.

Then, a slow smirk spreads over your face and your brows raise playfully. Bucky frowns as he tries to read the expression on your face, even if the lightness of it makes him want to drop to his knees in relief. This is much, much better than that haunted look that was there mere minutes ago.

Until one of your hands lifts from the bag, a small scrap of lace dangling from your fingers. “I am never letting you pack our getaway bag again.”

Bucky matches your smirk and strides over to you, close enough that you have to tip your chin up to remain eye contact. “You can choose not to wear it,” he shrugs and the nonchalant gesture makes your legs weak. Slowly, he starts unbuttoning his own pants and shirt, stripping himself of his clothes and tempting you to break that eye contact. “But we’re sharing a bed, so you decide what is less tempting for me to look at.”

It takes everything inside of you not to balk at this… flirtation. But it’s nice – so fucking nice to deflate that balloon of tension after a mission like the one you had tonight. To have banter and humour and perhaps a little friendship.

“I better not catch you looking at all,” you snipe, but have a hard time keeping the smile off your face.

Bucky smiles too then and gives you a wink powerful enough to set your clothes aflame. “Too bad. You can’t ask that of me and look like that.”

That does render you a bit speechless and Bucky takes his win as he strips himself to his boxers. Climbing under the sheets, Bucky’s powerful body shifts and ripples with movement.

This is going to be a long night.

#ok this is NOT worth the wait #but its here which is a HUGE win for me #i hope you like it #not me being way too impatient to write a slow burn #the upcoming smut better be good too #pls tell me what u think i have obviouslty not forgotten about you guys #<3 #rebellion series #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #writing #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes oneshot #oneshot #series

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