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maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

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Day 10: Dukexiety

@tsshipmonth2020

Day 10: You are born with a birthmark, similar to a tattoo, that is shared by your soulmate.

Content warnings: allusions to past suicidal thoughts, just bad mental health past in general, vague bullying, swimming pools, past isolation, minor injury (broken ribs), general anxiety and self deprecation.

Word count: 3.9k

I was very low on time, and very exhausted from work, so I tried something new! I first discovered the concept of ‘bullet fics’ from @illogicallyinclined ‘s hockey au, GO CHECK IT OUT!!! (It’s living in my head rent free for a couple months now)

Virgil, Patton, Logan, and Roman have been friends for as long as they can remember. The first three met at a neighborhood barbecue when they were just a couple years old, and since they all live on the same block, became each other’s go to play buddies. They all stuck together in their first years of school together, the unbreakable trio, and then they met Roman. Or, Roman was pulled into their clutches and was therefore part of the group now. Patton saw him getting bullied across the playground and ran in to help, and now Roman is ‘eternally in their debt’. But they like him, so his extravagance is okay.

They hung out constantly, all throughout middle and highschool, and they graduated together. It was a big moment for all of them; Patton, who almost got left a grade behind several times (his dyslexia went undiagnosed for several years and he was simply categorized as ‘dumb’), Virgil, who almost didn’t make it due to a mental health crisis, Logan, who was pressured heavily by his parents to move up a grade and had to fight tooth and nail to stay with his friends, and Roman, who’s bullying problems didn’t exactly lessen through the years, and was more than relieved to be leaving that behind.

That summer, they pledge (mostly by Roman’s pleading) to try and do something fun every day. While Logan says this is improbable and Virgil groans at the thought of spending every day socializing, Patton is excited for the idea and “it’s two against two so you have to at least try!”

“That logic doesn’t make sense-” “Shut it, teach, just let us have this.”

So far, they’ve gone to the amusement park just out of town, gone to the park too many times to count, visited their local arcade that they hadn’t even stepped foot into since middle school, and tie-dyed a variety of clothing items in Patton’s backyard. Today, Patton is forcing them all to go to the pool, despite Logan claiming that they’re “feces infested, germ nesting grounds” and Virgil’s argument that “he burns like an unwatched pot of milk, how can you expect this from me”, Patton’s little puppy eyes do them all in.

Unfortunately, just as they’re leaving for the pool, Roman gets a call. At first it’s civil, and then his voice raises, and then he’s hanging up and throwing his phone onto his seat from where he’s standing next to the open car door. Angrily, he tells his friends that his mom got called into work and his dad’s on a business trip, so they need to take his brother with them.

At first, this raises some confusion.

“I was not under the impression that you had a little brother.”

“How old is he? Either way, I say, the more the merrier!”

Virgil is not thrilled at the idea of babysitting, since kids generally don’t like him, but he doesn’t voice his displeasure.

Roman has to admit, with much embarrassment, that it’s actually his twin, who is just so chaotically irresponsible that he has lost Home Alone Privileges. He’s broken the TV, accidentally started fires, and lost their dog one too many times and his parents said no more.

So he drives all the way back to his house, the three friends crammed into the back seat of his two door sedan (because the seats are A Pain to raise and lower and it makes more sense to give said brother the front seat instead of rearranging when they get him), grumbling under his breath about his stupid brother, stupid work, stupid stupid stupid-

Virgil is apt to agree with him, because if being around his three closest friends is enough interaction to mentally exhaust him, adding a new person to the mess is so much worse. He’s generally unexcited to meet this new person… until they pull up to the driveway.

And holy heck.

This man is GORGEOUS.

It takes a second for him to realize it’s Roman’s brother, because despite his first assumption, the two are not identical. They’re very similar, obviously related, for sure, but they are surprisingly easy to tell apart, and it’s not just because of the silver streak in the brother’s hair.

Which he should not find as hot as he does.

After Roman insists said brother does need to go get a bathing suit and no you can not go swimming in your jeans, he jumps into the passenger seat and, with as much energy as Roman has at Full Potential, introduces himself as Remus to the backseat audience.

Patton and Logan both say small hello’s, but Virgil is just stuck.

Dear lord. Princey, why have you been hiding him from me?

When they get to the pool, Virgil makes a complete fool of himself getting out of the car. He trips on his seatbelt, landing directly in Remus’ arms, and looks up to see this devil man grinning at him with all the hubris of a greek god. Before he can say anything, Virgil pushes himself up and rolls his eyes (all while internally screaming) and walks away, joining Patton and Logan where they are just entering the main gate.

He can’t help it; when in proximity of cuteness, his emergency mode is “be a dick”.

But it only gets worse from there.

When Virgil has an umbrella properly set up above a chair so he can save his skin from the sun (“I burn like unwatched milk on a stove. I’m not going in.”) and is comfortably situated with his phone and iced coffee, Remus steps in front of him to take his shirt off.

He’s pretty sure Remus didn’t even mean to. It just… happened to be directly in his line of sight.

As soon as the shirt is above his head, Virgil chokes on his drink, squirting iced coffee out of his nose and going into a coughing fit. Patton rubs his back while Roman tries not to laugh (and fails miserably), all while Remus is just watching him. Confused. (Logan is in the change rooms, because he insists on not wearing his bathing suit unless he is actively about to swim)

There’s more than just the sun issue that prevents Virgil from swimming. While his friend’s soulmarks are relatively small (Roman has a little one on his neck, Logan and Patton have a shared one just above their ankles), Virgil’s is a huge splotch that covers his entire side, reaching from just above his top rib to where his waistband usually lies. It’s all squiggles and lumps; Virgil once compared it to a storm cloud, but the lightning streaks were tentacles. It’s all in all, just… A Mess. And he doesn’t really like it. No one he’s ever met has had a soulmark like that, and he hates standing out.

When Remus takes off his shirt, in all his muscled glory, Virgil can’t miss the matching soulmark that trails down Remus’ side. It’s his, no doubt about it, but… that can’t be right, can it? Remus is so… full of life, dangerous, the epitome of chaotic; he’s everything Virgil is not. More so, he’s terrified of what Remus must think of him. He’s nothing special, he’s just an anxious ball of angst. What if he’s disappointed in who the universe decided to stick him with?

After he’s done choking on iced coffee, and Logan is back from the change room, he realizes Remus is long gone, in the deep end of the pool trying to gather as many foam noodles as he can. They check that Virgil is alright, and when he merely gives them a shaky thumbs up, they take it at face value and dive in. Except Logan, who uses the steps like a mature adult, you children.

He lets the rest of his coffee sit in the sun, until the sun melts all the ice cubes and it’s lukewarm to touch and overall, just gross, because suddenly he has no appetite. Yeah, this guy is gorgeous and he’s hopelessly gay for him, but... soulmate? That’s a lot for anyone to take in, much less someone with forty seven different kinds of anxiety. /j

If Virgil was uneasy taking his shirt off before, he sure as hell isn’t doing it now. No matter how much Patton and Roman plead with him, he stays glued to his chair, eyes flickering from his friends playing Marco Polo to watching his soulmate Remus. He’s turned the pool noodles into a giant raft and is trying to balance on it, like an absolute idiot.

An extremely good looking idiot.

Virgil can’t help but notice that… he’s all alone. Roman, Patton, and Logan barely even throw him the occasional glance, much less invite him to hang out with them in the water. Worse than that, he seems relatively fine with it. It could just be that he doesn’t want to intrude on his brother’s friend group, but Remus doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to have those boundaries. Which kind of insinuates that he’s used to being alone, and Virgil can’t help but empathize.

He notices it a lot, actually. The group meeting Remus also coincides with Roman and Virgil becoming more close; less of a frenemy relationship, and more of an actual friendship. Patton is delighted, because this means the three of them get to hang out at Roman’s huge place more often without their constant bickering (because when it got bad at one of their houses, Virgil’s was never more than a ten minute walk away when Roman finally pushed his last button. Here, they were all stuck.)

And every time they go over, he can’t help but notice the loud music coming from Remus’ room, or the man just sitting on the couch watching TV (which he tends to do shirtless, which does not help Virgil at all), or irritating Roman’s parrot. All in all, doing things alone. It strikes a chord in Virgil’s heart, which is something he’d never admit to another person.

Maybe that’s why, in the following week when Roman has the grand idea to go on a mountain hike, Virgil quietly asks if they could invite Remus. At first, Roman is adamant. “He’ll just ruin things, he doesn’t appreciate nature, he’s annoying!” But Patton claims “The more the merrier” and Logan doesn’t have any particular stance, so he begrudgingly invites Remus.

Who very excitedly accepts.

The trail Roman visited is quite a ways out of town, so they cram back into his tiny car and start the drive. Patton claimed shotgun, so him and Roman have derailed into an animated conversation about cartoons, while Logan just pops in his earbuds and leans his head against the window. For the longest time, Remus and Virgil sit in awkward silence, because neither of them could get a word in edgewise to the front seat conversation even if they tried, and they don’t… really… know what to say… to each other.

It’s Remus who finally breaks the silence (shocker).

“Roman tells more you’re the one who wanted to invite me.”

“Yeah, well, you seemed lonely. And… I mean, you’re Roman’s brother. Can you really be that bad?”

He means it as a joke, but he sees the light in Remus’ eyes die slightly. The tone of his voice doesn’t falter though, remaining as joyful and quirky as always.

“I’m a lot more fun than Roman. People just don’t like to see it that way.”

“Setting your kitchen curtains on fire is fun?”

“If you were there, you’d understand!”

And they keep talking, maybe trailing into borderline flirting, for the whole ride. Virgil is surprised at the lack of tenseness in his shoulders, because though Remus is loud and a little unsettling, he is incredibly patient when Virgil has trouble forming his sentences and doesn’t interrupt him when he’s talking; an incredible help to someone with crippling anxiety. Underneath his exterior, he’s actually… incredibly soft? What?

By the time they pull up to the trail, Remus is actually starting to grow on Virgil. Since Patton and Roman are still so into their debate, and Logan seems content listening to his music (or podcast, but who really knows), they continue talking as the hike starts. The shorter boy can’t help but glance at the other every few seconds, seeing their soulmark just peeking past the edge of his baggy tank top. If Remus notices, he says nothing.

And he learns Remus was bullied a lot through school, just like Roman was, but instead of finding a group that supported him, he broke off as a lone wolf. He came off scary or maybe just a little bit crazy to anyone he tried to befriend, since his social skills were pretty lacking due to disuse and his incredible lack of filter, so he learned early that staying alone hurt less. And in that time, he just became more and more… Like That… because he literally never had peers to mature with.

The hike is a long one. Remus is pretty eager to spill his guts, probably since he was never able to before, so Virgil feels obligated to do the same. He tells Remus about his anxiety, about his mental health issues during school, about his home life and his hobbies, and the fact that there are more people around just fades into the background. It could as well be just them, and Virgil starts to wish it was.

So of course, that’s when everything goes to shit.

A mountain biker comes ripping down the path, too quick to even process, and Virgil is caught off guard. Of course, he’s not walking near the edge of the path, because he has some shred of common sense, but the bike speeding by him causes him to flinch and stumble to the side; an instinctual reaction. Except his instincts decided to not remember until the last second that he’s at the edge of the trail.

It’s almost like happening in slow motion, his foot goes over the edge, and he doesn’t realize what’s about to happen until his other foot is already off the ground, ready to take that next step back, and he’s falling. Luckily (as lucky as one can be in this situation), it’s not a straight drop, just a decently long, steep slope that’s essentially just a bunch of rocks and weeds.

He hears his friends scream his name, sees a hand fly out to catch him, and it just snags the edge of his jacket before he’s freefalling for a split moment. One heart stopping, never ending, eternal and all too short moment of weightlessness where he twists his body, hoping to try and brace himself, and then he meets the slope.

Hard.

His breath leaves him in a wheeze and he distinctly hears a loud snap. Through his pain addled brain, he tries to stop his slide further down by grabbing anything; rocks, roots, dirt. It’s useless.

He stops naturally, on a small ledge several meters from the top before the slope continues. For a moment, he can only lay there, trying to breathe through the intense pain flaring through him pretty much everywhere, not to mention the sheer levels of pure panic numbing his thoughts. He stares at the clouds, watching them as they float by, each breath spreading fire through his torso but at the same time strangely numb.

And then, “VIRGIL!”

His eyes shoot open (wait, when did he close them?) to see Remus’ concerned face above his. If the messied state of his outfit is any indication, this man just slid down the slope to catch up to him. His hands are hovering above Virgil, scared to touch, but more scared that Virgil is going to keep falling.

“Fuck,” is Virgil’s eloquent response. He tries to take a deep breath, tries to do his breathing pattern to calm his nerves, but NOPE. Wrong move.

He immediately gasps and his hands fly to his ribs, another flair of pain shooting up them. Remus’ hands grab his, pulling them away from his torso, holding them securely. “I think you have some broken ribs. That was… one hell of a fall. We need to get you back up to the trail though, okay?”

Virgil can only nod his head, allowing Remus to help him stand, biting his lip so hard to keep from crying out that his lip splits. It hurts.

Trust Logan to come up with ideas on the fly. The biker must have stopped when he realized Virgil had fallen (at least he didn’t just keep driving), because when Virgil opened his tear filled eyes, there was a bike tire just a few feet from his face. He followed the frame of the bike, up to where Roman was holding the other wheel and standing precariously on the slope. Logan is clinging onto his hand, one foot on the slope and one on the actual trail, and if Virgil has to guess, the biker and Patton are just out of sight, keeping Logan steady.

Virgil knows it’s going to hurt before Remus even warns him that it will, watching the taller man get a good grip on the bike wheel, before holding Virgil’s wrist with as much force that can muster without actively cutting off circulation. Virgil holds onto his wrist in return, Remus gives a shout to go ahead, and the human/bike chain they’ve created begins to pull them up.

And oh lord, if Virgil thought just laying down was painful, tripping and stumbling up a steep incline is another world altogether. This time, biting his lip doesn’t work and he lets out a few muffled cries as the team works together, Remus squeezing his wrist every time a choked sound escapes his lips, mind too full of pure agony to even curse.

When they finally step foot onto the trail again, Virgil is in tears, and he is too far gone to even care. The biker is incredibly apologetic, offering his contact information and bidding them adieu when they insist that they’re okay now, and takes off, at an admittedly much slower pace than he was at before.

Logan, the only one of them with proper (and extensive) first aid training, forces Virgil to sit, giving him time to find a position that puts as little pressure on his ribs as possible, before crouching in front of him.

“Let me check if they’re broken.”

His hand reaches out towards Virgil’s shirt and all the alarm bells start BLARING. No. No, no, no, no, no. Before he can restrain himself, he reaches out and slaps Logan’s hand away, sending another wave of pain through him. The pain doesn’t matter though, not in comparison to Logan possibly revealing his soulmark.

Logan doesn’t understand this reaction properly (when does he ever), so he tries again.

“Virgil, I need to check the extent of the damage. A cracked rib means you can still make it back to the car. A broken rib would require emergency services and probable air lifting to prevent further damage, like a punctured lung.”

“Fine,” Virgil hisses through clenched teeth, bitterly understanding his logic, “Just… don’t take the shirt off.”

He tries to say it to only Logan, but it’s clear the other’s heard it by the way they exchange confused glances. Yes, they’ve never seen Virgil without a shirt, except they’d always pegged that up to insecurities. Wouldn’t those take a back seat in a possible medical emergency?

Logan complies, however, and slides his hand under the hem of his shirt without moving the fabric. He runs his hands slowly up each rib, concentrating heavily, until he reaches one midway up and Virgil yelps, instinctively flinching backwards.

Startled by the reaction (it’s his first time actually administering first aid like this, give him a break), Logan jumps back, forgetting his hand is still under Virgil’s shirt.

His hand moves up.

Virgil moves back.

And the hem of his shirt rises up his chest for just a moment.

A moment’s all that’s needed, though. When you notice something that you’ve seen yourself a hundred times over, admiring this way and that in the mirror to commit it to memory, it only takes a glance to recognize it.

Remus only needed that split second of the shirt riding up to notice the lower half of the soulmark, and he definitely did notice it, if the way his jaw drops is anything to go off of. Virgil winces again, not from pain this time, and looks down at his shoes, abhorring the awkward silence that ensues.

The other three don’t understand, watching the two of them with varying levels of confusion, until Remus blurts:

“Are you my soulmate?”

And everything clicks into place. Virgil nods mutely, still not looking up, afraid of his reaction. Would he be upset Virgil kept it a secret? Would he be disappointed? Would he would he would he-

“Oh thank GOD!”

That’s… not the reaction he was expecting. He looks up to see Remus grinning like a child on their birthday, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“I mean, if I’d want anyone to be my soulmate, it would be you! You don’t hate me, which a lot of people do, and you actually listen to me, which is nice, and not to mention you’re super hot, like the whole emo thing is just-”

“Remus!” Roman screeches, cutting him off, “You’re embarrassing him, let him breathe!”

It’s the first time Roman has ever come to Virgil’s defense, and he’s only vaguely happy about that. Truth is, he’s so much more wrapped up in the fact that Remus is actually happy that he doesn’t even notice Logan’s back to touching his ribs until another sharp pain brings him back.

“They’re definitely not broken. Fractured, at worst. Either way, you’re going to the hospital. Only question is, can you get down to the car?”

Virgil wants to nod, wants to go along with no problem, but he can barely take a step before his knees almost give out. If he could double over without making everything worse, he would.

Remus doesn’t see this as a problem, though, eagerly offering Virgil to ride on his back until they get to the bottom. The shorter is, obviously, reluctant to this plan, seeing as how it’s a decently long trail and he isn’t that light, but damn, his soulmate insists, and next thing he knows, he’s gingerly holding onto Remus’ shoulders as he pushes back into a standing position.

(If he wasn’t already super hot, he’s strong, too? Virgil has struck the literal jackpot.)

He buries his face into the crook of Remus’ neck, trying not to wince at every jolt and bump as they maneuver their way down the hill, all conversation halted so they can focus on the two of them. Roman walks in front of them and Patton and Logan behind, ready to jump into action at any sign of stumbling.

But it’s okay, it actually is, Virgil realizes as they’re making their way down the hill. Sure, they only really bonded today, but they also bonded in a day, and if that’s not telling of the future they’ll have together, whether romantic or platonic (they still need to talk that out), it’s gonna be okay.

Anyone who’s willing to throw themselves into harm's way and carry you down a mountain has got to be a worthy soulmate.

#lywrites #tsshipmonth2020 #dukexiety #remus sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #ts soulmate au #sanders sides #sanderssides #sanders sides fanfiction

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winters-sugardaddy-zemo · 3 years

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Zemo's Weltenschmerz (Zemo's world pain)

( Weltenschmerz [ˈvɛltʃmɛɐ̯ts]. it denotes a deep sadness about the inadequacy or imperfection of the world.The translation can differ depending on context, in reference to the self it can mean "world weariness", in reference to the world it can mean "the pain of the world")

After Bucky saves Zemo from John, the new captain america, the baron hears the soldat scream at night and can't help himself but to find out why. It seems that he developed an unhealthy obsession about the man and can't explain himself why so he tries so suppress his emotions.

This is my first time ever writing in the Marvel fandom and I chose to write it in a diary style, which means I jump from scene to scene. Let me know if it is too unclear what is going on or if you want a part 2! xoxo🥰❤

part (1/?)

Word count: 4120

TW: Angst, Hurt, comfort, smut-ish?

"Are you here to watch and enjoy my suffering?"

"No-" Zemo did not hesitate to gently shake his head in denial but he felt caught. His eyes wandered through the room to stare at anything else than his soldat, too nervous to look him in the eyes. He wondered why his feet had led him to Bucky's room and why he did not simply ignore the screams he heard in the night. Zemo did not blame himself, he had a curious nature after all and the soldat was the biggest puzzle to solve for him. Bucky's eyes were still burning on him, even after a long pause of silence. He waited for the sokovian to explain himself, but somehow the other man's head was empty and he imagined the air was drained out of his lungs, that opening his mouth to say something would choke him to death.

"I just wanted to check on you and see if you are okay." Zemo whispered and looked at the man sitting on the ground, his chest soaked in his sweat. The sokovian did not just see the Soldat sweating, he could also smell him. And for a moment Zemo was not sure if he despised the smell, or were already addicted to it. Bucky really needed to take a shower and change his sheets. "Are you okay?"

"Do I look like it?" The soldat hissed angrily at Zemo, the sudden volume in his voice breaking the silence caused the sokovian to flinch a little. That was a dumb question, indeed, maybe nothing more than a reflex. A simple question to ask, in which the answer mostly resulted as a lie.

"Should I get Sam?" Zemo proposed and pointed with his thumb back into the hallway.

"NO!"

"Should I leave?" He then asked when Bucky was staring at him again, his eyes filled with unspoken words as if he would conduct this dialogue in his head. Bucky remained silent and after a while he shortly broke the gaze.

"What do you really want here?" Bucky asked with quite a concern in his voice, his beautiful blue eyes now piercing the man in front of him again. "Why did you come here?"

For the first time since Zemo had joined Sam and Bucky, he had nothing to say. He tried to grab a thought, to give the other man a quick and easy answer, the best lie possible, but the harder he tried, the less he could focus and started to stutter.

"Well, I-I… apparently-"

"Apparently you don't know how to fucking mind your own business!" The Soldat was yelling now and jumped to his feet to build himself up in front of the sokovian. Zemo almost imagined hearing him growl. As Bucky closed the distance between them two, the baron could feel his heart kicking at his ripcake like a drunken assaulting the bars of his holding cell. That he felt nervous now was no understatement, but why he felt nervous was another mystery to himself. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again when the vibranium fingers of the soldat touched his breast. Gently at first, then it got rough quickly: Bucky pushed his flat hand against Zemo and pushed him out of his room, almost causing the baron to fall backwards, right before the door was harshly thrown shut in front of him.

"Unhöflich." Zemo mumbled, still utterly perplexed about his own actions and choice of words.

The next night Zemo could not sleep. He was restless and could not stop thinking about sneaking past Sam's room to visit Bucky again, but he deeply doubted the man had left his door open after the last night. The sokovian felt strong, ashamed of himself, proud, feverish and a little plem-plem. There was no reason for wanting to see the broken man again- and to be hurtful truthfully, it was no lie to state the obvious about him.

When Zemo closed his eyes again, to push every thought of Bucky aside, the suffering growls of the man in the distance made him shiver from head to toes. He yanked the blanket aside, his body shot up and he found himself sitting bolt upright in bed. The solovian's eyes wandered down to his hands and saw that they were shaking.

"Stop this madness." He whined and grabbed with one hand his other wrist in an weak attempt to stop himself from shivering.

"I absolutely don't care." Zemo told himself and after a moment, when he was not sure about his own words he added,"Or at least I shouldn't care."

His body moved on it's own when his bare feet touched the ground. The wooden floor was colder than he expected, but nothing to bother about. What really bothered him was the cold air that snuck in from the open window Zemo forgot to close before he went for his short sleep. As he closed the window, Zemo watched his empty reflection in the glass. He was no less broken than Bucky...

The baron has sworn himself to revenge his family at all cost, to stop Supe's, that they could not abuse their power for their self-righteous beliefs. Sam's question about Zemo's thoughts on Bucky had caught him off guard and the sokovian still did not know how to answer that. Not to Sam and not to himself. Since the soldat had saved Zemo's life and showed his sparing gesture afterwards, by dropping all the bullets in his gun in front of the sokovian, things had changed. Zemo could feel it deep inside his guts, that there was something wrong with him.

At first, Zemo shook the feeling off and assumed that everything he felt was guilt for being saved by Bucky. When Zemo had destroyed the small blue bottles, John freaked out. The new captain america almost killed Zemo in his outrage before he could save the last bottle of super soldier serum. After hitting him with Cap's shield, the man was far away with being finished with the baron.

"You really think you are a smart one." John grabbed Zemo threatening by the collar of his jacket. The baron's view was speckled with black dots that seemed to get bigger, but he was still conscious enough to realise that the new Captain pulled the corner of his lips up into a mischievous smile before he got stabbed. John's eyes moved aside to something blue that was barely in view.

"Not that smart at all."

Zemo closed his eyes for just a second and took a sharp breath. He wondered how he could still stand, yet the baron did not fall backwards from the pain. John was long gone, but Zemo was unable to even realise that. He did not even realise how Bucky stormed into the room next. The soldat moved his eyes from the broken serum bottles to Zemo's gun on the ground and at last to the baron, standing like frozen next to it.

"What the hell happened here?" Bucky asked and when the sokovian did not answer he touched his waist,"What happened to you?"

When he pulled his hand away bloody, Bucky widened his eyes and gave Zemo an unbelieving look.

"What happened?" He repeated his question in a hoarse tone.

"I am-" the sokovian could feel how the ground swayed away underneath his feet and he might have blacked out for just a second, because when he looked around with his eyes, Bucky was holding him in his arms. "-fine." .

"You're clearly not fine!" Bucky yelled and shook him a little, in fear, that if the baron closed his eyes, they would never open again. He was too important for this mission.

Zemo felt like he was fainting as his sight got darker and his body heavier, but the mercy of passing out was not granted to him. Bucky started to peel off the baron's coat and when he saw the bloody mess underneath he gasped.

Zemo felt so embarrassed to remember how Bucky had picked him up into his arms and carried him out to get medical treatment as fast as possible. If anyone would ever find out about this unexpected situation between him and the soldat, it was over with his reputation in the underground scene. Then he was not baron Zemo the mastermind anymore, rather the man who cuddled with his slave soldier. But in the end Bucky did save his life, nothing the sokovian would have ever expected after everything he had made the soldat do in his name. He hated himself so much for being in his debt, even though Zemo started to like the thought of being close to the other man.

The baron realised he could not sleep until he spoke to Bucky and thanked him for what he did for him- a weak excuse, that the baron was aware of. He got dressed quickly and rushed to his door, just to hesitate to even touch the door handle. He gulped. What am I doing? Zemo took a deep breath, then wrapped his fingers around the door handle as suddenly someone knocked on his door. He stopped and held on. His eyes widened and his heart beat paced up.

"Zemo?" It was Bucky.

"Zemo, are you awake?" there was a bitter note of discontentment in his voice. Zemo could not answer. How could he? The baron's cheeks heated up and he bit his lip to prevent himself from making any sound. Why was it so hard to talk to Bucky all of the sudden? He waited another moment and when Bucky finally left, Zemo let out a relieved sight, even though he still felt a little stabbed. Turning around, he leaned against the wooden door and stared over to the window. Still a broken man in a broken world. Zemo sank down until he sat on the cold ground. So cold.

It took him courage to rise to his feet again and move himself through the hallway towards Bucky's room. To his surprise the door was open and Zemo wondered if it were on purpose or just accidentally.

"What did you want?" Zemo caught the soldats attention after he stopped in the doorway and started to speak. The sight of him made Zemo nervous. Bucky was shirtless and probably went to sleep, or was already sleeping. Anyway he flinched a little by the creeping man and sat up onto his bed. Bucky tilted his head and looked over to Zemo.

"I wanted to know why you came to me in the night." Bucky explained. "I want the truth."

"I was worried." No lie. "When you scream at night, I know it is because of the Winter Soldier."

"You mean me?" Bucky asked with a sudden anger. "I am the Winter Soldier!"

A justified anger, but Zemo never abstracted the Winter Soldier from Bucky.

"I mean it when I say I care about you." The sokovian tried to soothe the soldat. His downfall.

"Do you, Zemo?" Bucky spat his name out as if it were poison. "Sam told me about your God-talk and how Supe's can not be allowed to exist."

"I never answered him."

Bucky snorted and rolled with his eyes.

"You talk hateful about the people that feel the same pain as you." the corners of his mouth wandered up into a short, cheeky grin. He was so

reproachful. "You see me as the monster despite the fact that it was you who did this to me. It was you who used the Winter Soldier to take loved ones from other's. It has never really been me."

For the second time Zemo did not know how to answer, so he avoided the other man's gaze. His throat tightened as he tried to find some words. Bucky had a point.

"I can never imagine what pain I caused you with the Winter Soldier program." Zemo mumbled and he meant it. "I am truly sorry."

The sokovian did not even give Bucky the chance to say something as he swiftly disappeared out of the room through the hallway to his own.

Avoiding Bucky was barely possible since Zemo was a prisoner and under both men's watch, still the baron fought with the idea to get too close with them. There was no need for friends, there never was and there would never be. Zemo was bitter. He was a petty person and he could not stand to have Bucky's words being left in the moment. On the other hand, Zemo still had no other answer to him than an apology. The sokovian was not mad that the only response he could think of was an apology, but that he truly meant it.

In all this mess, Sam kept observing the sokovian all the time and when he simply could not answer to himself, why Zemo showed Bucky the cold shoulder after being saved by him, he got curious. It did not take him long to develop the behaviour of squinting his eyes whenever they followed the baron. It did not leave him unnoticed that Zemo kept a sudden distance to Bucky but still seemed to be obsessed with him with every second passing by. In the evening, when Bucky changed his clothes and grabbed his keys before leaving the house without a word, Sam saw Zemo starring again, until the soldat was gone. He was almost drooling.

"You act strange." Sam said and furrowed his brows. Then he added,"Stranger than Zemo-strange."

"What do you know?" Zemo rolled his eyes and attempted to walk around the falcon to quickly escape from this weird situation into his room, but got stopped by Sam, as he pressed his hands against the baron's chest. Somewhat they both, Sam and Bucky, had a big problem doing that. Both men exchanged a warning glare, threatening, waiting for the other one to break the gaze.

"Don't test me." the sokovian snarled and pushed Sam's hand away. He did not stop him when Zemo returned to his room and locked the door from the inside, but the baron knew this wasn't over, instead only woke more curiosity in the avenger. Too bad that Zemo did not intend to share his emotions like a little girl at a slumber party. He could not even stay honest to himself and drank instead of thinking about what could be wrong with him- because deep down he already knew.

Zemo knew what he felt when Bucky's picture popped up inside his head and all he wanted to do was jack himself off. The only solution to get these images out of his head was to keep drinking until his mind was fully blank or he started to like these thoughts. Eventually he got hungry, but was far too faded to dare go into the kitchen, or even greet a delivery service, so he searched his pockets for some candy- Turkish delight and a lolly. Zemo's throat tightened and he hesitated, but sooner or later he reached for the lolly, unwrapped the plastic foil and gave himself a moment to stare at the pink candyware before he stopped denying the urge of letting it slowly slide inside his mouth. With slow movements he twirled his tongue around the pink sugar ball, quickly realising it was not enough, that it was not the thing he wanted to feel in his mouth. After a while the sokovian's eyes widened when he realised what he was doing and pulled the lolly out of his mouth to give it a disgusted look, then turned around to throw it furiously away. When the hard candy crashed against the window, it broke the glass and when Zemo saw the split, he felt something break inside him too.

He could not do it any longer. No second passed in which Zemo kept acting as if he were despising Bucky. The truth was, that the sokovian desperately longed for the other man, craved his touch beyond anything sexual. He wanted to feel Bucky's warmth around him and to smell his scents. Zemo wanted to kiss those pink lips so desperately, that deep inside it was almost painful to watch himself squeal under his own tormentment. And for fuck's sake he wanted to call him Bucky.

B-U-C-K-Y.

The sexiest alphabet combination Zemo could think of now. There was no logic explanation for his behaviour, to keep those walls up, because at the end of the tunnel everything was dark and there was nothing else to grasp and hold onto. Could he have developed an unhealthy obsession? It didn't matter. Everything that mattered was that when the soldat was close, Zemo could feel his tummy turn inside out, spreading a ticklish feeling from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his fingers. There was an electrical feeling joining him, whenever Zemo got touched anything, everything seemed so surreal, and he feared that one of the men would see him trembling. Of course he would blame it on the cold, nevertheless Zemo doubted himself to be a good liar in that state.

This had to end. It had to end now. The sokovian needed to find the perfect moment to speak with Bucky again, but with Sam by his side it was almost impossible. Maybe Zemo was like a little girl at a slumber party when he could not even manage to talk to the soldat unless he was all alone with him. He tried his best not to stare at Bucky while he discussed with Sam how to find John and Cap's shield, especially after realising that he had to be careful of the falcon's eyes.

"What do you have to say, Zemo?" Sam suddenly asked, caughting the sokovian for not listening at all. Zemo cleared his face and raised his eyebrows, focusing the annoyed man who had formed his eyes into slits by now.

"Pardon me?"

"Seriously man, are you fucking alright?" Sam groaned and rolled his eyes. His hands flew into the air as he turned with a swift move to reach for his wallet. Zemo dared to take a glimpse at Bucky and felt his cheeks heat up when he realised the soldat was already staring at him with a deadpan face. The short frequency of a moment in which his eyes were locked with Bucky's felt like an eternity. He even let out a relieved gasp when the other man broke the gaze to pay attention to Sam who gave his arm a short clap before leaving.

"Where are you going man?"

And with that, Zemo was all forgotten, turned their back on and left alone in the hotel room as Bucky followed Sam outside. He felt a mix of relief along with a stabbing pain in his heart. He wanted to scream, hey look at me, I am here! Don't go and leave me all by myself. No, he did not want Bucky to go. Don't leave me all by myself again…

Bucky was gone, everything that left was the sokovian in an empty room, trying to handle the loud noises in his head during that unbearable silence. It took him a while to move from his frozen state, turning around to clarify if he was really alone now or if he just dozed off again into his daydreams and meanwhile the men have returned.

Before Zemo would lock himself up inside his room again, he decided to prepare himself something to eat. That Lolly-thing could not happen again and the touching-himself thing needed to stop too. But how could it stop when Zemo already felt aroused of going back to bed so he could peacefully dream of Bucky? concentrate on the potatoes, fry the chicken, maybe ask Bucky if he wants-

Nope. Not happening.

The baron was actually quite glad that none of them returned until Zemo was finished with cooking and returned to his room. He actually was not even sure if they even came back and during the moment of peace, he couldn't care less. He ate and drank and rested on his bed, enjoying that his mind was blank for a brief moment this day.

A knock on the door woke Zemo late in the evening. He opened his eyes and for a moment he believed he had gone blind, then realised that his short afternoon nap seemed to have been longer than he thought it would be. The sokovian's legs still hung over the edge of the bed and he was fully clothed, so there was no need for the other person to wait long for the baron. Just as Zemo opened the door, he saw Bucky already turning around and walking away.

"Just wanted to inform you that Sam is going back to his sister for a few days." Bucky mumbled barely loud enough for the baron to understand. Now he did not give the sokovian a moment to answer.

I know what you're playing, Zemo thought. But is this just a game for you then?

The morning dew glistened on the broken window and the light of the sun shone through the small crack, spreading itself like it was a prisma. Zemo touched himself again and promised, how it would be the last time thinking of Bucky doing this. Dreaming that he was touching the other man, made no difference. Zemo should probably stop doing it but simply could not. He loved it too much. On the other end he would rarely reach his climax- and if he would he did not feel pleased by it at all. He was a mess, the cum on his stomach, over his freshly healed wounds reminded him of not long ago, when Bucky saved him and he feeled deeply ashamed.

A knock followed by,"Zemo?" made the man flinch. His cheeks turned into a deep scarlet and he moved fast to get clean, then he swiftly pulled his hand out of his boxers and closed the bathrobe he was wearing. For a glimpse second the sokovian felt caught in the act, even though the door was closed. Maybe because he did not expect the soldat to come to him again.

"I am not dressed." The baron replied dully.

A small pause.

"You can't keep it all inside, you know?" Bucky's voice echoed from the other side of the door. "Bottling it up won't do you any good."

Zemo's eyes glistened in curiosity and he raised one eyebrow, then brought one hand to his lips and thought about the meaning of those words. It was obvious that Bucky did not talk about the masturbating behaviours Zemo had developed recently, otherwise it would mean the soldat could read his mind and this would also incline he ignored his suffering all the time. It would only make the baron angry.

"What do you mean?" Zemo decided to ask instead of overthinking about the countless possibilities of interpretations.

"Sorry doesn't fix everything. You have to show that you mean it."

S-showing how to mean it?

What could he do to make it up to Bucky? To show him that he was truly sorry and not just looked for a way timo manipulate him again? He would burn the world down for this man and this might be the reason why the soldat could never see Zemo in a good way- he was arrogant to think he could sacrifice everyone for one person he cared about. It made him realise that he was no better than someone with super powers, if his own thinking led him to the same selfish choices that he judged the avengers for.

"At least we go through this together." Zemo answered in poignancy. "It's almost like back then, when it was just us."

"There were no us, there never was." Bucky replied untroubled and this time Zemo wished he left him alone.

#daniel brühl #tfatws #helmut zemo #helmut zemo x bucky #zemo #baron zemo #sebastian stan #zemo x winter soldier #sad boy

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zukofenty · 4 years

Text

day 25: mona lisa

➜ Summary: The one where Zuko and Katara make a pact to (fake) rush Asian Greek life because they were giving out free tacos.

“Whoever becomes an official sorority sister or frat brother wins!”

“Can the prize be health insurance?” Zuko doesn’t have the energy to muster his patented glare.

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, humor, FratBrother!Zuko, SororityGirl!Katara, scamming, dildo stealing

➜ Words: 6.6k

➜ Warnings: they stay in an airbnb instead of a hotel bc who has the schmoney for a hotel room😩

AO3, @zutaramonth hi!!!

Zuko’s grabbing at Katara’s arm while she’s carefully sipping water (only water, she swears) out of a red solo cup. She’s in her “whore fit” (her words) with larger than life fake eyelashes that could propel her into the sky a la Icarus if she blinked a little too quickly. She was in the middle of readjusting her crop top for the umpteenth time that night, because of course she forgets her strapless bra chicken cutlet contraption at home, so of course she does the most reasonable thing and takes a regular bra and just tucks the straps in. Because as much as she is a proponent of #freethenipple, her nipples could probably slice open a radiator with how fucking cold Ba Sing Se was.

“Please take this shot for me,” Zuko reasons with her, trying to make it seem as though he was handing off a shot to a clueless lightweight sorority rushee he was hoping to nail later in the night. For reputation’s sake, Zuko could not afford to fuck up tonight. He was in too deep. “Please, my Pepsin hasn’t kicked in yet. Asian glow is not the look we’re going for tonight.”

“I hate you.” Katara munches on her (free) taco, and effortlessly throws back the shot: no chase. Zuko looks back and sees active members of Pi Alpha Psi giving him a thumbs up, hooting, hollering, being dumb. One salaciously thrusts his hips to the beat of “Big Bank,” pathetically hoping he could emulate YG in support of Zuko supposedly getting some Deltas pussy.

Asian Greek life was fucking stupid.

Tonight was the night of the Deltas Sorority and Pi Alpha Psi Fraternity rush party, the most important party so far during rush week. Because Greek life was entirely stupid , of course they had to hold the fucking party on a Tuesday night, when Zuko had an econ pratice set to get done by midnight, and Katara needed to get to Ochem at 8am the next morning. It was their fault, really. A punishment from God herself (Rihanna) for trying to scam the Greek system.

It all started because Zuko and Katara had no fucking friends.

Besides each other, but that was also up for debate most days. Especially the days when Zuko would remind Katara whenever her foundation didn’t blend down her neck. He always thought he was being helpful. Katara’s long given up the urge to slit his throat.

After high school, when you still believed you were going to do something with your life and be important and make a difference and didn’t know about income tax, they had kept the dream of Ba Sing Se University alive while they attended community college. Uncle Iroh and Hakoda weren’t exactly rolling in tuition money, and financial aid was a stingy bitch. While Zuko had considered reaching out to his estranged father, the owner of a multi billion dollar pyramid scheme, he suddenly remembers the time his dad tried to burn his face off after a particularly heated episode of Maury , and then books another therapy appointment.

It was the top university in the nation, promising a gateway to accounting jobs and selling your soul to work for immoral tech companies to pay off your student loans in a timely manner. They had prayed for the day they could call the school home. The day they could leave their small town and finally make it in life. Katara and Zuko were inseparable growing up, even if at the surface they bumped heads. They were at each other’s throats whenever the going got tough, slinging petty insults at each other.

“I told you this was a bad idea. They don’t have fucking non-dairy options. Wait until my anus starts beatboxing in the bathroom in 20 minutes. Then you will see,” Zuko grumbled. Katara was always doing this, dragging their group of friends to “fun” places whenever Yelp sends her a notification a new restaurant opened up in their shithole of a town. It’s always some boba shop that was secretly a front for a Scientology cult’s money laundering scheme.

But Katara’s the only one who is able to scare Zuko (dairy induced) shitless. She’s always able to send him a glare that screams don’t you dare fuck with me, I know you masturbate to Hatsune Miku moan compilations. And he instantly starts sweating .

At the same time, she was the only one to truly get him. Even if their friends were perfectly content to stay in their town, doing the same things, being the same people, Katara and Zuko always knew there was so much more out there. So much more to the world than what they had grown up in. So they kept the dream alive. Even if their friends had rightfully doubted them. No one made it out of their town. You find a partner from the same people you grew up with, have kids you grow to hate, hide your husband’s infidelity, and either choose from two options. Grow old with him and resent him and then have a kid to try to save the marriage. Or, go Gone Girl on his ass.

“Women really need to go back to poisoning their men. Like the good old days,” Katara’s eyes were narrowed into slits as she focused on taking clandestine photos of Mrs. Kim’s cheating, rat-faced husband. For a few months, she was under the tutelage of the town’s private investigator, June. It paid well, and she felt she was contributing to the feminist movement at the same time.

“Uh-huh, right,” Zuko eyed her warily. Dubbed lovingly “Katara’s Uber Driver,” he also got paid by June to drive the Nyla Mobile around during their late night ops.

He couldn’t wait to leave this shit fuck of a town.

While their friends and family were tearfully embracing them on their final days at home, a patented group hug forced upon them, they shared a secret smile. Their dream was coming true. They were going to a school in the city with minimized debt. Plus, though neither of them would ever admit it, they also had each other to rely on.

“What the fuck do you need? I swear to Rihanna, you only text me when I’m trying to masturbate. Please, make other friends,” Katara nearly screams into the phone. Her roommate, Suki, groans at the volume coming from Katara’s side of the room, but doesn’t get up. Her stomach is still sensitive from the Blue Razz Four Loko she downed at some frat house Katara had to drag her back from.

Zuko had the decency to sound sheepish. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

“I hope you understand, I am too tense right now to pretend I like you. Go. Make. Friends.”

Because Zuko is a fucking child , he starts groaning and Katara could hear him petulantly slamming his Amazon memory foam mattress with his fist. He’ll get angry that the mattress is preventing any real satisfaction from hitting it, and then hit it a few (approximately 3) more times. She hears the pounds, and smirks. She doesn’t know whether or not to feel disturbed that she knows him so well.

“I miss you,” he whines.

“I don’t.”

Zuko gasps dramatically. “How could you say that? Sandbox love never dies!” He wants to yell into the darkness of his room when she hangs up on him. It was valid, of course. But that doesn’t mean his feelings can’t hurt. He’s always sensitive during the Mercury Retrograde.

Being a transfer student is hard, as much as he hates to admit it. There’s only two years to pad your resume and make lifelong friends and learn how much cocaine is too much cocaine for your body. College was hard. While Katara’s roommate was able to introduce her to people and Katara made a group of friends almost instantly, Zuko wasn’t nearly as pleasant to be around. It wasn’t his fault he was nervous . When he’s nervous he looks more mean than usual, and his roommate, Jet, was wary around him since the day he moved in. He couldn’t even be mad when he spotted Jet hiding his box cutter’s accessibility.

“Katara!” Zuko rolls his eyes at her lack of response. “Katara!” He repeats. “I know you’re just listening to “Like a G6” on a 10 hour loop. Don’t pretend to look so concentrated.”

She glares at him. “Let me have this one thing to myself.” She still begrudgingly takes out her airpods.

“No.”

Katara wants to throttle his long ass neck. “Zuko, be honest with me.”

“Ok, yes! When you put your hair in a ponytail you look like a cage free egg.” Zuko stares at her in confusion when she starts playing with her hair. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to hand over my wig. You fucking scalped me, and I had nothing to say back. Just take it. You deserve it.” He smacks her hands from messing with her hair. Other patrons in the cafe near campus glanced over in amusement, as Katara pokes him in the neck and he yelps.

While he rubs at his neck to lessen the sting from Katara’s acrylics, she worries at her lip. “Be honest. Do you think Suki hates me?”

“Yes.”

Katara slams a hand on the table, causing his croissant to quake in fear. “You’re supposed to be comforting and trying to console me! Do it over, say no.”

“No.”

“Zuko, do you know how close I am to biting your nipple right off?”

He rolls his eyes. Katara specialized in empty threats (most of the time). “Don’t get mad at me just because Suki refuses to talk to you.” He relishes in her frustration. “Again, whose fault is it that Suki has to go to court for reckless driving?”

“She was the one at the wheel!” Katara throws her hands to the air, before petulantly slapping them into her thighs, for emphasis of her point.

Zuko pinches his nose bridge. “Well, you were the one who convinced her that she shit herself!”

Katara takes a neat, clean sip from her iced coffee before calmly responding. “She was the one doing 88 in a 65 trying to get to the bathroom. How was I supposed to know she did anal the day before and it was just cum!”

Zuko smacks his forehead in frustration after seeing identical blushes on the sea of patrons, now very much intune with the turn of the conversation. “You really don’t know how to act in public, do you? Like you think all the shit coming out of your mouth is important enough for it to just be said. You couldn’t have let that be a passing thought? Or learn how to fucking whisper?”

Katara sighs, closing her eyes and folding her hands over each other, because she’s dramatic. “All I had today for lunch was lip gloss. Let me be.”

“Again, if you, I don’t know, learned how to apologize to someone and admit you’re wrong then maybe Suki wouldn’t have hidden all your stress snacks. And, I don’t know. Maybe if you knew how to say ‘sorry’ she wouldn’t hate your fucking guts.” Katara simply turns her head into the air at Zuko’s words, refusing to acknowledge them. He’s itching to take a hit of his Phix with how on edge he was, and then remembers Katara had sold it on the school Facebook sell and exchange page as revenge. Apparently, Katara snaps if you send her one too many Tom Holland and Nicki Minaj fanfiction stories. Not that he’s speaking from personal experience. “You know what, you’re almost as stubborn as Wendy Williams when she refuses to pronounce Dua Lipa’s name correctly.”

She petulantly swivels her gaze to Zuko, nose still pointed to the sky. “Dula Peep is iconic for that reason.” She breathes out, letting her body go lax. “Please, shut the fuck up. I’m sad. Why would she leave me alone in the middle of the Mercury Retrograde like this? I didn’t think she hated me that much.” She drops her defensive stance, and rolls her shoulders, eyes focused only on the table. “I thought, what we had. It was real friendship you know? I made a joint for her using the orientation leader recruitment flyers because we were out of rolling papers. That’s true love. That’s sisterhood.”

“Please, I can’t poop right now! I can’t poop when I’m scared. I’m poop shy!”

Zuko audibly groaned. “Then why the fuck would you take a shit at my apartment? Yours is literally a 4 minute walk away, according to motherfucking Google Maps. 5 minutes if you use Apple Maps.”

“I don’t know, ok! I saw the baby wipes and I just kinda went with the flow, sue me!” Damnit, she knew she tasted real milk in her strawberry banana smoothie. God, the price of being ethnic in this dairy filled world.

“I called you over here to explain the plan! So I don’t bother you mid masturbation! And you just had to take a dump, didn’t you? On the plan, and my fucking toilet, too!”

She was weary after her back to back classes from 9-5 when Zuko excitedly called her up to come to his place. As much of a bitch baby Zuko could be, Katara tries to visit his place as much as she can. His apartment was just upgraded, meaning he had a state of the art microwave. One that doesn’t third degree burn her ham and cheese Hot Pockets, but rather cooks them perfectly to the tune of the package instructions, and makes them all fluffy and culinary excellence. Plus, he lives further from the heroin infested park she lived right next to, meaning his building smelt like a Clinique cosmetics counter (or: old lady) rather than pure urine like hers. And he didn’t have to run home in fear of being chased.

Besides, he’s all she’s got right now. He explained his plan as the roof of her mouth is assaulted by the gooey cheese of the Hot Pocket. Zuko eagerly handed over the flyers that were shoved into his hands as he was walking to campus.

“Do you see the funds these bitches got? We have to go! We need to become part of Asian Greek life!”

Although Katara did enjoy seeing the copious amount of free food potential, she was skeptical. “This is all free?”

“Yes, oh my god! Read the damn flyer! They’re living it up while we try to fit spinach in our budget to buy White Claw. Free alc, and free tacos! C’mon, we don’t even have to get into the sorority or frat. Just go through the rush process, and try to get as much free food as possible.” Zuko sits on his bed beside her, and even shakes her by the shoulders for emphasis. She swats his hands away while he chuckles.

Katara side eyes him. “Aren’t you already behind on your lectures? I don’t know, do we really want to waste time doing this?”

Zuko sends her a sheepish smile, but grabs her hand. For reassurance purposes, of course. “It’s just one week. Let’s just let loose. Maybe we could walk away from this with a few friends. So I don’t bother you mid beating your meat.” Katara can’t help but laugh.

On the first night, she was nervous. Zuko was clearly his indifferent self, but deep down she knew he was scared, too. Katara and Zuko weren’t exactly Greek life material .

“They thought you were hot, that’s why they flyered you!” Katara yelps while digging through his closet. Zuko ignores the blush growing on his face. “Let’s find a fit that emphasizes that bad boy aesthetic.”

Katara never did anything half assed. That’s why if they were going to play hot, ignorant Asian Greek lifers, they were going to be the goddamn best. Academy Award nominated and then played by Scarlett Johansson in a biopic type of acting.

“What’s wrong with what I usually wear? Is the leather jacket not, quote unquote, bad boy enough?” Zuko runs his hands through his shaggy hair, which Katara had encouraged him to not style. She’d never admit it, but maybe her sexual awakening coincided with Zuko growing his hair out. Maybe.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe to Tumblr , but not for fuckboys.” She groans because of course Zuko has good fashion taste. Maybe him being hot helps with how clothes looked, but they all screamed fashion and not basic fuckboy . Which was the vibe of the night. “God, do you have the entire Forever 21 Black t shirt aisle in here?”

Before he could retort, Zuko’s interrupted by Jet coming into their room to grab his dumb Hydroflask. It’s dumb because it’s so goddamn big, for no good reason.

“Hey, Katara,” Jet is smirking. Ew .

Zuko feels jealousy, the type that makes your body grow all hot and makes you want to punch a mattress and Jet’s pleasantly symmetrical face. God, why is he so fucking pretty? He reminds himself that Katara was entirely off limits , and schools his face. He gets these types of pangs of envy once in a while, usually during the Mercury Retrograde. Ever since they were kids, he knew Katara was going to be in his life forever. He wasn’t about to fuck that up. Not with emotions or anything.

“Hey, Jet!” Katara chirps. She couldn’t help it, her pussy is weak for pretty men. She knew that look on his face. The eyes that roamed her body clad in the tight top and jeans that made sure her ass looked like she paid for it. Thank you, Fashionnova.

He gives her a hot guy half hug, and she’s melting. Calm down, girl Katara warns her pussy. “See you around. Zuko, I’m going to Target, do you need anything?”

Zuko frowns at the sight of a fangirling Katara. “Nope.” Jet nods, and even offers up a smile. He hates that he smiles back.

Katara swoons. She flops on Zuko’s bed, eyes all dreamy and starry. “That’s the vibe you need to give off!”

“What, that I have HPV?”

“Exactly! See, that’s the type of fuckboy you need to be. You can have the same pussy clenching effect with the right, basic clothes. You’re hot, and you have a badass scar. You just need a striped Guess shirt and white Nike Air Force 1s to complete the getup.”

So, Zuko digs through his closet from his hypebeast phase to find a pair of white sneakers (“Reeboks aren’t basic enough!” Katara protests) and borrows the Guess shirt from Katara, and they were ready to scam.

Fuck. The damn tacos. And then it was all you can eat Korean food. Then it was free avant garde ice cream at that one place that cost you an ovary to even sample the vanilla bean flavor.

The first night of rushing, all you can eat Korean food, and they were already putting on the pounds.

“ Holy fucking cheese dick! I think I gained the weight of a Kardashian ass filler in just today alone! I can’t breathe. Zuko, hold up.” She puts her hand out, halting their walk back to her place. “I need to unbutton my pants.” She had one too many plates of kimchi spam fried rice.

Zuko burps graciously. Goddamn kimbap. He swallowed that shit whole, choking a few times throughout the night. ��Me fucking too! Oh my god, I can’t breathe.”

“In through your nose. Out with your dairy shits.”

As soon as they got back to her apartment, they immediately reached for Lactaid, and then went over the events of the night.

“What do you think of Ty Lee? All the guys were drooling over her,” Zuko asks. Katara ditched her elaborate makeup, scrubbing her face clean and was in one of Zuko’s t shirts he’s long given up trying to get back from her. She’s twirling an expensive mechanical pencil between her fingers, the kind that has super precise lead and matches her pencil case and laptop. For the aesthetic.

“She’s the type of bitch to eat salt and vinegar chips at 9 in the morning.”

“What’s the difference between girls who eat salt and vinegar chips in the morning, and girls who eat Hot Cheetos in the morning?” Zuko’s scratching at his head, brain still foggy from all the Doritos he’s practically inhaled. He’s topless, and has one of the many sweats he leaves behind at Katara’s because their sleepovers were some of his favorite memories growing up. Even if they have to squeeze Zuko’s six foot tall ass in twin beds now.

“One has class. The other needs therapy.”

He squints from his spot at her desk, typing interrupted to push up his round glasses. “I see.”

“I saw you really hit it off with Mai,” Katara made sure to keep her voice even. “She was really into you.”

Zuko whips his head around to her. “Really?” He yelps. “Stay out of my business!” Katara throws her hands up in mock surrender. “...Did she say anything about me?”

“She said she was so tired of medium ugly frat brothers and that you showing up sent her cooch into anaphylactic shock,” Katara deadpans.

“Really!” Zuko’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

“No, she just said you were handsome. And then I told her ‘don't call him handsome unless he's about to hand some money over,’ and then she laughed and then thirst followed you on Instagram.”

Zuko scrambles to check his phone. “Oh my god, she’s so cute,” he whispers, eyes enraptured by her Instagram feed. Katara rolls her eyes when he jumps into her bed, knocking her work aside to shove his greasy iPhone 6s in her face.

Katara slaps it right out of his hand. “Ugh, not the 6s.”

Zuko practically melts. “You said she thinks I’m hot, right?” Katara pokes at a man tit before curling up at his side.

“You’re annoying.”

Zuko grabs Katara's hand, playing with the tiny fingers. “I’m adorable.”

She snorts. “You know, we should make a pact. If we’re getting this invested into the whole process. Whoever becomes an official sorority sister or frat brother wins!”

“Can the prize be health insurance?” Zuko doesn’t have the energy to muster his patented glare with Katara cozied up next to him.

The second night, ice cream night, and Katara was slipping.

“What do you usually look for in a guy?”

“I usually just look away,” Katara admits, shrugging. She doesn’t forget to plaster a well practiced, non threatening smile on her face.

“Preferred places for guys to cum?” Another sorority girl asks. Other rushees are nodding enthusiastically, carefully preparing their answers.

“To his senses,” Katara huffs.

“I usually like a backshot!” Ty Lee says enthusiastically, despite the other sisters eyeing Katara warily. Ty Lee insisted that Katara would be a good fit for the sorority. She looked like the only one on her side.

While the girls were excitedly dancing along to the music playing in the shop, Katara’s eye twitches. It was the feminist in her. “If you still like Chris Brown, you’re ugly,” Katara is adamant, not relenting despite the incredulous, wide eye stares from the gaggle of sorority girls.

“Well, I guess I’m ugly then!” Mai yelps, hands crossed over her chest defiantly.

Katara smiles carefully. “You sure are, bitch!”

Fuck Katara was messing this up. She needed to make sure that they were convinced Katara was sorority girl material to move onto the next level of the secret invite only event. Fuck, fuck, fuck .

She wasn’t about to let Zuko win at anything!

Mai squints at her. “Are you a clit being handled by a frat brother? Because you’re really rubbing me the wrong way.”

Ty Lee gasps. “Please excuse her, Indica makes her grumpy.”

Katara glares. “None taken.”

She likes Ty Lee, that much she’s gathered. And, it seems as though Ty Lee had grown to like her back, making sure Katara gets enough ice cream throughout the night, even turning her head when Katara pulls out a Tupperware from her backpack to bring back the dessert to her apartment.

That was until Ty Lee remembered she had a flask hidden up her skirt, a necessity post fuckboy cheats on you . “I-I just called to say I don’t miss you! And that your dick smells like a stapler that has been microwaved for 25 seconds. Like, you can block me all you want. But you can’t uneat this ass. Sorry, I don’t make the rules!” Katara does damage control, and dutifully snatches the phone from her hands.

Crossing her arms like a mother disciplining her child, she levels Ty Lee with a concerned look. “What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Ty Lee gets up and stumbles on her way to hug Katara. “I can’t leave him! I love him so, so much. He’s my fucking ride or die, the Quavo to my Saweetie! The pitchy singing to my Selena Gomez! The Marlene to my Rosa! The badly glued fake eyelashes to my Asian sorority girl,” Ty Lee is crying and loud and her anime like tits are bouncing with every sob that comes.

Katara takes the flask of peach vodka from her trembling hands, and shakes the girl. “Look, bitch. You’re better than this.”

“No, I’m really not!”

Katara pokes the girl in the forehead. “Yes, bitch you definitely are. You’re a bad bitch that got adicktated. But that’s ok.” She tilts the red faced girl’s head back, making sure the cup of water goes down her throat. “So what if you fell in love a little? You’re in your bag bitch, you don’t need provolone smelling dick to dicktate your life!”

She rubs at her snot filled nose, and then wipes her fist on her mini skirt. “You really think so?”

“Bitch, I know so . Go be a slut, forget about Chan’s ass flake. Now hand over your phone. Drunk yelling over the phone is not the move for the night.” The other active Deltas sisters were running back from a group bathroom visit, after realizing it was Ty Lee’s bad decisions o’ clock . They came back to see the chastised girl determindly eating Ube flavored ice cream, without a phone to do dumb shit in her hands. Mai can’t help but start liking Katara.

The third night, and it’s the Deltas Sorority and Pi Alpha Psi Fraternity rush party, the most important party so far during rush week. IT was a slam fucking dunk. They had gotten catering from everybody’s favorite taco place at the Pi Alpha Psi frat house. And a fucking DIY boba bar. A boba bar! A goddamn boba bar. Katara had a ziplock baggie filled with the tapioca pearls in her left jean pocket.

All Deltas rushees were meant to be socializing with Pi Alpha Psi brothers. The active sisters were trying to see who were the classy whores in the group. They didn’t want admitted whores, just subtle ones. After fending off another medium ugly brother from trying to stare at her tits, Katara corners Zuko, who hands her another shot to take for him. “Why was that guy dressed like an uninvolved father?”

“What’s that supposed to look like?”

“Sweaty, and smells vaguely of disappointment.”

Zuko coughs. “I’m sad that hit way too close to home.”

Katara looks devastated for a split second, until Zuko starts laughing at his own joke. Then, she smacks him upside the head. “You know, you should be thankful for me. I got you looking exactly like a Pi Alpha Psi brother. Even down to the shoes.” Katara glares ahead. “God, I hate that we have to wear shoes on in this house. I hate looking at Haru’s Black Air Force 1s. Anything but those. Anything but those .”

The fourth night and they had successfully scammed the Greek system.

“Zuko!” Katara screams, bursting through his door without preamble. “Look what Ty Lee sent—wait a minute. What the fuck are you doing?” She pauses in shoving the phone in his face to see him face down in his calculus textbook.

“I’m trying to find a natural way to stay focused.”

Katara crosses her arms. “Have you considered adderall?”

Zuko snorts, clearly annoyed. “That’s literally prescription meth.”

“And what about it?” She slams her body, face first into his bed. “‘ Hey get ready tomorrow because we have an exclusive, invite only clubbing invite and the girls and I really really want you to come! ’” Katara reads the Instagram message verbatim from her phone, her chest swelling with unbridled pride. “I deserve an Academy Award.”

Zuko plops his body right on top of hers, relishing in how she groans under his added weight. “Run me my Golden Globe because according to Chan, my ‘ass better be ready to get nasty at Club Nyla .’”

“Shut the booger sugar up!”

So (on a Thursday night ) Katara and Zuko crowd in the party bus the generous Asian Greek system had funded in the name of “cultural bonding.” She can barely breathe, tits pushed in the most fuckable way possible, and she feels her face heating from the shots forced down her throat because her (potential) sisters had insisted on heavily pregaming.

While the frat brothers were perfectly content to sitting and not making any sort of movement whatsoever in the name of looking cool , the girls on the other hand were having the time of their lives.

“Oh my fucking god, for the last time Ty Lee, I cannot join the grind train, I do not have mental stability to keep my balance and shake my ass at the same time,” Katara lightly chastises, shoving the drunk girl gently off of her. Ty Lee simply shrugs, and then continues to gyrate on the gaggle of girls. The music was pounding, everyone was sweating from the amount of unrestrained dancing happening, and Katara’s pretty sure some girl just bruised her pussy after accidentally smacking it (hard) on the bus’s stripper poles. Disco lights bathe the entirety of the vehicle, enveloped in the screams and squeals of Asian girls trying to twerk and scream along to lyrics at the same time.

It was pure fucking chaos. But so goddamn fun . The girls kept constantly grabbing her hips in an attempt to yike on her helpless ass, which Katara abruptly stopped by flicking off their hands. All to the tune of “The Box” by Roddy Rich.

“Let me hear everyone loud and clear! ‘Fuck 12!’” Katara screams to a crowd of bewildered frat brothers.

“Katara, no,” Zuko’s laughing too hard, the alcohol making him feel lightheaded. Heavy rap music permeated the walls of the bus, and he feels a headache building. But he feels a little better seeing Katara having fun, nearly choking to death after taking a hit from some brother’s joint.

“Don’t laugh, I don’t smoke that often!” She insists.

Zuko throws his arm over her shoulder, pulling her close to him. “If you die, at least it was in a party bus while Travis Scott was playing.”

“I’d rather die in an Acura!” Katara yelps, getting up in mock frustration. While Zuko is simply losing his mind at her attitude, she accidentally stumbles as the bus comes to an abrupt stop, and lands in Zuko’s lap.

She’s chortling, moving about to get up. Zuko tries his hardest not to let his heart pound impossibly loud.

After IDs were checked, and a Drake song was forcibly requested by the obnoxious group of frat brothers, the clubbing event was in full swing. Yet, it paled in comparison to the fun and chaotic energy of the party bus. Frat brothers were attempting to dance, Asian girls were trying their hardest to twerk.

Katara is doing her duty as the most sober one out of the bunch and pushes random guys away before they could grab at her sisters’ hips. “You know, God gives flat asses to his strongest soldiers,” she mumbles, lips dangerously close to his ear. They were sitting down in the private seating area near the dance floor, exhausted beyond belief and watching the sorority girls’ attempts at clapping what little cheeks they did have.

Ty Lee clumsily grabs at Katara, screaming about having to piss and call her ex. Her cue to save the day. She gives Zuko an apologetic look, and whispers “I’m gonna win” before grabbing Ty Lee’s hand.

While he’s checking on his Neko Atsume cats, Chan’s Pepto Bismal smelling self is sidling up to his side. “Bro, you should fuck her. She’s got amazing tits.”

Zuko smirks, before schooling his features. That was already an observation he made when he was 16. Nice try, fuckboy. Chan continues, not caring if Zuko responds to him. “Pound that pussy like rent is due tomorrow! You have to get at that big, fat, moose sized pussy at the Airbnb we��re headed to after this.”

Ty Lee is blubbering, snot running freely down her face as though she was a 5 year old at Chuck E. Cheese realizing they didn’t have enough tickets to afford a beaded necklace. “Every time he goes down on me, it feels like my pussy’s getting colonized. Is that what love is supposed to feel like.”

Katara paused in rubbing her back. “Oh my god.”

Ty Lee grabs at Katara’s shoulders, toilet and unsteady stomach forgotten. “Please, for the sake of the female population. Fuck Zuko. We need to know if he’s packing that schmeat.”

Katara gasps. “No fucking way, we’re just friends!”

The inebriated girl clutches Katara’s face in between her sweaty palms, lowering her voice in a volume she thinks counted as a whisper. It was more of a scream than anything else. “We always try to get the hottest rushees to fuck each other at the Airbnb. Then, you’ll definitely make it into Deltas. Because if anyone deserves to throw that neck back on Zuko, it’s you.”

“Well gee, thanks. I’m touched.”

“Moan harder! Don’t sound like I’m forcing you to fuck me! This isn’t no 90 Day Fiance shit! I thought you were an actor. Where is the commitment to the craft? You sound like you’re a dying tractor. Do better!” Katara continues jumping on the bed, trying to emulate a good old fucking. Zuko breathes in, before an unrestrained groan comes from his lips. Katara’s cooch instantly quakes.

Their shoes were off, at her insistence, sheets already strewn about to make it believable. She could hear the snickering behind the door she’s triple checked to make sure it was locked and unable to be seen through the keyhole, her thong shoved in front of it to ensure their privacy.

“Zuko, Zuko, Zuko!” she pants, makine her voice sound as fucked out as possible. “I can’t!”

He continues smacking his arm, trying his best to replicate the sound of cheeks being clapped. “Baby, yes you can. You’re taking me like a fucking champ.”

Katara almost couldn’t hold back her giggle. This was all so fucking ridiculous. Taken straight out of a Larry smut scene. But they had a job to finish, a lifestyle they needed to live out, a pact to win. She whines, he lets out a moan. They bite their fist before they lost their minds and ruined the scam. She could imagine the title to their terrible porn video: college girl takes BEC (big emo cock).

“So, so good!” Katara made sure to make her voice sound as strained as possible, jumping even harder on the mattress. Zuko is ashamed to say his dick twitched in his pants the slightest. “So goddamn big. I feel so full!”

“Thanks for thinking I have a big dick,” he mutters, before letting out another wanton cry.

“Please be quiet!” Her little faux whimpers are simply killing Zuko, a blush creeping on his neck. He may or may not be jerking off to a sound now burned in his memory.

“Ready for the grand finale?” Zuko’s bewildered, pausing in his erratic jumping on the mattress. Katara jumps as hard as she can three times, before landing a punch square into Zuko’s stomach. It’s unexpected, and he doubles over, wheezing and pathetically gasping for air.

“Baby, cum in me!” Katara mewls, a devious smile on her face.

Zuko frowns, rubbing at his sore stomach. “Really? You’re that invested in this role? You would hurt your bestest friend in this world?”

“Shut up! Let me bully you.”

They leave the room, ensuring their hair looked as disheveled as possible, clothes put on backwards, and Katara’s lip gloss smeared across his face. It tasted like Starbursts and scams.

The pair were suddenly enveloped in violent cheers. Muscled frat brothers were taking their beefy arms and slapping Zuko’s chest in celebration. Zuko could see Katara blushing, acting bashful and even tucking a strand of hair behind her ear for emphasis. He rolls his eyes, and deftly decided his heart was indeed forever stolen by the bat shit crazy bitch.

“My man!” Chan howls, grabbing Zuko in a signature bro hug. “Any other Deltas you want to raw dog tonight?”

Zuko’s gaze was focused on Katara’s smiling face. “This dick belongs to one woman.”

They sorority and fraternity wearily climbed back into the party bus in the wee hours of the morning, needing to make the trek back in time for classes. Everyone was to stop by the Psi Alpha Psi house to collect their stuff, and then make their way home.

Zuko’s nodding off, too tired to continue breathing when Katara pokes him expertly in the arm. “What?”

“We’re going to steal the house trophy when we get back.”

He gasps. “Not Beatrice.”

“Yes, Beatrice!”

“Why do you want a $9 dildo from Amazon anyways?”

Katara sighs. “I overheard them this morning. The Deltas and Psi Alpha Psi. They were running through photos of girls and guys that rushed that didn’t make it through the process. And they were so fucking mean , Zuko. Like I almost cried, and they didn’t even roast my ass. Like Co-Star level bullying. They don’t deserve Beatrice. We do.”

“So, bet’s off?” He cracks his knuckles in anticipation. She simply nods.

“You bitch. You didn’t have to slam me so fucking hard!” Katara reprimands. Zuko silences her with a passionate kiss that has every emotion she could possibly feel tingling throughout her whole body. She’s pushed up against the fireplace, clutching the wall behind her as though finding something to grind her against Zuko’s fiery passion. They were simply mimicking the rest of the group coming back, girls pressed against the frat brothers, trying to make the most of their remaining high instead of heading to class.

They pause to take a breath of air, (they could hear Mai mock gagging in the back) before sending each other a secret nod.

“You feel that pucker in your asshole? You know shit’s about to get real,” Katara says in a low voice.

Zuko’s slamming her against the fireplace once more, this time Katara’s hand now finding contact with Beatrice herself. In a flash she’s shoving the phallic toy in her jacket, sprinting for the door.

Chan, eagle eyed as ever, and experienced in the art of recognizing dildo thievery, instantly shoves Ty Lee off his lap. “Don’t you dare take the fucking house trophy, bitch!” He barely finishes his sentence, before he’s shoved to the ground by an enthusiastic Zuko, who grabs Katara’s hand and breaks into a run.

They run, run, run until they reach Zuko’s apartment, collapsing on the patch of fake grass at the front of the building. He still has his hand intertwined with hers, her other hand having a vice like grip on the sex toy.

“You know what, I don’t care about making other friends. You’re all I need.”

“I know.” Katara can’t stop the smile from growing on her face.

#zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #zutara #zutaramonth #zutara month 2020 #day 25 #they share a hotel room #but it's an airbnb bc i said so #atla

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catsandstrawberries · 5 years

Text

Taste So Sweet

Pairings: Vamp!Taehyung x female reader

Warnings: Implied Smut, fluff, death, bad writing

A/N: Kind of sucks but I kind of like how cheesy this is

Summary: “This is delicious.” He brings his thumb up to his lip, wiping some of the frosting off his lip. Suddenly he appears at my side, his thumb brushing past my lower lip as I unconsciously lick the frosting he's put on my lips. His eyes following my mouths every movement. “But I bet you’d taste better.” His words cause my heartbeat to increase and before I know it, I'm rushing out the first thing that comes to mind. “I bet I taste like dog shit.”

Masterlist

Running away from a bloodsucking demon who had twice the speed and strength I had, probably wasn't the best idea. But what would you do in my situation? Stand there and play dumb, pretend like you didn't see a man murdered in front of your eyes. I must sound crazy-I wish I was going crazy. That what I saw was simply a hallucination, a figment of my imagination. But what I saw was real and no matter how much I tried to erase the images from my memory of the oozing blood or strangled scream, it was permanently embedded into my mind.

I never asked for this anyways. I was just a simple college student, doing my best not to fall into too much debt. That's why I had been out late from working the closing shift at 'sugar daddy,' a bakery near the college. It was perfect, (well except for the name) especially considering it was smack dab in the middle of the campus and was almost always filled with cramming and sugar-addicted students. Which was why I ended up out so late. Some stupid freshman couldn't decide which jelly donut they wanted to buy. In turn, causing me to stay an extra 20 mins late after the store was supposed to close. So after I had gotten all my stuff and locked up, it was well after sunset. Walking out in the dark wasn't strange for me but usually, there were other people outside and the campus tonight felt like a ghost town. The air chilly and moon sending a glow that barley led me through the dark. Light layers of frost covered the browning grass, and besides the crunch of the paved sidewalk under my black converse, it was deadly silent. Until a strangled scream shocked me out of my journey back to my dorm and a patronizing hush following the sound. My breath stopped as the sound came from my right near the science building, eyes widening and curiosity getting the best of me, I approached the back of the building. Holding my breath as I peeked around the corner, hair standing on edge and hand covering my mouth to stop the gasp from escaping as I saw the scene unfold. A student who looked a few years older than me, face shifted to the side so all that I could see was his hands gripping a middle-aged man's throat. The older man's feet dangling in the air like a rag-doll. The worst part of it was, the boy looked so normal-nothing like the fables of undead ghost skinned creatures, with pointed ears and grey slicked-back hair. He was like a regular guy-well almost. Besides the fact that his pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight, black messy hair pointing in all directions. He looked like a normal, attractive college student. Until two fangs sprouted from his front teeth and were plunged into the older man's neck. I stared in horror and disbelief, what was I watching? My mind froze and all I could think about was that vampires were real and I was watching one suck the blood of a human being. As if the man was a grape but the vampire had wanted a raisin. Before I could get my bearings and run, the man dropped to the floor, a satisfied hum sounding from the vampire as he hit the ground followed by a sickening crunch as if every bone in the older man's body was breaking. This time, I couldn't hide my shock, a gasp escaping from my mouth as I watched the lifeless body. The vampire turned to me, and that's when I got a good look at his facial features. He tilted his head up, a bored look plastered on his face, crimson blood dripping down his plump lips. He raised his heavy lids and stared at me through dark red eyes. The boredom from his face immediately disappeared, his lips turning up in a cocky smirk and his head tilting to the side. Taunting me, as if saying, 'what are you going to do?' That's when my mind started going into overdrive, and before I knew what I was doing my legs were carrying me in the opposite direction as fast as humanly possible. It wasn't until I had reached my dorm did I take a sigh of relief, even then I had grabbed some minced garlic and a flashlight and took refuge in my bed. My mind not even in the headspace to worry about the Physics homework I had due tomorrow.

The next day I had classes all mourning to distract me from the horrifying images from last night. The best way to get over it, I decided was to detox. I took an hour-long shower, scrubbing my body with lavender and washing my hair with honeycomb as if I could wash off the feeling of goosebumps as his red eyes flashed through my mind. I dressed casually for class, a pair of black leggings and a comfy sweater along with fluffy white socks and my black converse. Grabbing my backpack and coat I walked into the chilly air and heading towards my physics class. It was going to be okay, I thought. Who cares if I didn't do my homework, I watched a man die last night. I wondered if that was a viable excuse, 'sorry I didn't do my homework last night, professor, I watched a vampire suck the blood out of a human being.'

If the vampire had wanted to kill me he would've, he was clearly stronger and faster than me. But then, why didn't he kill me? I froze in my steps, the sirens hitting my ears as if they were a punching bag. The flashing blue and red lights, adding to the crowd around the science building causing a shiver to trail down my spine.

"(Y/N) did you hear? Our physics teacher died of a heart attack last night." Emma, my best friend since I came to the university who also conveniently worked at ‘sugar daddy’ said, rushing up to me. Her words came out slow and slurred, blood was rushing to my ears and the world around me slowed when I saw a police officer cover his body with a sheet. How had I not noticed that my professor was the one being killed, maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe my professor and the guy from last night were two different people. Wouldn’t the authorities clearly see the wound on his neck, and notice that he had no blood in his body?

“I can't believe he's dead, I need to go find hoseok I'll be right back.” She motioned to her boyfriend on the other side of the crowd and I simply nodded watching as she walked away.

“Hmm, you have a distinct smell of sugar and honey, no matter how much lavender you use.” I stiffened as a nose pressed into the crock of my neck, goosebumps creasing over my skin when his deep voice spoke. “You smell so sweet, I wonder what you’re blood would taste like?” I sharply turn around, gasping at the boy I found. His eyes weren't red like last night, instead a deep, dark brown. But he was clearly the same person considering the cocky smirk that painted over his features. I wanted to scream as soon as he flashed his sharp canines at me,

“get the fuck away from me.” I mumbled, stepping back from the man, not sounding nearly as confident as I wanted too.

“Aww, sweetie are you scared?” He titled his head to the side in a taunting way, but before I could respond someone was calling my name. I abruptly turned around as Emma waved me towards her. I turned, only to find that the vampire was gone.

Working that night at the bakery was horrible. All of my coworkers had called out so I was closing. Again. By myself. The entire shop was empty and it took so much self-control not to eat another white chocolate, hazelnut cookie. So like most young adults, I decided to play cookie crush on my phone, instead of watching the clock for another fifteen minutes. The pitch of the bell, however, did not cause me to look up, too engrossed in the game to even pay attention to the customer.

“You’re such an interesting little human.” I jump at the voice, my phone slipping from my hands, the loud crack making me flinch as it comes in contact with the marble floor. The music from cookie crush comes to a halt, and I come face to face with crystal red eyes, two pearly fangs sticking out from below his top lip. His smirk only widens at my own shocked expression, as if he’s proud of my misfortune. In my shocked, and panic-stricken state I do the first thing that comes to mind, protect myself. And that consists of throwing a blueberry fluff cupcake at his face. The boy's eyes widen, the color of his pupils shifting back to a brown color as he catches the large treat. A boxy smile breaks on his face, a boyish laugh escaping his throat, and it's terrifying. Because he sounds like a normal human, and he's anything but.

“Did you just throw a cupcake at me?” I don't answer his question, too caught up in how quick his reflexes are. He raises the marshmallow frosting up to his lips, his teeth sinking into the pastry as he lets out a hum of delight. “This is delicious.” He brings his thumb up to his lip, wiping some of the frosting off his lip. Suddenly he appears at my side, his thumb brushing past my lower lip as I unconsciously lick the frosting he's put on my lips. His eyes following my mouths every movement. “But I bet you’d taste better.” His words cause my heartbeat to increase and before I know it, I'm rushing out the first thing that comes to mind. “I bet I taste like dog shit.” He recoiled at my words, his smirk morphing into a shocked expression. “I highly doubt that, little human.”

“Can you stop calling me that! Why are you here anyway? Are you going to kill me just like you killed that helpless professor?” I asked, shocked at my confidence that had come forth all of a sudden.

“The pedophile? I'm so sorry that I killed the man who was looking up girls skirts and harassing them in the back of his car.” I stared wide-eyed at him,

“What?”

“You were his next target.”

“What?” He chuckled at my questions and offered a hand out to me.

“I can prove it.” I stared questionably at his hand, looking back up at him. Only to realize I didn't even know his name.

“I don't even know your name.” His figure stiffened for a moment, before his shoulders relaxed, his teeth retracting back to normal and a pleasant brown spreading over his eyes like watercolor.

“My names Taehyung.”

And just like that, I took his hand.

The newly discovered Vampire whose name was revealed as Taehyung led me to the Science building to prove that my professor was a pedophile and wanted to sexually assault me. Never, in my entire life did I think I would ever be in a situation like this. If my mother could see me now….she’d be so proud.

To fill the silence between me and Tae, I decided to ask him as many questions as possible. Deciding he wasn't a threat, at the moment. “Sooo, do you like, sleep in a coffin?” I questioned while he turned and gave me a ridiculous look. “Of course not, I sleep on silk sheets.”

“Can you turn into a bat?” We approached the back of the building, Tae sliding an ID card that was not his, past the regulator. “No.” He held the door open for me and I quickly walked into the building, his hand landed on my lower back as he led me through the dark, empty hallways. An overhead light provided some solace from the dark, and suddenly I had an idea. “Come here,” I mumbled, grabbing Tae by the arm and dragging him under the light. I stood on my tiptoes, inching closer to his skin as I watched for any abnormalities. His deep voice broke my train of concentration,

“Are you checking to see if I sparkle? Because I do, with my shining personality.” After realizing that he indeed, did not sparkle I finally allowed him to bring me into the professor's office. He led me towards his desk, breaking open a cabinet with ease and pulling out several vanilla folders. All labeled with different last names, one of them being mine. Tae looked up at me, the roles reversed because of the nervous look on his face. “You don't have to open them if you don't want to. But I wasn't lying to you (Y/N).” I didn't question how he knew my name since I had never told him but ignored that, and instead opened the file to find numerous photos of me. Some at work, college parties, in dresses. There were also several sticky notes and index cards recording personal details of my life.

“This is...horrible. How could he do this?” I looked through several other files, finding other girls in the same scenario as me. All falling victim to a horny older man's secret desires.

“I didn't kill him for fun (Y/N). That’s how I found out about you, your name, from him. I find people who are doing horrible things, and if they don't change then I-” Tae parted his mouth, his eyes closing and his teeth sharpening as he threw his head back. “God, I can still taste him. He tasted like tofu. I fucking hate tofu.” He growled out, the bitterness in his words causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Hey,” I spoke up, successfully getting his attention. “Have you ever seen the movie Dracula.”

The time was well past eleven, but instead of sleeping I was leading a Vampire boy up the staircase towards my apartment. “You know, I watch Dracula movies to make fun of how dumb humans are.” He said, matter-a-factly as we entered the floor of my apartment. “Well, that's valid. Humans are easy to make fun of.” I pulled out my keys and just as I went to unlock the door Tae staggered next to me. “Wow, are you alright?” I asked stepping closer to him, only for him to hold out a hand to stop me. “I'm fine, it's your smell. It’s really strong now that I'm at your apartment.” I cocked an eyebrow at the man, going back to unlock the door as he composed himself. “Well, I hope I don't smell like tofu.” I joked, not thinking anything of it until a hand was roughly grabbing at my shoulder. Flipping me around so my back was slammed against the door. I gasped at the impact, but my attention was drawn to the vampire in front of me. “Don’t insult yourself like that. Your the best thing I’ve ever smelled, don’t even compare yourself to tofu.” His lips hovered dangerously close to mine as he spoke, his breath fanning over mine as his eyes traveled to my lips than to my neck. “Can I bite you?” Before I could even comprehend his question he was pulling away from me, staggering away from my touch as if I had burned him. He gaped at me, eyes unsure and slightly pleading, for what? I couldn’t tell. “God damn it, I'm so sorry (Y/N).” I stared helplessly as he ran from me, disappearing as if he was never even there.

I was late, fuck I was so late. That was the only thought in my head as I ran across campus in December, in nothing but a black skirt and a yellow sweatshirt because I had woken up late. I didn't have classes that day so I forgot about all responsibilities, too focused on how I kept seeing Tae during the week. Getting glances of him, only for him to send me a smile then disappear. I hated when he did that. But what I hated, even more, was the freaking rock in my way, that I, of course, tripped over. I tumbled to the ground, pavement scratching against the bare skin of my knees and hands, the rocks on the ground just scratching my cheek. Enough that it started to sting. I paid no attention to the embarrassing scenario, getting back up and rushing towards the store. A pair of arms suddenly wrapped around my waist, spinning me around till I came face to face with dark, beet red eyes. “Fuck,” I mumbled as Taehyung licked his lips, dragging his lower one between his teeth. He pressed me closer to the wall behind me, what I could only assume was the back science building. “You’re bleeding…”

“T-Taehyung.” I stuttered out, my phone beeping in my pocket as I cautiously pulled it out.

‘Don't worry girl. I got your shift covered. I know how stressed you've been lately. Love you!’

-Emma

I gulped at the message, just as gentle hands slowly took the device away from me. “Blood stains your flesh so prettily.” His hands crawled up towards my cheeks, gently cupping the skin as some blood from the cut dripped onto his thumb. Tae, all of a sudden harshly pulled away, a growl reverberating from his throat. “Shit, I can't control it-”

“Tae.” I took both his hands in mine, my voice firm as I watched him try to slither away from me in pain. “Bite me,” I mumbled, watching as his body stopped.

“Say it again.” He hissed, making sure this was what I really wanted, and it was.

“Bite. Me.”

He smirked at me, eyes turning a shade darker and body become more confident as he pulled my hips flush towards his body. My breasts pushing against his chest in a way that made me flush.

“Oh, little human.” He cooed, his tongue straying over his lips as he made eye contact with me.

“I’m going to do a lot more than bite you.”

#taehyung x reader #kim taehyung #kim taehyung vampire #bts #vampire bts #bts vampire au #bts vamp #vamp tae #vampire taetae #vampire tae #junghoseok #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader #oneshot #imagine #bts smut

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sweetheartjeongguk · 6 years

Text

pretty kitty 2 (m)

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: hybrid au, camgirl au, smut

rating: nc-17

warning(s): taehyung making dumb decisions, jimin being utterly confused (as always), jungkook and his assortment of fruits, good ol’ squirting, impregnation kink, daddy kink, unprotected sex

word count: 3.8k+

summary: temptation is a dangerous game to play.

the discovery | the denial | the meeting | the aftermath | the payback

masterlist

Contrary to popular belief, Taehyung did not whip out his rusty romantic skills like in the cheesy rom-coms where he runs after you to make sure you’re okay and you instantly fall in love with him. While he prides himself on his handsome face, he can only go so far. The tiny amount of courage within him to follow after you fizzles like a pathetic flame, both from fear of rejection and fear of Seulgi beating his ass on the street for everyone and their mother to bear witness to.

Taehyung may come off as an intimidating tiger hybrid in the eyes of his classmates and every stranger he passes, but according to his oh-so lovely friends and (probably) his parents, he can be a bit of a pussy from time to time.

Instead, Taehyung, like all brave predators, shoves himself into one of the bathroom stalls of the café. He takes several deep breaths to himself, desperate to calm the anxiety and residual anger lingering in his chest. They’re irrational, he knows this all too well, but he couldn’t help it.

It’s like his tiger is reaching out to you only to be stuck behind an invisible barrier, reminding him of just how unobtainable you are.

“Tae?”

Taehyung coughs reflexively at the voice of his best friend echoing in the empty men’s bathroom. He hears a tired sigh – seconds later, there’s a gentle knock on the rickety stall door.

“You okay there, tiger?” Jimin asks cautiously.

“I’m getting there…” Taehyung tries to laugh, but it comes out wobbly and insincere.

He leans his forehead against the cold stall door before reminding himself of the colonies of germs plaguing the surface and stepping away in disgust. He can sense the curiosity emanating from Jimin – no doubt that Jimin’s formulating a whole script of questions for his best friend.

“Are you really that upset at Hoseok?” Jimin’s eyebrow ticks up. “You know he’s just messing around. Contrary to popular belief, Jung Hoseok has standards. He wouldn’t mess with any girl like that, especially if she’s your girl.”

“It’s not that.” Taehyung says abruptly. “She’s not my girl. She’s not…anyone.”

He mentally curses himself for speaking before his brain can tell him to shut his mouth and listen.

“Oh?” Jimin’s curiosity is practically tangible. “So what then?”

“Nothing.”

Taehyung clenches his fists in frustration. Why is he so worked up? The answer is perfectly clear, yet he’s adamant on forgetting the whole situation ever existed. How is he supposed to waltz into class on a seemingly normal Monday morning without looking over at your desk and imagining your nude body glistening in sweat and waiting to receive him?

Taehyung physically shakes away the intrusive thoughts. The less he spends in his own mind, the better his chances of forgetting the situation entirely. Sure, he can never look at you the same way again, and you kind of ruined regular porn for him – in a good way, but Taehyung can’t see how that benefits him in any way. Maybe, just maybe, if Taehyung suppresses the temptation to click on your channel and attempt at forgetting you ever exist, then everything will go back to normal! Easy peasy!

Taehyung’s wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

After shoving himself back into his chair at the café and forcing himself to socialize with the others as if nothing’s wrong, he finds himself doing semi-okay. While Jimin’s eyes glance over at him more than usual, Taehyung’s doing better than he expected. The story of Yoongi getting stuck inside his studio and not being to get out for at least two days and only surviving on beef jerky and coffee in a can certainly stirs his mind away from the dirty thoughts of your lingerie and seductive lip-biting.

But once the seven of them depart to their own dorms in preparation for a new week of lectures and homework, Taehyung finds himself in his own personal hell.

Jimin watches from the corner of the classroom in half amusement and half concern at his best friend practically gnawing away at his thumb nail five minutes before the start of class. Fortunately for the younger of the two, Jimin doesn’t notice his wandering eyes towards a certain desk in the front of the room.

You sit in your seat patiently, fiddling with your pencil case and stopping for a second to wave at one of your friends who shouts a “Hi Y/N!” from across the room. You aren’t the most popular person in school, but you did have a small collection of friends here and there in the class.

Considering your online personality, it still baffles Taehyung how quickly your behavior switches up in a blink of an eye. His eyes threaten to dry out from how hard he watches your every move, but he manages to grab ahold of himself and finally blink some moisture into his now-strained eyeballs before someone discovers his not-so-discreet creepiness.

“She looks familiar.”

Taehyung swallows back a growl at Jungkook who he barely noticed was beside him the entire time, munching on an assortment of strawberries and blueberries. Jungkook’s unphased by Taehyung’s show of aggression – he has too many embarrassing stories of Taehyung that dulls his reactions as the years go by – but it doesn’t go unnoticed by a small group of girls a few seats away. They giggle and awe over Taehyung’s “masculinity” with obvious temptation reflecting in their eyes.

“Sooyoung, you have to get back in on that.” Seunghee whispers as if it’s the darkest secret of the universe.

Sooyoung, a dark-haired lynx hybrid with a fierce attitude to match, scoffs. “Who’s to say I ever left?”

The other girls surrounding her gasp and squeal in obvious delight, soaking in Sooyoung’s tales of the past and sighing at how “lucky” she is. Unbeknownst to them, you listen into the girls’ conversation in equal parts jealousy and irritation.

You’re irritated because you’d rather not hear about Taehyung’s “massive cock” on Monday morning before you’ve had a proper lunch. On the other hand, you’re jealous because you know all about Sooyoung and Taehyung – she’d definitely know a thing or two about his…penile situation.

“Sooyoung being cringy again?”

You sigh in relief at the sight of Seulgi who trudges in a minute late, her backpack lazily swung around her shoulders and her hair tangled in a messy bun as if she’d just woken up and rushed across campus for the lecture. Seeing as though you’ve known her for a good ten years, you’d say that your assumption’s correct.

“Rough morning?” You snort as you take in her complete appearance. “I didn’t know coffee stains and maple syrup were all the rage in the fashion industry.”

“Shut up.” Seulgi grimaces at the mess on her shirt. “I didn’t have time to do laundry yesterday. Yeri decided to use all the soap to clean her…delicates.”

You reflect her discomfort. “Doesn’t she know that she can wash them by hand?”

“She’s a neat freak who practically snorts Gain detergent.” Seulgi sighs in defeat. “There’s no way I can save the child from her destructive behavior.”

“Just buy some more soap, you weirdo.” You flick a manicured nail against her cheek. “Or like I’ve always told you, do laundry at my house. Joohyun told me that she’s waiting for your Just Dance rematch.”

“Oh yeah, don’t your sugar daddies pay for your water bill?”

You nearly choke on your own spit. Seulgi has no tact whatsoever, and you have no clue why she hasn’t gotten into trouble with it yet. It must be the Kang charm, as she loves to call it. You just call it how it is – pretty people BS.

“Not in public, Seulgi!” You resist the urge to flick her across the nose. “I have a job too, you know…”

Seulgi’s the only one in your friend group to actually know about your “camgirl career”, as she proudly dubs it. Joohyun nearly found out a month ago when you were camming and she accidentally came home unannounced. Thankfully, she just thought you were having a little “one-on-one” time and decided to leave you for the entire night.

While you constantly remind Seulgi that the sugar daddies are only for the bills and your college debt crisis, she likes to think that when you finally make a living with it (you don’t know where she gets her delusions), you’ll let her live with you and your sugar daddies in a million-dollar mansion in Seoul.

Truth be told, that actually sounds pretty spectacular. But you’d be damned if you’d let Kang Seulgi be right for once.

“No shame, no shame.” Seulgi waves her hands before going to unzip her backpack to grab her binder and pencils. “Who knew you can flash your pussy in front of thousands of people and get paid for it?”

She completely ignores your blushing red face as she continues muttering to herself. “Maybe I should do that.”

You practically dig your feet into the floor as you pray to a higher power that no one can hear Seulgi. Considering the entire class is made up of 80% hybrids, it’s a long shot but not entirely impossible. No one’s spoken up so far, so you take this as a miracle from the Lord as you sit back in relief and wait for the teacher to finally arrive to begin lecture.

Needless to say, you find yourself completely oblivious to the tiger hybrid a couple rows behind you who has been listening in since the start of class.

And the lynx hybrid who smirks dangerously at this fresh bit of juicy gossip.

“Are you finally going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

Taehyung ignores the poke to his cheek and instead focuses on finishing his essay for his psychology class.

Maybe if he took a page from Pavlov’s book, he can train Jimin to shut up every time he hears a bell ring. Jimin likes to call it “cruel and unusual punishment.” Taehyung dubs it “essential knowledge.”

“Nope.”

“How about now?”

“Nope.”

“Now?”

“You want me to punch you in the face?”

“Oh, so feisty.” Jimin giggles devilishly.

Taehyung rolls back his shoulders as he continues typing away at his laptop, reaching the final page of his essay. Slowly but surely, he’ll be done for the night and in time for his 5-hour nap session. At least then, Jimin won’t be around to nag on him anymore.

“Did you really hate the site I showed you? I got another one if you’re interested.”

Taehyung says nothing to this. For the next ten minutes, he wishes for complete and utter focus on his essay – at least until his reference page – and not the dreadful image of your sopping wet cunt replaying like an annoying infomercial across his brain.

“Oh…I see.” Jimin smirks at the lack of response. “Maybe you liked it a little too much? I understand…”

Jimin pauses to watch Taehyung’s face, but his boastful ego is only fed with the same deadpan look from ten minutes ago. He’ll have to step it up a notch – time for Phase III.

“Maybe you’ve just been watching the wrong ones. I had the same issue when I first discovered the site so you’re not alone.” Jimin sighs in fake despair. “If you want a good one, my friends’ been talking about that prettykitty channel, but I haven’t gotten around to—"

Skkrrt!

Jimin nearly flings himself out of his own chair at Taehyung’s abrupt leave. He barely takes time to completely shut down his computer, and Jimin’s pretty sure that he didn’t save his work either.

“Okay…goodbye, I guess.” Jimin grumbles to himself, scratching awkwardly at the nape of his neck.

What’s bothering Taehyung so much?

Taehyung has an answer for that, and it’s simply this.

He’s going crazy. Complete and utterly bonkers.

That’s it – the obvious explanation for the entire situation.

Stress from the new school semester mixed in with daily struggles like remembering to call his parents on their anniversary before he’s bombarded with angry texts from his mother or paying his tuition fees on time so that he doesn’t end up living in a box outside of his lecture hall.

Why else would he be so hung up on someone he barely even knows? Sure, he’s known you since you two were barely out of Pull-ups, and yeah, you’ve occasionally played together on the playground before you found your own groups to hang out with. College’s different – you’re two grown adults who are working towards a degree for a career that you’re bound to be stuck in for the rest of your lives. You both crave excitement – while his involves watching girls get themselves off on camera, you’re actually living as one of them!

Maybe that’s why he’s so enamored by the sudden discovery of this darker version of you behind the screen. You, the quiet and introverted student by day, become the loudest sex kitten known to mankind by night. It’s enough to shock anyone into a meaningless daze – much like the one Taehyung’s in right now.

‘It all makes sense now!’

“You just have to watch someone else…then you won’t think about her anymore.” Taehyung whispers to himself as he types in the infamous website. “Once you see a new pair of nice tits, you’ll get over hers.”

If Jimin and the rest of the boys, especially Namjoon who oversees the group as an unofficial leader, could hear him right now, Taehyung would be due for a smack in the head.

Regardless of what does and what doesn’t make sense, Taehyung likes to think that it’s the only possible solution to his ‘you’ problem.

Forget the old by welcoming something new.

He nods happily to himself as he scrolls through the list of camgirls on the site, pointedly ignoring the one that stands out to him the most.

The blinking red alert of “Live!” stares him straight in the face, but Taehyung gathers all of his emotional strength to skip over it completely to click on another.

It’s a bunny hybrid this time – Taehyung just knows that Jungkook would be creaming himself in under five seconds at the sight of the cottontail poking through black lace panties. The girl’s hot, Taehyung can’t deny that obvious fact. She’s already touching herself through the lace, with her free hand coming up to caress a sensitive nipple. He’s quickly reminded of his unofficial task of the night: forget all about prettykitty to focus on peachbun instead.

‘Foolproof plan, if I do say so myself.’

Somewhere, Namjoon clutches his heart from a sudden sting of pain – or was it betrayal?

He reaches down to slowly stroke his cock through his sweatpants, getting himself warmed up as the girl continues touching herself. He smirks to himself as he falls into a relaxed state, welcoming in her soft moans and sleek sounds from her pussy as she starts stretching herself out with two fingers.

Not even two minutes in, and Taehyung finds himself in trouble.

He frowns as he switches between rapid tugging and stroking at a snail’s pace. Nothing. Not even the sight of the girl’s pebbled nipples and overflowing sleek over her thighs can make Taehyung as hard as a rock.

If anything, his dick’s as hard as an al dente pasta noodle.

He pouts as his dick sits as limp as ever against his stomach. If dicks could have sad faces, his would be the poster child. He can practically hear Jimin and the others mimic sad violins behind him, mocking him for his complete and utter failure of a boner. Taehyung can’t help but think that God’s purposely against him for watching porn – or so, his mother would probably say.

Taehyung bites his lip pensively as he scrolls back to the top of the page. Your channel teases him, the red ‘Live’ button winking incessantly and slowly provoking him to click, to give into the temptation. He plays with the idea of searching through more camgirl channels, but suddenly even that feels like a tedious chore.

He knows what he wants – he just can’t (shouldn’t) have it. Taehyung moves the mouse to click out of the webpage, but his own stubbornness freezes him in his tracks, the mouse icon hovering over the exit button.

It’s Monday evening – the end of a hard day’s work at school. He completed his psychology essay on time with a couple hours to spare, and he made sure to send the extra time to answer all the messages in his emails, especially the one from his little siblings who bombarded him to spend them money to buy new games at the mall, and clean up his bathroom after God knows how many months.

Taehyung deserves a little pampering for himself (as awkward as it sounds) – a little “self-care”, so to speak – so…why not?

Before he can physically rip himself away from his laptop and chuck himself through his dorm room window, Taehyung clicks on your livestream and waits as it loads. It had been about 5 minutes since your livestream started, and Taehyung hopes that he hasn’t missed much.

It’s as if invisible hands are strangling him when Taehyung finally enters the livestream.

You’re indeed streaming…but you’re not alone.

“F-fuck, Daddy, yes.” You cry out as the man drives his hips into yours, his veiny hand wrapped tightly around your throat. “Fuck m-my little pussy. Fill me up with your kittens.”

The sight of you, complete with your ears and tail, being obliterated by an unknown man is enough for Taehyung’s cock to fill up and ache to be touched. He should be angry – at most, he’s a little bit jealous. Instead, he’s completely drawn into the image of someone else’s cock inside of you and the wetness that spills over onto the sheets and down your thighs.

Taehyung whines pathetically as he grips his own cock on his right hand, tugging in tandem with the man’s thrusts. He can hear every lewd squelch of your pussy as it clings to the man’s dick in a tight vice. By the sound of his throaty grunts, it only keeps riling hm up. While the man’s face is never shown, Taehyung gets a front-row view of your fucked-out expression – the most important part of the show, in his opinion.

You’re drenched in sweat and come, but you still look as pretty as you did today. You lean upwards to crash your lips against the stranger’s and as you pull away, a cute little string of spit drips from your bottom lip. Your tiny hands grasp at the bedsheets in desperation – in a sneaky attempt to touch your clit, the man smacks at your wrists, and you assume your original position.

“O-Oh shit, that feels so good.” You giggle through every harsh thrust, stretching your legs out further so that his cock fills your hole deeper and deeper. “Daddy always knows how to take care of his little pussy in heat. He knows how to make his kitten feel so good.”

Taehyung swallows dryly -- your little stream’s a pretend heat session. You didn’t show any signs of an actual heat in class, so it’s a fair assumption that you’re just playing it up for views and tips. It plants a little image in the viewers’ heads of you being in heat just for them. Meanwhile, you work to stack up cash for the night, aiming for $5k in about an hour. Last time, you’d gotten $2k, and you had only streamed for less than an hour, so your expectations are more or less obtainable.

As Taehyung continues fucking up into his clenched fist, he takes a peek at the comment section that goes berserk. Comments such as “You look so fucking hot!” and “I can’t wait for you to come all over yourself, baby” are the most common that he sees – and they are absolutely right.

“Come in my little pussy, Daddy.” You whimper as the man’s thrusts start to become sloppy, his hand that once grips at your throat moving down to grip your sides.

You lean onto your chest in order to reach behind you and knead your cheeks apart, his wet thrusts hitting every sweet spot possible. It’s hard to not roll your eyes back in pleasure, but you keep your eyes on the man, pouting cutely as you silently beg for your quick release.

“Does my little kitty like that, huh?” Taehyung subtly snarls at the commanding tone of the stranger.

Maybe he’s more than a little jealous.

“I f-fucking love it.” Your own hips grind back onto his cock, desperate to milk out whatever release he had for you.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your tail sends tingles down your spine and into the apex of your thighs. You’re reaching the end of your rope, and Taehyung sees it even before it finally happens.

Taehyung closes his eyes as he tightens his fist around his wet cock. He’s so close to his own release, but he wants to wait until you come – a lame excuse to pretend that you’re coming on his cock and not some stranger’s, that you’re the one receiving his come and being filled up with his kittens.

“I’m coming!”

Taehyung pants as he watches your face transform into a look of sheer bliss as your juices spray all over the man’s cock and onto the already sodden bedsheets. You’re suddenly lifted up against his broad chest, the audience catching a glimpse at the cock snug deep in your creamy pussy, and the man fucks up in quick bursts as he reaches his own end.

“What a good kitty.” The man purrs as his fingers trail down your stomach to flick gently at your pink pearl.

You purr in response as you feel his warm come fill you up, the overstimulation on your clit bringing together a perfect mixture of pain and pleasure. When it becomes too much, you twitch away from his fingers, a whine parting from your swollen lips. You accidentally shift off his cock with a wet pop, a steady stream of come dripping from your little hole and mixing in with your clear juices from before.

The sight’s too much for Taehyung to handle, and he can’t stop himself from staining his t-shirt with the white ropes of his own come. His breath grows heavy with each finishing stroke until his cock becomes too sensitive, forcing him to pull away and take a much-needed breather.

However, his eyes stay glued to your form as you wave goodbye to your viewers, giggling profusely as the man plants multiple kisses along the curve of your back. Your adorable laughter soon morphs into decadent whimpers once you feel his warm tongue lick away the remaining come that coats your cunt.

“Dream of me tonight, Daddy.”

Your blissful sigh is all Taehyung witnesses before the livestream officially ends, leaving Taehyung to clean up his mess.

Both literally and metaphorically.

1K notes · View notes

galimau · 6 years

Text

“Sold”

All credit for the initial idea goes to the DGraycember art project @superbadlydrawnallenwalker has going on. This was supposed to be ~300 words but it mutated. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Red gets sold to the circus. It’s not a great situation.

Word Count: 1383

no editing we die like mne

In a fair world, Scipio felt that he would have been ringmaster in the circus that he owned. It was only right that the man who kept the entire show on the road should receive the lion’s share of attention from those who flocked to the fairgrounds.

But the world was not fair, and Scipio was a dull-eyed, unpleasant man who very few people wanted to speak with, much less see perform. But what made him so unpalatable as a performer made him very successful as a businessman: he had an uncompromising hold on his warmer emotions, and the ability to turn any situation to profit.

That instinct for profit was why he was standing in his tent, entertaining a local factory foreman, Edgar, who had approached him about handing off a potential worker for a small fee of gratitude.

The worker in question was young, dirty from ratted hair to worn shoes, and gruesomely deformed. He looked miserable standing there, which irritated Scipio. How many children had cycled through these tents and dreamed about joining the circus? Ungrateful.

All together, Scipio rather doubted that he would be worth much money. But Edgar had seemed like a sensible sort, and rather desperate to have the boy off his hands.

“It seems like you want me to take him more than I need another set of hands. Well. hand,” Scipio drawled.

From the way the limb was hanging by the boy’s side, Scipio doubted it was good for much.

“Of course I want you to take him,” Edgar snapped. “I wouldn’t be here if not. We put him to work for a while- and he made it worth the cost of feeding him. He’s small enough to get under the machines, even while they’re running.”

Scipio cast a skeptical look at the boy in question. Whatever the factory had paid to keep the boy fed, it couldn’t have been much. His ribs had shadows between them, and the rope around his waist barely held up patchy trousers.

But maybe that helped to keep him small.

Edgar opened his mouth, raised his hand to point at the boy. Then the kettle whistled, cutting off whatever the foreman was going to say.

Scipio gestured at his table, hoping that Edgar would take his invitation to sit. He had a set of good china cups he had gotten while the circus traveled in France, and took every opportunity to show them off to company.

Edgar sat down easily, helping himself to the offered tea with a smile. And took a bit too much sugar. Impolite. That was an expensive indulgence. Scipio smiled through his irritation, and reminded himself not to set out the sugar pot for guests.

After a few moments of getting settled, the time seemed right to turn the conversation back to business.

He stretched his hands in front of him, cracking the joints and relishing the small wince Edgar gave at the sound.

“So what’s the issue with him. You say he was a valuable worker, but you practically knocked down my door to give him away. No offense, friend, but I never trust generosity.” Bad business policy, to let debts go unacknowledged.

The foreman chuckled around his cup. It sounded more than a little bitter.

“A wise policy- one that I share. And I won’t be giving him away.”

Scipio sighed. It had been worth a try.

Edgar continued. “To be honest, if it were not for recent, ah, circumstances I wouldn’t be speaking with you. Nimble fingers are hard to find, even only five of them.” He set his cup down on the table, looking aggrieved. “Three days ago the boy got clumsy. Got his hand caught in the machine.”

The boy had moved away from the center of the room while they spoke, tucked himself into the back corner as if the shadows would keep him out of view. Scipio glanced at the boy’s arms. One was normal, if a bit skinny, the other red and cracked and ugly as sin, but neither were mangled. Odd.

“Is that what happened to his arm?”

“No. Oh no.” The foreman leaned forward, a eyes glinting. “That has been attached to him for as long as we’ve had him. The problem is when it got caught, it broke the machine. Chipped one of the gears it was between. Those things have chewed up arms as big as his entire body, and his damn arm doesn’t have a scratch,” his voice peaked hysterically. Edgar sat back, shaking his head. “Not a scratch, and a whole machine that is still being repaired.”

He shot a venomous look at the boy, hunched on himself in the corner.

“And now no one will work next to him. Not the adults, certainly not the other children. I mean, we all knew he was damaged,” he waved a hand at the child to encompass the whole sorry image, “but that’s just. Inhuman. Can’t keep it around the others.”

Scipio tapped his fingers against his glass, considering. People would pay for freakish.

“A gear chipped?”

The foreman nodded. “Nothing can hurt that arm of his. I’ll bet you could take a hammer to it,” he added nastily.

Scipio got the distinct impression that Edgar had pondered doing just that any number of times.

“And he’s a willing worker?”

“He knows where his meals come from, I’ll just say that.”

Scipio nodded slowly. This might be a better deal than he’d first thought. But one last thing…

“Boy.” The child didn’t move, or look at him. “Boy. Hey, b-” still no response. “Is he deaf and dumb, too?” He asked, half expecting the foreman to say yes.

Edgar scowled. “He’s downright vocal once he starts to whine. He’s just skittish.” Edgar aimed a halfhearted kick toward the boy, not even bothering to stand from his chair. The child still flinched. “See? He’s paying attention. He’s a cunning little fellow.” It was clearly not intended as a compliment.

Scipio approved. He didn’t care for cunning children, especially those under his thumb. They tended toward trouble.

This time, when he called the boy he came right over, lurking just beyond arm’s reach. Scipio scoffed. “Don’t make me grab at you. You won’t like what happens if you make me stand up from my chair.”

The boy shuffled closer, staring at the ground.

“Put your arm up here,” he patted the table, “and don’t get clever- you know the one I mean.”

The boy lifted his left arm and laid it down between their teacups. Edgar pursed his lips and looked away, but Scipio leaned closer.

It was truly grotesque. Red and corded with deep cracks and ridges, looking like it had been sewn on to the shoulder, with ugly veins bulging from the skin around it. The hand was overly large, and hinged mechanically at the knuckles, with black shiny nails and a cross burned into the skin. Edgar had said the boy’s arm was inhuman, but it looked positively demonic.

Scipio had no love for the church, nor an abiding fear of god, but he found the idea of touching that hand… distasteful.

It was disturbing enough to be fascinating.

“Can you move it, boy?”

Hesitatingly, the child nodded.

“A little… I can hold things, lift them,” he whispered.

Edgar slapped the table. “There, you see? Good enough for work, and that arm will bring some business on its own merit.”

Scipio sighed. The foreman was right, and the circus did need help, what with the number of no-good brats that ran off every time they made camp. It would be nice to have one that had to stick around.

“I’ll give you three bob and not a penny more.”

“A half-crown, for the trouble of bringing him here,” Edgar replied.

Scipio scowled, but held his hand out. They shook, and Scipio got up to grab his purse.

“Does the boy have a name?”

Edgar looked vaguely surprised to be asked. “Not one we ever knew. We generally just called him Red.”

That seemed obvious enough. Scipio nodded, and with business concluded, the other man left. He never looked back.

Scipio looked over the boy - over Red.

“It looks like you’ve got a job again. Let’s hope you prove worth it.”

The boy stayed quiet as he pulled his shirt back on.

Scipio rolled his eyes. Just like he’d first thought. Ungrateful.

So, thank you so much @superbadlydrawnallenwalker, for giving me permission to write something based off your art! I’ve been at a standstill and all the young Allen angst made me start writing again.

#dgm #dgm fic #my writing #holy shit i published something #I might... I might put this on AO3

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shockcity · 7 years

Text

DD #10 - hearts and other stolen things

Rating: M

Summary: AU - Matthew Murdock is a self-serving criminal with no time for love. But this Foggy fellow sure is persistent….

Category: M/M

Pairing: Foggy Nelson/Matt Murdock

Warnings: Deadpool

Note: I actually don’t often ship Foggy/Matt, as my OTP is Fratt, but I have a thing for cuddly dom!Foggy, so there’s that.

Oooh. Poetry.

__________________________

Deadpool had about five minutes before Matt packed up his shit and went home. It was starting to snow; his senses didn’t work so well in this weather, his fingers were frozen, and his socks were wet.

His socks were wet.

“Honey! I’m home!” Wade called, finally clambering onto Matt’s roof. “~I can’t feel my face! Baby it’s cold outside. Let’s go back to your place…sooo we can fuuuuck~”

“That’s not how the song goes,” Matt said, irritated. “I’ve been here for an hour. We said one, Wade.”

“Nuh-uh. Three! I’m totally early.”

He was not early. He was dumb, and Matt was cold and his socks were wet.

“Can we please just get this over with?” he snapped. “Your being here at all is a professional courtesy. Your man is there,” Matt pointed to the fourth floor. “My diamond is there.” He pointed to the fifth. “Got it?”

“Capisce compadre.” Wade saluted, but didn’t move from the roof. “I’m just curious though, what do you need a three million dollar diamond for?”

More socks, Matt thought, these are wet.

“I’m starting a charity for disadvantaged blind orphans with abandonment issues,” he confessed. “Then I’m giving the rest to the church.”

Deadpool laughed. “Sure. I should have asked, ‘hmm, how many pairs of silk sheets can you get with three mill?’”

Perching on the edge of the building, Matt tested the cable before buckling himself in.

“So many,” he answered, and then slid down onto the roof of the bank.

“Nice ass!” Wade yelled after him.

_________________________

Daredevil strikes again! Georgian Diamond stolen from Max Security Vault! said the Bulletin headline.

“DD strikes back. DD, a new hope. Return of the DD. The Phantom D–”

Matt hung up on him.

A few seconds later, Wade called back. “Is this Ghengis Connie’s? How is your dim sum on a scale of one to ten?”

Matt hung up.

“Idiot, Idiot, Idiot,” said Matt’s phone.

He did not answer; instead, he drank his very good organic coffee and wiggled his vicuna wool covered toes with quiet satisfaction.

“Idiot using Weasel’s phone, Idiot using Weasel’s phone, idiot using Weasel’s phone.”

Matt sighed.

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade – I don’t know why I get up in the morning,” he said when he finally answered. “Stop calling me. And stop calling me Daredevil.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal. But I’ll never lose your number, Rikki. What are you wearing?”

Matt hung up.

_________________________

They met on a heist.

Both people. Both times.

Matt would never ever admit to why he tolerated Deadpool’s crap, and he and Foggy were still really new, but Matt could reasonably say that two of the most prevalent people in his life were introduced to him while shit went down. Attachments were often made in times of strife, after all.

One introduction occurred during a high stakes B&E at S.H.I.E.L.D. Accounting HQ (don’t ask), and the other was at the law offices of Hogarth, Chao, and Benowitz. Matt was stealing sensitive paperwork both times.

Deadpool was attempting to reconfigure someone’s face while arguing about the merits of fish tacos v carne asada (Matt has never asked for an explanation, because Matt gives a fuck only sometimes and this was not one of those times), and the whole one-sided debate/torture session was being held right on top of the file cabinet that Matt needed to break into.

It was very inconvenient.

Punches were thrown, acrobatics done, and some of Deadpool’s limbs were lost. Even though Matt left him doing a black knight “just a flesh wound” impression, Deadpool decided to seek out Matt later anyway. Apparently they were now “best friends for freaking ever and ever,” and “they still make those halfsy heart necklaces, I’ll get us one, omg!!1!”

There was over a year of suffering Wade’s…Wadeness, before the second most important person in Matt’s life walked in on him shuffling through Jeryn Hogarth’s personal file cabinet at 3 am.

Seriously with the file cabinets.

“Um, are you… stealing…stuff?” said Foggy, and then he took a deep breath. “Do you need legal representation?”

Matt considered this. “Probably,” he decided. “But that depends on my getting caught.”

Foggy nodded sagely. “True that,” he said. “I doubt I could out-ninja you, if you are, in fact, the dude I think you are…so, I’ll go call the cops and you can just skedaddle while I hope for the sake of my career that you’ve not taken anything too important.”

“Hogarth has evidence that one of your clients is guilty of embezzlement. This is that evidence,” Matt told him, waving the folder around. “So no, your ass isn’t on the line.” He thought for a moment. “Unless I decide to get rid of the witness.”

“Sure ok,” Foggy scoffed, taking out his phone and thumbing through it. He punched in 911 (presumably) and held it up for Matt to see (which he couldn’t). “Calling them now, so…catch you on the flipside.”

Matt made it four blocks away by the time the cops caught up, and by then he had replaced thoughts of the heist with thoughts of Foggy. Matt was fascinated, and oddly charmed by this man, and some part of his brain must have come loose or there was a gas leak in his apartment or something, because he found himself calling Wade to talk about it.

“He sounds amazing,” Wade said, groaning into the phone. “Is he hot? Are you gonna hook up? I think I’m jealous.”

“I don’t know what he looks like because I can’t see,” Matt reminded him politely, and Wade groaned again. “But he smells nice.”

“Are you going to see him again?”

“I can’t see him at all, because I’m blind.”

Wade hung up on him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Matt’s phone announced thirty seconds later.

“Just promise me one thing,” announced Wade, sounding melancholy. “Bros before hoes, Matty. Bros. Before. Hoes.”

Matt promised reluctantly, even though he had no intention whatsoever of ever crossing paths with Foggy again.

But fate had another plan, of course.

…and also Foggy and Matt’s romance is really quite a lovely story, and honestly, there’s only so much Deadpool readers can take.

_________________________

“Oh good! I caught you.”

Matt wasn’t sure how exactly Foggy Nelson had figured out where his local bodega was. He wasn’t sure how Foggy knew who he was even, because he was in Matt-clothes, not Daredevil cat-suit clothes.

And he’d just called himself Daredevil. Fucking Wade.

But more pressing things were at hand, like this getting caught business.

“What?”

Foggy seemed to realize what he’d said, based on his nervous shuffling. “Uh, not in the ‘apprehending a suspect’ sense, but in a, I need some friendly advice sense.”

Matt put down the fruit he’d been inspecting, and turned to face Foggy directly. There was an intake of breath.

“That’s…a cane. How did I miss the cane? Wow. Uh. Cane.”

“How did you know who I was?” Matt asked, crossing his arms. “And give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just kill you?”

He wondered if Foggy had thought any of this through, but then he didn’t seem all that nervous at the mention of killing things. Huh.

“Because you don’t kill people?” Huh. “And you feel like paying me back for doing you a solid that one time?”

Matt suddenly blushed, feeling like an asshole. He did owe Foggy, and he felt bad that Foggy had had to call on that debt to get Matt to help him. Matt wasn’t…a bad person, per se. Self-serving, yes. Compulsive liar and thief, absolutely. Unwilling to help his fellow man (especially when appealed to directly)? Of course not. He was human. He had human…emotions. Empathy. Compassion.

Stick hadn’t completely fucked him up, after all.

You’re a hot mess, baby, his internal Wade-voice said. What you need is some dick, offer him an afternoon siesta–

Shut up, Wade.

“Sorry, Nelson. Of course I’ll help.” Matt mumbled, frowning in the direction of his shoes. “I’m not a complete ass.”

“Ookay… never said you were. So, here’s the thing: someone broke into my apartment but they didn’t steal anything, man, they left something. In your expert opinion does this smack of crazy or clever manipulation? Or both?”

“What did they leave?”

“A hoe.”

Matt blinked. “Excuse me?”

“A hoe. Uh. Like the farm tool…thing. The raking. Of the crops. I don’t know I’m from Hell’s Kitchen.”

“A hoe,” he parroted in disbelief.

Foggy was smiling nervously, he could hear it, and Matt might have smiled back had he not realized exactly what (or whom) he was dealing with.

“Deadpool,” Matt hissed.

———-

“I’m just trying to get you out there.” Wade dodged a kick to the face. “It’s been two years, Matty! I’m surprised little Matt hasn’t just fallen off…just, detached and run off to find someone that actually appreciates him for who he is– ”

Matt socked him in the stomach. “Oof!” said Wade. “OK time-out. Time-out. That actually hurt kinda.”

Despite being angry at him, Matt did pull away, his hands on Deadpool’s shoulders. “You need to stop,” he told his friend. “Nelson could have gone to the police with your note.”

He hadn’t been able to appreciate Wade’s drawing of Foggy in a giant dick costume (“it’s very très chic,” Foggy had said) but the addition of the address for Matt’s local grocery and what time he usually dropped by was absolutely not something he appreciated at all.

“Oh, come on.” Wade threw his hands in the air as Matt stomped around his kitchen. “He never would have gone to the po po. He’s the most innocent butterscotch donut there ever was. The worst he’s probably ever done to anyone is ask if they were really blind. And those were special circumstances! And his hair is golden and glossy. He wears cute suits. He’s really come along way from She’s All That!”

“Wade, enough.”

Wade sunk into a sullen silence, which, getting him to actually shut up for even a short period of time was sort of a superpower of Matt’s. Everyone said so. And usually this was where he sighed and told Wade to stop pouting and then forgave him, but Matt was serious this time.

“You could have really screwed up here, you know. Nice guy or not, Foggy Nelson knowing my secret identity isn’t necessarily a good thing. Now he’s…involved. My enemies could come after him.”

“Spider-man hasn’t tried to arrest you in months– ”

“They could use him to hurt me. If I’m being honest, that’s what I’m most afraid of, Wade. Of people I care for being caught in the crossfire.”

“Oh my goooooooooood,” Wade exclaimed, skipping over to Matt and grabbing him into an uncomfortable hug. “You’re still scarred about that one time with the Punisher! Awwwww, Matty. You knew I’d be fine! I’m sorry you got splattered with my brains– ”

“You’re sorry?”

“ –and for making you choose between your boyfriend and me. But that was my fault, not yours. I was on Castle’s radar a long time before he started doing the do with you. Which sounded pretty hot, gotta say. Oh, and I heard you that one time.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re kinda loud.”

“Just…” Matt sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Just let me handle it, okay?”

“You got it, DD. Consider me persona non grata! El out of it-o. Worry not about anymore interference from me, my good sir. I leave thee to thy contemplations of eternal celibacy. Foggy Nelson is never gonna hear from me again! You have my word.”

_________________________

“Hi,” Wade said into Foggy’s ear, who nearly jumped out of his seat in surprise. “Sooooo? What’d you think? He’s hot, right?”

“I, um– ”

“Ooh, breakfast burritos!” He purloined Foggy’s meal, sitting across from him at the little cafe table. People stared. Wade knew it was because he was super handsome and famous. “I notice you didn’t ask him out.”

Foggy shrugged awkwardly. “Well, he was pretty annoyed, so I figured it wasn’t the best time to suggest dinner.”

Wade shoved the half-eaten burrito in his pocket. “I see,” he nodded. “Oh, and speaking of seeing, how do you feel about the blind thing? Because let me tell you, it took some getting used to– ”

“Um.”

“ –but then Matt explained this thing called ableism to me, and wow was that an eye-opener. Pun totally intended. So if you’ve got a problem with blind people I completely understand, but also you’re probably gonna meet Mean Deadpool instead of Nice Deadpool. The Mean one kills people. Wait. So does the Nice one. Just don’t hate blind people, OK?”

Foggy let him finish, a cute little wrinkle in between his eyes. “I’m not ableist,” he replied, slowly. “I have no problem with the differently abled. Please don’t kill me. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Now, Matt is a very handsome duck, yes,” he admitted. “Like really handsome. And I’m interested. Very interested.”

Wade leaned forward excitedly. “It’s the hair isn’t it? I mean Charlie Cox is hot as fuck, but Comics!Matt has always been my secret man-crush. I’m thinking this particular fanfic features more of a Mixed Matt, like, Charlie’s adorbs face but with ginger tresses, and of course he’s got that ass in any medium. Because, like, that ass.”

Foggy held up a hand. “Dude, I’m trying to ask for Matt’s number.”

Deadpool pulled out his phone, which was covered in smooshed breakfast burrito. “Dude, why didn’t you just say so? Why do people insist on writing pages filled with useless dialogue? I’m not even that funny.”

________________________

“Unknown number, probably Wade, unknown number, probably Wade– did you pick up my dry cleaning again? I’ve told you hundred times to leave those people alone– ”

“Uh. That sounds like a story.”

Matt blinked. He blinked again. “How did you get this number?”

He could hear Foggy Nelson’s heartbeat speed up over the phone (Wade was fond of testing Matt’s abilities this way, usually with his hand down his pants, which was why Matt kept the length of their phone conversations to thirty seconds or less) and waited for an explanation that didn’t include the words 'dead’ or 'pool’. Alas, Matt was unlucky in life.

“I don’t know why I believed him when he said he would drop this,” Matt grumbled, leaning against his sink. “Listen, Nelson, it’s not that I don’t like you– ”

“No, it’s okay,” Foggy reassured him, though he sounded disappointed. “I get it, and I’m sorry I’m bothering you.”

“You’re not!” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re not bothering me. I’m just not dating right now.”

“Bad break up, huh?”

Matt laughed humorlessly. “The worst.”

“Yeah, I lost a real spitfire a couple years ago to corporate law, and then wham! I’m suddenly working for HCB and there goes my high horse. She’s made it her goal in life to destroy me in court every chance she gets. Of which there are now many.”

“Why did you go to work for Hogarth?”

“Turns out owning your own practice is a total bummer. Thank you casseroles from endless pro bono clients are not accepted in lieu of rent money. Who knew.”

Matt smiled despite himself. “Not even enchilada casserole?”

“Not even that.”

There was a comfortable silence, and then Matt took a breath and said, “you know I was going to be a lawyer?”

“No way, Jose!”

He laughed. “Really. I was.”

Foggy laughed too. “How on earth did that go so sideways?”

So Matt told him, and Foggy listened and made all the right jokes and didn’t judge and generally charmed the pants off of him. They talked about law, then breaking the law (as you do), then Wade, then Wade’s hygiene (as you do), and then moved on to old movies, vinyl records, the best place for cannoli, that One Time Tony Stark Crashed Into a Strip Club, and the current health care bill that everyone but Wade was concerned about.

“We should have dinner,” Matt found himself saying during a slight pause in their banter. “I mean yes. I’m saying yes.”

“To dinner? As in, a dinner date?” Foggy sounded hopeful.

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “We should do that.”

“Okay.”

They set a time and place; both a bit breathless with excitement. When Matt hung up, he checked the time. It had been 2 hours and 36 minutes since he’d accepted the call. He had talked to Foggy Nelson for 2 hours, and 36 minutes.

When’s the wedding? His inner Wade-voice said.

Matt scoffed and ignored it, but he had a small smile on his face for the rest of the night.

_________________________

His socks were wet again, but this time it had nothing to do with snow. This time it was the Hudson; which Matt had decided to take a dip into (no, not decided, he’d been pushed. Pushed).

“You are dead!” He yelled, water-logged and spitting mad. “Dead!”

Wade only laughed and laughed.

“Um, thanks for the help,” Spider-man said, somewhat dubiously. Behind him, a large Godzilla-looking green reptile lay dead and still partially on fire.

“I wasn’t helping!” Matt growled, boots squelching as he dragged his sore body away from the boardwalk. “I’m a villain, remember?”

“Right.” Spider-man didn’t sound so sure. “You know, Daredevil, I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You sure did,” Wade nodded, slapping Matt on the back of his wet catsuit. Ugh. “He’s not a villain at all! Self-serving? Yeah. Kind of a dick? Sure. But sinister enough for Spidey’s rogues gallery? Nah…wait. Isn’t Stilt-man in there somewhere? I take it all back.“

“I’m not a hero,” Matt hissed.

“Your boyfriend thinks you are! OMG Spidey it’s so cute, he’s dating the embodiment of summer sunshine, Raffi, and kittens playing in little boxes.”

Wade went on to tell the entire story of MattnFoggy, and Spider-man thought it was all very lovely, of course.

“That’s so sweet, DD,” he gushed like a High Schooler. “And now I’m 100% sure you’re just misunderstood.”

“110!” Wade crowed.

“110,” Spider-man nodded.

Later, Matt and Wade trooped back to Matt’s apartment; one exhausted and pensive, while the other remained as hyper and cacophonous as always. Wade was ecstatic about making a new friend, and was going on and on about “Team Red”, but Matt was too distracted to listen.

“Wade,” he said, cutting off his endless stream of nonsense. “Do you think…do you ever wonder about going straight?”

Wade gasped. “Honey, no.”

“I’m serious,” said Matt. “I’m just– I’m just worried for Foggy. I want to be good for him.”

“Listen.” Wade reached out and took Matt by the shoulders, shaking him a little. “You already are good. You’re great. Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes great. So what if you steal stuff? You’re not hurting anybody!”

“Rich people,” Matt pointed out.

“No one cares about the 1%, coal miners, or crybaby white people. You’re a freedom fighter! An enemy of fascist America! I’m proud of you, Matt. And so is Foggy, because that’s who this is really about.”

Which was true. This was about Foggy, and it was becoming a serious hang-up that was threatening the very fabric of their relationship. Something needed to be done, so Matt gathered his courage that night and asked Foggy if he really knew what he was getting into.

“You do know that I’m a villain, right?” He said cautiously. “I’ve been arrested by the Avengers and everything.”

For the first time, Matt was feeling somewhat ashamed of this, rather than just indifferent or irritated.

“Psh,” Foggy replied, holding Matt’s hand. They were intertwined on Matt’s couch, which seemed to be their habit these days. “Who needs those guys? Not me. Plus I like you just the way you are, and I know it’s cheesy, but you’ve stolen my heart.”

Matt smiled shyly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Foggy leaned in and kissed the top of his head and squeezed his shoulders. Matt melted. “But you know what, Matty? I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. I think you’re great, and it doesn’t really matter that you steal stuff, unless you’re caught and go to prison, which would suck. But even then I would stick by you. I’d be your legal representation.”

“That’s practically a proposal.” He grinned and sat up and stared in the general direction of his boyfriend. He felt warm and cared for, and the pure, overwhelming affection he had for this man prompted him to say, “Foggy Nelson, will you be my legal representation?”

“I will.” Foggy’s heart didn’t lie. “Forever and always.”

And Matt practically threw himself at Foggy, hugging him tight. “You know what, Foggy?” said Matt, kissing his cheek. “You’re the best thing I ever stole.”

#DD fic #daredevil fic #dd10 #foggymatt #deadpool shenanigans #and Peter who seems to randomly show up in like all my dd fics

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