#he started off as just 'what if scatter was evil' before being fleshed out into a whole character a la darkiplier style | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months

Text

𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 🎃💦 ∘₊✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟞 ✧₊∘

|| ︶꒦꒷𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥꒷꒦︶ | main masterlist ||

@absurdthirst's Kinktober 2023 Prompts

Day 6: Leash and Collar, Medical Torture, Sacrifice

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐬

Your toes swing precariously against the wooden stool. You stand a little straighter, a little taller, to ease the abrading rope from digging into the flesh of your neck. The sun was almost mid sky, the heat becoming sweltering as you awaited your fate. It felt unfair to be hung for what had been nothing more than a sequence of poor choices and even poorer outcomes.

You hadn’t meant for that man’s gun to go off and send a blast of metal shards straight into his gut. You’d been trying to wrestle it away from him, to reason with him that your life was a high price to pay just for trespassing onto his land and eating some of his crops, but the man would hear none of it. In hindsight, you should’ve just been that evil, murderous person that they now intend to hang you for.

You could’ve left him alone on his ranch to bleed out onto the ground like an animal, but you didn’t. You made the foolish decision to go for help. When he succumbed to his injuries despite your efforts to seek medical attention for him, the Sheriff had been quick to dole out the role of judge, jury, and executioner within the span of about 15 minutes. Turns out killing the poker partner that was always good for a losing hand was enough to disgruntle the Sheriff to determine it had been an intentional burglary gone wrong and that you needed to satisfy the demands of justice over your sins.

You can’t quite see the face of the broad, handsome stranger who had unceremoniously interrupted your death. You hear his heavy accent with a smooth, relaxed cadence. You strain to hear, but the blood is pounding in your ears like thunder. You can’t hear much more than a few sparse words scattered in meaningless order.

You see the Executioner look over his shoulder to ensure no one is around before accepting a handful of paper slips from the Visitor. He tucks it into his back pocket and makes his way up the stairs. The Visitor follows his movements before his eyes lock with yours. There’s something soft in them. You think it’s a nice gesture from the universe to have something so beautiful to focus on right before you die. The little comforts in life.

“Lucky day, boy,” the Executioner laughs quietly. He makes quick work of detaching your noose from the gallows but keeps your hands tied. “Try anything, and I’ll blow yer brains out,” he warns.

He marches you down the stairs, glancing every which way for onlookers, and shoves you towards the Visitor. You stumble but catch yourself with a light hand of support from the Visitor. You look back and forth between the men in confusion. Were you being retried? Had somebody caught wind of the Sheriff's corrupt proceedings and intervened?

“Get outta here before somebody sees you,” the Executioner snaps.

The Visitor nods and wordlessly takes hold of the rope at the end of your noose. He mounts his horse effortlessly. You note the width and musculature of his hips and thighs. He’s a broad man all over, even bigger than he looked from up in the gallows. He’s older than you by at least 10 years if not 15 or 20. He’d had a life of labor, no doubt about that, and so much work in the sun had a tendency to age folks quicker.

“Keep up as best you can. I won’t make you run, but we need to leave here quickly,” he tells you.

Were you being kidnapped? Had those papers been bills and not a legal decree? Your stomach jolts. You try to make sense of your new predicament, but you haven’t had proper nutrition or hydration in days. You’d already started out in a deficit, but the rundown jail had been no remedy to your plight.

The Visitor gently knocks the inside of his ankles into the horse, and you do your best to keep pace. He looks down at you every now and then, you think to make sure you’re not plotting any sort of brazen escape, but he’s got that same soft tenderness in his gaze that goes as quickly as it comes. After you make it far enough away from town, you decide to confront him.

“What are you going to do with me?” you demand. Your voice is hoarse with exhaustion and dread.

The Visitor looks down at you with a contemplative look. “Are you hungry?”

The hominy soup tastes better with each bite. You lean forward in the shoddy wooden chair for your next bite.

“Ah, steady. Steady now or it will drip all over you,” the Visitor cautions.

Your cheeks flush at your tactless etiquette, but you’re starving. The first spoonful had sent your blood sugar rocketing. It was the most alive you’d felt in months. The little comforts in life.

“Sorry,” you mutter. You avoid his gaze, not just to stave off your embarrassment but to also keep from looking into his large brown eyes for too long – too long for an innocuous explanation to be plausible. There were hardly any men like you that you’d met, and, even of those bedfellows, many refused to freely act on their desires for fear of exile or the gallows.

You’d avoided death or worse so far today, and you didn’t want to tempt fate.

“Why’d you take me?” you blurt out. The spoonful of much needed sustenance hovers near your mouth before the Visitor places it back into the bowl. He sighs and looks away in thought for a moment before meeting your eyes again. Your stomach flips at the direct eye contact.

“You remind me of somebody that I once knew,” he answers cryptically.

“So, what? I’m some… memory from the past? That doesn’t sound like a convincing enough reason to bribe one of the Sheriff’s men and take off with their bounty,” you balk.

He smiles gently and looks over your features as though he’s plotting someone else’s countenance onto your own. “It’s not always something that can be explained, I guess,” he offers.

You huff and shake your head. “Look, can you just tell me what the fuck I’m doing here? Can you just.. get it over with, whatever it is?”

He looks taken aback slightly at your suggestive wording. “You think I’m going to harm you? After saving your life? Getting you all the way here? Feeding you from what low stock I have in my kitchen?”

Each question makes the guilt you feel triple. You jut your chin out defiantly. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m supposed to think. Some man just shows up and, what, pays for my salvation out of the goodness of his heart? You expect me to believe that? I don’t even know your fucking name! You’re talking like—”

“Silva,” he interrupts calmly. “My name is Silva.”

Your mouth slowly closes, the rest of you rant dying on the tip of your tongue. You shift uncomfortably with your arms still restrained and that damn rope still around your neck like he didn’t want you to forget for a single moment that he was your savior.

“You still have me tied up. If you’re just some nice gentleman, then why am I still bound?” you challenge.

Silva shrugs and sits back in his chair. “Just trying to make sure neither one of us is set up to make any rash decisions.” His brow puckers for a moment as if he’s said too much, although you’re still firmly in the dark as to what point there is to him bringing you here.

You take the moment of pause to let your eyes wander. His graying hair is tousled and flips aimlessly over his ears and neck. His scruff lines his jaw in patches, which only make his mustache all the more prominent. He doesn’t appear unkempt. His face and body look lived in, like the soul within burns and flares with a vigor for simply existing. His eyes are the final provocation for your comprehensive preoccupation.

His thighs pressed against the seat make them look even wider, and your cock twitches imagining how it must feel to be bracketed between them. He’s commanding in such an effortless way that it makes your lower belly warm with want. You realize you’ve been staring for much too long and look up to see he’s quietly observing you.

Your cheeks heat at having been discovered ogling. Then the fear creeps in. He appeared to be a shrewd, observant man, and you suddenly felt very exposed. What would he do if he knew the truth? What would he say if he discovered your visions of lovers had looked more like him than any of the town whores beckoning men for a “night of comfort” for only a few coins.

“If you want to leave, I will untie you,” Silva decides. “But I will warn you, I will not hesitate to kill you if you attempt any sort of violence on me or my land.”

Your adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow. The voice in your head is screaming at you to run and count your blessings at having evaded death another day. The call of his body sang to your blood. His was a siren song to your sanity, promising to engulf and drown you, and you can’t find it in yourself to care whether or not you can swim.

“Who is he?” you press with a shaky voice.

Silva’s jaw twitches. He knows exactly who you mean. He knows the implication behind the question. He can feel the shift of the energy in the small room.

“Somebody I spent a lot of time with.” His expression is as murky as his answer.

“And you miss him?” Your chest rises and falls with heavy breaths.

“You should go,” Silva asserts, but his big brown eyes betray any conviction.

“And what if I want to stay?” you whisper.

Silva wrenches you up from your seat with a firm grasp on the rope around your neck. Your face is so close you can almost touch his striking, aquiline nose. His eyes burn into yours, his pupils pooling into swollen rings of desire. The white of his knuckles pales as he grips the rope tighter.

“You’re getting yourself into a situation you won’t be able to back down from,” Silva warns. “You’re being careless.”

You can’t hold back any longer, and you aren’t sure how much bloodflow you have left to your brain before you pass out. So, you lean in and hungrily kiss the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. His entire body tenses at the gesture, his free hand flying up to your back to orient himself to something. When you pull back to assess the damage, there’s nothing but full blown lust.

Silva drags your mouth back onto his as he messes with the knots around your bound wrists. You wiggle them in an effort to help free yourself, and soon enough your hands are unrestricted. You tangle them into Silva’s hair as he nudges you onto the table with his hips. You scramble to scoot yourself up and peer at him excitedly.

He’s caging you in on top of the table, hungrily kissing and licking into your mouth. The moan that escapes only serves to rouse him more as he deepens his kiss and fervor of his groping. His large hand cups your hardon through your trousers, and you groan at the feeling of him taking control of your body.

“Have you ever taken a man in your mouth before?” he asks breathlessly.

You nod and shimmy down the table onto the floor. Your wrists are sore from being tied for so many hours, but you don’t hesitate to work his fastenings open to reveal his stiff length. Your mouth waters watching the heft of it bob in front of you.

“Open,” he gasps desperately, pleading.

You take him as best you can, the corners of your mouth stinging at the stretch of him. The thought of him cleaving you in two makes your cock jump. You shove a hand down your pants and wrap your fist around it.

“Can you– Can you take more of it? Please?” he pants.

You’re in the midst of trying to figure out how to relax your jaw more when he pulls on the rope. It inches your head forward, and you both moan in unison. When your throat starts to spasm, he releases the taut pull of the rope and allows you to slide your mouth off him with a choking sound. You gasp for air and marvel at your handiwork, several strands of saliva bridging between your mouth and Silva’s cock.

He jerks you up from the floor and turns you to face the table. He crouches down and tugs your pants the rest of the way down. You brace yourself on the table, two palms flat and wide against it, and cry out when you feel his tongue against your entrance.

“Silva,” you whimper. You throw your head back in complete euphoria. He grunts as he delves his tongue into you and his large hands effortlessly spread you for his gluttonous gorging.

He starts to insert a finger but meets the resistance of your nerves and underworked hole. He stands and rummages through some of the glass containers on the table.

“Safflower oil,” he pants as he answers your silent question.

He douses his hands in the lubricant and strokes you with it. Your hips jerk at the slick pull of his hand on your hard cock. His other hand works to relax your hole as you whimper and whine through the stretch. By the time he works a third finger into you, you’re gasping and leaking precum everywhere.

“Silva, please. I don’t care,” you pant. “I don’t care if it hurts at first. I just want it. Please.”

He makes an anguished groan and works more safflower oil over himself before rocking his length between the cleft of your cheeks.

“You’ve had a man here before?” he moans into your ear. You slip a hand behind you to cradle the side of his face.

“Y-Yes. Not too many,” you assure him.

“I’m going to fuck you, and you’re gonna fuck my fist,” he grunts as he prods your entrance with his bulbous tip.

You try your best to relax as he slowly enters you. He speaks freely into your ear as he stretches you open.

“You ever had this? A man taking your hole and making it his own? Letting him fill you up so you still smell like his cum even the next day?” he rasps.

Your eyes roll back as he bottoms out. You both rest for a moment as he waits for you to relax and adjust to his size.

“So fucking good. Better than your mouth, even,” he moans as he starts to rock his hips back and forth into you. “And your mouth was heaven for my cock.”

You cup your balls and gently massage them as he starts to propel himself faster and deeper. His large hand practically swallows your entire cock. You watch yourself disappear under his fingers before emerging again with each thrust.

“I-I’m gonn–I can’t hold off,” you stutter as your impending orgasm surges.

Silva buries his nose into the sweaty hairs along the nape of your neck and breathes you in, seeming far off and lost in the moment at the same time. You wonder briefly if he’s thinking of the man he said you reminded him of. His other arm slings around the front of your chest and pulls you flush against him.

With one deep thrust, he hits a spot that has you spurting out all over the table. Your jaw hangs open in a silent scream of ecstasy as he snaps his hips into you rapidly before reaching his own climax. He grips you against his chest as he spills inside you with a gritty whine.

He noses the curls at your hairline and breathes you in shamelessly. You let yourself sink back into the expanse of him, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of another man’s arms encasing you in a sated, serene glow. Even after you both clean up at the wash stand and hug each other’s naked bodies through the night, you feel the tingle of human closeness buzzing in the configuration of your veins and synapses and bone.

When he saddles up a horse for you the next day, you try to refuse. It’s too much. It’s not the best horse, but it’s still a horse. It’s too much. He’s already given you so much. You press into his mouth with a soft kiss. He grins at the gesture, not remarking on the discrepancy between what’s been given and what’s been taken.

You’re leaving with your heart filled, your stomach full, your journey feasible, and still living and breathing.

You turn to look at him one more time, to memorize his face, and to give him a warm smile.

“Thank you, Silva.”

He nods humbly and returns the nicety.

“I hope you find him again, wherever he is,” you say in earnest.

His eyes sparkle a bit at that. “Me, too.”

#kinktober #silva strange way of life #silver x reader #rootinest fruitinest cowboys

31 notes · View notes

oumaheroes · 1 year

Note

So i went to reread the three other oneshots you tagged in your recent of Gabriel leaving Arthur and Francis home but it doesn't make much sense

In the one of them at the party, at/towards the end you mention Alfred being caught by Antonio having "a lot of fun' meaning he was caught doing something naughty 👀

And then you mention Matthew hiding the good wine from Alfred, meaning they're AT LEAST 18 years old to be at this party, drinking and going into lewd acts with others.

But in the Marriage Counseling AU, they're both kiddos being told "your dad and i got into a fight" and how kids can tell that something is going on between their parents

Also.... Uhhh, just my own opinion about what Arthur's feelings... Uhhh

Is it Wrong that I really want Francis and Arthur to divorce?

I'm not sure what Arthur did that was bad aside from missing out on couples therapy, and him mentioning to Gilbert at the bar that he ALMOST fucked up, but catching or finding out your husband fucked some other person isn't something you can simply move on from, and if Arthur isn't ready to forgive or forget, and if he doesn't want to at all then thats a valid response from him. Lord knows i wouldn't but i guess he just loves Francis so much that he's willing to stay with him still, or maybe he's doing it for the kids like he tells Gilbert .

I'm also assuming maybe it's Antonio that Francis slept with, since they mention their absence when it's him and Gil at the bar drinking , like he had something to do with it.

Not sure, but yes, the whole au seems a little confusing now

Oh Anon, you speak such truths!

TLDR:

The Couples' Therapy AU exists in scattered parts and, as each part was written so far away from the parts before, the story has changed from the original design (where Al and Matt are Arthur and Francis' adult friends) to what they are in the next three installments- their children.

I've never revealed (aside to NeedCake hehe) what the storyline actually is, or what Arthur and Francis are actually fighting about or have done to each other. This is a secret for now and the stories posted are little flashes into it!

Rather than go back and edit the first part to fit, I'd rather write the whole thing out officially and prettily ;u; Thank you for your patience with me! I'm sorry things are a little confusing

Okay, long detail under the cut:

The Couples' Therapy AU originally started out with this. I had a vague idea of what I wanted but it was only going to give context to the -this was never meant to be anything more than a one shot! Arthur and Fran were a newly married couple sorting out some jealousy issues, Al and Matt are there but aren't related to them, and it was all going to be fine and dandy

And then Whumptober happened

Whumptober did things to me, Anon. I saw Day 2's prompt and the whole AU came back to me with a bang but this time, in my Whumptober fuled mania, it came back evil

From this point I fleshed the entire story out, each character's involvement, and then let it simmer. In this fic, listed as part three of Couples' Therapy, I kept the core idea of jealousy issues but redesigned the whole structure- Fran and Art are now a family, they've been married for years, but over those years cracks have begun to show and someone from Arthur's past comes along and inadvertently, innocently, steps on some fragile ground and breaks the whole things apart

The second listed part of Couples' Therapy then, written near the end of Whumptober, is the direct aftermath. What has happened has happened, everyone's hurt and split by it all, and we get a glimpse into what really went down

As for the truth of what happened, you'll have to wait and see. I've been waiting for the motivation to sit down and write the thing from the start but cake's birthday gift makes part number 4, which is chronologically the second story in teh timeline of events. It's about to kick off and we just need to watch it happen

'Is it Wrong that I really want Francis and Arthur to divorce?'

No it is not, they have done terrible things to each other

#heroes answers #couples therapy au

3 notes · View notes

transverberationofsaintteresa · 2 years

Text

Half Full, Half Empty - Chapter 6

Evil!Bruno, or - at least - MorallyDubious!Bruno AU. In which the reader seeks a vision, and gets more than they bargained for. Fem!Reader.

Rating: NSFW, seriously!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

You might have thought last night was a dream - were it not for the ring and the deepening love bites scattered over your thighs and breasts like talismans.

A lot of girls in town liked to wear their sweetheart, their betrothed's, ring on a necklace or on their belt as a sign of their relationship. It wasn't like you could do that - then you would have to explain to your family that... Bruno Madrigal had an interest in you, maybe just an interest of the flesh - you were not even sure what he meant by giving you this token. You spun the ring around thoughtfully; putting it on and taking it off. Slightly too big to wear even on your thumb. It would need to go on a necklace.

A few days had passed. A week passed. Bruno did not appear at your door and you could think of no reason you could reasonably be seen at Casa Madrigal again; only luck stopped you being caught the last two times. You watched your sister like a hawk - but she seemed happy and safe as ever.

You wondered if he was laying in that dim room, on that bed you had half seen. You wondered if he hated you, if he had forgotten you or if -

True to his word, you kept waking up in the midst of dreams of someone kissing and touching you like he had. He had said your body wouldn't forget being touched, being kissed, and you would seek it out having had a taste.

Marriage, not something previously on your radar - not yet - suddenly became more of interest now that you knew something about what happened behind closed doors. You found your eyes drifting over the visitors to the house; coming to get a new outfit, a tailored shirt, an outfit for an upcoming birthday. Drifting over the owners of the market stalls. Men you had never cared to notice before, suddenly became more interesting - you noticed their hands and broad shoulders. You found your eyes settling on their lips, before you remembered to pay the conversation due attention.

Still, none of them inspired the fire you felt when you even thought of Bruno Madrigal. Equal parts fervour and frustration and something molten and liquid you couldn't grasp.

Your eyes shot up guiltily when you heard the church door close. Of all the places to be thinking these sinful thoughts; you drew the dark lace over your hair further up, adjusting it out of nervousness.

You had come in here to light a candle and try to settle your fevered thoughts, but the quiet and the coolness did not make you feel settled in any way, it just seemed to give space for your thoughts and feelings to churn closer to the surface.

"Long time, no see." You shivered like a cold breeze crept up on you. Bruno knelt beside you in front of the altar.

Glancing around, you confirmed you were the only ones inside. Too late for morning mass and the old women that prayed at first light, too early for any afternoon worshippers dropping in after their errands. Even the priest...

Bruno cut in, as though sensing your thoughts. "The priest is outside, chatting up my sister Julieta - I guess he hasn't heard about her out of town boyfriend yet. She needed help carrying baskets of arepas into town; usually we use a donkey, but there were some issues this morning and yours truly was sent with her."

You looked at him sidelong as he slid his rosary off his neck and started to thumb over the beads. You muttered out the corner of your mouth. "He's a priest - he can't go out with your sister no matter how nicely he talks to her."

"Inocente... that doesn't stop him from trying. I know a few of the ladies in town think he's a looker." A pause, and his serious expression faded. "He's going to be as bald as an egg in a couple years. He came for a vision about it - worried about losing his charms." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

You had thought he would be furious with you - the easy conversation caught you off guard. "How did you know I was in here?"

"Is it shocking to you that I came in to pray?" Bruno lit one of the long, spidery candles. Even the deft movements of his hands lighting the candles made you feel something stirring between your legs.

You had no reply to that. At least, you had no polite reply to that. "I thought you would be angry with me."

"I showed you what I can give you. I was waiting for you to show up at my house, roll onto your back, show me your belly, and start purring like a little kitten begging to be pet." Bruno smiled, but it was a smile as tart as a bite into a lime, and it felt like his words were echoing all around the church. "Or for you to immediately get engaged to someone... like... the hat maker's son to keep me away from you and soothe your worries about your immortal soul."

"The hat maker's son?" You wanted to laugh but his statement felt serious.

"Or the cobbler's son. Someone you can make a whole outfit with. One stop shop makes perfect business sense."

"I suppose it does." You felt faint, suddenly aware of how long you had been kneeling. "You know I can use glass to make beads. You and I could make jewellery together."

"Only if the ladies wanted green jewellery all the time. I can only ever make green glass."

"You seem to know a lot about what ladies want, Bruno." You watched the flame flickering, guttering. You knew no one would think anything of seeing you praying together, but something about this conversation felt... illicit.

You knew he saw the ring in your hand when you felt him go still. You twitched before deciding not to hide it, holding your palm flat to show that it was his ring you were holding. Bruno opened his mouth to say something, but suddenly the front door slammed open. A gale force wind and rain pelted in - ripping your lace scarf straight off of your head and blowing it off to the side - into one of the vestibules. You scrambled to your feet, chasing after it, hearing Bruno curse and stumble after you.

Crouched down behind one of the pillars, struggling to see where the scarf had gone (a delicate handmade lace, you couldn't lose it) you saw the priest manage to force the doors closed and lock them before hurrying up stairs; clearly thinking the church was empty from how quickly he scanned the room and ran off. You knew the priest lived on the second floor of the church and was probably headed upstairs to close the windows and secure the shutters against the wind you heard howling around outside.

"Pepa, mi hermana, was headed off to see her boyfriend this afternoon. Must have gone badly. Or a hurricane took us by surprise... I know which is more likely though." Bruno murmured from next to you, eyes fixed on the stairs where the priest had vanished up. "He's probably going to take a siesta, this will take at least an hour to blow over."

"We need a key to get out. Or maybe one of the side doors is unlocked. We should go and tell him." You saw your scarf crumpled at the foot of the open confessional booth, tucked away from the rest of the church.

You hurried over to pick it up, but just as you reached the booth - a hand shot out and knocked you inside, tripping over the raised edge of the sides; landing with a huff on the velvet cushions; more shaken than hurt. The inside of the confession box was cool, dark - just like his expression when you whipped around to look at Bruno. Your heart was hammering inside your chest, though you didn't know if it was from the liquid fear you felt, or something else entirely.

"You can leave." He said, as he stepped in with you; the space just big enough for the two of you to sit side by side, sidling in next to you - hard thigh pressed up against yours, hot even through your skirts. "Or you can stay here, with me. I don't know if you remember, but I promised you that you could give me confession when we first met. I know you don't tell the priest what you really think, chica."

"You said you were better than any priest... but priests sit on the other side of the partition." You pointed out. Your heart was hammering, but you stayed in your seat; didn't move towards the ajar door. Just you and Bruno, breathing the same air in the enclosed space.

"That's so you can't see them, so you feel like you can confess anything without seeing someone else's expression influencing you. I can do something about that." He held up your scarf and slid his arms around you like you were going to embrace, tying it behind your head. So fine was the lace that you could still see his outline, the shadow of a shadow.

You felt struck by a bolt of arousal that shot through you, pinning you in place, tying your tongue in knots. You could see the faint line of his arm as he reached out and shut the confession booth door. Dim light blanketed you and you could hear his breathing, smell something hot and sandy and coppery.

"You know what to do, you remember your words, don't you?" His voice was soft and almost kind, gentle, but the hands the guided you to kneel on the floor were hard on the edge of bruising.

So tight a squeeze was it that your heels were pressed against the wooden door, and you could half-see, half-sense the hard line of his thighs on either side of your body; boxing you in.

"Bless me, Padre, for I have sinned. It is two weeks since my last confession." You kept your voice to a soft whisper, in case anyone came by. You could faintly hear the storm raging outside, like the swarm of thoughts churning inside your head.

"What sins have you come to confess?" You heard Bruno shift above you - the tight space and lack of sight amplifying how you felt.

"Lust. I feel like Saint Theresa and the angel." You had been thinking of that verse. You had read it over in your dogeared book so many times you knew the words off hand.

Emboldened by the dark, the words fell off your lips, reciting even as you struggled to pretend this was a real confession, with real absolution on offer. "He appeared to me to be thrusting it at times into my heart, and to pierce my very entrails; when he drew it out, he seemed to draw them out also, and to leave me all on fire... The pain was so great, that it made me moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that I could not wish to be rid of it."

"Pretty words." He said, finally. "But they seem to be trying to excuse that you're a wanton little temptress."

"I'm not -" Your protests were cut off when he slid a hand around your neck, not squeezing - just holding.

"You are." His face was close to you now and he smelled warm, spicy. You could swear you saw a faint, green glow. "I've thought of nothing but you since that party and I've come to collect the sweet kisses you owe me, plus interest. And yet you avoided me when you knew I had what you wanted. I bet you writhed about in your bed every night, thinking about me."

You heard him unbutton his trousers and your heart dropped to your feet. You could have protested, could have torn off the scarf and thrown it at him, could have done anything but sit there meekly, head tilting to brush your cheek against the corduroy covering his legs.

"Is this the penance?" Your voice was still soft. You wondered if he was right when he groaned, a deep bass that seemed to rumble through you, maybe you were a temptress.

"Yes, this is your penance. Good girl." He seemed as reluctant as you to drop the act. He slid two fingers into your mouth - you parted your lips for him, accepting them even as they brushed the back of your tongue and made you gag. "Mamar... Suck."

You did, and for some reason it made you feel restless - shifting your thighs together to try and get some relief. You wanted to take off the veil over your eyes, but knew as soon as you did, you would not be able to continue. The layer over your eyes gave you some plausible deniability somehow; you wondered how he knew. Bruno slid his fingers out of your mouth with an audible 'pop' and you heard, and half saw, him start to pump his cock with his wet hand, slicking your saliva. You did not know how men touched themselves, and your heart thrilled, fascinated, rooted with something to the floor.

"Here." The hand on the back of your head was firm, insistent - you didn't take much guidance. Your lips nudged against him, and you gave him a very dainty, wet kiss on the hard, hot flesh pressed against your mouth.

He made a strangled noise and nudged you more - the smooth head pressing against your lips. "Madre de Dios, don't make me say please. For every time I have to say it, I'll make sure you beg it a thousand."

You obliged - kissing more, lapping with kittenish, timid licks over any of his cock you could reach, startled by the salty taste. You knew what he wanted, but he didn't seem inclined to make you, no matter how much he huffed, he seemed to enjoy that you were here willingly on your knees for him. You wondered if he had other powers, powers to make a young woman forget herself. You opened your mouth to accept the blunt head of his cock, pressing your tongue against it and choking when he thrust shallowly into your mouth.

"Easy." He petted your face clumsily, and the tremour in his voice made you wonder if the blindfold was for him or you. "That's my good girl. Take it for me."

You tried to take a bit more of him, bobbing up and down on the length of his cock and swallowing more of the salty precum that spilled into your mouth. You were sure there was drool dripping down your chin and your mouth began to tire quickly, unused to this. He kept thrusting shallowly, holding your face and hair as he slid his cock over your tongue, in and out of your hot mouth. You wondered what it would feel like between your legs. You slithered a hand between your thighs - shocked and irritated when he snatched your arm away, his cock pressing against your cheek when it popped out of your mouth. It twitched against your face.

"No touching yourself; remember this is penance for tempting me, for avoiding me." You wondered, for a moment, if Bruno was lonely - when those words sounded raspy and plaintive.

"Can I come in your pretty mouth?" Just as suddenly as you started to soften to him, he startled you with his filthy words again. The alternative was for him to mark your clothes or hair, so you didn't see much of a choice.

Rather than say anything, you opened your mouth to suck him down again; worried by how loudly he groaned. If someone were to catch you like this... It was easier to suck him now, and you were more used to the rhythm - bobbing and pressing your tongue to the shaft. His whole body went tense when he came, hands fisted in your hair, but not quite hurting you. You managed to swallow most of it, then he was there - kissing you feverishly, licking inside your mouth and wrapping his arms around you like a vice. He murmured the whole time he kissed your face. "Should have come to me days ago. Should have let me make you gush all over my face again. Should have let me try to figure out the visions with you. Mi pequeña novia. Don't make me wait this time."

The cold air when the booth door opened was like a slap to the face. You pulled at the scarf around your eyes, wiping your mouth and moving to stand - your knees sore, and thighs trembling.

"Bruno -" You glanced around and he was already gone. The side door at the edge of the chapel was swinging open in the last gusts of breeze. You better hurry if you didn't want someone to catch you in here.

You could feel your pulse throbbing insistently between your legs, your whole body felt like a sensitised nerve. You were sure that he wanted you to follow him, perhaps through the winding streets, into the jungle, up to his house - maybe he was waiting somewhere outside for you. You wanted it very badly, but some shred of sanity kept you still. You patted your pockets as you stood, trembling, and you felt Bruno's ring in there. It gleamed silver in the faint muggy light. Clearly, it meant something to him if he kept leaving it on you. It felt like a lodestone. You imagined him wearing it, stroking his hands over your thighs, over your bare back, cupping your face before you dropped the ring back in your pocket like it burned you.

Eventually, you took a few stumbling steps over the cobblestones, ready to head home for a hot bath - or, maybe, a cold soak to chase the persistant heat you still felt. All you wanted was for Bruno to come back and hold you and kiss away the straining, aching feeling inside.

The sole of your espadrille was ripped, the leather separating from itself.

Pausing, you thought for a moment - hand propped against the wall while you turned your foot from side to side. Better to visit the cobbler now, rather than trekking back to your house. The rain had softened to a drizzle, though you could still feel your heart pounding from earlier.

You took a seat on the stool. The shop smelled of leather and wood. There were different wooden foot molds stacked in the back room you could see; pretty much everyone in the Encanto came here, and all of their individually carved foot shapes were stored there, names written on the side, waiting for the owner to need an updated shoe custom made.

"I mean..." The cobbler's son tousled his hair, puffing out a breath. He was holding your foot very gently, turning the ankle from side to side. "I can fix them but you are due a new pair. This shade of blue, or this yellow, is very popular at the moment." He gestured casually to leather, lace, sturdy canvas samples pinned to the wall.

"They're nice, but..." You paused, something about seeing a man kneeling down in front of you made you feel hot under the collar. You noticed how thick and dark his eyelashes were when he looked up at you and smiled.

"I can custom dye you a shade, Señorita. I've been working on some new colour techniques, like -" He stood and reached behind the counter, flipping through a broad book of samples until he reached the back. His hands were sturdy, wide and square - the finger tips stained deep with dark polish. "Like these, maybe?'

This was good work and there were a few colours that tweaked your creative interest. "This one is lovely."

He nodded, and you noticed with some surprise that he seemed to be blushing slightly. You were aware of how small the shop was, how close and alone you both were. Since you had... kissed Bruno, you noticed men picking up on you more, as though they were inflamed by your sudden awareness of your own body.

"Just need to check your feet haven't changed since we last made a shoe for you, one moment."

You were about to unlace your own shoes, but he beat you to it - holding your stocking covered foot in his hand, thumb pressed to the arch as he held up the carved replica to the real thing. Your foot looked small in his hand and you knew from the way he looked up at you, curiously shy, that you were not the only one having other thoughts. Just at that moment, his father chose to make himself known, popping his head round and clearing his throat - how such a big man could be working in the back room without you realising, you had no idea.

The cobbler's son looked extremely guilty and you were sure you did too from the way his father looked at you, considering, before he winked and went back to his business in the back room.

"It will take me about two days to finish. You can collect them from market day onwards. I've put a nail in these to hold them together until the new ones are ready." Continued his son. He even helped you lace them back up, holding out his arm for you to steady yourself when you stood up from the stool.

You packed up your bags and headed home without another thought of the cobbler's son.

---

"Go and get changed, Querida. We are expecting company for dinner." Your Abuela called as you poked your head into the kitchen, fresh from the rain outside.

"Who are we expecting? Do you need help?" You fumbled with your bags, mouth watering at the array of dishes you could already see set out on the table.

"Senor Alvarez and his son. Senor Alvarez stopped by just before you made it home - said we were overdue a conversation about materials and the fabric trade. And I don't need anything - " She tapped the back of your hand with a wooden spoon when you reached for an arepa, her eyes lingering on your face. "-except for you to go and make yourself extra beautiful."

That was a normal comment for your rather glamorous Abuela ("it's best to be as pretty as possible for destiny", as she always said), so it wasn't until you got to the top of the stairs that you paused to think. Alvarez. You only knew one familty Alvarez.

The cobbler and his son.

For some reason, you were sure that this was going to come back to bite you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36778036/chapters/92697349

#bruno madrigal x reader #bruno encanto x reader #bruno madrigal x oc #bruno madrigal fanfic #bruno madrigal #encanto oc

103 notes · View notes

tpwkjerii · 3 years

Text

oh, zombie!

you’re certain you’ve met the end when you’re cornered by flesh-hungry zombies, but a man with a bat and the bone structure of a god proves you otherwise.

pairing: jungkook x reader

warnings: cursing, shooting guns, weapons, mentions of death, minor angst, fluff, blood, zombies (duh), attempted murder, kinda heated makeout session, namjoon is an accidental cockblock, kissing

genre: zombie apocalypse au, thrill/gore (not too descriptive or graphic), strangers to lovers

word count: 9.8k+

a/n: the zombies in this fic have enhanced smell for corpses and human stress hormones!! and help i have like two other jk drafts rn (& disclaimer: i don’t own the gif above!!)

Fucked.

That was the best word to describe you and your current predicament. Now, with the loud groans of at least four zombies and heavy bangs against the door ringing in your ears, you were really starting to regret entering this grocery store.

You knew you should have trusted your gut when you first approached the store, but the thought of having actual food (not the dry ramen packets you were currently surviving on) and more water (you were on your last bottle) tempted you to push open the glass door and rush into the supermarket without so much as a noise scan. It took only eight seconds for the zombies and their enhanced smell to know that you entered. You were barely able to grab a single bottle of water before you heard an eerily low groan and immediately rushed for shelter in the dairy freezer.

Your twenty seconds of recklessness led you to where you are now, pushed against a cold door while zombies banged heavily against it. You held onto the inner lock as you reached down for your gun, which you were certain only had a few more bullets; regardless, it was your best shot at escaping this store alive. Gathering yourself, you inhaled and exhaled deeply with hope that you could shoot them all fast enough.

Just as you were about to release the lock and face your fate, the groans fell silent and were replaced by the sound of heavy and almost cartoon-like thwacks. Your feet froze as you realized that that was no sound or action a zombie could make — there was another human outside. You had only a few seconds to decide your next move, which would ultimately decide your future and whether you die in the middle of a grocery store dairy storage freezer or not.

Whoever killed the zombies outside could either be a kind-hearted person who didn’t want to see you succumb to a tragic fate or a person who wanted to save you from death by zombies only to kill you for your survival supplies. Considering the fact that they just knocked at least four zombies on their own, you prayed that it wasn’t the latter.

A few silent seconds passed until you eventually moved your hand, and you prayed that this wouldn’t be your second fatal mistake of the day as you slowly unlocked and opened the heavy steel door. Your gun visible in your other hand, you stepped out to see who your potential savior (or murderer) was.

Your eyes landed on the face of an extremely handsome man. Despite the obvious disarray he was in (then again, everyone who manages to survive during a zombie apocalypse is at least some form of messed up), it was clear as day that he was attractive. He had alluring doe-shaped eyes that were deceivingly innocent-looking, long dark hair that fell messily over his forehead, and the facial structure of an absolute god. The cut on his lip, small scratches scattered across his face, and his silver earrings only added to his intimidating impression, and upon seeing the heavy metal bat he held in his right hand, you instinctively tighten your grip on your handgun.

You were so enraptured by his captivating appearance that you nearly forgot the situation you were in.

“Who - who are you?” you finally asked, attempting to keep your voice as level as possible and praying that your face wasn’t red since he definitely noticed you checking him out.

He didn’t look intimidated at all, and a part of you died internally when his lip curled into a smirk. This was not looking good for you. “Are you gonna put that gun down?” he asked, the depth and warmth of his voice throwing you off. He laughed as you only blinked and he continued, “You certainly didn’t have a problem with me when you were checking me out earlier, so why keep the gun up now, babygirl?”

If you weren’t blushing before, you definitely were now. You cursed under your breath as you moved your hand down and quickly placed your gun back in your thigh holster, deciding that he was safe and probably wouldn’t kill you. “I wasn’t checking you out,” you muttered, and he laughed at your obvious lie.

“Whatever makes you feel better, babygirl,” he said, a teasing tone in his airy voice.

Your brows knitted together in irritation at the pet name. “Don’t call me that,” you mumbled, looking down at your worn sneakers awkwardly.

He laughed again, and you found yourself oddly enchanted to his tiny laugh. He took a step towards you, causing you to look up at him as he told you, “I won’t call you ‘babygirl’ if you tell me what your name is.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly before you answered, “My name’s Y/N, what’s yours?”

He grinned, which somehow turned his entire demeanor upside down. With his wide smile, he was no longer the intimidating guy that took down three zombies on his own with just a bat, but rather a nice guy that just wanted to help out a fellow human from being killed by zombies.

“Jungkook,” he answered simply as he began to walk away from you and through the store aisles.

“Jungkook,” you repeated, familiarizing the way his name rolled off your tongue with a nod. “So, Jungkook, what brought you into this store?” you asked, rushing to walk alongside him and skim through the aisles.

“This your first time outside, Y/N?” he asked, abruptly stopping to turn and look at you. You froze and dropped the bag of chips you were holding at the sudden eye contact. He sighed and moved to pick up the chips and place it back onto the shelves. “I was wandering around the area, and I saw that you walked right into a trap,” he told you.

“A trap?” you asked, your mouth falling open in surprise.

He nodded and motioned for you to help him fill his rucksack with water bottles. “Looters will leave trace scents or pieces of human remains to attract zombies to popular places survivors will drift to. Once any survivors enter and get killed by the zombies, the looters will come back, off the zombies, and take their supplies,” he explained with a grimace.

Your face twisted, and you suddenly felt even luckier that Jungkook saved you. “How do you know? I mean, how did you know that the looters were here?” you asked, still a bit unsettled at the fact that you basically walked straight-first into a death trap.

Jungkook zipped up his backpack, now full of at least 20 water bottles, and headed towards the dried foods. “I spotted one of their vans when I was walking around, so I figured they were in the area. Then I saw you entering the store and bingo — I was right,” he told you nonchalantly as he stuffed various dried fruits and snacks into his pockets.

“Take some of these,” he added, gesturing towards the few remaining dark chocolate bars.

You nodded, briefly admiring his casual attitude as you shoved two handfuls of the chocolate into your jacket pockets. “How did you recognize them? Have you had any… run-ins with them?” you wondered curiously, picking up your pace to match his quicker steps as he made his way down the remaining store aisles.

“They approached me to join them when this whole thing started,” he started, pausing to laugh softly at the shocked expression on your face. He shook his head as he continued, “I said no because what they do is twisted. Luring people to their deaths for some sick form of fun. They say they do it for the supplies but we all know that’s a lie.”

You nodded your head thoughtfully. “Oh, well, I guess that’s an admirable and sane choice.”

He murmured in agreement, and you walked alongside him, unconsciously humming a song that had been stuck in your head for a while. Being with Jungkook, who was both stronger and more knowledgeable than you, provided you with a sense of comfort. Additionally, he wasn’t shooing you off and willingly accepted your company (for the past 10 minutes, at least). Before you even knew it, you two reached the front store doors.

He walked out first, holding the door open behind him. You faltered, a second thought of “does he really want me to go with him?” running through your head.

He raised a brow, opening the door a bit wider. “You coming?”

“Wh- what?” you stuttered in disbelief.

“Do you want to come with me or not?” he asked. “C’mon, babygirl. We don’t have all day. Those looters are bound to come back soon.”

At the mention of those evil people, your legs moved instantly. You rushed out of the door towards Jungkook’s side and eagerly turned to face him. “Where to?”

He laughed, and you swore it was one of the most enchanting tones you’ve ever heard, before saying, “What’s the place you’re staying in like?”

You thought back to your small home and the painful disarray it was in. It was a miracle that you were able to survive so long considering how ill-prepared you were for an apocalypse to happen.

“Er, probably not as good as yours,” you answered sheepishly.

“Fair enough.” He nodded at the anticipated answer and began to walk in the opposite direction that you came from. You continued alongside him, internally screaming at how lucky you were. Not only did Jungkook completely save your life, he let you stay with him! You didn’t understand why, seeing as you were arguably an impediment to his survival, but you were grateful regardless.

The city around you was lifeless. What was once home to millions of citizens and the hustle and bustle of daily routines was reduced to empty stone buildings, the only people left either roaming as the undead or too afraid to come out. Within two weeks, the city and all its people changed entirely.

As you walked alongside Jungkook, you wondered what type of life he led before the apocalypse. Was he a student like you? Did he have a job? Was he a police officer or firefighter? Did he have family?

Several questions imposed themselves in your brain, and it was enough to almost distract you from Jungkook’s words.

“That van over there is a looter van,” he informed you, pointing towards a parked black van that had unrecognizable red symbols sprayed on it. “Each one has different symbols on it, but they’re all in red so they know where each one is and don’t mess up a potential job.”

You nodded and absorbed his words. You definitely passed a van like that when you were walking towards the store. “That’s good to know,” you whispered, your voice strained with mild fear.

He didn’t say anything else in response and continued forward, gently tugging you along with him when you lingered in your spot a second too long as you stared at the van.

Jungkook led you for a few more minutes, each second only increasing your curiosity as to where he was taking you and what he was really like. Silence prevailed until you heard a low groan and the distinguishable sound of a foot dragging along gravel. You stiffened and unconsciously moved to grip Jungkook’s hand.

He stopped in his tracks and gently pushed you towards a building wall. Once both your backs were pressed flat against the stone wall, he adjusted the grip on his bat and you reached for the gun in your thigh holster. The zombie’s groans grew louder as it approached. You knew they couldn’t see and had a very limited sense of hearing, but you wondered if you or Jungkook had anything on you that attracted its hunger for rotting flesh or stress.

You held your breath as the zombie came into view, its decaying body and unsettling groans disturbing you. It walked closer, although not directly towards you. You raised your gun the same time as Jungkook lifted his bat, but you didn’t have to pull the trigger and Jungkook didn’t have to swing as the zombie only walked straight past you two, leaving only its rotting scent behind.

You breathed out in relief and relaxed your shoulders as you placed your handgun back in its holster. “Thank god,” you whispered.

“Let’s go,” was all Jungkook said before he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. It seemed like you weren’t the only one anxious to get out of the open.

Jungkook’s home was much, much better than yours (if you could even call your tiny studio that).

“Holy shit,” you whispered as you admired the fortified mansion. High stone walls and a metal gate surrounded the large two-story house. “You have this place all to yourself?” you asked Jungkook. Now you were really curious what his profession before this was.

He shook his head as he unlocked the gate with a key. “A few friends live with me,” he answered simply before slipping the key back in his jean pocket. “They should all be awake by now.”

You nodded and followed closely behind him as he walked up the short pathway to the front door. As he opened the door, you heard a loud yell come from within.

“Kookie!” he yelled, his voice smooth and deep.

You saw Jungkook’s face turn red as he quickly shut the door with a slightly mortified facial expression.

“Uh -”

The door burst open. “Kookie!” a man shouted before enveloping Jungkook into a tight hug. You stepped to the side, observing the affectionate interaction with a grin. The man who barreled into Jungkook had black, fluffy hair that was held back by a black hairband. He was on the thinner side, but still built, and appeared to be a bit taller and tanner than Jungkook. When he released the hug and turned to face you, your breath hitched.

He was attractive.

“Who’d you bring home?” he asked Jungkook, a boxy smile directed towards you.

“Her name is Y/N, I caught her just before some zombies got her,” Jungkook answered as he nudged you and the man inside.

As you stepped through the front door, you observed the large home’s tasteful interior. A pristine white kitchen was to the right of you, apparently well-stocked based on the two open cabinets that were filled with snacks and ramen. To the left of you was an open living room with one large couch and two smaller ones surrounding a paper-filled coffee table and a large TV mounted onto the wall.

Impressive, you thought.

The fluffy-haired man stepped in front of you, his contagious smile still going strong. “I’m Taehyung. It’s nice to meet you!”

You smiled at him. It’d been a while since you met new people, much less people with such warm and friendly dispositions. “It’s nice to meet you too,” you returned honestly.

Jungkook cleared his throat, announcing suddenly, “I’ll show Y/N around.”

You turned to face him, noticing that he had taken off his bags and leather jacket. His bare arms were now exposed, and you immediately noticed how sculpted he was. A sleeve of various tattoos decorated one of his arms, drawing your attention to the ink on his defined muscles. His other arm was more bare, but still had a few figures on it. Realizing that you were probably staring for too long, you tore your eyes away with a nod before you set down your own bag and followed Jungkook.

He took you past the living room and kitchen through a hallway, showing you where the first floor bathroom, in-home gym, and office were. You gaped at the book-filled office that also housed several weapons. Lined across the wall were several guns, knives, and other weapons you couldn’t even name. After you recovered from what you saw in the office, he led you up the stairs.

“This is Taehyung and Jimin’s room,” he said, pointing to the first door in the hallway. “Jin and Yoongi’s.” He pointed to the door next to the first one. “Namjoon’s.” He then pointed towards the first door on the opposite side of the hall. “And mine.” He pointed to the door next to Namjoon’s.

You nodded, resisting the urge to ask about their family members since you knew it could be a sensitive subject for them. “Are they all home?” you wondered. “Well, except for Taehyung, I guess,” you added as an afterthought.

Jungkook nodded. “Jin, Yoongi, and Jimin are probably in their rooms. Namjoon will be out for the next few days getting some stuff, so you can stay in his room for now.”

Your lips parted in shock. “No, no! That’s his room. It’s fine, I can sleep on the couches if anything!”

“It’s fine, he won’t mind,” Jungkook insisted.

But you shook your head in persistence. “Really, I’m completely fine with the couch. I wouldn’t want to make Namjoon feel uncomfortable or anything.”

He sighed and shrugged, seemingly relenting to your wishes. “Alright, we can head back down then,” he said as he turned back to the stairs.

Before you followed him, your eyes landed on the last door all the way down the hallway. You had no idea what was behind it, yet it still emitted an ominous and mysterious aura that called out to you. “Wait,” you said before you even thought about it. Just as he turned to face you, the realization that he probably didn’t tell you what was in that room for a reason (whatever that was) hit you.

“Er - nevermind!” You laughed awkwardly, hoping he would drop it. But it was too late — he already noticed your lingering gaze on the locked door.

“Don’t go in that room,” he stated bluntly before turning around, not giving you a chance to respond. “There’s nothing in there that’s of importance to you,” he added as he walked down the stairs. You rushed to follow him after him, still intimidated to be in this big house with completely new people, muttering words of agreement.

Everyone in this house was shockingly nice. Jimin was undeniably kind and spent your entire first night at your side, making sure you felt comfortable in this new place. Yoongi, although more reserved, didn’t hesitate to check if you were alright whenever you spaced out or got scared by a sudden noise. Lastly, Jin was incredibly attentive; from asking you if you had any food allergies or if you preferred baths or showers, he did his best to welcome you.

(They were all also really attractive, but that's besides the point).

Before you knew it, a week passed. Seven days of playing board games with Jimin and Taehyung, cooking with Jin, talking about conspiracy theories with Yoongi, and working out (and trying to avoid) with Jungkook.

Why were you trying to avoid him? Well, despite having met Jungkook first, you couldn’t help but start to feel awkward around him. Not because he made you feel uncomfortable or the reverse, but rather due to your undeniable attraction to him. It certainly didn’t help that his personality complemented his beautiful appearance well. On the outside, Jungkook appeared cold and intimidating, but on the inside he was soft and kind. He was exactly like one of the many fictional characters you’d fallen in love with before.

Your first official day at the house, you kept your cool pretty well. Of course, Jungkook and his endearing behavior and large, doe eyes had to ruin it. Then again, it was also on you for not listening to your initial instinct of avoiding the gym machines. What exactly happened?

Well, after three failed attempts of using the machine from hell (you didn’t even know it’s name), Jungkook finally decided that it was just getting sad and moved from his machine to help you.

“You’re supposed to use your arms to bring it back,” he said with a teasing tone as he neared you. You jumped in your seat and looked up at the mirror to see his figure stopping directly behind you. Your breath hitched as he leaned down and… oh fuck, did his arms just brush up against yours?

Face burning red, you looked away with a violent cough. “Er, I knew that.”

He laughed softly at your embarrassed expression, the enchanting sound of his lap wreaking havoc on your already weak heart. You turned towards him and gently pushed his chest with a scoff.

“You don’t have to laugh at me,” you grumbled.

“Sometimes I can’t help it,” he countered with a smug smile.

You particularly liked when he smiled since he reminded you of a bunny whenever he did — especially when he had a large smile and his eyes formed happy, crescent moons with twinkling stars. Jungkook’s grin (and laugh) was as infectious as Taehyung’s and Jin’s, and he was, overall, a perfect person in your eyes. Even as he made fun of you (jokingly, of course), you swore he was sent from the stars above.

Deciding it best to not catch feelings for your savior and person who graciously housed you, you tried to keep your distance from him since then. Whenever he entered the room, you tried your best to subtly leave (bless Seokjin for being exceptionally understanding of your “cramps”) and when he tried talking only to you or directing the conversation to you, you roped someone else into the discussion. It worked for the most part as you talked to the others more and ignored the way Jungkook made your heart race whenever you thought about him, but today you were out of luck.

“Y/N and Jungkook, supplies run today.”

You gaped at Jin from your spot on the couch. “What? Me? Are you sure?” you asked, silently pleading with your eyes.

He rolled his eyes and nodded, bending down to gently pat your head. “Yes, you. Don’t worry, you’ll have Kookie with you.”

“And this,” Yoongi added as he dropped a gun much larger than your small handgun in your lap.

You looked up at him in shock. “I don’t know how to use this!”

He shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out if you’ll need to use it.”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’re gonna have to pull your weight if you wanna stay with us,” Taehyung told you, winking at you when Jungkook entered the living room with his gear. Your eyes widened at him, but you couldn’t say anything as Jungkook approached you.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

You sighed and stood up begrudgingly. With an excessively-large gun in hand and empty backpack strapped to you, you exited the house with Jungkook at your side. Together, you silently walked down the same path he took you up almost a week ago.

You embraced the peacefulness of this secluded area. Jungkook’s home was quite secluded, and the surrounding trees were home to blissful breezes and a variety of chirping animals. Despite the downfall of humanity, it seemed that wildlife was flourishing, you noted.

“So I guess I’ll ask now,” Jungkook started, capturing your attention. You turned and looked up at him, anxiously waiting for him to continue. “Were you staying with anyone before? I assume not since you’re with us now…”

You shook your head. Your voice lowered as you answered, “I was all by myself.” He frowned while you continued. “My parents were on a trip abroad with my best friend Hobi when it happened.” Your eyes teared up as you mentioned your family and Hobi, who was basically your older brother.

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said softly, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“It’s ok,” you mumbled. “The last call I got from my parents before all the cell towers went down, Hobi was doing alright with them. I’m thankful that they have him.”

“I’m sure that Hobi is doing a good job taking care of himself and your parents,” he responded soothingly.

You nodded, blinking your tears away as you diverted your gaze towards your moving feet. “So what about you?” you asked after a few silent moments. “Do you have any family?”

He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on his backpack. “My parents didn’t make it,” he answered bluntly.

Your head whipped towards him. “I’m so sorry,” you said rushedly. “I don’t know why I even asked you, I overste-”

“It’s fine,” he cut you off, gently turning your head to face the road path ahead of you two. “I was the one who asked first, anyways.”

You looked down again in shame. “Sorry again,” you murmured.

Jungkook smiled down at you before a small laugh escaped his lips. Your heart picked up it’s pace when he laced his hand with yours and pulled you forward. “Come on, the supplies won’t get themselves.”

You felt an odd sense of deja vu as you ran out of the grocery store, Jungkook following behind you and a horde of hungry zombies behind the both of you.

But let’s back up a few moments to ten minutes prior to this predicament.

You and Jungkook finally reached the grocery store that Jin had been scoping out via hidden camera for the past week. Your eyes were delighted by the sight of shelves lined with a variety of foods and freezers that still had cold air circulating behind the glass doors.

“This is one of the few places that run on solar power, so the electricity still functions in here,” Jungkook explained when he noticed your confusion at how he was able to turn off the lights and the gust of cold air that greeted him as he opened one of the freezer doors to grab an ice cream bar.

“I’m surprised no one’s hit this place up yet,” you said as you took out the list of supplies that Jin gave you before you left.

“Jin’s been watching this place for a while. He thinks no one’s come here because it’s kinda far away.”

You nodded in agreement, thinking back to the long walk you and Jungkook took to get here. You supposed not many people wanted to risk being out in the open for so long and didn’t find the commute worth it.

“Is Jin watching us right now?” you asked Jungkook curiously.

During your short few days at their house, you quickly learned each person’s role. Yoongi, who used to be an engineer, builds all the cameras and weapons. Jin, a former director and computer whiz, monitors the cameras that he and Taehyung set up around the city. Taehyung, a film and dance student, helps Jin set up the cameras in obscure places and trains with Jungkook and Jimin. Jimin, a skilled dancer, often accompanies Jungkook and Taehyung during training and supplies runs. Unfortunately, Jimin sprained his ankle recently and Taehyung injured his arm during training, leaving the supplies-run to Jungkook.

The only person you had yet to meet was Namjoon. According to the others, Namjoon was a former pre-med student and scientist who was on a trip to find something. Of course, they didn’t tell you what that something was. And while you were curious, you also didn’t want to overstep your boundaries and risk being kicked out.

“Probably, he usually watches camped out places to monitor and che-”

You and Jungkook both turned your head at the recognizable low rumble of a car. He was quick to grab your hand and pull you down onto the ground, out of view from the front glass windows. You held your breath at the sound of a car door opening and then the ringing bell as the front door was pulled open a few seconds later.

Jungkook reached towards his large gun, but he halted when he recognized the distinguishable stench that the random person carried in. Your eyes widened when Jungkook began panicking, his fingers fumbling for his walkie talkie.

You heard a heavy thud and the sound of the ringing bell again as the mysterious person exited the store. You waited until the rumbling of the car grew distant before you looked up and cursed loudly.

“Fuck! He dumped a dead body here!” you cried, stomach churning at the sight of the pale corpse.

Jungkook groaned from beside you and rushed towards the front of the store, poking his head out of the door and looking both ways. “Fucking looters!” he cursed as he moved his head back and hit the window.

Steering clear of the dead body, you walked towards Jungkook and craned your head to see what he was looking at. The sight of several zombies, more stumbling out of random buildings and streets to join the crowd, heading straight for the store. “Shit! What are we gonna do! They’re already down the block!”

Jungkook ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck, ok, did you get everything?”

You quickly scanned through the paper list and peered into your open backpack. “Most, but I forgot to get some things,” you answered quickly as you mentally checked off each item you saw.

“Which ones?” Jungkook asked, already zipping up his backpack.

A blush spread across your chest and neck, and you wished that you didn’t have to answer. But judging by Jungkook’s stressed face as the zombies’ groans grew louder, you knew you were in no position to stall. “Er. Feminine hygiene stuff,” you blurted.

Jungkook paled before blushing immediately after. His body movements stuttered momentarily before he nodded and headed towards the back of the store. “Shit, ok. Start running!”

You stared at him in bewilderment. “What? I’m not leaving you behind!”

“Just go!” he shouted.

You felt the alarm in your body grow as your head darted between Jungkook’s frantically moving body and the group of zombies just down the street. Knowing that even Jungkook didn’t stand a chance against all those zombies, you ended up on a decision that you really hoped would end up working out.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you looked down at your large gun and adjusted your grip. In one swift move, you kicked open the door and began shooting the zombies, which were now coming from both directions across the street. Your aim wasn’t the best, but it was good enough to pierce bullets through a good amount of them straight in the neck or chest.

“Jungkook! Hurry up!” you cried as you held down the trigger, praying that Yoongi packed enough bullets in the gun.

Small piles of rotting bodies began forming as deceased zombies collapsed to the ground and the other ones climbed over them to get to you. But the few zombies you managed to kill were easily outweighed by all the live ones still clamoring towards you. A cry of frustration left you as you realized that the noise from the gun and the obscene amount of stress radiating from you and Jungkook were just attracting more zombies in the area.

Jungkook ran up towards you, several boxes of various tampons and pads in hand. “I didn’t know which one you wanted! Let’s go!”

In a normal situation, you would have thanked him for his thoughtfulness, but this wasn’t a normal situation by any means.

You and Jungkook ran out of the store towards the house, both turning back occasionally to shoot any zombie that was getting too close. Your breaths grew uneven from exhaustion, but the sheer amount of adrenaline pumping within you kept you and your weak legs going.

“Don’t get too tired! I’ll shoot, just keep running!” Jungkook instructed you when he noticed you clutching your side in pain.

“It’s fine, I’ll be fine!” you responded. But you spoke too soon as you tripped over a rock not even a minute later. “Shit!” you cursed as you landed on your hands and knees before immediately standing back up and catching up to Jungkook, who had stopped a few feet ahead of you when he noticed that you fell.

He didn’t say anything as he gently turned your hands over and examined them. Cuts, with blood flowing freely from them and tiny rocks stuck in between the open skin, covered the palm of your hand and your fingers. Jungkook’s eyebrows creased in concern as he moved his eyes down your body to your knees, which now had deep, bleeding gashes in them from the rocks that cut through your jeans and broke your skin.

“Jungkook, it’s fine. We have to go.” You moved your hands to your side and pulled him to continue running, cringing at how your blood stained the bottom of his black denim jacket and his hands. He cursed, obviously wanting to say something, but continued alongside you.

Thanks to the unexpected delay, the zombies had gained on you by a good few meters. You winced as you turned around and pressed the trigger of your gun, the spray of bullets taking a few of them down. But your tiny sense of relief didn’t last long as you soon heard an empty click and noticed that nothing was leaving the end of your gun — you were out of bullets.

You cursed and turned forwards again. “How many rounds do you have left?” you asked Jungkook, panting heavily as you continued running next to him.

“Not that many,” he answered, concern evident on his face.

You looked back at the relenting zombies, hot on your tail, and cursed. How were you going to get yourselves out of this one?

The answer to your question was presented to you in the form of a poorly-driven SUV that was heading down the road and straight towards you and Jungkook.

“Thank god!” Jungkook cried as he pulled you to the side and out of the vehicle’s path.

“Thank god?” you repeated in confusion.

The black SUV halted to a stop in front of you and Jungkook, the doors opening automatically.

“Get in!” you heard a new voice shout.

You and Jungkook didn’t waste a second to climb into the car, which quickly sped away once Jungkook slammed the door shut behind him. Neither of you had the chance to breathe as the zombies, which seemed to have grown even faster, jumped for the back of the car.

“How did they get even faster?” Jungkook cried as he pulled your shaking body towards him.

“The fast ones might be mutations, I found more reports on them the other day,” the silver-haired man in the front with glasses answered. You assumed that this was Namjoon, considering his answer and that Jungkook didn’t mention anyone else.

“Mutations?” you cried, jumping when a hand smacked your backseat window. “These fuckers are mutating?”

Namjoon didn’t get a chance to answer as he harshly turned the steering wheel, sending the car swerving and you and Jungkook barrelling to the other side of the car.

“Namjoon you’re so shit at driving!” Jungkook exclaimed as he rubbed the side of his head that clashed with the glass window.

Namjoon scoffed. “Don’t talk to your hyung like that when I just saved your life! And who told you not to put on seat belts?!”

“Yeah, let me just put on a seatbelt while there’s zombies cha-”

You gasped suddenly and pulled yourself up towards the front. Head directly next to Namjoon’s, you reached your bloody hands up towards the steering wheel. “There’s a bunny!” you shouted as you swerved the car out of the way, sending Jungkook to the other side of the car and wincing as your waist collided with the firm side of the passenger seat.

“Y/N, what the fuck!” you heard Jungkook moan.

“We were gonna kill the bunny!” you protested in your defense as you rubbed your side and sat back down next to Jungkook.

“We have other things to worry about!” he yelled.

“God! I’m sorry, you’re right,” you groaned as you leaned back down into the back seat.

“They’re slowing down!” Namjoon suddenly announced, his eyes focused on his windshield mirror. “Look, they’re retreating!”

You and Jungkook both turned around towards the back window. Just as Namjoon said, the zombies stopped chasing you, instead shuffling in place or back the other direction. With the threat of zombies gone, you let out a breath of relief and closed your eyes.

You kept your eyes shut as Jungkook grabbed your hands and gently ran his fingers across the open wounds, his touch sending electricity through your body. Despite the rush from his soft touch, exhaustion still tugged at you and weighed down your eyelids.

With the comforting feeling of Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours, you drifted into unconsciousness.

Your nap was unfortunately short lived. It took only a few moments to arrive back home, and upon exiting the car, the three of you were immediately greeted by everyone else in the home.

“Y/N!!” Jimin greeted as he walked slowly over to you. Jin closely followed the blond to make sure that he didn’t hurt his ankle.

“Jimin!” you said with an equal amount of excitement, throwing your hands up into a welcoming gesture.

Jimin and Jin gasped as you revealed your bloodied and cut up hands.

“You’re hurt!” Jin sputtered as he rushed towards you. “Your knees too!”

“It’s fine, it only stings a little,” you admitted sheepishly. It wasn’t a complete lie — you didn’t exactly have the time to think about your injuries while running for your life.

Jin shook his head. “Come inside, I’ll treat the cuts a-”

“It’s fine, I can do it,” Jungkook said, suddenly appearing at your side.

The older man raised his eyebrows. “You sure, Kookie? Don’t you want to rest?”

Jungkook shook his head and silently pulled you into the house, leaving you to shrug in confusion at the guys behind you. You followed Jungkook through the first floor, up the stairs, and into his room.

His bedroom was similar to what you expected. The walls were painted a dark grey color and there wasn’t much in the room other than the basic furniture and a few pictures and art frames. You sat down on the plain black sheets as Jungkook walked to his dresser and pulled out a first aid kit.

“Why didn’t you just let Jin treat my cuts?” you asked Jungkook quietly, noticing faint signs of exhaustion in his slow movements.

He hesitated to respond. His hands stilled on the top of the red kit as he slowly responded, “I thought this was the only way I’d be able to speak with you… alone.”

“Why?” you asked, praying that you weren’t blushing as assumptions instantly formed in your mind.

He cleared his throat and opened the kit, instantly reaching for several bandaids, disinfectant pads, and antibacterial wound ointment. “Well,” he started as he gently grabbed your hands and turned them so your palms were facing up. He opened the pack of disinfectant pads and swiped them across your hands and knees. “I wanted to ask you why you’ve been avoiding me the past few days.”

Your heart dropped. You didn’t realize that Jungkook noticed how you tried your best to steer clear of him; but it wasn’t like you could really tell him that it was because you were starting to have feelings for him,

“Was it something I said? I did?” he asked as he spread the cold ointment on the open wounds.

“No,” you answered quickly — a little too quickly judging by the way his head darted up to meet your eyes. You blushed under his stare and continued, “You didn’t do anything to offend me, Jungkook.”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice was uncharacteristically soft, almost pleading.

You groaned inwardly and wished you could cover your face with your hands, but Jungkook held them firmly in his as he bandaged them. A few seconds of dragged-on silence passed before you looked down at your lap and responded vaguely. “I didn’t want to make things awkward between us.”

His hands stopped and his brows furrowed in confusion. “Why would things be awkward between us?”

Blood rushed to your face as you looked up to make painful eye contact with him. “Do you really want to know?” you whined, already anticipating Jungkook’s answer since you’d become quite familiar with his stubbornness over the past few days.

“Yes,” he started. “Please tell me,” he said, feigning an expression of a wounded puppy.

You cursed under your breath and brought your freshly bandaged hands (you ignored that one of the bandages was only half on, courtesy of Jungkook’s prior confusion) up to your face.

“Do you promise not to make fun of me? Or kick me out?”

He laughed, although the soft sound didn’t match the nervousness in his expression. “Yes, I promise.”

His words prompted you to breathe in deeply, mentally preparing yourself for your confession. You can do this, you said to yourself. If you could shoot and run from at least thirty zombies, then you could definitely tell Jungkook you had feelings for him. Right?

It wasn’t like you could keep on avoiding him forever, anyways. With the rate that the apocalypse was going and based off the past few days, it looked like you were going to be at this house a while. You just hoped that your reveal wouldn’t make your stay awkward for either him or you.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Y/N?”

You hummed, still stuck in your thoughts before finally responding. “I… I may or may not be incredibly attracted to you and have feelings for you,” you admitted reluctantly. Jungkook’s lips parted in shock, but he didn’t get a chance to respond before you continued in a panic. “You already promised you wouldn’t make fun of me or kick me out! No take backs!”

He laughed, and you cringed as you were sure it was a laugh of rejection and that the dulcet notes would be a new cause of your nightmares. But the words he said after proved the opposite.

“That’s a relief.” You looked up, a bewildered look on your face. “I like you too,” he mumbled bashfully, his long hair falling in front of his face as he looked down at his lap.

Your body froze. “D-Did I hear that right? Have I not gone crazy?”

He looked back up at you with a grin. “Crazy for me,” he joked with a wink.

Unimpressed, your face dropped. “I take it all back, I’ll go pack my-”

Jungkook shook his head with a chuckle. “Kidding, kidding,” he said, enveloping his slender hands around yours. “But I was completely serious about liking you back.”

“Really?” you asked, still in slight disbelief that Jungkook, who could literally have his portrait and biography in a hall of all Earthly legends, had feelings for you.

“Yes, really.”

You opened your mouth, ready to shoot a doubtful reply, but Jungkook cut you off with the lift of his hand. He rested his hand back down around yours before continuing, “I know you’re probably going to say something self-deprecating or a joke or ask me if i’m joking again, so you might as well let me speak first.”

He grinned at the way your face heated, priding himself on how well he knew you already.

“The way you wish each of us goodnight every night, the way you wake up early to help Jin prepare breakfast, the way you cuss whenever you’re nervous, the way you always try to keep up with whatever stuff we’re doing - even when it’s stupid - and keep a smile on your face; everything about you made me fall for you. Even before the apocalypse, I never felt this way for anyone else.” He took a deep breath, gently squeezing your hands. “The night I first brought you here, it felt like seeing you enter that store and meeting you was fate. You make questionable decisions, we both saw that today, but I’m glad that one of them brought us together because I honestly don’t think I can ever meet anyone else like you.”

A wide smile spread across your face and tears pricked your eyes. Never in your many years of life had anyone told you such genuine, heartfelt words. And no one noticed (or appreciated) those small things about you - your habits that were always brushed over - like Jungkook did.

You agreed with his claim of you making questionable (stupid) decisions, but in this moment you were thankful for your sometimes-dangerous spontaneity and rash decision making. Because if it weren’t for that sudden moment of desperation where you ran into the grocery store, you never would have met Jungkook. Your heart wouldn’t be racing like it was right now and your hands wouldn’t be warm from the feeling of his wrapped around them.

“What do you say?” he asked weakly, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“What is there to say?” you countered before you released your hands from his and interlocked your fingers around his lower body. The position was a bit awkward, but you didn’t mind. Less than a few seconds later, your lips were pressed against his.

Jungkook moved his hands from the small of your back to your neck up to your hair. He pulled you in closer to him as he deepened the kiss. You gasped and tightened your grip around him as he effortlessly lifted you up so you were sitting on his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist. He swiped his tongue against your bottom lip and gently bit it, drawing a moan from you.

You shifted in his lap, pulling a deep groan from him as he pulled away from your lips to trail kisses down your jaw and neck. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt him suck on your collarbone and upper chest to leave marks for him to see the next day. Just as Jungkook slipped his cool hands under your shirt, a startling voice rang from the other side of the door.

“Jungkook!”

The long-haired boy beneath you groaned in annoyance but continued to kiss you. “Just ignore him, he’ll go away,” Jungkook mumbled against your lips as he dragged his hands against the skin of your stomach.

You nodded, embracing the fiery feeling of his kisses and his hands against your bare skin.

“Jungkook!” the voice cried again, causing Jungkook to curse and groan again. “It’s urgent!”

“This better be good,” Jungkook grumbled as he reluctantly pulled away from you.

You frowned at the loss of his touch, but you didn’t have much time to mourn it as he instantly straightened his back once Namjoon said, “It’s about Project B.”

Your brows raised at Jungkook’s sudden reaction to whatever this “Project B” was. He turned to you with an apologetic look before gently setting you onto the bed and moving towards the door.

“Sorry,” he apologized quickly as he straightened his shirt. “I’ll talk to you tonight, I promise.” With that, he was out the door, leaving you in his room with only your thoughts (and hands and knees that had yet to be fully bandaged).

It had been nearly 8 hours since Jungkook had promised that he would speak to you at night. By now, the moon was high in the sky, it’s radiant glow doing nothing to calm your nerves. You knew that whatever Jungkook and Namjoon had to discuss was urgent, but how could he just leave you like that? You were barely able to process the best kiss of your life by the time you realized that you were still sitting stupidly on his bed after he left the room.

You sighed and moved from the window seat in the living room to the kitchen. Joining Jin at the counter, you plopped your head against the stone material with a groan.

“Jungkook and Joon are still in their little lab?” he guessed, nonchalantly flipping his book to the next page.

You nodded pitifully, now knowing that the mysterious room was a lab of some sorts.

“Here,” Jin said before standing suddenly, prompting you to look up at him. He grabbed a bowl of washed fruits from beside the sink and gestured for you to take it. “Bring it up to them.”

“But Jungkook said I ca-”

“I don’t care what he said. Tell him that they shouldn’t have skipped dinner,” Jin instructed firmly.

You nodded, a bit intimidated by Jin’s sudden sternness, and quickly took the bowl with you up the stairs. You slowly approached the door at the end of the hall, the ceramic bowl filled with strawberries and peeled clementines wobbling in your shaky hands. As you took each step, you imagined Jungkook bursting through the door and expressing his disappointment in you for even thinking about entering the room.

Luckily, that didn’t come and you reached the door in less than a minute.

Clearing your throat, you knocked against the door with your elbow. “Jungkook?” you called.

No response.

“Jungkook? Namjoon?” you called again, only to be met with what sounded like a low groan.

Your breath hitched in your throat. That noise didn’t sound pleasant at all.

You placed a weary hand on the door knob but quickly pulled it away as if it was burning hot. Debating thoughts battled in your hand: Jungkook clearly told you not to go in the room but what if Jungkook or Namjoon was in trouble? Wouldn’t leaving despite knowing that one of them could be hurt make you a terrible person (or girlfriend—you didn’t really know what you and Jungkook were yet)?

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the silver doorknob and twisted it open. You stepped into the dimly lit room slowly, gasping at the sight before you.

“Lab” was definitely the right word to describe the room that almost mirrored your high school chemistry class. Seven tables sat in the room, four of which were filled with stacks of papers and folders while the other three had various lab equipment tools atop the black tabletops. It didn’t just end at the tables either.

“What is all this?” you mumbled to yourself as you examined the crowded walls. There was barely an inch of blank wall left as papers, newspaper clippings, photos (some rather disturbing), and notes decorated the wall like a second wallpaper.

You slowly walked through the room, examining the items pinned to the walls. Most of it was related to the zombie apocalypse, with newspapers (from when those were still around) detailing the first outbreaks and theories of the cause and papers filled with concepts you barely remembered from chemistry, physiology, and biology. Accompanying the scientific notes and articles were several pictures, some of zombies and others of medical abnormalities that you couldn’t quite explain.

One picture caught your eye, and you barely managed to place the fruit bowl down on a table with just enough space for it before you rushed over to the photo. The aged photo had three people, presumably a family, in it. A mother and father stood proudly behind their son, their hands on his shoulders as he beamed at the camera with his hands on his lap. The boy looked familiar. His round eyes and bunny-like smile eerily reminded you of -

“What are you doing?”

The unexpected voice sent a shiver down your body, and you jumped as you turned around to face him.

Jungkook.

You mentally hit yourself — you were so distracted by the items of the room that you failed to notice Jungkook waking up at his spot with Namjoon, slouched over and faces pressed onto one of the paper-filled tables.

“Um,” you started, unable to find the right words as you stared at his unreadable facial expression. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, disappointed, sad, scared, or possibly even all four.

He let out a frustrated groan and ran his tattooed hand through his long hair. “Just tell me what you saw,” he instructed firmly.

“N-not much!” you stuttered, your eyes wide. “I — Jin fruit! Yes! I just came here to bring you Jin — I mean fruit! I came to bring you fruit! Like Jin told me to!” Heat spread across your face as you attempted to explain yourself.

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed between you and the ceramic fruit bowl you pointed to, and he would’ve laughed at your clear disarray if he didn’t feel so anxious.

“You were looking at the walls, you must have seen something,” he deduced.

Your body stuttered as you gestured towards the photo you were looking at. “Nope! Just some things about zombies and… and this picture of you — fun stuff!”

He sighed and you cringed as he placed his hands on your shoulders. But he didn’t scold you or tell you how disappointed he was like you expected; instead, he let his head fall and mumbled something that you weren’t sure if it was meant towards you or himself.

“I guess it’s time I told you the truth.”

Your brows furrowed at his words. The truth? Judging by the contents of the room, they were studying the zombies; and it wasn’t all that surprising considering that Namjoon was technically a scientist and almost-doctor. Why was Jungkook so afraid to tell you?

He lifted his head up, and your heart clenched at the look of pure vulnerability on his face. “Will you promise me that you won’t judge me or run away?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Of course.”

“My parents were scientists who worked for the national lab. I didn’t really know what happened at their work or what projects they were doing because I was in university doing my own stuff,” he paused and briefly closed his eyes to take in a deep breath, “but one day I went home and they told me about an idea they had that was so great.

Super humans, they said. Humans with enhanced senses that would make them superior to regular humans and form the perfect army. I told them it was a shitty idea and that this was stuff they shouldn’t mess with, but they got upset and kicked me out.” He laughed bitterly. “This wasn’t the first time my parents and I ever disagreed on anything, and I thought they were smart enough to not go through with it so I just left. But I guess I was wrong because one day something at the lab went wrong.”

Jungkook hesitated for a second upon seeing the disturbed expression on your face — you knew exactly where this was heading.

He willed himself to continue. “A few months later I got a call from the hospital. They told me that my parents were severely injured while at work, and when I went to see them, they told me the truth of what happened: how they went through with the project but realized too late that it was a mistake, how they were trapped by the government, and how they created monsters.

My parents died from their injuries two days later, and a week after that there was a covered-up breakout at the lab they worked in. Only one day after the breakout, there was the first outbreak in the city only a few miles away. And now we’re here, trying to find a cure for the mess my parents started.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said, a mournful expression on your face. You couldn’t imagine the guilt and sorrow that Jungkook must feel.

He scoffed. “Sorry? Why are you apologizing? This entire thing is my fault,” he muttered.

Your face fell and you moved to grasp his hands. “Jungkook, I don’t see how any of this is your fault,” you spoke honestly, your voice soft.

His eyes widened and he pulled his hands away from you. “Y/N, my parents are the reason this apocalypse happened! And - and they told me about their idea and I didn’t do anything to stop it!”

“You did what you could,” you stressed. “You told them it was a bad idea and they made their own adult decision to go through with it.” You took a step closer to him and looked at him in the eyes. “You can’t blame yourself for your parents’ actions.”

He shook his head and looked away. “I should’ve fought harder,” he countered stubbornly. “I’m a terrible person.”

“Jeon Jungkook, look at me.” You used your finger to turn his head so his gaze was directed towards you again. “You are not a terrible person. If you were, you wouldn’t have saved me that day at the grocery store or risked your life to get me pads or spending your days working to find a cure that isn’t even your responsibility.” You took another step towards him and slowly wrapped your arms around him. “You’re a good person, Jungkook. I’m saying this from the bottom of my heart,” you murmured with your head against his chest.

He was silent for a few moments until his body relaxed into your hold. “Thank you,” he mumbled as he gripped your waist and upper back and rested his head atop of yours. “Do you still feel… the same for me?” he questioned cautiously.

“No,” you answered quickly, causing him to quickly pull away from you in offense. You giggled at his reaction before continuing, “I like you even more now. You were honest with me and now I feel closer to you.”

His face relaxed as he let out a relieved sigh before bringing you back into his arms again. And for a few moments, the two of you simply basked in each others’ embrace.

Jungkook was the first to break the silence. “We’re not very close to finding the solution, you know,” he mentioned with a disappointed tone.

You shrugged. “It’s ok. This isn’t something you can really rush, but I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”

He pulled his head back to look down at you, a gentle expression painted on his face. “Promise?”

You smiled at him. “I promise,” you whispered before you moved to close the distance between your lips and kiss him once again.

The future was unsure for you and Jungkook and tomorrow or the next week wasn’t guaranteed. But you were sure that if there was anyone you wanted to survive and overcome a zombie apocalypse with, it was Jungkook (and his unconventional group of friends that he calls his family).

a/n: ngl i would feel so safe in a zombie apocalypse w bts akjnkas. also might write a drabble about hobi in this plot hehe. i hope you enjoyed and pls leave comments as they’re rlly encouraging and will help me improve in the future :’))

#bts #bts fanfic #bts jungguk #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #park jimin #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #hobi #min yoongi #Jung HoSeok #bts zombie au #bts fanfiction

493 notes · View notes

heli0s-writes · 3 years

Text

lights up*

A/N: Stucky (primarily Steve)/Reader. 2k words of idkwhatthisisi’msorry. There was a prompt from six months ago that I wrote this for but I lost the message and I can’t remember! All mistakes are my own, please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

You wake up in scattered shock.

Knee-jerk reaction to fast hands sliding between your thighs, fingers carelessly ticking sensitive skin.

You wake up to a groggy voice, slurred with sleep and raspy-raw.

“Baby,” it croaks from between your legs, “Honey, sweetheart, sugar. Please, please, please let me eat your pussy.”

Wha—

A few disbelieving blinks as you scrabble for your bearings—can’t see shit—still dark—head throbbing.

“Oh god, I wanna sosososo bad,” and then hands are between your knees, spreading your legs apart. “So… damn... tasty. Uh-huh… Come to daddy.”

Who the fuck is—damn it, Bucky.

In the dead hour of four-something when nothing should be moving so intentionally, an unsteady moan tumbles out of him when he starts groping for your ass.

“Buck!” You whisper, kicking your leg to shake him off. Grabbing the covers with one hand, you reach under with the other, swatting his head and trying to get a firm hold on him. Slippery fucking man.

He pauses for a second before his body goes limp, half hanging off the foot of the bed and you groan at his weight. Idiot boy. Two hundred pounds of horny somnambulist dropping like an anchor on your poor legs.

Fiddling now with how to get him back up to his regular spot, you try to do it quietly, the warmth radiating next to your left shoulder a compelling incentive. Even with your wits barely about you, you know better than to wake—

“Whassit? Whas goin’ on?”

Steve. Ah.

“Nothing,” you sigh, reaching over and stroking his arm absently, one foot tapping against Bucky’s waist to urge him upward. “He’s just sleep-talking again.”

Steve makes a groggy noise of comprehension. “Sleep-talking or sleep-fucking?”

“Just sleeping now. Ugh… didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’d come in late again—meetings and paperwork keeping him well after hours. Not even able to do it from home, which would have been nice. At least here you could make sure he was eating, or drinking enough water, or at least be in the presence of good company.

Instead, you and Buck watched a movie, took a few rounds of shots (because he likes the taste and how you look dancing all over the coffee table), fooled around in the kitchen, and turned in around two—Steve nowhere in sight. Some jobs were Captain-Only, which meant you’d have to make peace with being useless.

That’s generally not a task that goes over well. The amount of untamed energy Bucky exudes without Steve’s guidance is… close to being categorized as a natural disaster and trying to stay up with him is always a double-edged sword. Lots of fun, sure, but he requires less sleep than you do and can finagle you into getting piss drunk with a single smirk.

“Wish you’d been more responsible.” Bone-tired and Steve’s still bossy. His arm is heavy as it snakes over your tummy. “You know he needs direction.”

“Hey, I tried.”

“Issat right? That why your panties’re on the counter? Shirt in the sink, too. Come home close to four and still gotta clean up after the two of you.”

His raspy breath tickles, plump lips crushed just below your ear—enough to start a chain reaction of shudders.

“Go back to sleep,” you huff, embarrassed. It was only a few hours ago so your head’s still a bit fuzzy—vague memory of playful touches before hearing, hop up, baby, from Bucky. And you, tittering and zealous the whole way, kissing him like he’d never been kissed before.

YouTube blinking on the T.V., stuck on some ad because the streaming’s a snail’s pace from when Steve set up the internet and tried to pinch pennies at the same time. Bucky’s specially crafted “Wine, Dine, and Sixty-Nine” playlist refusing to load even half a song afterwards so neither of you could spare your neighbors from hearing all the noises.

Hopefully the laughter was loudest, and not the primal fucking, or the crashing when you slipped off the counter and knocked Bucky on his ass.

You giggle at that. Years and years together and some nights still feel brand new.

“Have fun without me?”

There’s no real jealousy in Steve’s voice, but there is greed behind the question. A single night away and he acts like he’s never been kissed either.

Your eyes start fluttering when his fingers curl around your hipbone. Je-sus. Hell. It’s too late—early—for this.

You grumble his name, asking him to save it for a couple more hours when your brain doesn’t feel pried free, but, Captain-Only mode activated and he’s not deterred. A bloodhound on a fresh trail.

The hand on your hip turns inward and you’re suddenly aware of him pressed against your body, that hot line of him, pulsing on your upper thigh. He tilts forward, one knee rubbing up your leg. Bucky stirs a little and makes another declaration about how he’s fit for the CEO position of Eating Your Ass, but nothing more after that.

“He do you good?” Steve wonders, apparently not giving a fuck about whether Bucky’s dead or alive down there and instead only worried about repositioning you, rolling you on your side, “That why you’re so happy to get me out of the house? So you two can fool around unchecked as much as you want?”

“Steve, you know damn well—"

His hand slips around the side of your neck, four thick fingers drumming over the ridges of your throat. “Watch your mouth,” he whispers, “before you get yourself into any more trouble.”

He gets mean without enough sleep. And no one would ever guess, but other than working over some poor punching bag that’ll never see the light of day after he gets his hands on it, Captain America likes to fuck it out. You and Buck have properly come out of a few sessions barely alive, feeling like two ends of a slinky that’s taken one too many tumbles down a flight of stairs.

You squirm as he palms your bottom with his free hand, kneading the bare flesh a flimsy pair of sleeping shorts can’t cover.

“Gotta be quiet,” he tells you gently, “Can’t wake him, can we.” Christ help you. What a time to play a game. You mumble under your breath, “Do I have a choice?”

A prod at your already sore entrance, and Steve says, annoyingly convinced, “I think you’ve already made your choice.”

He stills for a second when Bucky flops around on the mattress and then he starts pressing his mouth to your back, your shoulder, other hand holding you steady with expertise. It’s Steve’s favorite position when he wants to be in charge—you, writhing and turned away, usually leaned about 50 degrees and pawing at Bucky’s chest—this morning, feebly snatching sheets instead.

It doesn’t take any buildup. He’s achingly ready; you’re willingly wet. Clothes moved just enough out of the way and his two fingers slide upward, pushing barely to spread you before he quickly replaces it with something much thicker. It’s only been a few seconds. He’s too fast for you to get a word in edgewise, your brain still muddled, body cooperative.

“Huh,” Steve mumbles, slowly feeling his way into position, “A bit fucked loose, aren’t you?”

“Steve,” you hiss in reply, clenching up reflexively the same time mortification bursts across your scrunched- up face. “Don’t say that.”

“Hush, baby.”

“I’m trying—”

“Try harder.” And he’s evil incarnate, you swear. Satan himself packaged up in the neat body of a demigod. He rolls his hips slowly until the tops of his thighs are pressed against your ass, fingers holding so tight you think he’s going to spear right into bone. “Stay still or you’re gonna knee Buck in the cheek.”

You twist your head around, instead, shaking your chin free from his hand, hoping that once he sees your pitiful expression, he’ll find it in his heart to maybe not pound you into oblivion with bells on.

Of course, Steve’s not looking anywhere but down the line of your back and further to where he’s opening you up, bottom lip tucked into his teeth.

You constantly rib him about how he’s making up for all the years he spent with the two working eyes of a mole so now he’ll break his neck to watch. Bucky’s confirmed it multiple times to Steve’s chagrin, cackling at the way Steve goes purple defending himself. You love the stories they tell and retell; you try to spend most your time making up for all those years you weren’t there to find out.

Who isn’t in this relationship? Violently horny like teenagers, the three of you, spending every idle hour mishandling for each other like it’s the first time. Excitement primeval like animals in heat, apparently instinctual enough for one of you to do it in his sleep. Years and years and it still feels brand new.

The bed’s rocking surprisingly moderately for Steve’s usual pace, and it’s a bit heartwarming to know that he’s doing it because he really doesn’t want to wake Bucky, but he ramps up his game. He starts whispering again, meaner, hotter, the damn mouth on Steve Rogers continuing to give you hell this early morning.

He pinches your nipple hard, letting you gasp at the brief sting before he goes back up to your chin, your mouth, and then he puts the entire hand over it.

“Quiet. Not another fucking word out of you. Gotta teach you how to behave this morning, don’t I?” He’s working himself up, working you over, even pulling you back on him by the hips and then wiggling you up and down on him like he’s adjusting you on a saddle. Motherfucker.

Your toes curl, knees grinding, legs folding up to get simultaneously closer and away from him and it feels—it feels so excruciatingly good—the effortless glide of his cock, the burn of friction dragging itself out the more you wriggle. Whatever indelicate sounds falling out of your mouth are getting mashed back in, Steve ramming himself into your body, shaking your brain further loose.

He’s probably louder than he intends to be—you know how he gets when he’s close— bombs could be dropping two feet away and Steve Rogers would hear nothing but the roar of his own wanting, chasing it until he crashes into bits. You’re chasing too, both hands clamped around his wrist, arching your back to near breaking.

“Yeah,” he rasps out, “That’s it, that’s good, baby. Ugnn—back up on me, stay—right there.”

More uneven jerking, he releases your face and starts rubbing your clit, saying, you like it like this? Like me givin’ it to you good like this? And you’re shaking in his arms, the both of you tipping over the edge.

“I wasn’t serious,” Steve says later after a few moments, lips all soft and gentle on your neck, rather than fierce like before, “Bout you bein’—” you can feel him shrugging, “Y’know… fucked loose.” He whispers the last part like it’s a sin.

You snort, “You turning decent on me? After railing me to death?”

“You sound pretty lively to me.” He pokes your side, “I just… woke up and remembered how much I missed you last night.”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’ve got both of us here—shit!”

“Steeeeeve,” and the sound of it slaps both you back to reality. Sleep-smashed, more tipsy than any alcohol could make him, Bucky’s giggles break the steady pattern of muffled conversation. His vibranium hand pats around for a new destination, undeterred by the disruption of his previous mission.

You can’t believe it. He’s still asleep.

“Steeeevie,” Bucky mewls again, “Lemme— lemme suck your dick, sweetheart.”

What a menace. Your shoulders start quivering as you poorly hold it back, pfffftppblffpt’s kickstarting Steve into a tizzy right alongside you.

Bursting laughter finally wakes him up. Bucky yelps once, twice, flailing like a cat caught unawares and rolls himself right off the goddamn bed.

Two hundred pounds of newly conscious pervert wallops the hardwood floor and you’re sure the entire apartment complex—if they didn’t hear the ruckus last night—certainly heard it this morning.

#marvel #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #stucky x reader #smut #marvel smut #reader insert #mcu

1K notes · View notes

sleepdeprivedsloth · 3 years

Text

Wrong Answer

[MHA - Bakugou, Kirishima]

summary: Kirishima is struggling with math and asks Bakugou to help him study for an upcoming test. Unique tutoring methods are introduced, leading to some interesting discoveries between the two friends. (platonic KiriBaku tickle fic)

potential warnings: swearing, tickling

words: 1.7 k

a/n: here’s another mha fic because i’m obsessed :D if you couldn’t already tell i freaking love bakugou lmfao i promise my next fic will be for a different fandom but anyways please enjoy!

“How did I allow myself to be associated with an absolute idiot?” Bakugou asked aloud, fondly shaking his head.

Kirishima gave out an awkward laugh, embarrassedly rubbing his hand against the nape of his neck. “Sorry man, I seriously thought math was supposed to be about numbers. I genuinely don’t understand where all these letters are coming from.”

The two boys were seated on top of Kirishima’s bed, facing towards one another, with their notes and homework assignments scattered across the blankets. It had been the redhead’s idea to work on their homework together, knowing that he would be needing Bakugou’s help.

“This is just a review on the Pythagorean Theorem, Shitty Hair. You should’ve learned it three weeks ago instead of waiting until two days before the test!” Bakugou exasperatedly exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air to further emphasize his half-hearted frustration.

The blonde watched as Kirishima’s sheepish expression quickly turned into a look of distress, cringing slightly as he asked, “Wait… we’re having a test on the Python Theory?”

Bakugou facepalmed, dragging his hand slowly down the length of his face. “Oh fucking well. I’ve done all I could. At this point, you’re a lost cause.”

“C’mon Bakubro, I don’t need you to make me feel any more dumb than I already am! A little crash course is all I need, just please tutor me!” Kirishima pleaded, looking desperately into his friend’s eyes.

“You know what…” Bakugou started, an almost-evil smirk growing across his face. “I do have this one study method that I’ve been meaning to try out on someone.”

Kirishima beamed, oblivious to the suspiciously eager look on Bakugou’s face. “Oh that’s perfect, bro! You get to test out your new method and I can study for our math test, a manly win-win situation! So how does the method work?”

Repressing most of his excitement as to not reveal his true intentions, Bakugou explained, “It’s pretty simple really. I just have to ask you questions and then you gotta answer them. Here’s the twist though: instead of being praised or rewarded when you get the answers right, you get a little punishment if you answer them wrong.”

“Wait wait wait, hold on a second,” Kirishima butt in. “What do you mean ‘punishment?’ Are we talking like giving me a thumbs down, o-or like torture, or-”

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Shitty Hair, no matter how much of an idiot you are,” Bakugou quickly reassured.

Kirishima let out a sigh of relief. “Whew, thank god! You had me a little worried for a second there, man.”

“Don’t stress out over this, it’s just studying,” Bakugou said with a grin that implied that the pair were going to do more than just study. “All you have to do is answer correctly. Ready, dumbass?”

Kirishima gave the blonde two thumbs up, smiling warmly. “Ready as I’ll ever be! Hit me with it!”

“Good,” Bakugou smirked. “First question: what’s the formula of the Pythagorean Theorem? You’ve got five seconds, Shitty Hair.”

“Five seconds?! Dude that’s not enough- WOAH!” Kirishima had started to object when suddenly Bakugou lunged at him, knocking the redhead down onto his back. Before he could fully process what was happening, Kirishima was being straddled just below the waist and his hands were pinned underneath Bakugou’s knees. The brief struggle made a complete mess of their papers and pencils, some even falling down to the floor. “Uhh.. Bakubro? I mean this in the friendliest way possible, but what the actual hell, man??"

Bakugou rested his hands on Kirishima’s sides, causing his friend to stiffen slightly. “What’s the formula of the Pythagorean Theorem? If your dumbass answers incorrectly, or doesn’t answer at all within the next five goddamn seconds, you’re gonna get punished,” he repeated, giving a small squeeze to emphasize his intentions.

Kirishima’s eyes widened in realization, a shaky smile coming across his face as he attempted to backtrack. “O-oh, I was actually just thinking that we should definitely try another method? Maybe we could- AAHahaha nohohoho!!”

“Wrong answer, Kiri,” Bakugou replied bluntly, starting to lightly wiggle his fingers along Kirishima’s sides, just enough to keep him squirming and giggling. “Why try another method when this one is working so well? Answer.”

Kirishima couldn’t help but tug on his hands, writhe from side to side, squeeze his eyes shut tight, anything that could possibly alleviate the soft, tickly sensations. Unfortunately, his attempts were only in vain. “Ihihihihi dohohon’t knohohohow! Thihihihis is wh-hihi-y Ihihihi need tuhuhutoring!”

“Alright dumbass, I’ll help you out a little. Just repeat after me…” Bakugou offered, showing a small bit of mercy towards his clueless friend. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight if Kirishima had no idea how to answer the questions; that’s why Bakugou was helping him in the first place after all. Without pausing his fluttering fingers, the blonde recited, “A squared plus B squared equals C squared.”

“Ihihi cahahan’t- EEHEHEHAHA” Bakugou dug his fingers into Kirishima’s sides in warning. “OKAHAHAhay okahay! A-hahahaha squahared pluhuhus B-hehe squahahared ehequals C-hihihi squahahared!”

“Nice job, Shitty Hair,” Bakugou momentarily ceased his tickling, giving Kirishima a chance to catch his breath. “Second question: can the Pythagorean Theorem be used on all types of triangles?”

Lucky for Kirishima, he had actually paid attention to that part of the lesson in class. With small, residue giggles getting mixed in with his words, he proudly answered, “Nohope, only rihight triahangles!”

“Correct. About time you started getting some of these shitty answers right,” Bakugou mocked playfully before a predatory glint filled his eyes. “Third question: where’s your worst spot?”

Kirishima’s head shot up and he immediately locked eyes with his friend, shaking his head pleadingly. “No noho no, I cahan’t!” Anxious titters slipped out of his mouth as he tried to bargain. “I-I’ll tell yohou my second wohorst spot, it’s rihight below my behehelly button!”

Bakugou wasted no time in slipping both hands underneath Kirishima’s shirt and moving them to his lower stomach. Forming miniature claws, he started vibrating his fingers deep into the sensitive flesh. Uncontrollable laughter spilled out between Kirishima’s pointed teeth, but Bakugou wasn’t satisfied yet. “I don’t want your second worst spot. Fucking answer the damn question, or I won’t ever stop~”

His head fell back to look up at the ceiling instead of Bakugou’s piercing gaze. Kirishima put as much strength as he could into trying to buck the hands off of his torso, but the redhead quickly came to the realization that there was no way out. If he didn’t answer, there was no doubt that Bakugou would keep tickling him until he died of laughter. Blushing at the thought, Kirishima surrendered, “RIHIHIHIHIHIHIBS! IHIHIHIT’S MY RIHIHIHIBS!!”

“Perfect.” Bakugou instantly slithered his hands further up until they reached the dreaded spot. He gently massaged his thumbs into Kirishima’s ribs, not hard enough to hurt, but with just the right amount of pressure that got his friend squirming hopelessly from left to right. “Damn, these guys are pretty sensitive, aren’t they?” Bakugou teased fondly.

“YEHEHEHEHES! IHIHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLEHES!!” Kirishima confessed, screams of laughters flowing out of him before he could even think about resisting them. But then again, he didn’t really want to resist. Kirishima had to admit that it did feel good to let loose from the stress of school and just laugh freely. Those thoughts were immediately pushed to the back of his mind the instant Bakugou’s fingers scribbled against his second lowest ribs, a particularly weak spot on his ribcage. “NO NO NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHA! BAHAHAKUG-AAHAHA! NAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHERE!”

Bakugou’s eyes practically gleamed with excitement as he honed in on the newfound spot. “Ohoho, what is this wonderful little spot I’ve found, Shitty Hair?”

Kirishima was hysterically howling and shrieking, losing his mind to the sensations and barely able to form complete sentences. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE NOHOHO! IHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN’T!!”

The blonde slowed his fingers down, but drummed them against the second lowest rib to keep Kirishima wiggling and giggling. “Alright Kiri, final question: who’s the best tutor in all of UA? I’ll even give you a small hint: your dumbass better say that it’s me.”

Having more control over his mouth, Kirishima bravely teased, “Wohohow, suhuhuper suhubtle, Bahakubroho.” This earned his ribs a few ticklish pinches, causing the redhead to jolt and squeal before returning to his steady stream of chuckles.

“That loudass mouth of your’s is gonna get you into some serious trouble,” Bakugou lightly taunted. “Now spit out your fucking answer already!”

Through his giggle high, Kirishima quickly responded, “Yohohohou! Ihihihit’s youhuhuhu! Yohohou’re the behehest tuhutor to ehehever exihihihist!!”

Bakugou climbed off of Kirishima and helped him sit up before crawling back to his end of the bed. “Hell yeah I am, and don’t you ever forget it!”

Kirishima rubbed his hands along his ribs to get rid of the funny, tingling feeling that was left behind from the attack. “Geheez dude, I seriously dihidn’t take you ahahas the type to initiate a tihihickle fihight like that.”

Rolling his eyes as he started to pick back up their school work that was previously disregarded on the blankets, Bakugou retorted, “Oh please, this was just payback for what you and the other idiots did to me on my birthday. Karma’s a bitch like that.”

“Oh c’mon, man, there’s no need to lie. You and I both know that you loved it!”

Bakugou’s head quickly whipped around to look at Kirishima incredulously, eyes widened slightly. “No I didn’t, you ass! It was absolute torture and you’re honoestly lucky that I don’t hate you dumbasses for doing it.”

Keeping eye contact with his friend, Kirishima effortlessly came back with, “Dude, if you seriously thought it was torture, there is no doubt that you would have found a way to make us stop. Or, at the very least, you would’ve asked us to stop.”

Realization flashed across Bakugou’s face for a brief moment, accompanied by a light blush that Kirishima easily noticed. But in the blink of an eye, Bakugou’s defenses were put back up, as if they had never gone down in the first place. “Oh yeah? Then how come you didn’t ask me to stop the whole time I was tickling you just now? Explain that, Shitty Hair.”

A challenging smile spread across Kirishima’s lips. “I never said that I didn’t like it.”

a/n: ngl i had some troubles starting this fic, but let me tell you that when i finally got into it, everything just started coming together and now i love it! thanks for reading everyone <3

#bnha #bnha tickle #mha #mha tickle #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #kirishima #eijiro kirishima #ler!bakugou #lee!kirishima #ticklish!kirishima #kiribaku #platonic #tickling #tickle fic

245 notes · View notes

astarryon · 3 years

Text

Another Lifetime: Shouldn’t Have Gotten Shot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Description of war and battle injuries, mentions of blood, gunshots, language, etc.

Summary: Bucky doesn’t like talking about her, but Dr. Raynor isn’t an easy person to argue with. And now that it’s summer –– now that he’s living through the months they’d shared together all over again, only without her by his side –– fighting the memories becomes all the more difficult.

A/N: Listen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into me but ever since tfatws started I have been INSPIRED! Hoping to update this fic sem regularly, but we’ll see where the new school term takes us. As always, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to let me know what you think!

Bucky Barnes has never been overly fond of the summer.

One aspect was the fact that he could remember what it was like to be a miserable kid living in a cramped Brooklyn apartment with no air conditioning and three baby sisters who never stopped whining about the heat. Of all the jumbled, foggy memories bouncing around the confines of his skull, that one is clearer than most. And though he still finds it difficult to picture the faces of his little sisters –– can’t hardly remember arcs of their noses, much less the colors of each of their eyes –– a nostalgic, brotherly feeling washes over him all the same.

There’s also the little detail that he’d received his draft notice in the summer months. That Bucky remembers perfectly, one of the few memories strong enough to remain unmuddied by all those years of shitbag scientists rooting around his head and picking his brain apart. The heat that year had been sweltering, and once his mother found him in her kitchen with that damned letter clutched between his fingers, he felt it burn right through the strings of his heart.

The first week of July delivered the news. The last saw him shipping out to bootcamp.

He guessed he didn’t mind the sunshine. That part had always been nice, and it helped to calm him on occasion these days, to remember that the golden rays licking comforting heat up his skin were the same ones which had shone down on him back in the 40s, before and during the war.

Before Hydra had condemned him to seventy long years of dark and cold.

To that end, logic said the season he really should hate was winter, but he’d never felt any ill will toward the colder months, and found now, in the present, that he’d only grown fonder of them. When the rain came down from the sky in sheets, or when snow fell so thick it resembled white, puffy clouds blanketing the ground, he took walks. Partly because no other soul would be idiotic enough to trudge through a borderline natural disaster at three in the morning, meaning he wouldn’t have to put up with prying eyes and conspicuously pointing fingers, and partly because experiencing said natural disasters in solitude did wonders for the soul.

Steve thought it was strange. Hated that Bucky did it, kept insisting that he at least take a goddamn jacket, there isn’t any actual proof he can’t get pneumonia. But Bucky always shook his head and declined, rolling his eyes and muttering beneath his breath about how apparently the tables have fucking turned.

But, no. The winter, the rain, the cold –– none of that could ever draw half as much ire from him as did the gentle beginnings of June, the scorching heat of July, the fading light of August. Because those weren’t the things which served as reminders from before.

Reminders of her.

“James. Did you hear me?”

Bucky blinks hard, freeing his gaze from the wall calendar tacked up and viewable just over his doctor’s shoulder. Glancing down, he sees the familiar green of the velvet armchair –– one of three options for patients to choose from in her office, and Bucky’s personal favorite on account of the way its textures did something to sooth him as he gripped its arm anxiously with his flesh hand –– and the worn, fraying knees of his black jeans against it. He doesn’t bother meeting his therapist’s gaze. He already knows which of her expressions he’ll find her leveling at him, if he does.

“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, sucking his teeth. He hopes his voice isn’t quite as strained as it sounds –– though, judging by the way Dr. Raynor clucks her tongue as her fingers twitch toward her pen, it definitely is. “Guess I’m a little scattered today.”

The sardonic hum Raynor gives in response as she knowingly tilts her head nearly makes him open his mouth to finish the silent argument she’d started, but Bucky knows better than that. The moment he starts up, she’ll feign innocence and inquire as to why he feels the need to defend himself when no verbal accusation has been made. God damn, it would be just his luck to end up with the one government assigned therapist actually capable at her job.

“That’s what you said yesterday,” Dr. Raynor offers. “And the two days before, if memory serves me right.”

Bucky shakes his head and tsks, tapping a metal finger against his temple. “Not a funny joke, doc. Remember the audience you’re dealing with here.”

“‘Deflecting.’”

The word drops from Raynor’s mouth with a simpleness that puzzles him.

“‘Scuse me?” he prompts when she only goes on to stare at him owlishly.

“Oh, that’s what I’d be writing in my notebook,” she explains simply, folding her hands together in her lap and leaning back in her chair. “If we were using it right now, that is.”

Again, Bucky rolls his eyes, and has to make an active attempt not to cross his arms like a forlorn child. The threat in her words is easily recognizable, not that she’d really bothered trying to conceal it. She knows that damn notebook irritates him more than any other aspect of their current arrangement, and he knows she’s not bluffing. If he doesn’t start talking, Raynor starts writing –– and if Raynor starts writing, he gets tailed by government watchdogs to ensure there are no imminent incidents lurking in the near future.

He sighs dejectedly and meets her gaze. “What was it you asked me?”

“What it is about the month of June that makes you so uncomfortable.”

Bucky blinks, red alarm bells shrieking in his head. Fuck, he can’t help but think. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Caught red handed.

“June’s fine,” he tries, but even to his own ears the assurance sounds weak. To think, he’d once been the most prolific tool of espionage around –– now he can hardly deliver a lie with a straight face. “Don’t have any feelings toward it one way or the other.”

“Strike two,” Raynor quips, glancing one again toward her pen.

Fuck!

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Bucky sits a little straighter in his seat, searching for any semblance of comfort to be found while already knowing he was bound to come up short. Damn it all. She wasn’t going to let him out of this one.

“Alright, hold your horses,” he sighs, waving a halting hand. Raynor’s expression doesn’t shift. She simply continues peering at him with her dark eyes, waiting patiently for his next few words to come. “Why do you assume I’ve got a problem with June?”

“Because you didn’t start staring at that calendar until it switched over from May,” Raynor supplies. “Like I mentioned, today isn’t the only day you’ve been scattered. Seems like something we should consider talking about.”

“No,” Bucky answers quickly. Too quickly. Shit. If she thought he’d been deflecting before, he didn’t even want to know the words running through her mind in regards to his behavior now. “I mean–– well, no. I don’t think it’s that important.”

Raynor arches a brow. “Funny,” she tells him, “the way your eyes keep drifting back to the word ‘June’ tells me otherwise.”

He sighs, worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth. Caught between a rock and an even bigger, weightier rock. The universe really wasn’t one to take his side often.

Bucky knows there really isn’t any choice here. Either he does what Raynor asks and elaborates on his suspicious behavior, or he risks facing the repercussions of those notes she’ll be jotting down in her notebook. Which of the two evils is more definitively the lesser, he can’t rightly say, but he knows which of the consequences he’d prefer to suffer through. And they’re certainly not the ones which see him robbed of the ability to walk freely down the street without a detail of armed babysitters.

So he figures that, maybe for once, being honest can’t be the worst decision to make.

“A few years ago, back before the blip,” Bucky tries, “I spent a summer in Wakanda.”

“Housed by the royal family,” Raynor nods, tone soft. “We’ve spoken about that before. You said you found it peaceful there. That you liked it.”

He did, and still does. On the nights when his mind isn’t quiet enough to let him find sleep but his heart feels light enough to forego the slideshow of horrors he’d been made to suffer throughout the years, Bucky’s thoughts often return to the bliss which life in Wakanda had offered him. He’d remember the farm he kept there, the little children who would come to sing and play and dance in trees to keep him company in the afternoons. He’d remember Princess Shuri –– Just Shuri, James, come now –– and the kindness she’d displayed in deactivating the deeper, most concerning parts of his programming. The day she’d told him it was done, turned off, that he’d never be forced to revert back to the Soldier against his will again, he’d rushed her and caught her up in a bearhug so relieved and forceful that her Dora Milaje detail had actually pointed their spears at him. He’d remember the tranquility of it all, the simpleness.

The peace.

There’s no hope of him being able to return to that place any time soon, much as he’d like to, but the memories sit resolutely concrete in his mind. The first of a new set which he’d never have to worry about being stolen away from him by the currents of an electric shock.

“It’s a nice place,” Bucky affirms, sighing wistfully at the thoughts swirling up in his head. “I bring it up because back then, that summer… I started remembering a few things. From before.”

Raynor keeps her face smooth and composed, but Bucky notices the twitch in her cheek that says she’s got a question. “When you say before,” she asks, voice gentle, “do you mean your time as the Winter Soldier?”

He shakes his head, swallowing thickly. Ironically, things would be easier, were that the case. He might not be so miserable in the present, seeing the month of June start all over again. The melancholy might not be so strong. “No, not then. I mean from before. From the 40s, during the war. I don’t know if it was Wakanda’s heat that did it, or that my programming was officially deactivated. But one night I went to sleep in my hut like normal, and then the next morning I woke up, and… and I remembered.”

Raynor clasps her hand together in her lap, the pen, the notebook, the hesitation all forgotten. Bucky sees it in her expression, the shock at the fact that he’s speaking, that she’s actually making progress in getting him to talk about things so painful he often wonders if they aren’t better left in the past. He’s still trying to figure that one out. Miserable as he’s been for the first four days of June, he figures nothing good or relieving or positive can come from retelling this particular tale. It’s all behind him now, and there isn’t anything to be done to change the ending in any significant way.

But… but he figures he owes it to her. As painful as the memories are, they can’t be anything in comparison to what she must have gone through in the aftermath of it all.

Slowly, Raynor crosses one ankle over the other. “What was it that you remembered, James?”

Bucky sighs, closing his eyes and inhaling as deep a breath as he can pull. He lets it loose after counting to six, then opens his eyes again and crosses his arms over his chest. “It started back in June of 1944. I got shot.”

––

June 1st, 1944

It was damn lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

A funny thought, really. One which brings a sarcastic, bitter smile to your lips as you bend your neck to get a closer look at your handiwork. Wasn’t it just two nights ago that you’d been laying in your cot, staring up at the moon through the flap of your tent and counting all the reasons it wasn't fair that the bliss of unconsciousness evaded you? Wasn’t it three that you’d considered sneaking into the med tent and downing a few of the sleeping pills meant for the soldiers? You hadn’t, of course –– god only knew the sort of trouble you’d get in if it came to pass that you were caught –– but the consideration had been there all the same.

“Fuckin’ shit!”

The foul language, mixed with the rough jerk of the body beneath your dexterous hands, was enough to steal your attention back from your jaded inner monologue. Nearly two years back, when you’d first signed on to work as a field nurse, the pained outburst would have sent you flinching. Now, the swearing isn’t anything new, and thankfully for the soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up, it was no longer anywhere near enough to give you pause.

“You better hold still unless you want this to scar even worse than it's already going to,” you tell him matter of factly, gently tugging the thread the rest of the way through your current stitch.

The soldier –– Matthews? Moore? You can hardly remember the name he’d gasped at you in pain, but you’re sure it started with an ‘M’ –– rakes his dirty hands over his even dirtier face, brown eyes squeezing themselves shut as his fingers quake with agony. “Sorry,” he rasps, skin paling. “Just… Jesus, shit hurts so bad!”

You cluck your tongue, guilt racking your heart as you push the needle through his skin once more. “Shouldn’t have gotten shot then, genius,” you murmur, shaking your head disapprovingly.

It works. For a moment the soldier’s face twists in disbelief, and in the next, a shuddering, wheezing gasp of laughter expels itself from his throat. The sight is bleak, but it’s enough to twist your heart with warmth as you once again pull the thread through the stitch. You’d learned in the first few months of working as a nurse on the frontlines that the last thing these men wanted or needed was to be coddled along over their injuries, especially by a woman. Vulnerability was more averse to them now than ever before.

Personally, you don’t much understand it –– but your work isn’t, and has never been, about yourself.

“Look, why don’t you tell me something,” you start, glancing up to… Morrison’s…? face in apology before sticking him with the needle yet again. He jerks, but not quite so violently this time. Another one down. Only about a thousand more to go tonight. “How’d all this happen? I thought you boys weren’t meant to scope the new territory until tomorrow afternoon. Y’know, in the daylight? When you can actually see whether or not someone in the distance is pointing a gun at you?”

“Unit leader was gettin’ jumpy,” the soldier coughs out, groaning against the pain. Guilt stabs your heart like a knife. You’d have given him something for the pain if you had it, something to numb the wound. But shipments of med supplies were behind, and it would be at least a week before you got your hands on anything like that again. “Said going at night would be better, that we could get the drop on them before they even knew we were coming.”

“Yeah,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Never mind the fact that their soldiers know the land better than ours do.”

So, the unit leader had jumped the gun. You’d figured as much, when two of your nurses had run into your tent with messy hair and sleep addled expressions, panicking about the oncoming slew of injured soldiers who needed immediate medical attention. That had been two hours, six patients, and about one hundred and ninety seven stitches ago.

Again. It was lucky you weren’t sleeping much these days.

The soldier whose leg you were currently stitching up opened his mouth to speak –– whether to snark along with you at the poor choice made by the unit’s leadership or to blindly defend his superior’s decision, you couldn’t be altogether sure –– but before he could even fix his mouth to properly shape the words, a sudden roar of someone else’s agony effectively cut him off.

Steadying your hands, you carefully turn to peer over your shoulder, searching for the source of the commotion. All night, you’d been surrounded by a cacophony of screaming soldiers, but that yell of pain is one you’re certain hasn’t yet met your ears. And, as you watch the flap of the med tent swing back before admitting entry to three people –– one of your nurses and two soldiers, one leaning bodily against the other –– you discover that your assumption is correct.

“We got a bad one,” the nurse –– Sally, curly haired, nearing twenty four and a bit more capable than the other girls when met with the sight of blood –– shouts. Her eyes scan the tent, searching and searching until her gaze finally lands on you. She pauses only a moment to turn and direct the uninjured soldier to drag the one he’s supporting over to an empty cot before barrelling in your direction. “Gunshot wound to the abdomen. I haven’t really had the chance to get a good look at it, but he’s–– well, to be frank, that man has lost a shit ton of blood.”

A gutshot. Poor guy would either go through a sickening amount of pain just to die, or he’d survive, and end up having to endure even more pain. Either way, in light of your depleted supply of painkillers, ‘excruciating’ didn’t even begin to describe it.

Oh, damn it all.

“Take over here for me,” you command, gesturing with your chin to the needle perched between your fingers. Sally’s already moving to pluck it from your hand before you’ve even finished speaking. “He’s got about fifteen to go before we even think about sending him back to his tent. Don’t let him convince you otherwise.”

“You don’t think I know better?” Sally remarks drily, but you don’t have the time to come up with a witty comeback. You’re already on your feet and rushing toward the soldier writhing in pain across the tent, reflexively grabbing a collection of gauze, thread, tweezers, and rubbing alcohol along the way.

This isn’t going to be much fun for either of you.

The first thing you do is excuse the uninjured soldier, the one who’d carried him in. For one, there isn’t any need to keep him witness, and for another, you work better when an addition of unnecessary eyes aren’t tracking your every move. Besides. You doubt the poor soul laying on your med cot is at all interested in one of his peers –– one not sick or out of his mind due to his own pain, that is –– see him in this state. So, you simply thank the young man for his assistance and shoo him back in the direction from which he’d come, waiting until he’s passed the tent’s entrance before turning your full, undivided attention to your newest patient.

He’s got his eyes screwed shut tight in pain. You can hardly blame him. Of all the wounds to suffer through, a gutshot has the potential to win least desirable. It’s easy enough to see why, as the young man’s handsome features carve themselves into an expression of despair. A slick sheen of sweat coats his pale forehead, dampening his dark hair and sticking it to his skin. He’s biting down so hard on his bottom lip in effort to swallow his screams that you’re genuinely shocked he hasn’t drawn blood.

Though, part of you wonders if there’s even enough blood left in his body for his lip to bleed. Deep scarlet blooms stain his green shirt, so thoroughly soaked through that the fabric has turned almost black. Swathes of red cover his torso, his pants, the pale skin of his arms. It’s everywhere, already leaking onto the white sheets of the cot.

Sally wasn’t kidding. He really has lost a shit ton of blood.

“Hey there, soldier,” you start up, setting your collection of medical supplies down before taking a closer look at his torso. Shirt sticking to his skin the way it is, you aren’t going to be able to get much done until it’s out of the way. And, given that this man is certainly in no state to shrug it off himself, you’ve got no choice but to cut it. Lucky that you’d thought to grab a pair of scissors too, you suppose. “Don’t suppose you might be able to help a girl out by telling her what year it is?”

His jaw works for a few moments, teeth grinding together so forcefully the sound is audible. You think he might be gearing up to let loose another scream before he shakes his head a single time. “I got–– got shot,” he wheezes, whole body shaking, “not concussed. Don’t–– ah, don’t really… get how the year’s relevant.”

You exhale a bemused scoff through your nose, considering your response as your scissors work their way through the bloody fabric concealing his wound. You’re working as gently as you can, and so far it seems to be doing the trick. The soldier hasn’t flinched once since you started, though it’s hard to tell if that’s more due to the fact that he hadn’t noticed any difference one way or the other, or if it’s because he’s dedicating what strength he has left to keeping his head screwed onto his shoulders.

“Fair point,” you reply, still carefully cutting through his shirt. “How about a name, then? Little more relevant to the conversation, I’d say.”

It takes a few moments of silence for him to respond –– almost as if he’s trying to remember that he’s got a name –– but eventually, it comes.

“James,” he tells you, the single syllable leaving his mouth in a pained grunt.

You nod, cutting away the last of the fabric. “Nice to meet you, James,” you tell him, carefully peeling the tatters of his ruined shirt from his abdomen. “You just hold tight a little longer for me, alright? We’ll fix you up good as new.”

It isn’t a pretty sight, what you find beneath. Under all that red is a nasty wound, jagged and swollen at the edges, punched into the flesh just beneath the southmost edge of his ribcage. Thankfully, no bones have been hit –– a shattered rib would be immediately evident, both in the pitch of his screams and the deformed shape of his chest –– but the wound is more than a little inflated. There’s a puffiness to it that you can’t comprehend, a stiffness to its perimeter that doesn’t click in your mind, until––

Until you see the small, dark center, and suddenly it does.

You swear beneath your breath, a filthy, ugly word that you’d picked up a few weeks back from one of your patients. You don’t even know what it means, not really, but speaking it feels cathartic enough that you don’t altogether care.

Oh, sweet, holy hell.

James cracks an eye open, muttering, “Darlin’, you rea–– you really gotta work on your bedside manner.”

“Alright, listen to me, James,” you tell him, forgoing a witty response. You don’t have the time, not considering what you’re now dealing with, and you figure James will appreciate your working hands more than he’ll appreciate your shitty attempts at banter. “There’s… there’s something I need to do for you, before I can start patching you up. Now, normally I could give you something for the pain, but we’re out of the anesthetic I need. So this isn’t gonna… it’s not gonna feel very good.”

James looses a labored sigh, oddly calm for the clear anguish marring his face. “Shit, well good news,” he mutters, swallowing thickly, “it already doesn’t.”

His lashes flutter in a telltale manner, one which lets you know he’s getting closer to the brink and you’re running short on time. It’s easy enough, not to give in to the panic this incites in your chest. You’ve been doing this job a long time now, know that what James needs is your calm, your level-headedness. Those things have a higher chance of keeping him alive, of seeing to it that he comes out of this on the other side. Scarred up, maybe, and without the ability to breathe as deep as he once could, but still alive.

You shake your head, grabbing the tweezers from where you’d set them down before planting your forearm against an uninjured section of James’ bare chest for leverage. “Alright, big breaths, James. You scream as loud as you want or need to, but just… try and stay as still as you can, okay? I won’t be able to stop until it’s done.”

The only answer he gives in response is a shaky nod, the thick black fringe of his lashes brushing his cheekbones as his lips begin to move at a speed with which your eyes can hardly track. A prayer, you figure, or a plea for a quick end. Whichever it is, it helps him to relax just the tiniest bit more, slightly smooths out the lines of pain and suffering etched into his face.

Until you start digging with the tweezers, that is.

Then it’s all white hot screams of pain.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper beneath his cries, words drowned out by the sheer volume of the howls ripping out of his throat. But you don’t stop working, don’t withdraw the tweezers from his bloody wound. You hadn’t been joking when you told him starting meant you couldn’t stop until you finished. Abandoning the task now meant leaving James to bleed out in a matter of seconds. “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. You’re doing good, though, alright? You’re doing amazing. I’m sorry.”

It takes a moment for the tweezers’ edges to find the metal bullet lodged in his skin. At first, all you can feel is a mess of flesh and muscle, shredded and frayed from the impact of the gunshot. For a few short seconds, you wonder if your eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on you, if it would have been more wise to search for an exit wound on his back than to simply jump straight in without taking the time to stop and think.

But your worries are unfounded –– proven two seconds later when your tweezers make contact with the tiny, foreign object threatening James’ life. Carefully, you maneuver the tweezers into the correct position to properly take hold of the bullet. Then, with one last whispered apology, you slowly and carefully begin to pull.

James’ legs buck hard against the cot, arms straining at his sides where he’s got both his hands fisted into the sheets in an attempt to hold on for dear life. His teeth chatter against each other, knocking and clacking as he tries to get ahold of the screams pouring freely from him, and that thin sheen of sweat coating his skin has turned into a full on tidal wave.

But his torso doesn’t move –– not a single inch.

“We’re almost done,” you assure him, keeping your hand steady as you continue gently easing the bullet up, and up, and up. You can just make out the silver edges of it now, slick with blood and dented. It won’t be long now, before it’s out and you can start working on staunching the blood leaking from his body. Maybe you can lift his spirits with a joke or two then, a witty comment to ease some of the pain. Maybe––

The bullet slips from the tweezers, catching you off guard and jerking your hand to the left. It’s only by a centimeter, not a huge distance, but given that you’ve got edges of metal inserted into this man’s wound, to him, it makes all the difference in the world.

James throws his head back and screams, loud enough that you can instantly hear his vocal cords go raw beneath the strain of the volume. A single word leaves his lips; it sounds like Ma, only it’s warped, strangled. Much as you detest the fact, you know the sound well. A soldier crying out for his mother while under the thrall of delirium and pain isn’t exactly a rarity around these parts.

Guilt twists your heart with the razor sharpness of a cruel knife.

“Stop,” he gasps, voice hoarse. “P-please–– please stop!”

“I can’t,” you tell him, already repositioning your tweezers and going back in. Luckily, the bullet is much closer to the surface of his wound now. It only takes a second before you find another grip on it, instantly deciding to forego gentleness in favor of speed. “But the good news is––” With a slight bend of your wrist and a soft, wet pop, the bullet comes loose from his wound. “––we’re done with the shitty part.”

James’ eyes, glassy with pain and pupils blown wide, fall first to the bullet you hold up for his perusal, set against a backdrop of lowlight and your blood covered hand, before wandering their way up to your face. It’s then that you notice his irises are water blue and clear as crystal. You’re not sure why, but their color fascinates you.

“I wanna keep that,” he mutters weakly.

Then, his lashes flutter rapidly and his head lolls to the side, his lungs expelling a great, big breath before shuddering to a halt.

Your heart lurches at the sight. For one, awful moment, you think you’ve just put the poor man through all of that pain and agony only to end up somehow killing him in the process –– never mind the fact that this isn’t the first time you’ve extracted a bullet from a soldier’s abdomen, and certainly isn’t likely to be the last. But then his chest starts up moving again, at a much less worrisome pace. It’s slow, and his breaths are shallow, but they’re still breaths.

Unconscious –– not dead.

The realization is enough to make you send a mental note of thanks to whichever being was kind enough to have shown James mercy.

You allow yourself the shortest of moments to bask in the relief –– that you’d successfully extracted the bullet, that James hadn’t died during or after your attempts to do so, that you aren’t now left to set in motion the process of another condolence letter being shipped across seas to his family.

And once it passes, once you’ve inhaled and exhaled and wiped your hands on a cloth, you grab a cloth and press it to James’ wound, setting to work on stopping his bleeding –– but not before wrapping the bullet you’d just dislodged from his body in a pad of gauze and tucking it into the breast pocket of your uniform.

––

Chapter Two: Someone Good

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mcu #tfatws #catws #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfic #au #series #angst #hurt #comfort #1940s bucky

123 notes · View notes

markberries · 3 years

Text

o h b a b y┊draco malfoy

anon requested: do you think you can write this? 6thYear!Draco FWB with fem reader (really rough smut to take out his stress and frustrations) and she ends up getting pregnant from a broken condom but tries to hide the pregnancy until it can’t be hidden anymore/Voldemort somehow finds out and uses her to his leverage so Draco does his task? it doesn’t have to be a happy ending. if you don’t want to write this, it’s okay. thank you.

info: war was upon the students of hogwarts. getting pregnant wasn’t the plan.

warnings: SMUT, slight dirty talk, death

genre: smut, angst, fem!reader

word count: 1700+

a/n: LMAO on my wip page i put fluff.... sorry guys but no fluff here. semi edited,, ALSO I JUST REALIZED THIS ISNT FWB :((( IM SO SORRY

your hand tightens around the plastic in your hand, there’s a slight audible gasp that escaped the grasp of your lips, quiet enough for no one to notice, but loud enough for you to hear. you bite your lip, a surge of anxiety pumping through your veins, a skip of a heartbeat making you tap your foot. the two lines that formed in front of your eyes nearly had you shaking, but the worst part is you knew who the culprit was, and you knew how it happened.

you should have known that the moment you hadn’t gotten your period, that something must have happened. he used a condom that day, didn’t he? did i take birth control?

you and draco had been together for over a year, but you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t noticed his change in behavior. the silence that would fill the air, tension thick enough to slice with a knife. he always seemed like he was in thought, an empty gaze within his eyes.

two weeks ago, he was noticeably frustrated and agitated, so you didn’t question when he dragged you to a nearby supply closet, palming him through his pants.

he shut the door, quietly groaning into your left ear. his hands held the flesh of your ass, you could feel his warm breath on your skin, sending goosebumps all over. his mouth lightly brushed your ear, whispering an, “i need you.”

he took his thumb, slowly swiping it across your bottom lip. you parted your lips teasingly, letting his thumb enter your mouth as you lightly sucked on the fingertip. you could see the tent in his pants becoming tighter, the wetness building between your legs as you clenched your thighs together to hide your arousal, exciting thoughts running through both of your minds.

“we don’t have time for this, my love,” he whispered to you, lightly slapping your bottom. “i want you to turn around.”

a sudden feeling of confidence ran through your body, dragging your fingertips across his clothed chest. “oh yeah? why should i listen to you?”

draco decides to play along with your teasing, walking towards you as you walked backwards, your back pressing on the cool wall behind you. draco smirks, shamelessly looking at you up and down. he places his leg in between your thighs, his knee pressing against your clothed heat.

“you’re going to do exactly what i tell you to do princess, or else,” he says seductively, “now unbutton your shirt.”

the excitement running through your body made you bite your lip in anticipation, slowly unbuttoning your white dress shirt, draco watching your fingers play with the black buttons.

“hurry up princess,” he said sternly, nearly growling into your ear. his hand gripped at your thigh, and you let out a slight chuckle.

“i don’t really feel like it, i think i’ll take my time.”

draco clearly wasn’t happy with your answer, roughly grabbing your waist to turn you around, now your chest was touching the wall, your two hands pressed against it. draco, still holding your waist, whispered in your ear, “since you decided to be a brat today, i’m gonna fuck you like one. alright? do we have any problems?”

you whimpered in response, breathing heavily as you heard the unzipping of his pants. he tugged open the foil of a condom, rolling it onto his length. he raised your skirt, pushing your panties aside. he lined up with your entrance, and with no warning, he slammed into you. you cried out, screwing your eyes shut.

“oh fuck,” he groaned in relief, aggressively pounding into you as you continued to moan his name loudly.

“hm? what do you have to say now?” draco grunted as he continuously fucked you from behind. you and draco have gotten rough before, but not like this, it was different. you liked it.

draco repeatedly hit the same spot in your body, pleasure rushing throughout your system. he would pull out to your entrance, then slam back in, the sound and smell of sex filling the small room.

“it feels so good,” you moaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. a recognizable feeling began to build up in your stomach, draco’s thrusts becoming sloppy but still pleasurable.

“i’m gonna come,” you whimpered, your vision becoming fuzzy.

“beg for it, princess.”

you were panting, sweat drenching your clothes, “please draco, f-fuck. i want to come so bad — please!”

“then come, princess.”

and with that, you let go, your body shaking while draco thrusted one last time, before finishing off as well.

the memory of that rough day in the closet was still freshly etched in your mind, and it remained there as you stared at the positive pregnancy test. your hand covered your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes. this couldn’t be happening.

you needed to tell draco, he had a right to know. you were still going to decide for yourself if you wanted to keep it or not, and you were leaning on the idea of raising the child. it didn’t matter if draco wanted it or not.

—

the first thing that draco wished, was that he had told you about his hidden identity. when draco heard the news, he wasn’t sure if he should be happy or not. he loved the idea of having a family with you, he didn’t expect to have one so early, but he genuinely wanted to create a future with you — just not under these circumstances.

the dark mark on his arm haunted him, the voice of voldemort’s appearing in draco’s recurring nightmares, and his ghastly tasks assigned to him never failed to make him shiver. so raising a child during this dark and twisted era, scared him.

a hundred things ran through his mind, asking himself if he would be a good father, whether or not his child would hate him because he was a bad person, and the secret he hid from you about being a deatheater.

“that’s amazing, y/n,” he smiled at you, and you let out a sigh of relief. you ran into his arms, burying your head in his chest as you let out a small cry.

“i thought you would leave me,” you said quietly, muffled by his clothing, but still audible. he smiled, brushing your hair as he held you in a warm embrace.

“i would never leave you,” he said softly, smiling down at your figure. you looked up at him, your eyes watery and shining like crystals, happy tears running down your face. you were draco’s soft spot, the one person who draco would rather die with than live without, and the thought of losing you made draco’s heart hurt.

he wiped the tears off of your face, planting a kiss on your forehead. for the first time in awhile, he felt calm, the warmth of you surrounding him, your soothing presence making him feel like this moment would last forever, and he wished it did, for he would have preferred to stay with you in that circumstance for the rest of his life.

—

the second thing draco wished, was that he had never been brought into this type of life. draco swore he nearly cried when bellatrix, voldemort’s fanatically loyal servant, ordered him to kill dumbledore. he almost said no, when thinking of you. the only thing that had stopped him, was the mention of your name. he froze in his tracks, trembling.

“you’re in love with another pureblood, aren’t you? what was her name — y/n?”

a cackle left bellatrix’s chapped lips while she played around with her wand. she sat comfortably in draco’s home, an evil smile from ear to ear. “she bears a child, doesn’t she?”

draco was left speechless, his lower lip quivering in horror. “how do you know that?”

he barely heard the sound of his mother questioning him, only thinking of what might possibly go wrong in this situation.

“it’s not about how i know, it’s about what i can do,” bellatrix said, standing up from the chair. “so it settles it then, you kill dumbledore, or i kill y/n and your child.”

draco forgot how to breathe. his brain scattered with possibilities of anything bad happening to you, how you would sound when you were being tortured, the pleading cries you would scream out while draco could only watch. he had to do it. he had to kill dumbledore.

but how could he? he would have to bear this weight on his shoulders, be seen as a murderer to you and his child. what would you think of him? would you think of him as a monster? even so, how would he protect you if he were to refuse the proposal of voldemort?

he was overwhelmed with thoughts, no hope left in his body. he couldn’t do it, he was too scared. he knew he was too much of a coward, and his inability to tell you about his dark mark proved it.

—

the third thing draco wished, was that he could’ve started a family with you. he imagined you with a bright smile on your face, placing breakfast on the table while your baby babbled random noises in their high chair. you would kiss him goodbye as he left for work, and he would never lose that feeling of happiness you gave him; but as he heard the terrified screams and shrieks that emitted from you, he knew that it would not be happening.

he simply had refused to kill dumbledore, creating a plan to escape with you, to run away and live a secret life, but that was too good to be true, as he watched your shivering body. you weren’t dead, just badly hurt. voldemort was laughing in amusement, watching you writhe in pain while tears ran down draco’s pale face.

“stop it! you monster!” draco bawled, his mother and bellatrix holding him back.

“did i not say that she would die? how dare you disrespect me?” voldemort shouted in response. the pain was too much for you to handle, and you dropped to the floor, still alive, but almost gone. draco should have told you, he knew he should have said something about the dangers that were ahead of you. he knew that he was in the wrong, and what he was about to do wasn’t going to fix everything, but it was the least he could have done.

so when draco ran in front of your body, as voldemort yelled out the curse that would send you to death, draco had received the curse instead of you, and the final thing he wished was that he had told you how much he loved you.

so when you began to crawl towards draco’s lifeless body, your own soul beginning to leave yours, you kissed him.

and both of you lay there, with your unborn baby, never knowing what could have been.

#draco #draco angst #draco malfoy #draco malfoy angst #draco smut #draco malfoy smut #harry potter #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine

261 notes · View notes

whosjunglejim4322 · 3 years

Text

Cobra Hybrid! Yukhei/ fighter AU

Warnings: pussy eating, breeding kink, competitive fighting, bl**d, mentions of open wounds, eagle hybrid Xiaojun, scorpion hybrid Hendery, minor mentions of getting high, angst, mentions of near death experiences, fluff bc Xuxi loves u an unhealthy amount

The sky outside of your bedrooms hopper window is scattered with rich hues of deep violet and burgundy, a sight that is too captivating to not sit and admire for at least a moment while your food cools off on your beside table.

You've always been particular about the temperature, needing it hot enough to burn your palms but not the surface of your tongue.

You smile warmly to yourself as you think of Yukhei, the way he can practically scarf anything down no matter the heat. You've had to physically stop him from inhaling piping hot ramen quite a few times, though he never listens. "Its okay, promise!I like when it's hot!"

Stubborn boy.

The colors above seem to dissipate by the second into shades that better suit the nighttime hour, not even a quarter of the sun peeking from below the horizon as the city below continues to buzz with work commutes, or perhaps lovers that are eager to be in the same space their partners occupy.

You sigh ruefully, knowing that it's just your suboncious missing a certain doe eyed, raven haired boy.

It hasn't even been two days since you last saw eachother, the navy blue sweatshirt that he wore over still hanging off the corner of your dresser, the scent of patchouli and cedarwood clinging to the fabric.

Your fingers reach out to undo the latch that keeps your window closed, the cool, dusk air gentle against your cheeks.

You know you shouldn't worry about him, he's with Hendery and Xiaojun and the others and they're all celebrating YangYang's birthday in his uncles house near Shenzhen.

At least that's what his last message said, and truly, you're not one to be overly nosey or obsessive. But the thought of Yukhei, your Yukhei, back in that poisonous red ring with barbarous eyes latched onto his body, eager for his blood to spill across the white floor-

You feel your throat tighten at the thought, eyes closing as you inhale through your nose, the air not as thick with smog this time of year and allowing for at least somewhat of a peace of mind.

You find the juxtaposition to the outside world, and the world that lies below the boutiques and indie music shops and niche cafes, to be sardonically humorous.

It makes sense, strangely, that the evil and greed that people possess would no doubt be thrumming with a life of its own in the hybrid world, even more so than that of the human world, sometimes.

And for hybrids like Yukhei, the ones with a little more strength, a little more aggression once the animal that coexists with their dna is provoked, for a king cobra; merchants practically frothed at the mouth when your boyfriend put himself up for rivalry.

It was the last thing he ever wanted to do, and not just because the clubs usually smelled of dry blood and spit among other noxious substances, or because of the fact that his body felt as if it had been hit by a train every morning when he awoke.

It's because of how you sobbed when you found out. Your eyes and nose raw with the fury in which you had rubbed them, your body shaking. It hurt more than anything, more than a fierce kick to the jaw or a pair of canines ripping into the flesh of his shoulder.

It was agoninzing, almost more so than the fact that he had to do it in order to pay off some stupid, futile debt that he owed.

It was a nefarious fox hybrid who helped him out of an almost brawl at a club downtown during the time he worked there, fixing drinks sometimes, or lending a hand in securing the canvas and apron that was needed for the fighting ring.

It was easy work for him, and he needed the money if he wanted to get through school by even a little, but the people who occupy spaces like that, they weren't too keen on a snake hybrid being allowed in during daytime hours; helping or not.

It was just a bigheaded bull, a new bartender who caught a glimpse of the few iridescent scales that gleamed acrosss the expanse of his shoulder blade, and before he could even smell the unprompted vexation wafting off of the hulking man- he was thrown across the room.

He was nearly impaled on the bar top, nearly. Though the fox jumped in almost too eagerly after the bull busted your boyfriend's top lip open, introducing himself as the owner and kicking the aggressor off of Yukhei after professing his status.

As far as the story goes, the owner was still quite upset at the fact that two bottles of expensive liquor had been busted and wasted in the whole debacle, news to Yukhei since he had been, well, fearing for the safety of his face due to the close proximity of six inch horns.

So, it was lose a decent job and have no other options left as such a reclusive breed, or use his strengths to his advantage.

You shudder everytime you think of the ladder. Nothing prepared you for hearing that from Xiaojun's mouth, for seeing him look so weak, so close to the brink of deterioration. He looked broken.

Your noodles are cold now, and you curse yourself for allowing your thoughts to wander off to a place so unnecessary to revisit.

You're too tired to heat them back up, moving from your window sill to your quaint, welcoming bed. You peel the thick comforter back and nestle yourself into the warmth, grabbing your old (but still functioning) laptop in hopes of finding something new to watch on netflix. You have too much of a habitual personality to start a new t.v. show, but a movie might suffice.

It's hard to focus your attention elsewhere, to not to think of him. He's the type of person that you can't ever get used to seeing upclose, so effortlessly beautiful it's almost painful, an ache in the pit of your chest.

Maybe that's silly to say, but it's not jusy because you're sickeningly in love with him. It's this force that he carries with him, like he's made of pure, raw sunlight.

You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the way his plush lips feel against yours when he smiles into a kiss, noses touching and giggles resonating in his throat as you play with the wild strands of his perpetually fluffy hair.

You think of all the things that make him inherently him. His hands, the way they always seem to be steady and gentle, elegant, despite their size. Even when he caresses your cheek with the back of his knuckles, it's featherlight.

It's in his nature to be so agile, so stealthy in his movements. You sometimes forget he's a snake hybrid at all, his outside appearance similar to a lion shifter, or a wolf.

It's probably the most unobvious thing about him, unless he were to take his clothes off and reveal the miscellaneous littering of scales across his broad back and shoulders.

They're similar to his eyes in the way that they're usually onyx until they glimmer under light, ranging from shades of dazzling silver to veridian. You think of the way he hums in satisfaction everytime you run your fingertips along the surface, eyes captivated with wonder.

You jolt in surprise as your phone rings obnoxiously loud, your eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at the prospect of your pleasant thoughts being so rudely interrupted. Your indignation vanishes when you see the caller ID.

Hendery 🦂 is calling...

"Hello?" Your voice is neutral for the most part, the rational side of your mind trying not to panick so suddenly.

That doesn't last long once you hear the troubled pang in the hybrids voice, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight up.

"Hey, uh- I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry to have to- look Yukhei is hurt-" You're sure all the blood in your body has suddenly been drained, stomach twisting as the words fly from Hendery's mouth. "We can't go to the hospital, Yangyang isn't with us and-"

This can't be happening. Not again. Who lied? Did they all lie?

"Is it the same club?" The stillness in your voice is unsettling, though you're pretty sure you might be going into shock at this point. You can't feel your limbs properly.

"Yes." He replies bleakly, and your fingers tremble as they end the call.

It's like you knew, you always know. There's something about being with Yukhei that has given you a sort of second sense, it's like knowing when a step is missing and you're about to trip.

You know you're going well over the speed limit, skin pulled fiercly over your knuckles with the force in which you're gripping the steering wheel. You're only aware you're crying when streaks of warmth cascade down your cheeks and soak into Yukhei's sweatshirt that you threw on before leaving.

You never wanted to be back here, navigating the slim dark streets to find that familiar, seemingly abandoned building with a simple red logo spray painted on the side. It can only be understood by hybrids, humans not able to translate.

The building is tucked so far back behind the city, it makes for an incredibly unpleasant journey, along with an already unpleasant destination. It's a dark corner in a place full of light. It's the door to a shadow world, to the creatures that find comfort in malice and anguish.

You're surprised you've arrived so fast, not even aware of the strange, curious glances you've been getting by passerbys. No doubt wondering what a little human girl is doing in one of the most dangerous, underground parts of the city.

But they can't touch you, not legally anyways. It's forbidden for hybrids to harm humans, and none of them would dare risk exposing their little side show for a taste of a mundane.

It's Xiaojun you spot first, his conspicuous head of nearly white hair sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the darkness of the alleyway. It's only as you approach that you can see he's slumped under the weight of Yukhei, who's figure is akin to a wilting flower.

You feel your stomach lurch, though adrenaline is what drives you to throw yourself out of the car like a madman, leaving the door open and all to run to his side. You share a brief glance with a wide eyed Hendery, gesturing towards the car as your knees scrape fiercly against the pavement.

You almost don't want to look at him completely, gaze set on Xiaojun as you round to the other side and slip yourself underneath Yukhei's heavy arm. You can't, however, ignore the blood that sticks to your skin, nor the scent of it clinging to him. He murmurs your name with a strained cry, your knees wobbling.

It's a complete blur, happening in what you guess is only about two to three minutes. Yukhei slurs his words as you and the blonde haired hybrid hoist him up with all your strength, agonized groans bellowing from his throat while you move him to the back seat.

You help to manuever his long legs into the car, every bruised, wounded, and bloody part of him visible now underneath the light above your heads. It's even worse than before. How can it be worse?

You throw yourself in beside him, Xiaojun slamming the door shut before he sprints to the passengers seat, Hendery hitting the throttle as soon as everyone is secure inside the vehicle.

You turn to your boyfriend, your love. You have to resist the urge to reach out and touch him, terrified to accidentally skim past a laceration. You whisper his name into the darkness, hoping that he'll answer and that he won't disappear before your very eyes.

Getting him inside of their apartment complex isn't easy. And not just because it takes two of you to carry him, his body too weak to do much of anything; it's mostly because carrying a half dead looking hybrid to an elevator isn't really the most optimal option.

Luckily Hendery knows how to pick the lock to the fire escape hatch in the back of the complex, allowing the four of you to somewhat subliminally carry him up two flights of stairs before finally arriving at apartment 236.

Not the essiest thing you've ever done. But none of that matters, nothing matters right now except for him.

"Couch!" Xiaojun yells, Hendery two steps ahead of him, pushing the old coffee table in the center of the livingroom to the far right corner.

Yukhei stammers before you both set him onto the piece of furniture as gently as you can, a choked whimper being the only sound he can make. It's even worse in this light, all the shared meals and nights binge watching movies suddenly lightyears away. Now this room is tainted with the sight of him falling apart.

"What do we do? Oh god, what do we do?" You speak through a broken sob, on your knees next to your boyfriends limp figure, his long limbs hanging off the side of the couch while his head struggles to stay upright.

You don't even realize Hendery has ran off until he is jogging back with a first aid kit that probably won't do any good, not in this situation. He reads the uncertainty and disbelief in your expression, quickly rebuttling.

"Venom, we need his venom," He and Xiaojun share a look that you don't quite understand, but you're too overwhemled to question it right now. "We just need to clean him up first, as best as we can."

He hands you a warm, damp washcloth and you are quick to bring it to Yukhei's face, the only place that isn't too damaged to touch and somewhat tamper with. His swollen eyes struggle to stay open, but once your hand caresses his sweltering cheek, he uses all of the strength he has to mutter your name.

"I'm so- sorry, you don't...you don't under..understand."

You place a gentle finger to his busted lips, pulling back immediately as his eyebrows furrow and he winces, not yet aware of the two others pouring some sort of unfamiliar disinfectant onto the open wounds.

"Shh, not right now. We gotta get you fixed up, okay? It's gonna be alright."

The words are probably more comforting to yourself, though nothing is comfortable at a time like this. Everything is happening so fast, Hendery gently pushing you to the side and whispering something to Yukhei that is inaudible to your human ears.

He nods weakly, and you can't hide your horror nor contain the frightening gasp that escapes your throat when Xiaojun approaches and bares his claws, shoving them into your boyfriends side.

You're frozen in place, time stopping for a an infinite moment as you sit and watch what's unfolding. Hendery muffles Yukhei's agonized shout initially, removing his hand when he realizes that the cobras fangs have been ejected.

He holds a vile up to his mouth, puncturing the top open with the sharp edge of his tooth, allowing the sticky clear venom to drip down into the glass container. You've never seen Yukhei's fangs before, mostly because snake hybrids and cobras alike aren't one to use them unless absolutely necessary.

Life or death.

It happens quick, Xiaojun with a needle inbetween his deft fingers, likely from the inconspicuous looking first aid kit, pulling the venom through the syringe before handing it to Hendery to inject into your boyfriends carotid artery.

His body stiffens as if he's gone into shock, veins protruding from his skin and pulsing like his heart beat has gone past the safe amount of BPM.

And then, he's still, so still it feels like you're getting a glimpse of what it's like to lose him, and you still can't find the strength of the willpower to move.

"He'll be okay, I promise,"

Hendery is by your side in an instant, panting as perspiration drips from his forehead. "He just needs to rest, he's the only type of hybrid who can use his own venom as a healing agent."

It feels like you've stepped into a different dimension, like somehow now is the time that your brain finally begins to over process the fact that none of these boys are human and that monsters really do exist.

They're not the monsters. You're not bothered by their otherworldy state of being in the slightest, but there's something in the way that they speak that makes it seem as though you're missing a vital detail, like a page ripped straight from the spine of a book. A page that could very well determine the entire stories fate.

"Where's Yangyang? And the birthday?" Your voice is barely above a whisper, incredulity in your tone.

He and the blonde haired eagle look guilty beyond belief, hesitancy in their eyes. The anger that boils inside of you, starting from your toes and rising to your ears, pushes you to stand to your feet and move past them to where Yukhei lies.

Theur admittance to whatever the fuck is going on, can come later. You don't trust yourself right now anyways, too angry, too overcome with grief to yell or shout or throw things in the way you wish to.

You sit by his side, and reach out to brush his tousled hair out from in front of his scraped forehead, examining the violet and burgundy hues that blooms from underneath his honey colored skin.

"I love you, I'll always be here."

You whisper, lying your head against the cushion next to his, exhaustion suddenly clouding your brain and allowing you to forget, just for a second, that you almost lost him.

The sunlight burns red from behind your eyelids, last nights events not yet in the forefront of your brain until you hear the low timbre of voices from the other room, haunting images forcing you awake.

You sit up too fast, head pounding from the restless sleep you've endured. You realize you're in someones bed when you kick off a familiar pair of black sheets from your feet, the setting around you like a second home. Yukhei's room. Someone must have carried you here during the night.

You're quicker and more eager than you've ever been in the morning, feet carrying you towsrds the half open door as you practically sprint into the livingroom, expecting to see him lying there as immobile as he was last night; preparing yourself for the worst.

But you don't see anyone on the couch, in fact. It takes you a moment to register that everyone is in the kitchen, huddled around the island. You're too beside yourself to realize that the broad, tan back that's facing you belongs to him, until he turns around.

You don't get a good look at his face, already smashing yourself against his chest with a force that doesn't even budge him. You gasp suddenly, recoiling in fear as you step away, terrified that you've hurt him.

His long arms are still open expectantly, doe eyes glossy as he stares back at you in confusion, your expression as shocked as it is dubious. He's healed. Well, not completely. Your fingers trace over the scabs that have formed where gashes and lacerations once were just hours before.

He pulls you to him again by your elbows, and you look up at him through wet lashes to see that the bruises are no longer a severe shade of purple and blue, only slightly yellow.

It doesn't take many more glances before you're forcing yourself up onto your tippytoes, grasping his cheeks in your palms and pressing your mouth against his.

His arms enclasp you fiercly, nearly making it hard to breathe but you don't care, not at all. Not when he's whole and alive and smells like himself again, not when he's kissing you like it's been years since you've last seen eachother.

When you part you realize that Yangyang and Kun are here, and the confusion that you harbored last night for their actions and secret glances, has you reluctantly pulling away from the embrace of your lover.

You see it now, the fear and worry that colors his expression. All of their expressions. Your eyes are suddenly fierce, fists clenching by your sides as your nails form crescents into the flesh of your palms.

"Someone better tell me what the everliving fuck is going on and why this happened again," You've never been so furious, have never lashed out as anyone as angrily as you are right now.

"A birthday party? Really? That's the excuse you came up with?!" Yukhei hangs his head in shame, knowing that it's in all of their best interest to let you finish. It's only fair.

"And you all knew, every single one of you let him walk into that ring again, every single one of you were okay with letting him die!" Your voice rises an octave, fresh tears now springing from your tired eyes.

"And I know there's something more, you're all shit liars. I just don't know what's going on and I dont know why, I just need to know why?" You sound defeated this time, covering your face in your hands as the cobra cradles your head against his chest.

You're too weak to pull away, too run dry to sob any longer.

Kun is the first to speak.

"His venom, it's-" You can only guess that someone glares at him, Hendery murmuring to his elder to let Yukhei tell you himself.

You finally glance up, meeting the teary eyed gaze of the man you love, who looks as terrified as he does stricken with unidentifiable emotions. He's silent as he deliberates with himself mentally, looking over his shoulder and nodding to the group in a silent understanding, before gently guiding you towards his room.

Venom, money, high.

These words echo in your brain as you sit across from Yukhei on his bed, his eyes too scared to meet yours as he finally finishes his explanation.

It's the whole hearted truth, as painful as it is to admit to the one person in this world who he so desperately wants to protect. But it had to be done, for your sake and for his.

"So the drinks you were making, they were filled with your venom...and people drank it willingly?"

You're still struggling to understand, no anger or shame laced in your voice as he expected, though it still doesn't lighten the indescribable weight that sits on his chest. He swallows.

"It's like...it's like a high for some people, or like being drunk but to an extreme, euphoric level," He anxiously picks at the skin beside his nail beds.

"The fox knew he could profit off of it, but it's still taboo. He was my employer and could easily pass me off as a crooked cobra hybrid who was sneaking my venom into drinks for secret cash. So he told me if I wanted to stop, for good, I had the chance to get my get out of jail free card during the upcoming fight,"

Your heart feels as if it might rip through your shirt, the pain and obvious regret in his voice tangible. It all makes since bow, though, in hindsight. Though you still don't understand why the others were so involved.

As if he read your mind, he continues.

"And Hendery, Xiaojun...they were just protecting me. They'd wait and make sure that I left the club everynight unharmed, and they knew the cost of confronting the fox. Hendery's venom as a scorpion is lethal, so he couldn't get involved for obvious reasons. They weren't happy or okay with any of it, I just didn't have a choice."

You suddenly feel like the guilty one now, chest heavy as the pieces of the gigantic, horrifying, and confusing puzzle finally come together.

It's alot to take it, more than you were prepared for. And your anger isn't directed at them anymore, in fact wvery ounce of fire that had been raging inside of you burns at the idea of that stupid fucking fox doing all of this for cash.

Sensing that he's still worried you're upset, you reach out to grab his fidgeting hands, his chin lifting only slightly as to peer at you through his dark lashes.

When you crawl over to him and on his lap, he looks dumbfounded. Even more so as you kiss him gently, softer than a rose petal as your thumb caresses the apple of his cheek.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, I'm so so sorry." Tears slip past your waterline before you can contain them and he kisses them away just as quickly, voice incredulous.

"Baby no, don't apologize, ever," He lifts your face to his, eyes wide and full of reverie. "I'm okay, I'm okay because you were there and I promise with my entire heart and soul to never get wrapped up in that shit ever again, ever."

You kiss him again, the taste of tears not bothering either of you. You just need to feel him, to remind yourself that he's not going anywhere. You can't shake the thought of how he looked last night.

"I almost lost you, Yukhei you...I thought I'd wake up and you'd be gone and I'd never get to kiss you again or hear your laugh," He's crying now, too, silently as he closes his eyes and you bury your face against his neck. His hands cradle you as if he has the entire world in his grasp.

"Shh I'm here, m'not going anywhere baby. I'll stay forever with you."

And he means it to his very core, feels it in his bones, solidifed as you kiss him again and again like he suplies the air in your lungs. You're both so in love with every fiber of your being, so enraptured in the feeling of one another.

When you push at his chest to silently ask him to lie down, he's quick to assert who's taking care of who, eagerly gripping your soft waist and letting your back fall against his mattress.

"My sweet angel," You arch into his touch as his plush mouth nibbles the soft skin underneath your jaw, traveling across the expanse of your throat and to the sides of your neck. "Let me make you feel good, been so patient with me."

It dawns om him that you're wearing his hoodie and he swears his heart throbs in his chest, quick fingers pulling the garment over your head and tossing it to the side with your shirt underneath, before continuing his descent.

He's shamless in the way he cups your breasts in his wide palms, gazing up at you through slitted eyes as his pink tongue flicks over one of the hardening buds. You reach out to touch any part of him you can, whining as he repeats the action on the opposite breast.

He wanders even further down, across every inch of your tummy, humming all the while in satisfaction at how sweet you smell between your legs, at how needily you whine for him.

He's all too excited now, pulling the shorts from your body with a force that should've ripped them in half, kissing your inner thighs sweetly but not as earnestly as he'd like. He's just too focused on the enticing sight of your glistening sex, mouth practically watering.

He doesn't wait for you to prepare yourself, digging in immediately. Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling themselves in the strands as his mouth encloses around your throbbing clit, suckling before he licks a broad stripe over your folds.

"Yu-yukhei...oh!" Your thighs threaten to close around his head but he holds them open with an inescapable grip, endulging himself wholeheartedly as he slurps and licks at every drop of juice that flows from you.

It's a maddening sort of pleasure, your toes curling and belly tightening. His nose is pressed against your pubic mound as he keeps his mouth over your center, wriggling his head back and forth as his tongue flicks over your clit at an inhuman pace.

"Ah, I can't- oh fuck." You're blabbering incoherently, though it only drives him further. He relishes in the way you're writhing underneath him, the way you're so wet just for him and him only.

"Want you to cum on my tongue, can you do that for me?"

All you can do is cry out in response, bucking your hips against his mouth as he prods at your entrance with the tip of his tongue. You're so close it's humiliating, but he's elated, already sensing your orgasm in the way your walls throb and pulse with every lick to your bud.

The sounds are so nasty, so lewd in the way your wetness combined with his saliva is so audible in the small room.

You cum without a warning, not being able to speak or do much of anything except jerk and twitch as he keeps his mouth on you, unrelenting in his determination to taste your release.

You whimper.

"Fuck me, please Xuxi p-please."

You beg softly, with half lidded eyes and he reluctantly lifts himself from your center with dark yet gentle eyes, mouth saturated in your juices. He can't resist you.

He kisses you like this, and you don't complain one bit. Not when he's got his pants down faster than you can blink, gripping his thick shaft and rubbing the ruby hued tip of his cock against your sensitive clit.

"Want me to fill you up, huh? Want me to make you mine forever and ever."

You're unable to verbally respond when he pushes himself in, not even an ounce of friction due to a mixture of your cum and his spit coating your walls as well as the inside of your thighs. He buries himself to the hilt, your hands on his broad back.

His pace is determined but not frantic, body held up by his forearms so he can continue to kiss you while his dick spears into you. Your lips are one of his favorite parts about you, so soft, the perfect size to slot right against his.

"Yes Xuxi, want you to give me all your cum, pretty p-please."

He supresses a hiss, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you wrap your thighs around his middle, heels pressing into his lower back.

"Mm, gonna give you my babies," He doesn't miss the way your walls flutter around him, as he pulls himself almost all the way out before sheathing himself inside of you once more. "Want you to be leaking with my cum for a w-whole week."

You whimper, and it drives him mad. His hips are agile and precise as he fucks into you now, controlled and skilled. He knows exactly where your sweet spot is, exactly what has you clinging onto him for dear life.

"You're s-so big, missed your dick, missed you."

He's the one whining now, scattering wet kisses under your jaw, nibbling your earlobe. It's like no other sensation, being together like this. You can't tell where he ends and you begin, all you can do is feel.

"You like my big dick, hmm? Want me to stuff that pretty pussy full." His words are filthy, but his candence is sweet like honey, earnest in the way his voice trembles. He's just as high on pleasure as you are.

"Please, please, yes."

His thrusts become harsher in the way he fucks back into you, reaching past your cervix. Your fingers bury themselves into the dark strands of his hair as quiet whimpers bubble from your throat, senses overwhelmed with Yukhei Yukhei Yukhei.

It doesn't help that he's so vocal in your ear, the deep timber of his groans sending chills down your spine and causing your belly to fill with heat, spreading throughout your limbs like wildfire.

It's not just fucking, this feels like what making love really is. It's a reunion in more ways than one, a solidification of your bond. You wish it could last forever, the scent of his skin, the softness of it. You can feel every muscle in his body strained with the strength he uses to please you, to reach depths that have your toes curling.

When you turn your head to kiss the skin just below his ear, his hips falter.

"Oooooh, shit baby m'gonna cum, fuck."

You pull his face from your shoulder to smash his lips against yours, cradling his face as he cups the back of your neck. His tongue slips inside your mouth, and you purposely squeeze your walls around his length.

He mewls, cursing under his breath. "Cum for me, please Yukhei," He's looking right into your eyes, lips kiss bitten, skin flushed. "Make sure you give me every last drop."

He's done for, hair sticking to his forehead, a broken groan straining to leave his throat as he pushes himself as deep as possible, both of you watching each others expression in the process.

"I love you I love you I love you." He chants, while spurts of his cum paint your walls white. You unravel when you look down between your bodies for a fleeting moment, catching a glimpse of the amount he's released as he disappears inside of you over and over again.

He kisses your face as you struggle to grasp onto him, the pleasure too much to handle, physically and emotionally. It has tears springing from your eyes, nails digging into his biceps as he continues to fuck you through it.

"I love you too, I love you so much." You finally reply, finding the strength to speak no matter how slurred and sleepy it might sound.

He smiles warmly with irrevocable adoration, eyes crinkling at the corners. He strokes your cheek with the soft pad of his thumb, leaning down to peck your nose, and then your forehead, and then your eyelids.

"You have my entire heart," He professes. "I'll always be here."

"Guess I saw that cumming."

Xiajun glares at Hendery.

237 notes · View notes

kojinnie · 3 years

Text

Flirted With You All My Life | Erwin Smith

Tags & Warnings: Erwin Smith x Reader | canon universe | deep, deep angst

Word Count: 1K+ (I know you said drabble, but I couldn’t help myself. I need SALVATION)

A/N:

Dear anon, it seems you like to hurt yourself, so I couldn’t help myself to take the liberty in twisting your request into something even more painful. I’m so sorry to disappoint you, I’m just in the mood to write a really painful fic rn 🥺

But please! Send me more of your ideas, I hope I’ll be able to stick to the script for next!

There was only the look of agony in your eyes, hidden by the dark of the night underneath your cape, and it only became obvious once you stepped into the light of Trost District’s streetlamps.

The messenger noticed your bloodshot eyes and the hoarse voice as you spoke to him, “Please deliver this letter to the Commander.”

With shaky hands, the meek and timid cadet quickly took your letter and kept it secured in his horse’s tack room, alongside with other letters to be brought to the frontline. He nodded earnestly and strode away in his horse as the dawn started to crack.

The young cadet was in the last squad to depart for the frontline battle. A reinforcement squad from the Garrison to strengthen the Survey Corps’ defense against the horde of titans that appeared out of thin air inside Wall Maria. The Corps had set-up a retreat camp by the Wall, and a season had passed, neither news nor dead body ever came back anymore. Just reinforcement by reinforcement, dispatched under the supposedly request of your newly-wedded husband, the Commander Erwin Smith.

The reinforcement would bring ration, medicines and clothes, yet none were to ever return. At first, there was grief hanging in the air as the people assumed everyone in the troops to be decimated to death by the titan’s might. The idea of complete destruction left wailing to be heard all through the cities. People’s morale was at all-time low. But then, one by one, letter would arrive, delivered by a lone soldier. The letters, sealed with a wax and signed with the name of their deployed husbands and sons, said the same thing: We’ll be back soon. Please pray for us.

You’d spend the day waiting for a letter from your husband, yet while everyone rejoiced as they receive the letters from their loved ones, you were left with nothing but growing pains.

Soon became later, and later became never. Another season had passed yet the only one coming back was another lone soldier requesting for more reinforcement to the Royal Government. And the letter that arrived became less and less; and there was none for you.

With the incomprehension came the murmurs, that said the military was no longer fighting titans, rather they were establishing new colony beyond the wall, with indulgences and whores. What could there be beyond the wall?

Ignorance labors evils, and mighty was the devil to turn your night into a battlefield of sorrow. Your mind fought between what’s left of your trust towards your husband, against paranoia, jealousy, agony of being kept in the dark for months without any trace left from him. How hard could it be to write a letter?

The thought finally came to your mind. The memories of your husband – the tall, handsome, and commanding figure of a man. With a deep, contemplating voice, and the eyes as deep as the tale of a vast prairie of water called ocean in the world that had gone by.

You thought of him, and how he’s warm to the touch, and how soft were the kisses he left on your skin. You thought of him and you had realized, how painfully plain and mundane you were in comparison to him. How utterly expendable and replaceable.

The thought became nightmares, of Erwin’s flirtation with strange women in places less than sacred. The nightmares grew to be persistent and eventually it drowned you into false conviction.

“Am I a widow?” you asked the empty sky one night, “’Lest I’ll choose to be.”

So, finally you wrote that farewell letter. It said: “I will not be home when you return, for journey is where your heart lies.” Final letter sent for a man who was never yours to begin with, for his heart was devoted to humanity, and humanity was too vast for the acres of the home he made with you. No matter how warm, no matter how safe.

There was an eerie silence as the horses rode through the plains before reaching the Survey Corps camp deep in the forest past the Wall. The meek and timid cadet navigated his horse closer to the main formation, as fear crept down his spine. He looked ahead and there he saw what’s left of the camp: A vivid picture of desolation.

He rode pas through countless of nameless mounds; men and women with blank expression scattered around the wage tents – wounded and helpless. The uncanny smell of rotting flesh, and the atmosphere of despair, filled up the lungs of the cadet that he couldn’t bear to let down a tear.

He climbed off of his horse and walked through the path of the camp. Beside the fire, sat two men writing down letters by letters, muttering the names of their death comrades. The lights of the fire gave the cadet a peak at what they were writing: “We’ll be back. Please pray for us.” It became clear that the letters were nothing but an empty, false hope – for it was better for the people to cling on to hope as long as one could, rather than to be devoured by grief and pain.

He walked through the paths and finally found the largest tent of them all, one where he was told he could meet the Commander. The cadet pulled out your letter and held it close to his chest, as he entered the dilapidated tent to deliver the Commander the letter that was meant to break you free from the shackles of endless suspense in waiting for a man whos heart no longer home.

As he stepped in, a body immediately blocked him from gazing further into the tent that was partitioned into several areas. Section Commander Hange Zoe stood tall before him, “What do you want?”

“I came from Trost District. A letter for the Commander from home.” The Cadet could feel his voice squeaked in fear.

There was a breaking point of Hange that the cadet never knew before, for their face was immediate to become wearied. Hange quickly took the letter and fiddled with it in their hands. It was obvious that Hange was torn on what to do, before a grim voice asked from an area veiled with a thin curtain that one could almost see through inside, “Hange, what’s that?” The voice of Captain Levi Ackerman seeped through.

“It’s, uh… A letter for Erwin. From home.”

There was an immediate silence gripping the tent. The cadet could hear a creaking sound of movement from a mattress behind the veil. To his surprise, he saw the Commander laying there.

“Bring it to him, Hange,” Levi muttered, there was a pain in his words, so real that it felt almost tangible.

Hange stepped aside and let the cadet came in and walked through the veil to where the Commander was. With no warning, the cadet gasped in a discernible shock as he saw what’s left of the great Commander. There was no color to his face, his blue eyes had gone dull half-opened, his mouth murmuring incomprehensible words in a state of delirium. Commander Erwin Smith had lost all of his limbs, with the dull ends of where his limbs used to be blackened by gangrene. The cadet finally saw the horror of war that the military had tried to suppress from the civilians’ knowledge: an outbreak of plague at the end of the war against titans.

Levi took the letter from Hange and knelt beside where Erwin laid, “Erwin. It’s letter from home. She must have missed you so bad.” There was a dim smile on Levi’s face. A smile seemed foreign on the face of the captain who was long hardened by war, and it became even stranger given the situation.

Levi knifed through the wax, and tore the letter open. But suddenly, a sense of misery deeper than the trenches engulfed the tent as he read through the letter in silence. The faint smile on his face was quick to freeze into a palpable agony as he closed his eyes. The letter hung in the captain’s hand. His fingers were trembling with anger and despair.

“Levi?” Hange cracked their silence in obvious worry as the captain broke into a deep, soundless wail next to Erwin. Something that no one had ever seen before, “Levi...?” Hange called for the captain’s name in an increasingly agonizing anxiety.

With what’s left of his heart, Levi gasped for air, trying to muffle the sound he never thought would hear coming from his words. Hange cupped their face with their fingers, left not knowing but painfully distraught upon seeing the struggle Levi was in as he tried to straighten his voice.

“Commander,” Levi said, looking into the tiny slit of Erwin Smith’s eyes, one that was strain opened by what’s left of him – a painful longing to hear from home, “she misses you. And she’ll be home when you return.”

The Commanders’ murmurs stopped, and he nodded his head solemnly.

“You may go now.”

The only time he had ever flirted with anything other than you was with death and the flirtation finally bears fruit as death finally takes him home.

As if he finally heard the words he had been waiting for, the Commander let out a deep sigh, before he slipped into the eternal cold. His blue eyes stared, but he was no longer seeing. The Commander had succumbed into a painless death.

For the first time in years, Levi Ackerman sobbed in sadness and anger. Looking at the man who had bathed with the fury of war; all he wanted was to bring peace to home, only for his home in the heart of a fickle spouse be anguished by the long wait. How selfish, how cold, Levi thought.

Maybe you were right, maybe these soldiers were not meant to live a life in the safety of a warm house in the town. Maybe they thrived while flirting with death and bruising dangers against their skins. Maybe it's all they knew of. But for better or worse, Erwin once dreamed of coming home to a feeling other than grief, and he had found it with you.

Levi reached for the pocket inside Erwin's jacket, and pulled out a letter yellowed with time. His heart broke to see that it was an old letter from you, one Erwin held close until his last day.

The most painful realization was not that Erwin died in vain, neither because his wife chose to leave him in the day he died. It's the realization that Erwin fought and died for someone and something that never belonged to him to begin with. There was no you nor was his home with you. Erwin's home was here, with his comrades, amidst death and wrath of war. You let him fought and died for a false hope.

Levi grazed the Commander's eyes close with his fingers as he finally murmured to the lifeless body, "Erwin, you're home already. With us."

Inspired by Vic Chestnutt's 'Flirted With You All My Life'

#erwin x reader #erwin smith #aot erwin #snk erwin #erwin angst #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #anon requests #requested

93 notes · View notes

sweetestlamb · 3 years

Text

Wake Me Up Inside(Chapter 2)

Summary: Hope is a flickering light, coming and going as it sees fit.

Author's note: Y'all like this? Color me surprised I thought everyone had cast Sujin aside based on tumblr post honestly, expected maybe 3 people to read this. I'm happy so many are enjoying, thanks for coming along for the ride. If any talented individuals want to make me a header that would be great, anyway enjoy the teen angst. More awful parenting, beware. it hurts me to write this but random immediate romance doesn’t make sense to me so here we goooo.

The world seems larger, everyone towers over her as they squeeze by jostling her tiny body, she twists and turns desperately searching for a familiar face and faltering when there is none. Just blurred faces with stretched out smiles that are horrifying grotesque, almost as if they were painted on by a deranged circus clown. She begins to run frantically racing away from the figures, who are now reaching out for her grabbing her arm and tugging at her pigtails. She opens her mouth but nothing comes out, bringing a trembling hand to her lips she finds them sewn shut, silencing her petrified screams.

Then a hand clutches at her elbow and she's spun around, suddenly staring into the face of evil.

"Where have you been you brat? Everyone was waiting for you."

She tries to tug free of his punishing grip but his fingers tighten on her tender flesh, marking the delicate skin. Ignoring her evident trepidation he forcefully pushes her towards a table, with a large looming birthday cake.

"Hurry up and blow out these candles, you're almost old enough to be useful to me."

Screaming no in her mind, she breaks free of his hold running as fast as her compact legs will take her but she miscalculates and trips over a stray toy, tumbling over the edge of a pool she hadn't noticed there earlier. The cold splash of the chlorine scented water on her skin shocks her in a panicked daze and when she pries her eyes open the menacing face of her father greets her looking nonplussed by her hectic drowning.

"Good riddance." He smirks sipping from his cup as he stalks away, no longer bothered with her.

Water constructs her airway and she continues to sink to the bottom. Forgotten and discarded.

With a flash she bursts from her nightmare silent scream on her tongue, it's his presence that silences her cry. Wide feline eyes regard her from his crouched position, it takes a moment to realize that the rapid puffs of air filling the room are coming from her lips. She grips at the mattress beneath her, hopelessly pleading with her heart and lungs as her body quivers from the intensity of her dream.

"Are you okay? You looked like you were having a bad dream, I called your name a few times."

She's decidedly not any semblance of okay and has no concept of what that would entail for her but she finds herself nodding, lying as easily as she always does.

"I'm fine." Clipped and brisk despite the cold sweat on her skin, she's probably soaked through his shirt the collar almost plastered to red collar bones.

He doesn't reply further than pursing his lips and walking over to a dresser she'd hadn't noticed earlier.

"That lie would probably be more believable if you didn't look as if you were going to pass out at any second." She can hear his eyes rolling at her and it raises her heckles, she doesn't need anyone looking after her, she is fine on her own.

"I should go." She says curtly, forcing herself out of the dangerously warm bed to walk across the room and test her previously soaked pajamas. Damp, but they'll do.

"I thought you had nowhere to go." He challenges finally standing to his full height, subconsciously she flinches at the sudden movement and immediately he takes a step back pressing himself almost flush with the wall. Lowering his head until they are almost eye level. Shame washes over her do strongly she has to turn away, so pathetic.

Speaking to his bedpost she answers, "That was last night. I can go home now."

Her father will be at work until late into the evening, she just needs to lock herself in her room and she should be safe until school tomorrow.

He hums at her sounding closer than he did earlier, "You don't have to go. I'll find an excuse to give my mom, you can stay here."

No she can't. She knows what's going through his mind, probably the same thing that went through Suho's when he saw the blood on her lip for the first time, you poor little thing. Pity was always the first reaction but it never lasted, eventually pity shifted to annoyance nobody wanted to be friends with someone getting beaten. It was depressing, and uncomfortable to discuss and there was nothing anyone could do to help her. It was her penance for being born a girl and not being the best at least to make up for that disappointment.

"I'm not a stray puppy, you can't just pick me up off the street and expect me to stay. I told you, I'm fine." This time she says it harder, sharper with a bite that screams don't push me.

Unsurprisingly enough Han Seojun doesn't seem intimidated by her.

This time she gets to witness the eye roll as he approaches her but still keeps his head lowered as if deferring to her. "I already told you that I don't pity you, you need help stop pretending you don't."

But she's not pretending, that would imply that she wants others to help secretly. That just isn't accurate, she wants nothing- expects nothing. Her father pound any inkling of hope she had out a long time ago.

Stepping into his space, her eyes narrow as she bites out, "I don't need anything certainly not help from you. You're not a nice person, what am I your one good deed? Just mind your business."

She pointedly glances away at the flash of hurt that scatters across his expressive face.

She expects him to lash out, stretch to his full form and berate her, reprimand her ungrateful behavior and an even darker side of her almost expects him to slap her. I see why your father does that, you deserve it.

"Suit yourself."

That's all he says solemnly with a shrug before tossing more dry clothes at the bed and silently exiting the room.

She feels worse than she did before. Guilt gnawing at her, she ignores the offered clothes she doesn't deserve his hospitality or warmth. She disrobes and puts back on the damp chilled pajamas, that matches her better.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

That's what he gets for trying to help someone, his act of kindness thrown back in his face. Angrily he pours the boiling water into the waiting cup, starting his mother's mandatory morning tea. He's so lost in the routine that he doesn't notice her presence until she clears her throat. His pride stops him from turning around, her words were as painful as a dagger.

"Your clothes are on the bed. I called a cab."

He nods without looking back, "Get home saf--" He cuts himself off, maybe he's overstepping again. So he just hums and stirs the now perfect cup of tea with a splash of milk. His sister's will get three sugars, she has such a sweet tooth.

The soft snap of the front door closing is loud in the silence of the morning, the sun has barely risen. His mother will be out in an hour, he was worried for nothing. Nobody will even know she was here. He can pretend this was all a fever dream and listen to her advice, he's never minded anyone else's business why did he decide to start now?

Lesson learned.

He spends the remainder of his weekend not thinking about the bruises on her face and instead plays video games, bullying Suho into playing Call of Duty with him online until the stupid genius starts to win too often and it's no longer stress reducing.

"Sore loser." He scoffs at the staticky insult through his headphones, draining the can of soda he took from the fridge. He should start dinner soon, his mom and sister will be back from shopping any minute.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." He can't help but roll his eyes at the lame response but he pushes on ignoring his brain shouting at him that this is the opposite of minding his business. He hardly listens to his brain, his gut is much stronger.

"Does Sujin have any siblings? Or does she like to box or anything like that? " He tries to make sense of the night, maybe it wasn't what he thought initially. From his memory Sujin comes from a very affluent respectable family, there's no way right?

"What? What kind of question is that?"

"Just answer me." He quips impatiently, ready to let go of this unwarranted worry that's been weighing on his heart.

After a long pause where he checks if his Wi-Fi disconnected he finally hears a response, "No. She lives with her mother and father, she's an only child. And I’ve never known her to do anything physical like that."

His chest tightens, not what he wanted to hear. Her flinch this morning flashes brightly in his memory. He wasn't mistaken. He's sure of it, she'd been scared.

"Why?"

He can barely hear through the ringing in his ear, "Nothing. I have to go."

He signs off before the other boy can reply, walking autopilot to the kitchen to get started on dinner. Chopping vegetables does nothing to stop the nausea bubbling in his stomach.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Taking the bus the next day is out of the question, he has spent the entire weekend wishing he had the nerve to get the girl's number but anyone he asked would misunderstand why and he didn't need anymore rumors circulating, he would just have to get it from her himself. If she wanted him to mind his business she shouldn't have collapsed where he could see.

The engine rumbles between his legs as he brings his motorcycle to a stop, swinging off effortlessly before tugging the helmet off and shaking his hair free. He doesn't notice the various lecherous female and male eyes watching his very moment, too focused on walking into the school and finding her.

Turning a corner he sees her instantly, sandwiched between her two best friends, they look like a high school brochure giggling as they walk down the hallway garnering the attention of most of the male population. The purple bruise on her cheek is missing, nothing but smooth blemish free skin. He almost does a double take. As all three of them pass him, he locks eyes with Sujin for a moment, the mask slides off for a second but the moment he blinks the façade snaps back into place, nothing left but a pretty empty smile.

He follows them into class, sliding into his seat and promptly going to sleep. He has to catch her alone.

Doing so proves to be a near impossible feat, she's always surrounded by her two bestie shadows and Chorong and the gang are never far from him either. He sighs forlornly even time he sees her only for someone to interrupt before he can approach her. All too frustrated.

He's sitting dejected on the staircase when he hears the bustle of students in the hallway, their voices carrying down the long space and he rolls his eyes imagining what ridiculous situation they've deemed as drama now. Last time it was Ju-Kyung having pimples, a topic that was completely groundbreaking and worthy of weeks of discussion. So it's with the smallest shred of curiosity that he stands up wandering over to the commotion.

"What's going on?" He directs to the closest person, some mousy looking girl who stutters out an indecipherable answer. He looks at her confused before stalking away to find someone who has a better grasp of communication. He poses the question again, to a boy this time.

"I heard one of the girls started freaking out in the bathroom. Screaming not to be touched."

He stands frozen before the words register in his brain and his feet are moving without his brain's permission. Shoving past gossiping bystanders, he easily gets to the front only to see Ju-Kyung covering someone with her sweater as they walk down the hallway. Immediately the crowd comes alive and they surge forward like a wave all calling questions out at once, "What's wrong with you?", "Why did you freak out?", "Who do you think you are? Are you too rich to be touched or something?"

He twists his head around ferociously at the last question, everyone in front of him gulps while taking a step back. The hallway is a cacophony of voices and shouts and he can feel his anger boiling, slamming his fist into the nearest surface-a wall- he gets everyone's attention.

"Go back to your classes. Now."

Some of the male students look as if they are going to challenge his authority but another step forward is all it takes to get the student body scampering to their classrooms.

Inhaling deeply he stomps off to find the source of his unease.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been hard to disregard, how lacking of warmth her house was. Seojun's apartment had been brimming with warmth and love, the fridge bursting with papers and drawings documenting that someone cared enough to show them off. Her home was a large empty prison in comparison.

But she'd been right, it was dark and quiet proof that her parents were not home. With her heart in her throat she ran to her room, locking the door behind her. Sleep captured her before she knew she was in its grasps, waking up groggy hours later and forgetting where she was. Fierce pounds on her door reminded her instantly.

"Open this door now."

His voice is a low growl, even more terrifying than when he's screaming his lungs out. She grabs her vanity chair pressing it under the door knob for more protection.

She jumps when the door bulges, the loud crashing making it clear that he's slamming bodily into the door now determined to get to her.

"Please....stop." She pleads, tears already cascading down her bruised cheeks.

"Open this fucking door!!"

She's sobbing now, body folded as she cries her eyes out shaking viciously as her father continues to ran into the door, dread filling her stomach as he's never fought this hard before.

Then everything is quiet.

The pounding is gone as suddenly as it arrived. She doesn't let go her panic just yet, still too raw. Butt seconds crawl to minutes and she hears nothing so she finally exhales, sliding to the floor in relief.

She weakly crawls to her bathroom, turning the dial to the hottest temperature possible wanting to burn off his brand on her skin. After her shower she brushes her wet hair, staring at the bruise, it's turning yellow now with tinges of purple. Good thing she let Su-ah and Ju-Kyung convince her to buy foundation the last time they were in the beauty store. She will have to layer it on tomorrow.

She's starving but the thought of leaving her room with him in the house is enough to eliminate her appetite. Instead she puts on a warm sweater and sweat pants and wraps herself in a thick blanket, still too cold ice running through her veins.

She had never felt as warm as she did at his house.

A quiet knock thankfully pulls her away from such unnecessary thoughts. She simply listens.

"Su-jin, it's mom. I brought you food."

She sits up, crawling out of bed to stand in front of the bed. Her mother has never brought her food, even when she was nine and hadn't gotten a perfect score on her spelling test and her father locked her in the closet for two days with only a dictionary. She'd contemplated eating the pages before she was finally set free. Her mother had simply looked away, avoiding eye contact until she was safely back in her room.

But her stomach grumbles at the mention of sustenance and despite her best judgement she opens the door.

It's a mistake.

Immediately she notes that her mother has nothing in her hands, trembling herself and before she can slam the door shut a foot blocks her escape.

He uses the belt that time whipping her in places that others will never see, her back, thighs, and shoulders. Her mother's weakly calls out, "Don't hit her face she has to meet that boy you wanted this week."

It goes on for what seems like hours, he leaves her crumpled on the ground her body stinging as she refused to cry, blinking her tears away not wanting to give him what he wants. When her mother meekly walks over and extends a hand to her, she looks at her with listless eyes. Her mother has a fresh bruise on her cheek, her father hardly hits her anymore using Sujin has his punching bag instead but at times of high frustration he would regress.

She wonders if her mother knew that one day this would be her faith. If this was the purpose of her birth.

She doesn't take the hand. It seems there was still some hope left, it is extinguished now.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The school day had been easy she's been hiding her abuse for years, no teacher had ever suspected a thing and she didn't even blame them. It would just be bothersome, her father was a powerful man there wouldn't be much they could do.

She slaps on a smile, allowing herself to be dragged around by Su-ah and Ju-Kyung, listening as they giggle about their boyfriends chiming in the appropriate moments to not seem disinterested or jealous. She is jealous though, of their freedom and innocent problems, she'd lost her innocence a long time ago.

She knows Seojun is trying to talk to her but she can't handle seeing him right now, having to face someone who knows what she's going through sounds worst than being beat right now. So she jolts at every sight of the tall lanky figure, thankful for his fan club who seems to announce his every arrival. She's on her way to having a successful day when everything goes to hell.

She's in the bathroom drying her hands when a classmate comes in, responding to the small talk she answers the girl's question before nodding her head in goodbye.

"Oh your tag is sticking out."

That's all she hears before a hand is brushing across her sore beaten neck and her reaction is instantaneous, she turns around catching the offending hand and twisting it.

Her throat wheezes out, "Don't touch me."

The girl stares at her wide-eyed before tugging her hand away, then other girls begin to come of the stalls to see what's happening and before she knows it she's hyperventilating on the ground, nonsensical words dripping off her tongue. Everything is too loud and her head is splitting in half just when her vision is graying out, she smells a familiar perfume.

"Su-jin ah, you're going to be okay. Just breathe with me, follow me."

Ju-Kyung's voice is calming and sure, not touching her but covering them both in her sweater as she models how to breathe, she follows until her lungs are no longer burning.

"Good. You're doing so good, is it okay if I touch you? I'm going to help you up."

She grabs at the bathroom wall yanking herself until she's upright, trying to show her friend that she's not that weak but a look of hurt is displayed on her face and Sujin doesn't comprehend why.

The other girl shakes it off though, now covering her fully with her cornflower yellow sweater.

She's suddenly reminded of her nightmare this morning as she has to pass all the students in the hallway, all pointing and laughing as she falls apart some of them even have their phone out recording her and she sways uneasily before catching herself, trembling the whole way she walks down the hallway until a loud bang and a voice she recognizes all too well silences the uproar.

Resisting the desire to look back she allows Ju-Kyung to pull her up the stairs until they're on the roof. Air pumps into her lungs as she's finally free of all the judgmental eyes.

She expects the other girl to start interrogating her the moment the door closes but it never comes, instead Ju-Kyung places her sweater around her trembling body.

"You're okay. Just keep breathing."

She does her best to follow the uncomplicated directions.

After a few minutes, Ju-Kyung's phone suddenly rings disturbing the quietude. She barely hears blood rushing in her ears like the waves at the beach.

"Okay we're on the roof."

She stills at that utterance, turning in alarm.

"Who was that? Who did you tell where we are?"

Ju-Kyung looks guilty, as if she wasn't meant to hear that conversation. She doesn't want to see anyone right now, can barely stand to be with herself.

"Call them back and tell them not to come. I want to be alone."

Ju-Kyung holds her phone in her hands gingerly staring at the screen, clearly contemplating what is the right decision. She almost lunges for the phone to see who is the most recent call, but it's not needed as the roof door slams open.

"Why are you here?" She shouts, walking away now furious that tears are already filling her eyes now just at the sight of him.

"Nice to see you too princess." He drawls back, following her further onto to roof.

"Will you two be okay? I have to go back to class."

She spins to glare at her friend, why would she leave her alone with Seojun? They have had any interaction at school that hasn't been antagonistic.

"Yes, we need to talk." He answers for them and that's enough to make Ju-Kyung nod before walking off with a smile in her direction. The door shuts loudly behind her retreating back, Sujin wants to chase after her. Instead she turns back to him spitting fire and poison.

"I told you to mind your business."

"Are you okay?" He counters, eying her like a wild animal who can bolt at any minute, he isn’t wrong.

"That's none of your business!"

His expression remains the same, those beguiling feline eyes that scream at her.

"How hurt are you?"

Her emotions come crashing down again. He just keeps pushing and picking at her, no matter how much she shouts and shoves him away he just won’t go away like everyone else did. What is wrong with him? Couldn’t he see that she was more trouble than she was worth?

"What do you want to hear, huh? That everything hurts, that he used a belt this time! Do you want to hear about how he beat me until I bleed! Why do you care what happens me, why won't you leave me the fuck alone!"

Sobs ravage her body, she keeps brushing the fiery tears away fighting with her emotions but they won't stop and her palms are wet from covering her face, her breath is hitching until she starts hiccupping uncontrollably and she starts to feel light-headed.

"Hey! Su-jin! Breathe!"

But she can't, she doesn't remember how. Her body only knows how to hurt.

"Breathe, damnit!" Despite his shout, she hears the slight quiver in his voice but she can't discern why it's there but it desperately makes her want to obey.

When he cups her head, staring her head on she feels the vine wrapped around her lungs shrivel up and air starts gushing in until she feels dizzy, she sways back and forth gravity now also working against her and then she's being reeled in, her head placed on his chest. The thumping of his heart lulls her into a meditative state, she starts to count the beats and before she knows it the cobwebs in her head subside. Embarrassed by their sudden closeness, his arms are still by his side now almost immediately retracting from her head but she can feel his warmth radiating onto the skin of her thighs, she begins to draw back.

"Just stay. It's helping."

She blisters at his words, preparing to push him away.

"It's helping me, seeing you like that....it scared me. I helped you the other night, you should return the favor."

She puffs up before deflating, she'll never admit it but this is helping having something else to focus on, his scent, his heartbeat, the way his chest expands and constricts with every breath. The buzz of their skin nearly touching, his deep voice rumbling through his chest and into her ears, all placating and soothing her worries away.

"Fine."

She's never known Seojun to stay still for this long after years of attending the same school, always bursting with kinetic energy so she's pleasantly surprised by how long he simply stands and lets her rest on his chest, neither of them saying a word.

She stiffens when he suddenly starts moving disturbing their stillness, she sees his hands balled into tight fists by his side and wonders what's going through his mind.

"You can't go back there."

This again, she starts to remind him that she has nowhere to g--

"Stay with me."

#true beauty #true beauty kdrama #kang sujin #han seojun #the couple that should have been #timeline is around recent episodes just minus ALL of the bullshit #sujin is a good girl and I won't hear anything else #can't wait to make her smile

95 notes · View notes

sassooda · 3 years

Text

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 19 - Kill Two Birds with One Stone

w/c - 6,456

“Itadori would you please go get Gojo from his room? This mission is urgent and he’s still not picking up.” Nanami is sitting at his new desk attempting to organize the copious amounts of assignments for the day. ‘There’s a surge of curses, I wonder why?’ He lays all the cases out in front of him, “It looks like you’re with Elska today…you can kill two birds with one stone when you get there then.”

“Yea not a problem! They’ll probably want some of this too!” Itadori holds up a family sized bag of miniature chocolates with a smile of his face. He waits for Nanami to look up from his desk but he doesn’t, he just scowls into the workload in front of him before running his fingers through his combed blonde hair. “Ok, well…I’ll be back.” He leaves Nanami to turn into the hall in the direction of Gojo and Elska’s room.

“Itadori where are you going?” He hears Megumi call out to him so he turns around to continue walking backwards. He trips at first but laughs to himself as he sees a smirk form on Megumi’s face.

“I have to go wake up Gojo sensei! Wanna come?” He holds up the chocolate to try to entice Megumi but he’s not as big of a fan of sweets.

“Keep your cavities but sure, I need to talk to him about something anyways.” Megumi jogs now slightly to reach Itadori who turns back around to walk forwards as he approaches. They walk in a comfortable silence until meeting the door.

“Wait won’t Elska be here too? What if they’re not decent?” Megumi finds himself blushing at the thought and is clearly shy about the likelihood. “I’m going to wait here…”

“I doubt they just walk around naked but alright, I’ll go in first.” Itadori assures Megumi with confidence as he opens the door. The first thing he notices is the extra set of shoes and recognizes them as Toji’s. He shuts the door quickly to look back at Megumi as he’s not sure what’s on the other side. He worries there was a fight and maybe Toji got the best of Gojo which would explain why he’s not answering...although he finds that possibility incredible. “I’ll give you a signal!” He smiles the best he can without hinting to his uncertainties.

Megumi leans his shoulder against the wall and pulls out his phone to scroll through while waiting.

Itadori takes in the floor first. “What the fu-…” he sees the destroyed and fragmented wood that looks like a body may have been smashed into and is instantly alarmed. He hears shifting in the bed and runs over to the foot of it, not being prepared for what was there. He’s taking in the rest of the room on his way and notices the clothes all scattered about. His eyes widen upon switching his gaze to the bed though, the sight stopping him dead in his tracks.

He sees three familiar faces and now familiar bodies. Toji, Elska and Gojo, in that order from left to right. All three of them are completely naked but Toji’s right arm rests over Elska’s breast and Gojo’s left arm drapes over her womanhood as his hand cups around her right thigh. He drops the bag of candy and stands there stunned, staring in awkward silence until a voice appears.

“Now this is my kind of party!” Sukuna’s mouth has taken shape onto Itadori’s cheek, his eye on the side straining to get a better view.

“Sukuna shut up! You’re going to wake them!” Itadori’s placing a hand over his cheek to muffle the lewdness of the curse that lives within him. “AHH fuck!” Itadori removes his hand to see that it’s been bitten in protest.

“Runt, this is adult time…you however, are going into timeout.”

“Sukuna no, don’t yo-…”

Elska hears voices and groans in response, not feeling she’s had enough sleep. She opens her eyes slightly with reluctance in assumption that Satoru is being noisy as usual, forgetting that Toji was there as well. “Sati come on, it’s still early.” She hears a familiar ominous deep chuckle that erases her ease and immediately opens her eyes fully and into focus. She moves her head from under Toji’s chin and is frozen as she makes eye contact with the tattooed larger version of Itadori at the foot of the bed. His markings resemble tribal lines that wrap around his arms and legs, across his chest back and face. He’s licking his lips as his eyes travel all over her body.

“Sukuna…”

“I didn’t think that much of you before but all women look better nude.” A wide grin appears on his face as he looks at the two men on either side of her. “You needed both to get off huh?” His tone is demeaning, “Maybe you should try a curse instead…unless you’re just that much of a whore?”

His words sting her as she lies there, slowly remembering the crazy sequence of events that took place the night before. ‘Oh my god…that’s right…’ She looks over at Toji and then to Gojo and becomes red-faced as they lay intertwined with the white bedsheets. She’s now reaching behind her for a pillow to cover with while she’s sitting up. “Itadori! Please, come back!”

Sukuna twitches for a moment before losing his temper at what could be assumed as Itadori fighting to regain control. He starts with a glare but his face proceeds to change to a lifted eyebrow. “You’ve… grown stronger since we last met.” His hateful expression is now replaced completely with a commanding curiosity. “I wonder what we would create hmm?” He crawls onto the bed as his energy materializes six chains that hang above and around him, intended for her. “Why don’t I show you my domain and we can converse further about this there?” His right hand reaches out for her ankle to snatch it up and drag her towards him but she was too quick. “You little wench, get the fuck over here!” He sends the chains into her direction with an angry and malevolent smiling face.

“Shit! GUYS!” She jumps to her feet on the bed and lets out the loud demon shriek to open her wings to shield the men and herself. The wings opened immediately and she wonders why there wasn’t a delay but also is grateful. One of Sukuna’s chains latch around her right wrist, the rest luckily being blocked and ricocheting off of her metal feathers. She feels the tug on the chain that has secured itself to her arm and is pulled down to her knees a few inches forward. “What...do you want?!” She struggles to keep her distance while the men beside her finally come to but screams upon the curse grasping at her wings.

“I believe we could make something incredibly monstrous!” He laughs in exhilaration as he clearly enjoys a little of bit of chase, ensnaring his prey. All four of his eyes are trained on her as he considers the evil and raw power that lurks inside of them both.

Toji wakes and without thinking grabs Sukuna’s chain attached to her, burning the flesh of his palm and fingers instantaneously. “ARGH!” He only tightens his grip however and begins to pull the chain towards himself to create slack for Elska. “WHAT THE FUCK KID?” He’s screaming in shock as he literally just woke up to this fight taking place right next to him. He doesn’t understand at first that it’s the boy’s been overthrown.

Satoru warps next to Sukuna, to which the immense curse actually halts his maniacal laughter upon the registration of Satoru’s presence and force. He turns his head to meet Satoru’s warm yet eerie smile with his eyes widened. “Great, now I have to deal with this shaman fuck again.”

“Domain expansion…” Satoru lifts his hand in between their faces as he wraps his index and middle finger around each other. He looks over to Toji as warning, the severity in his eyes said it all. He doesn’t want to hurt Itadori and he has to gain control of the situation immediately to avoid doing so.

“FUCK! Doll we have to MOVE!” He wraps the chain around his hand once and his other arm around Elska’s waist and jumps off the bed towards the other side of the room. His strength is so outstanding that he actually launches them through the wall over the dining table and into the hallway. Toji’s back and left shoulder take the brunt of the impact but he’s also cut across the chest by Elska’s wings in the process. The chain searing his flesh is tugged on by some unknown force of Sukuna’s in a last attempt to drag Elska with them but Toji’s hold prevents his success. “THINK AGAIN FUCKER.”

“…Infinite Void.” As soon as the words leave Gojo’s lips a large purplish and black sphere forms around him and Sukuna. As it quickly grows, it swallows the majority of the bed only leaving pieces of pillows. The part of the floor where Elska’s wings were stuck from the previous night remain untouched, but the good parts in between were sucked into its diameter as well. The chain attached to Elska’s wrist is broken with the connection to Sukuna being cut off and it dissipates into black smoke.

“Toji are you alright?!” She looks to his melted skin and the cuts received from her metal feathers as he’s standing them up from his imprint into the wall. “You need to feed or see Shoko!” He grabs her and holds her into him, them both understanding that was a close call. She hears his heartbeat as he embraces her and tries to work on controlling her own as she releases her wings. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine Doll, are you ok? Did it burn you too?” He lifts her wrist with his good hand to inspect it only to find that her skin remains intact and unharmed. “That’s pretty strange…but I ain’t complaining.” He smiles to her before looking behind her to see Megumi’s surprised face while in stance for a fight. His eyes are fixed onto the two of them, not expecting to find his father here, let alone bare assed at that.

“Elska! And…Da-…Toji?” He was so riled about unexpected chaos that he didn’t fully filter the word that almost left his mouth and into their ears, not even realizing it initially. “What are you two doing?!” He takes in their bareness is and is completely confused. He looks to the domain that has eaten ¾ of the room and his mouth drops. “ITADORI! Why is Gojo using his domain?!”

“Megumi! Sukuna came out and attacked us. I don’-…” She interrupted by Megumi’s frustration.

“It’s happening more frequently then…” Megumi’s eyes are heavy with sadness as he knows this means that Itadori is likely losing overall control, which isn’t good for his friend. He’s swarmed with panic knowing how protective Gojo usually is over Elska. “Gojo isn’t going to kill him is he!?”

Megumi finds himself able to breathe as the sphere disappears to reveal Gojo standing with the unconscious Itadori in his arms. “That was way too close…” He’s half snickering as he exhales. Through the hole in the wall that gave to Elska and Toji’s rush, Satoru’s face can be seen holding the weighted expression of guilt. Satoru knows that he’s directly responsible for the boy’s strife, he just wasn’t one to care all of those years ago.

Everything his domain touched has ceased to exist, there’s just a giant spherical crater where the parts of the room used to be, exposing the floor beneath, the room beside them and the one above them as well. He looks up to Toji and Elska, “Are you ok love?” He sets down Itadori against the broken wall on the inside of the room.

She nods to him in reply, wondering what would have happened had Toji not removed them both from its circumferential reach. She has been inside of his breathtaking domain before, but he was able to tweak its parameters to make it safe for her to be in there. If he doesn’t do that though, there’s no chance of survival once encompassed, unless he allows it. When you are in another’s domain, a rare technique that only some shaman and intelligent curses can produce, you’re left to the whims of their mind being as the domain itself is an outward reproduction of it.

He walks towards them, reaching towards Elska as he nears. When he gets to her, he leans down and kisses her as she’s being held by Toji. He places his lips on her forehead as well and then rests his chin in her hair while he brings his right hand to hold behind her head, closing his eyes in a moment of relief. ‘What if I hadn’t been here?’

“What the hell is all of this?!” Nanami found himself joining them after the clear indication that Satoru opened his domain, his presence being awe inspiring with its level of sheer superiority. “Why are the three of you nake-…” He lowers his voice as he takes in Gojo, Toji and Elska’s nudity, embarrassed at the sight. “Oh…erm…right.” He’s fighting his eyes for proper placement as a small part of him wishes to see more of Elska but like before, she’s literally in another man’s arms…well two now technically. The thought escapes him though as he remembers there’s more pressing matters at hand. He takes off his suit jacket and walks it over to Elska with his head turned away. Toji removes his arms so that it can be rested upon her shoulders to give her body some cover. She thanks him genuinely as she uses her hands to hold it closed from the inside as best as possible.

“You’re too young my boy, 22 don’t mean shit.” Toji laughs to obliterate the awkward staring of Megumi, not wanting to be mean or rude about the territorial claim. He remembers being that age too and doesn’t necessarily blame him for looking. ‘He really is my son.’ He smirks proudly at him.

“I have no idea what’s going on anymore, are you three together or something?” Megumi is shy with his questioning, looking over in Itadori’s direction with a frustrated pout. He notices that the boy is starting to stir and his slumped face regains some ease. Elska and Toji freeze to his question, not knowing how to answer it.

Gojo chimes in, “Well Toji here loves me so much you see and so does she. Figured I could share myself with them both! Toji is such predator that he wouldn’t take my ‘no’ for an answer…so here we are!” He throws on the dumbest grin as he tries to save the boy from the weird truth of their situation. He doesn’t know how he’d explain it anyways.

Toji extends an arm without sound and pushes Satoru backwards as the silver shaman cackles to the extremely low tolerance of the massive man. He doesn’t fall but pretends to stumble into Nanami, to which he wraps an arm around his shoulder.

“Nanamin…looks like you’re my guy now!” Satoru puckers his lips inches next to Nanami’s face.

“If you don’t get your dick off of my suit Satoru…so help me god…I will use my technique to cut it. Cover yourself.” Nanami’s eyes are closed and his head lowered in frustration as he uses his thumb and middle finger to push his glasses into his face.

Satoru laughs some more but steps away from the man and grabs a folded napkin from the drywall littered table against the wall behind them, it still had their dishes from the night before. He unfolds the napkin and holds it over himself before making eye contact with Nanami again. “OK! Done!” He then can’t help himself but to sway his hips so that his member flops underneath. No one other than Elska laughs and he soon stops seeing that Nanami is overcome with seriousness. “What is it Nanamin?”

“There’s a special grade curse you’ve been assigned. We actually all have missions this morning.” He looks to Toji’s muscular scarred body just to assess his injuries not as annoyed over his nudity. He’s at least trying to remain covered by Elska, “Are you alright to fight like that? You should head to Shoko.”

Toji huffs to this, “Yea I’m fine, this isn’t anything…” The cuts along his chest weren’t deep, they were just plentiful in number. ‘Those things should’ve sliced right through me…’ His amazement is clear as he assesses his body’s ability to withstand her new feathers, not entirely comprehending the cause. He looks to Elska and then over to Megumi, who’s still in a bad mood and looking to the floor. His eyes meet back to Nanami, “Which one am I taking?”

“You and Megumi can team up. Elska and Itadori are supposed to… wait,” Nanami looks around the room realizing the pink haired boy wasn’t there but then sees him on the floor sitting up against the wall. “What happened to Itadori?”

“Sukuna.” Satoru answers.

Nanami’s brow furrows even further to this, also understanding that was not a good thing. “Ok well if Itadori’s down for the count then you may have to go on your own.” He looks over to Elska, not having enjoyed saying that. He studies her a moment with regret as he doesn’t like the idea of it either.

“Not happening, she doesn’t go alone.” Toji is suspicious of the situation already, knowing that this kind of surge in curses wouldn’t be on the natural side of things. “What if this is a trap? Why isn’t she with Gojo?” He’s already running through possibilities in his mind before he finishes the sentence.

Itadori is awake now and leans forward with a dazed look but quickly comes to his senses, “You guys! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mea-…”

Gojo perks up and runs over to the boy, “Hey it’s ok, it’s not your fault. Sukuna should be suppressed for a while now, I took the fight the out of him.” He smiles down to Itadori and extends a hand to lift him off of the ground. He pulls him up and he’s wobbly on his feet initially.

“Maybe we should still have him sit this one out…” Nanami doesn’t doubt Satoru’s words but feels it may be for the best, although that wrenches everything.

“I’m fine, really! I actually feel better than before!” Itadori looks around the room and smiles while standing, “I don’t have the usual mental strain which makes it even better!” He looks to Nanami with seriousness, “Plus I don’t want El to have to go alone… not when I’m capable.”

Satoru brings his hand to his chin, dropping his napkin slightly before remembering to keep it upon himself. “I think he’ll be ok Nanamin, like I said I suppressed Sukuna.”

Toji has maintained silence while lost in his thoughts as he recalls the plans that were shared with him while he worked for Getou. “They want her and the kid, I feel like this is weird, Gojo.”

“Nanamin, send me the info on mine and I’ll warp there.” He looks to Elska and Itadori, “By the time I’m done you should only be arriving to yours. I’ll be back up just in case.” Satoru now looks to Toji to see if that was a good enough plan.

“I still don’t like it but that’s better…I guess.” He reaches out for Elska’s hand as he holds her fingertips with a pit in his stomach. “Doll, I need you to be extra careful, ok?” He turns to Itadori, “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’m counting on you kid…do not let me down.” Itadori responds with a serious head nod.

Nanami pulls his phone out of his pocket and sends everyone their designated locations, Satoru’s first though. He looks up to everyone in the hall, “Alright that should do it.” He shifts his stance as he also forms doubt over the surge, something he knew was odd immediately, “Everyone, be on guard.”

Satoru walks back towards Elska from Itadori and bends down to give her a kiss. “Ok love, I’ll be right behind you.” He sighs as she looks up to him with confidence, smiling back but he’s also beginning to worry. The last time he ignored his gut he paid dearly for it by getting sealed.

“Oh we’ve got this.” She looks to Itadori with absolutely no caution in regards to Sukuna. ‘If Sati said he’s suppressed, then he’s suppressed.’ She trusts them both, knowing they wouldn’t put her in a dangerous situation if they knew better.

“Alright love, I’ll see you soon.” He pecks her on the head not wanting to leave but knowing its best he does sooner than later. He darts his eyes to Itadori as he wears a faint smile. ‘They don’t need to know yet.’ Referring to the quick conversation between himself and Sukuna while they were in his domain. There was a reason he was so confident about Sukuna’s slumber. “I’m going to the old room first to grab some clothes…I don’t think this is the best battle attire.” He laughs as he realizes they’re all still naked while speaking of fighting. After looking back to Elska and winking, he disappears into thin air.

Toji is only now letting go of her hand as everyone gears up to part ways. He doesn’t want to leave Elska alone with Itadori but he’s also wanting to watch over Megumi who would otherwise be by himself. “We’ll head over to y’all too once we’re done, I still am not so sure about any of this.” He exhales heavily as he searches her eyes for assurance of the outcome, knowing that their fate wouldn’t be revealed so easily.

“We’ll be ok, we play off each other well.” Her and Itadori’s eyes meet and they put each other at ease. “I should probably get some clothes too first…” She awkwardly smiles while stepping over the ledge of the hole made as the men silently look away. “Toji! I believe these are yours!” Pants and a shirt come flying out of the room which he’s able to catch with a grin.

Toji looks around at the others before turning his body to dress himself. He huffs as he bends over to place his feet into the legs. Elska is walking back towards him, roughly in her shaman outfit as he pulls his shirt over his head. Her face is so gentle and loving that he can’t help but reciprocate the affections. She wraps her arms around his neck and speaks into his chest, “You be extra careful too my beloved.” His eyebrows jump up in response to her sincerity as he reclaims his embrace of her back quickly. He closes his eyes and hums to her as the world seemingly fades from around them in that moment. “Doll, I’ll never leave you, don’t worry.” They pull apart from each other and the warmth that’s obviously felt between the two of them uplifts their mood.

“Alright let’s eliminate some curses!” Itadori is pumped up and ready to go.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Is everything set?” Getou looks around to everyone in the room as they prepare for what you’d think to be a performance as he scours over them all. They enacted their change of plans recently, trying to kill two birds with one stone. “The shaman should be dispatched out by now, everyone go to their designated targets.” The elders requested the capture of the vessel and the bird girl in haste as they’ve recently discovered her ability that changed Toji. If she does that to Gojo, they don’t know how the surge of power increase will affect him, the man’s already insane as it is.

“I just wish we didn’t have to use her room for this, what if it gets damaged?” Naoya is desperately excited that the day has finally come but finds himself upset at the switch in plans. Choso is using a dimensional barrier that once crossed will place Itadori and Elska right into their very establishment, into the room they designed to corrupt her powers. They won’t have access to their cursed energy once they enter but he knows they’re both still a handful nonetheless. He just wants her to have a nice room and there be something left of her to be impressed by when its all said and done. ‘They should be here any minute!’ He looks over to Choso to share in his anticipation and it seems he’s doing well at hiding his too.

“Naoya, I don’t care if that bitch stays in a fucking box.” He’s curiously looking to Naoya as he has entirely had enough of his frivolousness regarding the girl. “If you fuck this up Zenin, I will mercilessly take your precious intended and strangle the life out of her.” His eyes are cold and ominous as he proceeds, “And I’ll make you and your fucking clan watch while I do so.” He scoffs as he finally sees Naoya slip in demeanor. It was only for a second but he’s sure that took place.

Naoya’s rage almost got the best of him. He knows Getou means it which is why he’s so on edge by the statement. ‘Keep your cool…breathe…you’ll get him soon enough…’ He’s trying to maintain his sanity as he forces his muscles to tense up instead of contracting into a fist. “I’ve got this here, you can take your leave.” Naoya’s voice is as cold as Getou’s eyes as he attempts to brush the weight of the comment off of his shoulders.

“Right.” Getou doesn’t believe in him but waves everyone away and leaves himself after the exchange. ‘We’ll see about that…’ he smirks as he seemingly disappears into the shadows.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Itadori and Elska are approaching what looks like an abandoned building mostly surrounded by a gravel parking lot. It could easily a place where a curse could take root and flourish. “Yep, this looks like it’s it.” Elska shows her GPS to Itadori as if he wouldn’t trust her word. ‘Something seems odd though’ She grabs him by the shoulder, “I don’t sense any cursed energy, there’s something weird going on.” She thinks to call Satoru but knows he has his own work to handle, ‘He won’t take long’ she’s assured as she releases Itadori and they continue inside.

“The air in here is strange, heavy almost…” Itadori is now on his guard as he’s picking up on some abnormalities too. They reach a door to which they both stop and look at each other, Elska taking the lead as she feels obligated to protect the junior shaman. She turns the knob and before them lies a completely darkened room. Itadori reaches to grab her hand but catches the hem of her skirt instead and clutches it so they don’t become separated. Once they step through though the door shuts loudly behind them and they’re brought to their knees as the atmospheric pressure changes and threatens to rip their lungs out through their mouths. It only lasts a few seconds but the amount of pain experienced from it leaves them hunched over catching their breath as the lights turn on all at once.

She feels a hand slap her upper back and without lifting her head up says, “I’m fine Itadori, are you ok?” She hears nothing in response and her eyes widen to the absence of the boy beside her. “ITADORI!!!” She struggles to her feet, her chest still feeling the slight fire from whatever just happened in there. When she looks around, she sees a large elegant dark blue room with a bed, couch, dressers. She turns around and sees the corner which is an open bathroom, ‘There’s no way this a domain, where am I?’ Her body tenses up to the sound of a familiar voice. She slowly turns around to see Naoya behind her, staring excitedly.

He walks up to her cautiously, not trying to freak her out with his enthusiasm as he’s finally here with her as she takes in her new quarters. “Do you like it? This is all for you…” He notices that her expression is still that of shock and not much else. He walks closer.

“Where’s Itadori!?” She ignores his questions as her panic resurfaces knowing that he could be in trouble. ‘Toji was right…’ Her head hangs low as she thinks of everyone in the moment that they notice something’s wrong. ‘SATI!’ She reaches for her phone to pull it out, wanting to reach Satoru immediately. She looks to Naoya who doesn’t seem eager to stop her which she finds weird but dials Satoru anyways. She backs away from him with the phone to her ear but as she hears his voice on the other end, the phone is snatched away. Naoya’s face becomes overrun with horror as his eyes take to Getou behind her. “I said I had this COVERED!”

“Tsk, tsk tsk…little birdie, what are we going to do with you?” He wraps a hand around her throat while seizing the phone above their heads. Gojo can be heard through the speaker, “ELSKA WHAT’S WRONG!? ELSKA!” Getou lowers the phone to his ear and with an eerie satisfied calmness he speaks, “We’ve got her and the vessel. You shaman are so fucking predictable!” He laughs loudly as he squeezes Elska harder daring Naoya to come near them.

“What are you fucking doing GETOU?!” His voice bellows through the room as he refuses to stand by idly and watch. “RELEASE HER NOW.” He’s on the verge of exposing his secret technique prematurely but also doesn’t care, he can’t trust Getou’s intentions. He thinks first and then activates his projection technique instead to select the best path of attack.

Getou throws the phone into the wall, smashing it. He then smiles to Elska clawing at his hands and says, “I just wanted to leave them with something to remember her by at least…” He licks the side of Elska’s face as she clearly revolts to his gesture.

“Ge-…get…off of…mee!” She’s struggling to form words but also realizes that she can’t summon any cursed energy, nor use her wings. “She looks at Naoya with intensified fear as she’s not sure what’s going on or what their intentions currently were, she only knew that she was fucked.

“PUT HER DOWN NOW!” Naoya’s about to charge him when he holds a hand out in a gesture to stop.

“Un-wad your panties Zenin, I just wanted to say hello…” He skims his hands from her hips to her upper back. “Grab me another talisman Naoya.”

“I already put in on her can’t you fucking see that!?” Naoya’s losing his patience more and more and is wondering if his own plans are about to be shot to shit as he’s gearing up to kill that fucker right then and there.

“GET THE GOD DAMN TALISMAN NAOYA. NOW!” He squeezes Elska again extremely hard, her reaction of visual pain motivating Naoya to cooperate finally. He takes it out of his own pocket and walks towards them. His eyes meet Elska’s and he tries to covertly tell her through them that he was mortified for her, that he’s going to stop this.

“Thank you! Now for the love of God, was that so fucking hard?” He rips the talisman out of Naoya’s hand and motions for him to step back. He notices Naoya’s expression morph into confusion as he tears the already placed one on her back, off. Getou leans down into her ear, “Now why don’t you try to fly out of this cage?” His sentence is finished with a deep chuckle as he jumps away from her, clearing himself from her the reach of her wings.

As soon as his grip is removed from her, she turns around to face him and jumps backwards. “Don’t mind if I do…” she lets out the demonic shriek that echoes off of the walls and turns her head upwards as she happily embraces the discomfort of her forming feathers. When they stretch out of her skin and take shape out of her back, she pushes off the ground and hovers herself in the air. ‘These should be heavier than they are’ She notes to herself not having taken flight yet with the fully metallicized version. She looks down to see Naoya gawking at their appearance and hears him say, “They’re different now…” Getou is still on the ground beneath her as well, horrifically smiling at her as she’s yet to figure out why he’d give her wings back to her.

Getou eyes leave her in the air and narrowly meet Naoya’s on the ground across from him. “Let this be your final warning Zenin…” Before Naoya can internalize what he meant he activates his gravity manipulation and slams Elska into the floor so hard that her body bounces and leaves her without a voice to cry. Before Naoya can use his projection technique, Getou anchors him into his current position as well.

“GETOU WHAT THE FUCK ARE ...YOU DOING?!” Naoya’s lost all composure as he just watched the bastard brutally smash Elska into the floor, indenting her body into it further as he crushes her with his technique. She hit her head so roughly that she’s bleeding from it and all he can do is watch it pool and vibrate to the gravitational waves. “ELSKA!” He really can’t move this time, unlike before when he was underplaying his abilities. He’s stuck, forced to hunch over on his hands and knees while he strains to keep his head up towards them. ‘Was he aware the whole time? What is he about to do to her?’ His mind is racing as he fears Getou’s purpose with all of this.

Getou calmly strolls up to the pinned Elska as she can’t even flail from the pressure encased over her. He straddles her on the floor, being unaffected by his own powers. He hears Naoya roar as he lowers himself over the battered girl. “I said I wanted to leave them something to remember you by, didn’t I?” His mouth twists into a leer as he yanks her upper body up towards him and grips her left wing with his right hand. “I think they’ll love this, they are uniquely gorgeous…” He smacks her across the face, splitting her cheek open as she did his upon their first encounter. “I really…really can’t fucking stand you though…”

She feels his hand at the base of her wing and her eyes fill with tears as she gathering what he’s about to do, there’s only one explanation for it. She can’t move, she can barely breathe and so all she can do is brace herself for what is to come. His hand begins to pull at her left wing, his grip is unforgiving as he attempts the horrendous, all while laughing at her weakened screams.

Naoya’s heart drops. He hears her wail in incredible pain as he can do nothing but watch helplessly. Getou’s laugh becomes deeper and more prominent as he’s torturously ripping her wing out of her shoulder and back. Her cries cut through Naoya’s body more viciously than her feathers ever did. He sees Getou raising his arm higher and higher, twisting them slowly as the wing fights to stay connected to her body. As torn muscles and skin stretches into thin translucent-like flaps, she begins to loose consciousness. The noises that occur from her bones snapping from his tugs cause Naoya to throw up a little in his mouth, jerking his head to the floor. They crack and break, leaving the sounds to be left of the remnants of flesh being separated until those too snap and hang, the elasticity of her skin being drawn to no return. ‘WHY DID I THINK SHE’D BE OK HERE?’ His eyes begin to water too as his anger grows and boils over. He raises his eyes back to the nightmarish scene as he watches the only woman he’s ever cared for become mutilated before him, because of him.

“HA GOOD GOD… this thing is heavy!” Getou is having to use both hands now to lift the wing itself as the blood drips and runs down the metal feathers from where it was stolen from her body. “How did you get this into the air?!” He’s genuinely interested in the physics altering answer that he knows he won’t receive at this moment. “I’ll make sure your loved ones get it…” He smiles warmly, being overly satisfied with the gore and how pathetic she looks unconscious on the floor. “Stupid bitch…I warned you of your atonement.” He turns to leave the room, dragging the wing until he released his manipulations over Naoya and Elska, transferring his focus to floating the 4ft long silver and dark grey tipped prize beside him.

As soon as he can move Naoya quickly scurries over to her. Tears haze his vision as he’s afraid to touch her, not wanting to injure her further. “…Elska, wake up…please…” His head is bowed as he dares to move her to see the wound left by Getou. He sits himself on his knees beside her and cautiously lifts her off her back and forwards.

“…oh my God….” He can see inside of her. The stretched and mishappen muscles of hers that remain, the splintered bones Getou twisted to break, the adipose tissue…parts of her spine. He inaudibly cries as he embraces her carefully, rocking them in place…only high pitched squeals leaving his usually baritone lips. He’s choking on his own breaths as he pulls the cloth of his robes apart in a makeshift attempt to nurse her and stop the bleeding. He positions himself in front of her but he’s crouched over her legs as he leans her into his chest. He grabs his phone and sniffles as he brings up a number and chooses it.

“Cho…Choso…I need…” He’s unable to get the words out that he needs to, “Elska…He fucking…her wing…Choso…help…” He lets out another cry as he applies additional pressure to the gaping, bleeding area next to the replaced talisman. He feels his whole body is shaking and he can’t tell if it’s from rage or from being shattered in that moment. “Elska…you have to…” He inhales sharply, “…wake up…please…” He holds her closely with his eyes closed, forgetting he was on the phone with Choso, he’s completely disoriented. “…please…” The line fell silent but he’s hoping Choso understood and is on his way. He finally is unable to fight back the tears as he continues to cradle her, swaying them as he puts his weight on his knees. In a pool of her blood they sit as she’s losing her color from creating the puddle around them.

“No, No, NO…baby…PLEASE!” Naoya’s cries reverberate throughout the room as the echo beams back to him, feeling the absolute hopelessness pour from within.

Next Chapter (20) >>

Chapter List

<<Previous Chapter

32 notes · View notes

remmushound · 3 years

Text

Curse of the Clan part 59! @selfindulgenz @scentedcandlecryptid

There Michelangelo stood before Krang, the giant blob of a being rearing up with help of the wires that supported his gelatinous flesh as it spilled over in thick folds. Michelangelo stepped as far away from the alien as he could, ruby eyes locked on the yokai and trying his best not to let fear shine in them. But Krang knew better; he knew Michelangelo was afraid. He could taste it. Immediately he started to poke and prod into Michelangelo’s mind, just as he had with Donatello during their lovely stay in the forest.

Michelangelo whined and clutched at his head when a sensation not unlike a needle pierced through it. His legs lost sensation, and his thoughts were scattered like leaves on the wind. His heartbeat was like the drums of war pounding inside of him but that wasn’t the only thing that drowned his senses because there was something else, something evil, something poking around in his head that shouldn’t have been! The feeling was anything but pleasant, but no matter how much Michelangelo squeezed his head to try and force it out, it wouldn’t go away.

The voice was inside the cavern of his skull, vibrating along his brain and making his entire body shake and his vision go dark.

“You’re more resistant than the purple one…” The voice inside Michelangelo’s head said, and there came a cold tingle up Michelangelo’s arm that settled around his throat like a noose. “I wonder if you’ll last as long as he did…”

“You… hurt… my… brother…” The words were hard to force out, as heavy on his tongue as a ten pound weight, but he refused to let them stay.

“And it was fun.” The voice was in his left ear, and then his right. “And it was easy. Because he was soft…”

“You take that BACK!” With Michelangelo’s defiant roar and a swipe of his flaming kusari, the cold force prodding him was knocked back.

Krang was slammed back into his body with a furious snarl, a scowl creeping over his features as he rubbed his head with a fore-tentacle. Michelangelo’s aura was strong, a truthful passion powerful enough to form a force field around the box turtle. Krang laughed.

“Donnie is just as strong as I am!” Michelangelo growled, his eyes glowing gems.

The darkness closed in again, and this time Krang was braced for the power that the orange turtle radiated, and he was able to penetrate it. His grip on Michelangelo’s psyche tightened, and bit by bit he pulled out everything he needed and weaved it to fit his own desire.

Michelangelo and Leonardo were back in that supermarket, running from the Gumbus as it chased them down the aisles. They were seperated from April and they were alone, well alone together at least, and they needed to hide. They spotted a place, and they both dived for it, but… Michelangelo didn't make it.

No, that wasn’t right. Leonardo had grabbed him and pulled him into shelter! Michelangelo was sure he had! Why was he thinking of this anyway? It wasn’t unlike him to blank out, drawn into the spiraling colors of his own mind, but this time it seemed far more misplaced than usual, and the memory was wrong! Why was it wrong? No no no, Leonardo had helped him, not left him to the beast—

Michelangelo fell to his knees as another nightmare forced its way to the front of his mind. Him and Donatello, together behind the bushes watching Todd’s RV before they knew the friendly capybara. Whispering to each other. Todd sneaking up behind them and scaring them near out of their shells, and what Michelangelo should have remembered was both him and Donatello scattering, but what came forth through like a crudely patched pair of jeans was Donatello shoving his little brother to the ground and leaving him there for the apparent ‘Spine Breaking Bandit’ to seize.

“Your mind is strong…” Krang’s voice came with a rush of nausea, “I wonder: Is your body the same?”

Michelangelo throwing a boat, using all the power he could summon. His brothers should have praised him, but instead came their vicious scolds and hurtful words and the insults made Michelangelo drop the boat and—

“Is your love for your brothers…?”

Michelangelo wanted to go on his first solo mission. Instead of supporting him, all three of his brothers surrounded him like cruel silhouettes, laughing and pointing and mocking the bravery that tried to shine. Their words and faces twisted with hatred spiraled in Michelangelo’s mind and let nothing else through.

“...too little…”

“...too weak…”

“...too dumb…”

“...all heart…”

“...no brain…”

“You need to grow up.” The voices of all three brothers melted into one. Michelangelo was crying. His brothers wouldn’t say that, his brothers wouldn’t be mean, his brothers loved him

“Or your father?” Krang taunted further. “Would you still love him…?”

Now this was a memory Michelangelo couldn’t recall. It was a place he knew, Draxum’s lab, but it wasn’t the way it was when he had briefly saw it years ago. It was different, older yet newer at the same time. Shiny and alive and now dancing with fire that swallowed everything in his path. He was helpless, the smoke choking and burning his senses. And he saw someone there, his father Lou Jitsu, grabbing items from Draxum’s shelves and tossing them into the flames to ensure their destruction. Michelangelo started to cry; he was a baby, what else could he have done? He reached out for the man and for a moment Lou Jitsu had looked his way, the eyes soft and kind as Michelangelo knew them to be. Then came the veil of hatred pulled over as the flames swallowed Lou Jitsu and he disappeared, leaving Draxum’s experiments to burn up. All of Draxum’s experiments.

“No…” Michelangelo said; he was on his knees now and dreadfully cold. “No… that… that didn't happen!”

“Didn't it…?”

Did it…? All of Michelangelo’s memories were so twisted, so mixed up, that he couldn’t tell what was true and what was a lie and what had happened and what hadn’t happened. He knew his brothers wouldn’t do that but they did do that, he saw them, they were in his head! In his head… it was all in his head, it was all a game, all a lie, everything. Did his brothers really hate him? Did his father despise him? Did Draxum and April and CJ and everyone else think so lowly of him?! Did they...

Michelangelo was cold. He recognized it now. The stinging bite pierced through his skin, and that was something he knew was a lie. Though the sensations pricked and burned at his mind and body, he wasn’t shivering. He hadn’t been cold in Japan and he certainly wouldn’t be cold here. That was a lie. He remembered Knight’s words, that Krang could only tell lies. Maybe the truth could hurt him?

“You’re lying…” Michelangelo said lowly, and the truth cut worse than a knife through Krang.

“What…?” Krang’s face distorted in recoil.

“Your name isn’t Krang, it’s… Knave. And my brothers don’t hate me either…” Michelangelo stood a little straighter, bringing his burning eyes to meet Knave’s. “Or my friends. They’re taking down your ship right now…”

Michelangelo’s voice carried a storm, an auditory thunder like a lion’s roar! But both quickly realized that it wasn’t just Micelangelo’s voice that had done it as an aftershock hit the mech hard and caught both alien and mutant off guard.

~~~

It was harder to reach Raphael than Leonardo had been anticipating. He entered the mind meld state just as easily as he had in the forest to find Donatello, but finding someone was so much different than actually reaching them. Leonardo could send out as many thoughts as he wanted, but which ones could reach Raphael wasn’t something he could control, especially at such a distance. It was only getting farther and farther away as Raphael raced off to find his friend. The way Cassandra had been tossed, the sound made when Krang’s claws met her flesh. The blood, the scream. He didn't even think a mutant could survive that, let along a human, but he still had to find just in case she was—

Raph!

Raphael stopped, his feet skidding across the asphalt as he looked around. The city was evacuated hours ago, and even if it hadn’t been, he couldn’t think of anyone who would be this far away from the fight that would know him. Was his mind tricking him, or was that strange, turtle-shaped flicker of blue light staring at him?

Raph! The voice said again.

Leonardo! That was Leonardo’s voice! Raphael raced to the blue light he saw and stopped short, the projection transparent and glistening but most assuredly a visage of his brother.

“Wha— Leo? How are you doing that?!”

“There’s no time to explain, I don’t know how long I can hold this!” Leonardo’s image was flickering like a camera glitch, blipping in and out of existence at random, “You need to get to the back of the mech! We think we found a way to shut it down but we need you to—“

Leonardo’s voice and transparent body disappeared. Astral projection. So that was Leonardo’s new power!

“What? Need me to what?” Raphael searched the empty road for anything to complete Leonardo’s urgent request, but there was nothing. If he was going to Raphael for help, then that meant it could only be one thing. “Smash? You need me to smash you out!”

Raphael didn't have his smash jitsu anymore, but he could still try! Maybe being so close to Leonardo would help his little brother to be able to reach him again! Not a thought against his plan came to Raphael’s mind, and he was already on the way back to his brothers’ aid when he remembered why he had been all the way out here to begin with. Cassandra! She was still out there somewhere and he had to find her! He started to go back to his search, then winced and hesitated when he again remembered the desperation in Leonardo’s voice.

He had to choose between his brothers and his best friend and he had minutes, if that, to make the choice. Cassandra or his family, Cassandra or his brothers, his friends his families his—

Was that a truck?! It was! A semi-truck was barreling down toward him blaring a horn louder than any alarm Raphael had ever heard in the lair. Fear and shock froze him to the spot like a deer in headlights as the truck kept coming, and in the driver's seat was a young girl who couldn’t be more older her early twenties, hair pulled back by a bandana and an expression that told of pure, mischievous glee.

“Cass?!” Raphael gawked, and then screamed and raised his hands to cover his face when he realized the impact was imminent. Cassandra had the brakes on just in time, the back of the semi-truck practically lifting up off the road as the tip of its hood just barely brushed against Raphael’s plastron.

Cassandra leaned out of the window, “Get in, big guy! Haven’t got all day!”

“CJ!” Raphael scrambled to climb into the passenger seat, immediately grabbing Cassandra from the drivers seat and turning her around looking for the injuries that he knew he had seen! Cassandra’s clothes were in ruin, the cloth stained crimson, but no matter how Raphael searched he couldn’t find a single injury! “How…?”

“Don’t question a good thing Raphie!” Cassandra said, pushing against Raphael’s plastron to get him to let her go. “Buckle up. We’re going for a ride.”

Raphael strapped himself in. “I didn't know you had a truck driving license!”

“I DON’T!”

With that, Cassabdra sped away down the road.

#krang vs Mikey #return of CJ #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au

16 notes · View notes

votederpycausemufins · 3 years

Text

another chapter of the scattered au story I'm writing. tagging @helleborusangel because ❤ and @hermitcraftheadcanons since they made the au with their community.

Now then... where have we seen those names from last time before? hmm, maybe Grian knows.

Grian coughed a bit as the magic keeping him alive faded a bit. Though snow mostly covered his wings, he could still see a few visible patches of formerly red feathers, now a bright purple. For the most part, he was trying to ignore that, instead focusing on the bots. “A-Alright. Wh-who don’t w-we know a-about y-yet?”

“Well Bdubs hasn’t had any death messages yet.” Grum answered while trying to force one of his arms to move since it was stiff from the severe cold. “Also nothing from Jeven, Beef, Keralis, Joe or Hypno.”

“And then Ren and Etho have had deaths, but nothing that tells us where they are. Well, unless you count Etho in the overworld since he got killed by a monster.” Jrum said next. “Oh, and False and Stress are both near water cause they drowned a few times, but it looks like they stopped a while ago.”

Grian gave a shivering nod, trying to warm himself up a bit more by rubbing his arms. “A-anything important that we kn-know other than that?”

The bots looked at each other for a few moments before looking back to Grian. “Well, we’re pretty sure it’s nothing… but…”

“Wh-what is it?” Grian asked, breathing into his hands.

“So out of everyone, Impulse has been dying the most. With just about everyone else, they’re stuck with something they can run from. Like Daddy with the illagers and Cub with the cave spiders.” Grum started before allowing Jrum to continue.

“If you weren’t making things better, you would probably dying lots and lots more from the cold, but then Impulse keeps getting killed by guardians, and if they don’t, he dies anyway to drowning.”

Grian nodded before he again nearly died to the cold, instead his survival instincts getting him to use magic and heal himself up as well as warm him and also the bots. When it stopped again, he was panting. Using so much magic was detrimental to him, especially in this situation. “G-Go o-on…”

“Well, the time between his previous death and a drowning death is getting longer. Only a tiny bit, like half a second or less, but it’s always going up and not just fluctuating.”

Grian nodded. “Th-that’s not completely unusual. R-repeated deaths to th-the same thing c-can make y-you m-more resistant. Y-You’ve probably n-noticed that w-with Scar and him c-crashing into things. It m-might be happening with others, b-but not consistently e-enough for you t-two to n-notice.”

Jrum went to hug Grian but then was stopped by Grum. “Wait, we’re still metal. We’ll just steal his heat.”

“B-but I want to hug him!” Jrum complained. “I-I’m scared! I don’t like this! I want to go back to the shopping district!”

Grum hugged Jrum instead. “I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation for this, and if anyone’s going to figure it out, we probably can. Everyone seems spread out, but you and I stayed with Dad. I’m guessing the magic keeping him alive kept us with him. He’s not really in the best condition to do much other than staying alive, so we’ve got to do it ourselves.”

“But what can we even figure out?”

“W-Well, you t-two already t-told me about th-the other h-hermits. A-and what w-was u-up with Imp-pulse. I’m s-sure y-you can d-do plenty w-with more t-time.”

“Exactly, and we also know that whatever is causing this can be affected by Watcher magic.”

Jrum pouted. “That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“But it narrows it down a little! Which is better than nothing! And it does remove the possibility that helscraft is responsible.”

Jrum stared at Grum for a few seconds. “I don’t know what that is.”

“Right, no mayoral reservoirs. Um, it’s like hermitcraft, but evil.”

Grian smiled as the two bots talked. Even in a bad situation, he was glad they seemed mostly fine. He, on the other hand, felt horrible. Sure, he was keeping himself from freezing to death, but that was all. Taking all this damage wasn’t something his body really appreciated, nor was using so much magic. It was draining him, and there was nothing to eat up there.

Grian tried to purposely use his magic to summon something, anything, to eat. Even if it were a spider eye or rotten flesh. He wished a zombie would even spawn, but the top was covered in powdered snow and mobs refused to spawn on or in it. Still, if he had the energy, he could force a spawn. The thing was, he didn’t, and even attempting made his hearts deplete more. He was just so hungry.

His magic forcefully kicked in to keep him alive, but it just made things worse. It could heal him, but not keep him fed, so it was just at a stalemate as it healed the damage from starvation. But the more he used the magic, the worse he got, and finally, the amount of damage he was taking was greater than what was being healed. And then, he died.

Grian immediately gasped upon respawning, the magic of the feat leaving him feeling temporarily revitalized. He could still find some aftereffects of using so much magic, namely that even after respawning, his wings were still the wrong colors.

Jrum was on him in an instant, the cold metal frigid against his skin. He could hear Grum complaining, but Grian didn’t care, hugging the bot back. If he got cold again, he would likely just end up using more magic. If anything, right now was the perfect time to use some. Grian pulled back from the hug with that realization and summoned an entire stack of cooked steak. It hurt a bit to use enough magic for that, but it would likely keep him alive much longer. And if he did die, he could do it again.

“A-Alright… If we’re g-going to try anything… i-it’s going to b-be now. I w-want one of y-you to jump o-off the m-mountain.”

“What?!” Jrum exclaimed. “Won’t we just die?!”

“I-I’m h-hoping that y-you being r-robots a-and made of m-metal m-means you c-can take m-more f-fall d-damage.” Grian explained through chattering teeth. “S-sort of l-like i-if I were w-wearing armor. I w-would s-still be c-careful a-and go down a b-bit a-at a time, b-but you should r-respawn. A-and if y-you wouldn’t, I-I’ll b-be able t-to make you r-respawn.”

“Are you sure you can do that Dad?” Grum asked, sounding concerned. “You’re already not doing so well.”

“R-Respawn h-helped. I-if we’re d-doing it at a-all, i-it’s going t-to b-be after th-that.”

The bots still looked worried, but then Grum stood up. “Alright. I’ll do it. Jrum, do your best to watch me for signals when I’m low on health so that way dad can be more prepared if something goes wrong.”

Jrum nodded and followed Grum to the edge of the small area. The older bot was able to get down a few blocks safely, finding that Grian was right about taking less fall damage as one that would have just been enough didn’t do anything. But after that, the mountain was much more sheer. Grum tried to take the best path that didn’t need jumping for more distance, which would just deal more damage, as well as shorter gaps between ledges.

He paused on one cliff, staring down at the cloud layer which was still much further below him. Unless he could find a path with very little or no damage, he wouldn’t be able to make it down there. After a few more minor descents, Grum signalled back up to Jrum, who in turn signalled to Grian. Almost immediately, Grum could sense what felt like a thin veil of magic wrap around him like just before they had moved to this season. It felt a little weaker, but Grum could tell his Dad meant it when the respawn was helping.

The robot climbed down a bit more, trying to be extremely careful every time he felt the magic waiver slightly. He was slowly getting closer to the cloud layer, but he definitely wasn’t getting to it now. All he could really do now was die from fall damage, or hope he jumped and landed in a shallow pool of water. Technically, a large pool would work too, but he was a machine, and wasn’t sure how well he and water would mix just yet. Plus, the current situation made too much water seem like more of a concern.

He tried to look for entities, using his extra mechanics for that, but with the cloud layer, he wasn’t having too much luck. Plus, at that height anything he would see would be small, and any zooming function was currently non-functional, specifically asking for an update that couldn’t currently be done. Grum looked back up and signaled one more time before jumping off the edge.

The first few seconds, all he could think about was looking at whatever was below the clouds. But then he actually got below the clouds. Of course, he was able to quickly turn around, using his robot functions to take pictures of the surrounding area, but after that was a different story. Even after getting pictures, he was still falling, and it was terrifying. Grum has already had people messing with his brain, and that was scary and painful enough. Actually dying seemed like something worse. As a robot, he couldn’t make tears, but he still couldn’t help but cry when he realized his fate.

He completely forgot about the veil of magic around him as he continued his descent. All Grum knew at that time was fear. He looked back up, hoping for some sort of comfort, but all that was there for him were clouds, and then he finally crashed into the ground.

The robot respawned just fine, no need for Grian to mess with anything. As soon as he was back on the mountain, Grian pulled Grum into his arms. The shock from dying had left the bot quiet, but it was quickly fading and he was crying again. “Y-You were s-so brave G-Grum. I-I’m s-so p-proud of y-you.”

“It was so scary.”

“I kn-know. I kn-know it’s s-scary. But y-you did s-so well.” He said, then also pulling Jrum into the hug. He wished they didn’t have to go through this. They were still kids.

As he could feel the cold trying to take him, Grian’s mind wandered. Ever since they had gotten here, he had the feeling that something about all this was somehow familiar. He wanted to figure it out, but everything was so cold, he just couldn’t focus.

Two and a half weeks ago:

“Since when do you show up to these meetings?” Someone asked, making Grian look over to them.

“Yeah, nice to see you too.” He said with a roll of his eyes.

“Doesn't answer the question.”

Grian sighed. “It’s just something to do. I’ve got a lot on my mind and not many projects left to do since we’re wrapping things up. The meeting just happened to show up when I needed something, so now I’m here.”

“Well, glad to have you. It’s actually a pretty big meeting today!”

Grian rolled his eyes. “Oh is it now. And you think Pin would agree with that?”

“He would indeed.” As a different Watcher sat down. “And he would also agree with saying it’s nice to see you.”

Grian chuckled. “Hi Pin. What have you been up to?”

“Essentially prepping for this meeting. Once Noah, Zem and Yus get here, we’ll be able to start. So I’m glad you’re early since otherwise you would have come in the middle of it all.”

“Can I at least get a hint about what we’re going to talk about? Is someone getting upped to our level? Or have we found someone new to just help take the load off of things?”

“Neither actually.” Goofball spoke up. “We’re doing something else like Evo. no scouting this time though.”

Grian couldn’t help but bounce in his seat a little. That would be the perfect thing to distract himself with. “Nice! Do you need help with towers? And do you have a world prepped or not yet. And there’s a good number of players? If you guys need any help, I’m definitely in.”

“Well, Noah’s pretty sure we need a few more towers. They’re not as grand as you had in Evo, but of course we need a good way to incorporate bedrock into the designs and Yus had been having builders block.”

“I have not!” a new voice spoke up, and Grian turned to see Zem and Yus, the latter lighting up when they saw Grian. “Xellllll! You’re here! Oh it’s been so long! It’s amazing to see you! How have you been? Is Hermitcraft treating you well? Builds have been fine?”

Grian pushed Yus back a little. “Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, technically one thing is up, but I’m trying to ignore that and so I’m here instead.”

“You know Yus isn’t going to let you leave without saying anything.” Zem said gruffly as he sat down. “Plus we can’t start until Noah gets here, so better spit it out.”

Grian shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I… well it’s kind of weird… I may have made sort of another NPC Grian… or two.”

Zem and Goofball both facepalmed while Pin looked nonplussed and Yus was excited. “Oh my gosh! I bet they’re so cute! What are their names?”

Grian sighed. “Grumbot and Jrumbot. Mumbo and I made Grum for an election I set up and then I built Jrum myself. But they’re not exactly like NPC or even Robot Grian. Everything in Hermitcraft is much more vanilla, so we had to build them pretty big to fit all the redstone and what not in. So, taking them to next season isn’t really an option.”

“Says the person who time traveled, and broke the world border, and-” Goofball was saying before Pin shut him up.

“I think what he’s trying to say is that hasn’t stopped you before. I’m sure you can still ship them off to your build world. And even if you can’t, we can take care of that when you leave for next season.”

Yus jumped up at that! “Yes! I can be the best unc- no, wait, aunt! Aunt sounds better! I’ll be their aunt!”

Grian laughed at that, as Noah finally came into the room. “Sounds exciting in here. What am I missing?” Pin and Goofball replied with ‘Grian’ at the same time Zem and Yus answered with ‘Xelqua.’ “Nice to see ya. Well, now that everyone’s here for once, we want to get this show on the road?”

“We should indeed.” Zem stood back up. “Now, as a recap for Xelqua, we are creating the Scattered experiment. A simple version is that it is the space to the Evolution experiment’s time. We’ve set up a world with all the new biomes for the upcoming updates, even the ones that most cannot access. The residents will be spread across dimensions and biomes and their goal is to reunite.”

“Sounds creative.” Grian nodded. “I’ve got a few questions though.”

“Ask away.” Pin spoke up. “More minds to think of anything we might have missed would help. Especially since you’re the one with hands-on experience.”

“Thanks. But I know with Evo, it was easy to know what was going on because everyone was in a close location. Whenever a monument showed up, word was spread easily. Are we just relying on chat for that?”

“No, we’re actually disabling the chat for the residents. Messages can still be sent by others, but that would only really be death and advancement messages.”

Grian lit up a little at that. “Oh! Clever. And if they use specially named weapons and mobs, they could find a way to actually send messages!” Then Grian frowned. “It still doesn’t answer my question though.”

“Right, well we are creating small builds that will appear at every person’s spawn. We’re sure not everyone will be leaving their spawn immediately, so those will assist those who haven’t and act as markers in the future.”

“Oh! And based on the person’s situation, those could give tools that they need!”

Noah jumped up a little. “Pin! Write that down! Write that down!”

“I’m writing, I’m writing! Get off my back!”

“That does sound like a good idea. But here’s also some notes that we’ve taking in other meetings.” Goofball said before yanking some papers away from Pin and handing them to Grian, who looked them over.

“Hmm, so I’m guessing by this one note, there are going to be hybrids or shifters included in the group. Maybe even naturals?” Grian asked, glancing up from the notes. Before he could get an answer, he was asking about something else. “And if you’re planning to have someone in the void, it’s going to be hard to mark their spawn. Also about the void, is this rotator going to be able to appear there too? I’m sure the void will kill them, but will the spawn itself make them resistant or what?”

“All good questions Xelqua.” Zem nodded. “We are going to create a gateway like structure for the one in the void as he will be in a position that leaves him with no sense of his surroundings, so it will give him that.” And after he said that, Pin wrote it down. “Some resistance for the cycler seems like a good idea. And lastly the hybrids, there are currently a few of them, but if you look on the other page, we have mob adaptions listed. Certain people will be spawning in loops that will have them adapting to their surroundings. One in a flower field will be a moobloom, one underground will gain sculk traits, someone on the mountain may be associated with a goat or arctic fox. Not everyone will go through that, as we need some control to test, but we believe that we’ll have a good selection.”

Grian nodded, pushing the papers back. “This sounds good. I mean, as long as you’ve got people who would be a good fit for something like this.”

“Oh! We definitely do!” Yus nodded. “If you want, when your season ends, you can visit us. We have it all set up so it will start when your season ends, so that way you’re not missing out.”

“Well, I’ll see how things go.” Grian replied. “I know I’ve still got some things to finish, but I should be ending soon, so I might see you all then.”

“Well, if not, I’m sure we’ll see you later.” Noah said. “I wouldn’t mind help when we get into recapping things for the records.”

“That sounds good to me.”

From there, the meeting proceeded on nicely. Nothing signalled to Grian what was around the corner for him. He never realized who the experiment was for. And then he went home.

When he got back to hermitcraft, he took what the Watchers said to heart and went looking for Mumbo. He wasn’t leaving the bots- no, he wasn’t leaving his kids behind. Even if he had to break a few rules to make it work. He was a Watcher, and nothing was enough to stop a Watcher. Well, except for another Watcher.

Grian had been keeping himself alive a bit longer, refusing to eat so he could save it for after he summoned even more. With his periods of blanking out from using Watcher magic, time felt like it was passing faster, so soon the moon was in the sky once more.

Grian tried to ignore it, but the cold of the night made everything worse. He was using more energy after the temperature drop to keep himself alive and sort of warm. It also didn’t help that so much of the magic was used to warm him, leaving the bots to slowly freeze. They may not be able to feel the cold, but ice was still freezing their joints, making it harder and harder for them to move.

Grian looked over to the cliff. He still had lots of time before he died again, but if he reset himself now, he would have more magic. And this time instead of food, he could summon something to let the bots warm up. Or maybe even...

Grian pushed himself up and walked to the ende, letting himself fall. It was still painful, but the energy filling his body when respawning made it so much worth it. Immediately, he summoned a bed before pulling himself into it. Compared to everything else, the sheets were so warm. He let his magic seep into the bed, forcing it to work. And then the sky started moving, time seeming to speed up and then it was morning.

As Grian pulled himself out of bed, he was glad to see the message in chat that told everyone he had been the one to advance the sun and moon. While it might not have been too helpful for most, suddenly having daylight or just being able to know what time it was could be useful. But now that he had used the bed, he moved the bots into the sheets, hoping it would help warm them up.

The avian considered just sitting next to the bed, trying to rest normally, but something suddenly caught his attention. There was… it felt like some sort of magic. It was trying to form nearby, but there wasn’t enough energy. Grian thought maybe it would be some sort of mob. Maybe a skeleton and he could get lucky with a bow, or a zombie and iron. So he used more magic to finish summoning whatever it was.

Grian’s eyes widened at the small monument of sorts that appeared in front of him, made of ice and bedrock. Suddenly, his mind made the connection. That was one he built for the Scattered experiment. And that’s where he was now. For a moment, he was stunned, glad to know that information. Based on what he knew, he and Impulse were getting the worst of it, but that would be getting better soon. In fact, the bots had already noticed it with Impulse.

But then that made him remember something else. The bots. Grum and Jrum were children. The hermits would get through something like this. They were probably some of the best people to use for this experiment. But no, Grian drew the line and kids being involved.

He tried to use more magic, but he was too worn out. For now, he couldn’t do anything, but he was going to raise hell once he got out of here.

#hermitcraft #scattered au #grian #avian!grian #watcher!grian #grumbot #jrumbot #the watchers #evo smp #Toon Noah #Mysterious Goofball #Pin Valentine

23 notes · View notes

lastxviolet · 3 years

Text

In Neglected Fields, the Fern Grows -Ch. 3

Fred Weasley x OC 3,733 k Ch. 3 / 10 Warnings: NSFW!! Slight Dom!Fred, touching, cursing, begging, dirty talk, slight degradation, mention of masturbation

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13829826/1/In-Neglected-Fields-the-Fern-Grows

__________________

That night she dreamt of what might have come after if she hadn't run away. Her head filled in all the gaps and gave her a show of Fred pressing himself into her over, and over again, calling her a good girl when she whimpered his name and a fucking whore when she moaned too loud.

She didn't tell Daisy, or Mandy, or any of her friends the next day. Mostly because she was embarrassed but also because she was still in shock.

The thoughts plagued her and nearly made her forget that she had a less than savory obligation this evening where she would be forced to see the one person she didn't want to. She avoided the Great Hall, the library, or any other common areas all day long, in the hopes of prolonging her avoidance of him.

Daisy pestered her around dinnertime about how the recognizance mission went, as she'd noticed her absence last night. She gave some half-hearted excuse and another about why she couldn't come to dinner. She spent the rest of the evening hold up in her room, fighting off images of Fred fucking Weasley with his hand around her neck.

She refused to acknowledge the heat beneath her navel whenever she thought of their encounter. She couldn't remember exactly why she'd decided to push him off of her but thanked her subconscious for being somewhat alert.

What would she do about him? Hating him was easy. It always had been. But now, something else stirred inside of her. She felt equal parts disgusted and elated to see him again but tried not to dwell too long on the complex feelings.

When the evening bell tolled, she rolled her shoulders back and marched to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to face her punishment, which oddly enough, had become the least of her worries.

Fred was already seated with a black quill in his hand, near the front, flanked by two other Gryffindors. She knew he was going to be there and she'd seen him at least once a day for seven years, and yet her heart nearly stopped.

He was hunched and tense. She could see his flexed back muscles through the thin white button-up of his uniform. Others were shaking or crying but not him. He sat like a statue, practically frozen with defiance. She was sure that his pride and bravery would give Umbridge no satisfaction. She tore her eyes away when the pink menace noticed her and motioned to a table towards the back.

"I will not break rules," Umbridge mewed across the room with a sickly sweet smile. "Twenty lines should suffice Ms. Longbottom."

She stared the woman in the eyes, deeply regretting every action that had led her to this moment, and nodded. A stirring terror burrowed itself in her stomach. She could hear silent tears and tempered breaths around her. This was going to hurt. Umbridge waited for her to lift the quill to the paper before reclaiming her throne at the head of the room.

The first line, in red, didn't do much but by the second "break" she felt a deep gash open. It was such a sharp, and foreign pain that she audibly gasped. Her eyes scoped the room, hoping that no one had heard, but she had no such luck. Fred stared at her from over his shoulder. She met his gaze just long enough to shoot him a glare and then let her eyes fall back to the page in front of her.

She made it ten lines without so much as a tear but by then, her blood was running free and pooling a little on the desk in front of her. She whispered a vanishing charm and whisked it away before finishing the last lines quickly, biting her tongue to keep from crying out.

Umbridge came to inspect the front of the class's work first, and Fred left before she did. When it came time for the evil woman to surveil her work she leaned over the bloodied table and smiled.

"I hope I don't see you in here again, Ms. Longbottom," she tutted. "I'd hate to take your Prefect status away. You are dismissed."

She mumbled a poisonous thank you and practically ran from the room.

The stairs beneath her blurred into a stone slab as tears fell down her cheeks. She searched her head for some sort of healing spell but the knowledge escaped her amid so much distress. She flew through the hall and stalked towards the only place she knew she could be alone.

The door to the prefect's bathroom groaned as it opened with her utterance of the password. She peeked inside and sighed with relief at the sight of the empty room.

When alone in the big gold room, she let her cries come freely. The sobs from deep in her chest, clearly mingled with things other than the pain of her hand, echoed around the room and nearly overpowered the sound of the faucets, filling the swimming pool-sized bath. Her hand stung but somehow the mark was worse. Her smooth flesh was now broken by sharp, bloody lines that might be there forever. It was completely irrational, but the wound made her feel ugly.

After about ten minutes, she dried her tears, stripped off her uniform, and chose soothing lavender bubbles for the bath. The steaming water was a welcome feeling for her sore body. She hadn't realized it but she'd been tensing all her other muscles in a feeble attempt to keep the sharp pain at bay.

She closed her eyes and sunk into the water, trying not to think about how Neville had gone through the same thing. There was a certain sense of pride she got from being her brother's keeper. She watched out for him, stuck up for him, and kept him from being hurt but it wasn't enough. Not only did he not want her help, but he seemed hellbent on keeping her in the dark about the nefarious activities that were getting him hurt. If he'd just told her what he was doing in the first place, everything; the detention, Fred, her hand, could've all been avoided. But it was too late now. She was stuck with a rebellious, secret-keeping brother, a feud gone wrong, and a fucked up hand.

The bubbles swallowed her whole as she dipped her head in and held her breath, desperate for a moment of complete silence.

She curled into a ball and stayed beneath the water until her lungs were screaming at her to free them of the pain, or perish.

The cold air rushed against her face as she shot back up through the bubbles and caught her breath.

"Trying to drown yourself?"

She yelped and spun around frantically trying to cover herself as the voice of Fred Weasley disturbed her for the second time this week.

"What are you doing here," she yelled, clutching her chest and staring at him across the steam.

"Lifeguard duty," he declared.

She rolled her eyes and turned away in a fury.

"You can't be here," she hissed.

"Bloody hell, you prefects are — "

"— no you idiot I mean that specifically, you cannot be here with me like this."

He was silent for a beat and then she heard him sit on the edge of the tub, and dunk his feet in.

"No peaking, I promise," he assured her in an almost sincere voice.

It was pointless to argue and she was too exhausted to even try. He sensed her resignation and began kicking his feet in the water.

"How was the good girl's first detention?" He asked.

"Terrible," she shot back.

"I expected as much," he laughed.

When she was sure her chest was entirely covered by the bubbles, she turned back around and shot him a glare. He returned the look with a delighted smile.

Her jaw clicked from biting down too hard. He was gloating but she wouldn't allow him to rile her up any further. Obviously, he wanted her to snap at him and curse at him to leave but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He stared her down with the same intensity she was radiating. Neither of them seemed motivated to move.

Why had he even come here?

Something in his expression cracked when he realized she wasn't going to speak without further encouragement.

"Your hand," he inquired softly. "Not fatal…right?"

She felt tears prick the corner of her eyes again.

"No, but…I…I just don't want it to scar."

"Oh, no, it won't. See, I've started writing with my left hand to give it a break and you can hardly even see the marks anymore."

He leaned towards her, brandishing his left hand. She stared at him hesitantly, worried that any movement would give him quite the show. She sunk deeper into the water before moving towards him and reaching up to take his hand, letting his palm flatten out against her own. Sure enough, there were faint pink lines that no longer looked like a phrase scattered on his hand. Absentmindedly, she caressed the lines with her other hand, making sure there were no raised lines or permanently damaged skin. He exhaled sharply as she held him between her two hands.

For a moment, she forgot who he was.

She forgot what'd they done and what it would look like they were about to do if someone walked in now.

There was no history; only palm against palm.

She looked up at him and nodded, letting him know that he'd made his point just fine, but he didn't move. Her heart was fluttering in her chest but she couldn't decide what it was trying to tell her. His fingers began curving around her wrist, just enough for her to notice.

"Fern about last—"

"How do you know the password?" She asked.

He looked taken aback like he wasn't expecting the conversation to veer this way, and then smiled.

"I know everything," he assured her, in a calm, almost casual voice, before letting go of her and leaning back with his hands behind him.

"How did you know that I was here," she asked, this time more curious, and less accusatory.

Her hand tingled from where he'd touched her. If she'd known that he would pull away because of her inquiry, maybe she would've just stayed quiet. On the other hand, this was Fred Weasley, whom she despised, and giving him reasons to touch her should not be on the forefront of her mind.

She couldn't decipher which she wanted more.

To strangle him, or let him strangle her…again.

"Lucky guess," he sighed.

"Liar," she mumbled.

"Fern," he laughed with an amused smile and a wink. "If I'd known for certain that you were here, then I would've come much faster."

She rolled her eyes and rested a shoulder against the ledge he was sitting on.

"You know a lot about coming fast?"

His smile grew wider and he threw his head back with a short laugh. "Not usually but I guess it depends on how good you are."

She sized him up and half thought about just leaving but there was a twinkle in his eye that was making it difficult to breathe. Certainly, he wasn't trying to pick up again where they'd left off.

"I've never had any complaints," she mused, staring him down.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You?"

"Yes, me, you twat," she scolded, swatting his kneed with her hand. "Your surprised tone is not appreciated, by the way."

He chuckled and looked past her towards the stained glass before closing his eyes. She furrowed her brows and scooted a little closer. He looked stoic — relaxed even, and for some reason, she didn't like it.

"Really," she demanded. "No questions? No rude remarks? No 'who would want you?' Nothing?"

He opened his eyes in a flash and leaned forward onto his knees to get closer to her.

"I know who would want you."

The response caught her off guard and something dark flashed across his face. If she wanted to, she could reach up and touch him but her nerves kept her arms crossed and brow furrowed.

"You do," she asked softly.

He smiled again, this time, less menacingly, and nodded.

"I'm an idiot but I'm not blind," he said matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't mind being a little deaf though… at least when I'm with you."

"Haha, you're hilarious," she blurted, rolling her eyes and splashing him a little. "All you want is a laugh."

He rested his forehead in his hands and stared down at the water.

He was quiet for a few seconds but his face was suddenly twisted deep in thought.

"Fern, I think you know…what I want," he admitted softly.

Her breath hitched in her chest. She didn't know why but it hadn't occurred to her that they were going to talk about what had happened last night, let alone continue it. She stared at him in disbelief, trying to think of something witty or smart to say to get him to leave.

"No," was all she could manage to get out.

"Yes, you do," he countered, sitting up straight.

"No…I don't," she practically whispered.

He smiled softly and shook his head. "Figures that you'd be a know-it-all except about the things that matter."

"The things that matter?"

"Yes Fern, the things that matter. Fire, water. Sun, moon, Hot, cold. You, me."

He winked with the last bit and his smile sloped like he was telling a joke. She could see why he'd always had girlfriends over the years but she wasn't going to let him believe she was a prize to be won with meaningless flirting.

"Bloody hell," she sighed, shaking her head. "You really think I'm going to fall for that? Don't you have some underclassmen or groupies to hook up with?"

"Nah," he mused, rolling up his sleeves. She watched as he broke eye contact and swallowed hard. "In light of recent events I've found that my tastes have…changed."

Her breath caught in her throat. He was bringing it up.

They were going to talk about it.

Desire bloomed through her chest.

"Changed?"

"Yes, to things…less boring."

He stopped smiling and stared at her with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"I thought you said that I was boring," she stammered.

"Hmm…did I?"

"In fact, if I recall correctly, you said that I was so fucking boring that —"

She caught the shift in his eyes before she even noticed his movement and then he was standing in front of her in the water, clothes and all.

She clutched her chest, being sure that she was covered, and backed away.

"Fred, you can't just do that," she babbled shrilly, hitting her back on the edge of the large tub.

He didn't seem to hear her as he moved forward.

She spread her hand across his chest, losing her concentration on keeping him at arm's length as soon as she touched him.

His chest. Him.

"Fred," she whined, clutching his shirt, caught between pushing him away and pulling him closer.

"What did I tell you," he asked in nothing more than a breath.

His features were sharp with confidence but she could see the glimmer of unease in his eyes.

He thought that she was going to run away again.

She hadn't decided if she was actually going to when he reached up and caressed the side of her face, moving the hairs that clung to it.

His fingers stroked her jaw and then pulse point before wrapping around her neck.

She moaned but a knock at the door cut her off.

"Hello?"

She went wide-eyed and shoved Fred away as fast as she could, immediately glancing to the door in a panic.

"Fuck" she cursed, reaching for a robe.

Fred climbed out of the tub before she could worry about him seeing her naked and hid behind a pillar by the door.

They were screwed if it was someone nosey. She might be screwed regardless.

"Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to lock the door," she yelled, making sure her robe was tight before unlatching the door and coming face to face with Hufflepuff prefect, Ernest Macmillan.

His eyes went wide at her, even though she was completely covered.

"Oh Fern, hello! Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you."

"No, no, not at all," she reassured him, glancing nervously at Fred who was peeking his head out to watch her. "Um this is as much yours as it is mine, I must've accidentally locked the door."

He peered around her and raised his eyebrows.

"No problem at all…can I join you?"

She moved aside quickly, making room for the thin blonde boy.

"I was actually just leaving so it's all yours!"

"Oh, you're leaving?"

She didn't watch him as she picked her clothes up from the floor and glanced towards Fred's hiding place again.

"Yes, I've still got some homework and uh N.E.W.T studying to do," she explained, scooting around the boy who seemed to be frozen in front of the door.

"Too bad," he mumbled, leaning out of the way.

She grabbed the handle and nearly yanked the door open before it dawned on her that it probably wasn't the best idea for her reputation to leave Fred for Ernest to find. She turned back to the blushing boy and clutched her ear in fake panic.

"Oh Ernie," she cooed, dawning a puzzled look. "Do you see my earring anywhere? I seem to have lost it."

He didn't give her another look before committing his full attention to the floor a few feet away, even going as far as getting on his hands and knees to feel across the tile. She watched him for a moment and then frantically opened the door.

As if he'd read her mind, Fred tiptoed from around the corner and made a b-line towards her. She shuddered as his large hands wrapped around her waist to move her out of the way. Once he'd fled into the hallway she waved her arms in the air in a grand gesture of realization and purred across the room.

"Oh, how silly of me, it was in my pocket. Thank you for all your help, have a lovely bath!"

She didn't wait to see his face or hear his response before slamming the door closed and rushing down the hall, with only a robe to shield her from the cold air. Thankfully, the rest of the castle seemed to be settled in for the night, so the passageway was empty.

"You know that kid?"

For the second time in the night, she jumped as Fred made his presence known.

"Stop scaring me like that," she hissed, turning around to shove him. His large stature hardly even registered the force, much to her frustration. She turned on her heel and stalked down the hall. He walked close behind her and leaned forward to speak into her ear.

"Hufflepuff right? Is he your boyfriend or something?"

She spun around and glared at him.

"What the actual fuck are you talking about?"

A darkness passed over his eyes but she didn't care. She was done playing this game and she was done being his toy. She was done letting him think he had any sort of power over her.

"You hang out with him?"

"We occasionally have Prefect rounds together, not that it's any of your business," she huffed.

"Well you must've done something to him on those rounds because he wants to fuck you," he snapped.

"No, he does not, you twat."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed her arm. She hissed in displeasure as he pulled her into a deep window frame, hiding them from view.

"He was hard as soon as he saw you," he hissed.

She stared at him in disbelief.

He held no claim to her and even if he did, the last thing he had to worry about was Ernie from Hufflepuff.

"Well, that makes two of you."

Her eyes darted down to his pants, still half tented.

His lips twitched and his smile faded. Her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace, making the distance between them seem like nothing. She stared into his dark eyes for a moment longer before glancing back down to the outline of the hardness in his pants.

"Do you like that I'm hard for you," he whispered.

She bit her lip to keep from whimpering. He stepped forward, inching her closer to the wall. They were about two inches from being in the same position that they were in last night but this time, she didn't back down.

She tipped her head back and leaned against the wall without his help, staring him straight in the eyes.

"You like to think about me to get hard, don't you?"

His eyes widened a bit and his cheeks flushed.

"What if I said yes…" he breathed, taking another step. "What if said that's what I did last night…and again this morning."

The realization hit her like a train and lit a fire in her stomach. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her veins. This time, she had power over him. His thoughts of her were on display, instead of the other way around.

It was delicious and maddening.

He took another step, looming over her, pressing her into the wall.

"Show me," she whispered, tipping her head back to expose her neck and chest.

He looked completely bewildered with his pupils blown.

She glanced down at his lips but he stayed quiet.

Silence lingered and she wondered if she'd actually said it out loud, or if he'd even heard her.

In an urge of something foreign, she doubled down on her statement and caressed the neckline of the robe, exposing her chest just a little more.

"Fucking hell," he mumbled senselessly, closing the gap between them entirely.

"Go on," she whispered, thrusting her pelvis against his.

He sucked in a breath and pressed his forehead onto hers. She didn't peel her eyes away from his as he unzipped his pants. She held her breath until something warm and hard-pressed against the thin fabric of the robe covering her stomach.

His mouth dropped open as he took himself in hand and began stroking.

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x oc #fred weasley fic #fredweasley #weasley fanfiction

29 notes · View notes