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ghost-proofbaby · 1 year

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR FIVE

in which eddie munson and you absolutely hate each other's guts. what happens when your friends make a bet that you can't spend more than twenty four hours consecutively together?

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, eventual smut, upside down does not exist, harassment/cat calling, minors dni

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader

→ wc: 6.1k+

→ a/n: shout out to @abibliophobiaa for helping me figure this chapter out lol.

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5:00 ───ㅇ─────────────── 24:00

HOUR FIVE - 8:00 PM

Civility. What a fragile construct.

You and Eddie are hyper aware of its presence as the minutes pass. It’s a glass wall between the two of you, offering false security and fragile mediation. When he brings up dinner, and there’s no sign of agreement any time soon as he wants the opposite of every suggestion you make, you catch your reflection in it, reminding yourself to carefully think over your words. Every insult manages to catch in your throat, to simmer until softened to something appropriate. And you know he’s doing exactly the same thing as his pauses begin to drag out between replies, as you lose count of the number of times he’s opened his mouth only to immediately snap it shut.

It works, though. Even with the weight of the agreement in the room, the wall takes the pressure in stride. There’s not a single crack emerging.

Eddie still sits on the couch with you, this time the TV is turned on to some cable show rerun that has turned into background noise for the two of you.

He never moved back to the opposite end of the couch. One wrong move, and your thigh could easily press into his, sink into the warmth that radiates from him. It’s all you can think about as he is trying to convince you that the Lord of the Rings books are worth reading, especially if you enjoy the movies.

If it were any other day, you wouldn’t have noticed when he cuts off suddenly. You would have stopped listening long ago. Which is a shame, not that you’d admit it, because he actually had interesting points to make.

“What?” you scrunch your nose as his stare hardens across the room, at something by the TV. Suddenly, the almost-glare blooms into delight, and you can’t breathe.

“We’ve managed to be civil for a whole forty-five minutes.”

You finally follow his gaze and realize he had been looking at the small cable box, blinking blue numbers on the front screen reading the time.

“Oh,” you say softly, fighting a grin to match his current one, “Yeah, we have been. That’s gotta be a new record.”

It hadn’t been easy, but it had been doable. Maybe the hours could continue to be less doable.

“You know, I thought you would have told me to shut up about my nerd shit by now,” he muses, bringing a hand up to carefully rub at his stubbled chin, legs spreading a bit further as he remains reclined into the cushions beside you.

His knee brushes yours. You still haven’t found your breath that had escaped you from watching his eyes light up in realization.

“I came pretty close,” you tease and nearly lean in, nearly pressing your knee harder into his.

It was becoming too easy to act this way with him. You try to think of a time you’d ever given this such room to breathe. But you draw nothing but blanks, save for the first night you’d met Eddie. A night that had been blossoming with buds of hopefulness and blind optimism that had been cursed to die on the vine.

Although, maybe not all of them had died. There might have been a few dwindlers, and they might have found themselves finally watered after such a harsh winter between the two of you in the revelation of fragile civility these last forty-five minutes.

“Was it when I went on my ten minute rant about how cool it would have been to bring up werewolves in the movies? Or was it my passion for Samwise being a singer?” your head falls back in gentle laughter, closing your eyes for a second. He goes as far as to nudge your shoulder with his own, “Come on, I’m serious! I do hear myself sometimes, you know. I know when I’m being Lord of the Dorks over here.”

Your shoulder burns where he had bumped it. Not from pain.

Your eyes are still closed as you shake your head, “No, no. I think I actually agree with the werewolves, but I’m still on the fence about turning the movies into musicals.”

When you finally do open your eyes, head rolling to face him and press your cheek atop your burning shoulder, you find him staring at you. Which would have been fine, no big deal, if he was still grinning vibrantly.

He’s looking at you with an unfamiliar emotion, an emotion you’d not only never seen him look at you with, but any of your shared friends. It’s almost as if he’s no longer in the room with you.

You’re immediately worried you’ve offended him, “Oh, shit. Are you into musicals? I’m sorry, I tried to get into them, but I just-”

“I am,” the emotion drains from his eyes as he snaps back to reality, “I… But I mean, I get it. Not everyone is into musicals, I was just a theater kid.”

“A theater kid?” your worry is long gone as you sit up, looking at him excitedly, “No way. I would have never guessed that you, Eddie Munson, the most dramatic person I know, were a theater kid.”

He looks down bashfully, and his curls form a curtain around his face. His dimples are effectively hidden as he shyly smiles, and you’re kind of glad for it. “Shut up. Buckley’s more dramatic than I am. Have you ever heard her go off on one of her rabies rambles?”

“Of course. She was also a theater kid.”

“Oh, trust me - I know. We’ve bonded.”

The conversation dwindles, but the ghost of the dimples don’t. He tucks some of the stray strands of the curtain behind his ear, and you start to regret ever noticing the damn things.

“We never decided on dinner, you know,” you blurt out and change the topic, because you desperately need something to distract you right now. You’re starting to believe you might prefer arguing with him to whatever storm was building beneath the surface of civility.

“Oh, shit,” he gasps, turning to look at the clock again, “You’re right.”

Never thought I’d hear you saying that to me of all people, you bite back from saying.

“Most places are closing soon,” he murmurs, more to himself than you, surely thinking back on the way you couldn’t come to an agreement earlier. If you dived back into that, you’d probably spend the rest of the night bickering. But then he lights up again, just as he had when he’d realized your record-breaking streak of civility, “Say, you like bar food?”

—

“Eddie, I really can’t afford overpriced bar food!”

“And I already said I’d pay for you.”

“What about our photo proof? We were supposed to send it ten minutes ago.”

“You texted them mentioning we’ll be a little late with it, right?”

“Yeah, but-”

“Then it’s fine.”

The entire ten minute walk from Eddie’s apartment to what he claims is his favorite bar in town had been filled with the endless bickering, still managing to be lighthearted enough to not cause any cracks in the civility.

He’d chastised you about making excuses, and you hated him, because he was right. Every issue you’d brought up about going to the bar with him had been easily solved with one of his solutions. You were grasping for straws at this point.

Because you were nervous. Nervous that civility wouldn’t hold up in public, nervous that if alcohol was added to the equation that tongues would get too loose.

But none of it mattered. When Eddie initially suggested going to the bar, he’d caught your smile at the idea and realized you two had finally found common ground. He was now a man on a mission.

“I really don’t want you paying for me,” you huff as he holds the door to the bar open for you, motioning for you to enter before him.

“It’s really not that expensive, you can pay me back later if you really want,” he waves off, “Buy me a drink or something while we’re here, even.”

You’d always witnessed Eddie being generous with your friends, always known that he was altruistic as he’d offer to pay for people. Half the time, he never made them pay him back. All he cared about when with friends was everyone having fun. And you’d never been on the receiving end of that — not until tonight.

He bumps into you when you stop just a few steps into the bar’s entry, glancing around the small room. It wasn’t much, two pool tables set up on the far end of the building, a full bar taking up most of the space inside. You could see some sort of jukebox sitting unplugged in the corner and several booths were occupied with patrons already.

It was cozy. It wasn’t going out of its way to impress anyone, and it’s probably why you’d never come inside before. From the outside, you hardly were able to decipher it was a bar, especially in the darkness of the night.

“Sorry,” you turn to apologize, his hands feather light on your biceps to make sure you didn’t stumble from the force of his impact.

He waves it off just as he had waved off your concerns of him picking up the bill for the night, focusing instead on your reaction, “You like it?”

“It’s… nice,” you offer with a shrug as he guides you to the bar. There definitely weren’t any open tables; it was a Saturday night, and even if the place was capable of giving off quaint vibes, there was an abundance of college students who had the same idea as you and him had.

None of them were locked into the same agreement as you two, though. You were sure of it.

The bartender greets Eddie by name, beaming as he promises he’ll come over with his usual soon.

“Wow,” you laugh, lifting yourself onto a stool beside him, “You weren’t kidding about it being your usual hangout.”

“I swear I’m not an alcoholic or anything,” he rushes out, “I just… I dunno. Like you said, it’s nice here.”

You couldn’t believe it. If you dared to look into his words further, you’d swear that Eddie was trying to avoid tarnishing your view of him. He’d never cared about that before.

“I wouldn’t judge you,” you say once the two of you have settled into your seats. Stools were never going to be more comfortable than a booth, but it would do for the next hour. “If you were an alcoholic. I mean, we’re college students. Kind of part of the whole gig,” He looks at you and quirks an eyebrow as he grabs one of the menus from the sticky wood surface in front of you two, “Every college student can be promised three things: unimaginable debt for a stupid piece of paper, the ability to run off of far less sleep than anyone ever should, and a terrible reliance on alcohol.”

He rolls his eyes and mumbles, “You’re funny.”

The surviving buds on the vine nearly prepare to bloom, just about ready to untuck themselves from your chest and press against the glass wall of civility.

“Say it again.”

“What?”

“That I’m funny,” your biting grin is infectious, “Tell me again and stroke my ego, big boy.”

He flushes pink on the apples of his cheeks, bright and furious even under the dim lighting of the bar, “Oh, fuck off. I’m never complimenting you again.”

Your newest enemies, those fucking dimples, and the way the blush spreads as he glances down at the menu suddenly become too much. The combination has the ability to choke you, to possibly make your heart stop, if it isn’t for the bartender finally interrupting the moment.

“Hey there, Eds,” the man not much older than the two of you greets, looking at you with unbridled curiosity, “And… lady friend of Eds.”

You don’t know why, but you tell the stranger your name. Sweet and low, soft spoken compared to the way you had just been blatantly teasing the boy at your side.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he chimes with the type of charisma you’re familiar with when it comes to the food industry. You didn’t make tips if you weren’t kind, if you weren’t borderline flirting with nearly every customer by overflowing with friendliness and compliments, “So, I’ve got your regular here,” he places a glass in front of Eddie, something dark with a few sparse bubbles, “What can I get for you, though?” he turns to you.

You glance over at the menu Eddie holds, and he shifts it so you can see it better. But as your eyes glance over the drink options, nothing grabs your attention.

“Full bar, right?” you feel a bit foolish as the man waves behind at the large wall filled with bottles of a variety of alcohol. Duh. “You know how to make an amaretto sour?”

The man grins widely, nodding enthusiastically before turning to Eddie, “She’s got good taste. I’ll be right back with it for you, hun.”

The moment the bartender leaves, Eddie is leaning in closer to you, mimicking you in a falsetto, “Full bar, right?”

His cologne is nice. Something spicy, almost musky. Fitting for him.

You don’t hesitate to shove his shoulder, “Shut up. We’re supposed to be civil, remember?”

“Ah, I see,” his eyes mischievously glint, enjoying this bout of satirizing far too much, “You can tease me, but I can’t tease you. That sound about right?”

“Exactly,” you sigh jokingly, unable to look at him, already knowing the smile he’s wearing, “Sorry you didn’t get the first memo.”

He finally, finally, stops leaning in towards you, and carries the scent of his cologne with him. You decide to lock away that detail of him into the same eternal prison of your brain with the dimples. Another thing about him you need to forget after the twenty fours end.

“My bad, sweetheart. At least I’m up to date now.”

You ignore the vine as it tightens at the casual use of the nickname again. There’s no need to dive deeper into that reaction.

“What’s his name?” you finally look at him, eyes catching on the slope of his nose and sharp jaw in the smoky atmosphere.

“Who? The bartender?” you nod, and he takes a sip of his drink, “Frank. He’s really nice, looks a lot younger than he is, lucky bastard.”

“What, you don’t think you’ll age so gracefully?” you’re back to teasing Eddie, because God, is it easy. It’s a perfect medium between the two of you. Still biting, still a little mean, but not harmful. It’s innocent and refreshing, breathing a new wave of novelty into your relationship, wherever it may currently stand.

“Who’s not aging gracefully?” The bartender, Frank, questions as he places your amaretto sour in front of you. You mutter your thanks, “Because if you’re talking about Eds here, you’re right. Think this guy has aged ten years in the six months I’ve known him.”

Six months? You don’t know why you’re so shocked, but part of you had just figured he’d been coming to this bar for as long as he’d lived in his apartment. Which, to be fair, you didn’t know how long he’d occupied that space, either. It had to have been at least a year. There’s been no mention of him moving the entire time you’ve known him.

“I have not,” Eddie defends himself, hand gripping his drink.

“Have too,” Frank ends the argument there, not giving Eddie a chance for rebuttal before he lets his gaze go back and forth between the two of you, “So, any food tonight, or just drinks?”

“Could we actually get an order of garlic parmesan fries?” Eddie is surprisingly polite, and looks at you after he’s placed the order, “If that’s okay with you?”

You blink, taken back by his consideration, “Um, yeah. That sounds good.”

Frank nods, “Fries. Got it. Anything else?”

Eddie is still looking at you, subtly moving the menu closer to you, as if urging you to help yourself. You pick up the laminated paper, and your knuckles brush against his before you’re glancing over your options.

You curse yourself as your hands shake. You’re not nervous – why are they shaking?

“Are your mozzarella sticks any good?” you finally ask, peering up at Frank.

“They’re excellent. Also, not to brag, but our marinara is the best in town. I swear it.”

You look to Eddie, as if seeking out permission, and he nods ever so slightly, “I’ll take your word for it. One order of those, please.”

“Of course. One order of fries and one order of mozzarella sticks coming right up.”

With that, Frank leaves you and Eddie on your own again, somehow feeling secluded and alone even on the edges of the bustling room. It’s as if there’s a bubble around the two of you, unbreachable by the strangers that surround you.

Your phone buzzing in your pocket catches your attention, just as it had done numerous times thus far this night, and you pull it out to see two new notifications from Steve.

STEVE-O: photo.

STEVE-O: now.

You don’t realize Eddie was reading the messages over your shoulder until he suddenly chuckles, “Jesus, when did Harrington become so demanding?”

“He’s always been this way,” you mutter as you quickly open your phone, the camera app already being opened from your previously provided evidence, “Consider yourself lucky to not be in the groupchat. His attitude grows tenfold through texts.”

“Clearly.”

You turn the phone awkwardly in one hand, choosing to go for a wider shot that captures the bar setting behind you and Eddie. He grabs his glass, holding up his drink as if he’s cheersing the camera.

You’re about to take the photo, when Eddie suddenly sighs, “Oh, come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”

His free hand nudges your own drink into your hand, and you take it without complaint.

You both hold up your glasses, forcing mimicry of annoyed expressions directed at the camera and not each other.

The moment the click of the photo being taken is lost into the atmosphere of the bar, chatter of nearby strangers and clinking of beer bottles together, Eddie’s attention is fully on you.

“To civility,” he says, moving his glass in a grandiose gesture towards yours.

You take a second before you register it. You’re too busy mapping out his face beyond the dimples, beyond the wild curls that catch the bar lighting just right, all the way up to the hiding freckle beneath his right eye and the cotton candy shade of pink of his pursed lips. It’s as if you’re pressing your cheeks into the wall of civility between you and letting the glass fog over with your breath. As if you’re just now seeing Eddie for the first time, no cloak of hatred or distortion of annoyance to keep you from his memorizing features.

You shake your head, try to physically rid your head of the uncharted thoughts before you clink your glass to his, “To civility.”

—

Maybe civility isn’t such a fragile concept. Maybe, just maybe, it’s a reasonable foundation for yours and Eddie’s night.

Over garlic parmesan fries and mozzarella sticks, and several refills of your amaretto sour and his Jack & Coke (you’d found that out when you’d ask to try his drink, and had grimaced at the harsh whiskey), you two practice the act of it almost flawlessly.

Eddie tells you a bit more about the first time he’d wandered across this bar, how he’d been kicked out of a different one earlier that night and simply wasn’t ready to go home yet. Somehow, after the story, once he’s shed his leather jacket to drape over the back of his seat and you find yourself angling your body towards him more fully, the attention focuses more on you meeting the group.

You both have to lean in closer to each other, what at the beginning of the night should have been too close for comfort, as the bar grows busier. You tell him about freshman year of college, that wretched 8 AM math class that’s only redeeming quality was bringing you and Steve together. He was better at math than you, or at least taking notes on the subject. Somehow, the two of you had ended up in an agreement of being ‘study buddies’, as Steve had nicknamed it. Two years later, after several more deliberately shared classes, Steve had finally decided to introduce the girl he’d been ditching their Thursday movie nights for to the gang. It had started with Robin – she’d been in a Psychology class with you and Steve – and all the pieces fell together from there.

“I still can’t believe you and Harrington never… you know….” Eddie trails off and downs the last of his third Jack & Coke. When Frank motions from across the bar if he’d like a refill, Eddie shakes his head and covers the top of his glass with his wide palm.

His rings glinted in the low lights, and your stomach did flips. You blame it on the fourth amaretto sour you were nursing.

“Oh, trust me,” the alcohol has your lips moving more loosely, giggling between your words, “We definitely thought about it. Even got wine drunk one night our sophomore year and tried it.”

“What?” Eddie exclaims, leaning so far into your space now that his curls brush your bare shoulders, “No way. No fucking way.”

“Yes way!” your face grows pink, more from laughter than embarrassment, “It was awful! I mean, in our defense we were both drunk, but still. I just…” you sigh out, and lean back in your stool without even noticing that Eddie has his arm draped over the back of it, “We both realized we were way better off friends. I’m a better wing-woman for him now than some fling.”

“Don’t let Robin hear you,” Eddie chuckles, popping a fry in his mouth before he relaxes back as well. His arm is still on the back of your chair. “You know, he did talk you up a lot before he introduced you to everyone.”

“Yeah?” you raise an eyebrow.

Eddie’s brows furrow as he nods viciously, “Oh, God, yeah. Had us all thinking he was just in denial about having a thing for you.”

“Well, that’s embarrassing.”

“Nah. Only good things. Besides, once Robin met you? It was game over,” if you had been watching Eddie more carefully, you would have seen that unrecognizable emotion crossing his face once more, glazing over his eyes rather than the alcohol he’d consumed, “They really do love you, y’know?”

You don’t know. Which is a shame. Because on your good days, you’d usually tell yourself that they do enjoy your company, that you do fit into the group. But doubt had an easy job of having its way with you when Eddie existed, when Eddie seemingly loathes you.

Your silence answers his rhetorical-turned-serious question, and he’s suddenly leaning forward to catch your gaze, “You do know that… right?”

Your shrug makes his arm fall off of your chair, not intentionally so. It had simply gotten closer to your shoulders with the time passing, and the movement makes it fall limply to his side.

“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta be kidding me,” Eddie groans in what you’re realizing is his usual, playful demeanor, “The entire group loves you so much, it’s irritating. Never shut up about you, inviting you to plans, all that shit.”

“You don’t,” your voice is a whisper.

It’s the first time that either of you had so much as knocked on the glass wall of civility. A gentle tap of your knuckles against an easily forgotten barrier, but a knock nonetheless.

“What?” Eddie squints, and he’s leaning in closer, and you suddenly feel suffocated again. His cologne is in your nose, his faded dimples are in your vision. You could count his eyelashes if you spared him a quick glance.

But you don’t. You can’t bear to look at him, because the entire moment is becoming far too vulnerable.

You clear your throat, “The entire group, except you, loves me. Which, I mean, I get. Not everyone is going to like me, and I’ve sort of been a bitch to you-”

“You haven’t-”

“-and honestly, I’ve really played into the fact that I annoy you so much this entire time. You hate me, I hate you-”

“I don’t-”

“-it’s fine.”

Despite Eddie’s attempted interruptions, you manage to finish your speech, chest heaving by the end of it. He’s stunned, mouth opening and closing multiple times before he finally seemingly collects his thoughts.

“Look, I know I’ve been an asshole, but I don’t really-” he starts, but you’re quick to cut him off. Unlike when he’d interjected and you’d ignored him, he lets you speak.

“Eddie, you said you’d celebrate my death,” you smile sheepishly at him, and you can feel that glass barrier shaking. Bringing up something awful, something terribly mean from mere hours ago isn’t a gentle knock on glass. It’s a slapping of a palm, a dare for cracks to start appearing.

His entire expression falls, “I… That was stupid of me to say.”

“It was,” you agree, because you’re not sure what else you could say, “It was, but I get it. The feeling’s mutual and all, right?”

Eddie is quiet. You almost miss his voice, even with all the other tones of strangers bouncing around you.

“Can I ask why you hate me, though?” you try to keep your tone as light as possible, to not let this moment get any worse. You try to keep your fists from pounding on the glass of civility, “We’ve never really talked about it before. I know you have your reasons – I’ve got mine.”

His jaw clenches. You can physically see his thought process. He’s probably got a million reasons, and right now, he’s just thumbing through them, trying to find the one that won’t break your agreement of being kinder to each other.

“You…” he starts, and the wheels are still turning in his head, eyes looking everywhere but you now, “I don’t know, you just seemed… s-selfish.”

You almost don’t see it – the first crack in the glass, the first sign of civility crumbling.

“Selfish?” you echo back, crestfallen, nearly wounded. You attempt to hide it, to not show him that his words affect you, because you’d asked for this. You’d asked the damn question, fueled by liquid confidence, and he was giving it to you.

“Yeah, just… Full of yourself?” his voice jumps up an octave at the end of his sentence, as if he’s unsure, as if he’s asking you if that’s the right answer. The crack spreads, and begins to distort your vision of him, “I knew you had been sort of popular in high school, and you carried yourself like those popular kids I knew. And… and…”

His eyes finally stop fleeting from yours. He meets your gaze, and you know you weren’t equipped with strong enough armor to hide the wounds he was inflicting. He could see the bruises as his hits landed, accidental or not.

“I just thought you were everything I’d always hated. So I hated you.”

The crack splinters, and hairline fractures split the image of Eddie into unrecognizable pieces. The boy you’d grown accustomed to thus far tonight, the boy you’d grown comfortable with, is gone in your eyes.

“So,” your voice is tight, and you know you won’t be able to keep up with eye contact, not when it all starts to sting so ardently, “You judged a book by its cover, and decided I’m a royal, spoiled bitch. Isn’t that exactly what everyone in high school did to you?”

“How did you-”

“Steve told me. He told me about your reputation, about being a freak, everything.”

The splintering has spread to his side of the glass, clearly, as you say the word freak.

“Is that why you hate me?” his tone hardens, gaze no longer sympathetic. Not that you see the change. “You decided I’m a freak, too?”

“I never said that-”

“No? Sorry, I thought we were just putting words into each other’s mouths.”

The bar is busy, and you wonder if the bystanders can hear the wall of civility finally shattering. You have no idea if any of the shards hit Eddie, but you can feel them dig into your chest, your arms, your stomach. Shards that remind you of what could have been.

Shards that remind you of what was lost because Eddie Munson had decided he hated you long before he met you.

“You’re the one who hated me before you even met me,” you scoff cruelly.

“I never fucking said that-”

“You did, though,” you counter, crossing your arms over your chest protectively, “You said so yourself. Steve mentioned I was sort of popular in high school, and you just- you just decided to shove me into a box of what I would be. Some girl you didn’t even know.”

“Well, pardon me,” he snaps, “I didn’t exactly have the best experience with the popular kids, but you should know that since Stevie told you everything, right? Hell, he probably mentioned it over pillowtalk for your one night together, right?”

You were an idiot. You had let yourself forget that Eddie is not normally kind, that Eddie is not normally so trustworthy as he’s been the last hour. You’d let your guard down, and now, the ramifications were staring you down right between the eyes.

“Fuck you,” you angrily spit, moving to stand up, “I told you that in fucking confidence, because I thought… I thought…”

“You thought..?” he presses as you turn to face him, shorter than him now that you weren’t both sitting in the stools, “What? That we were friends?”

Yes. Because for a moment, I thought we were becoming friends, like a fucking idiot.

His chest is heaving now. Just as yours had during your rant to him, your attempt to soothe over the fact that he hated you. You regret it. You regret ever agreeing on civility.

“My mistake,” you choke out, “It won’t happen again.”

You’ve caught him off guard. Maybe he had been prepared for you to deny it, maybe he had thought you’d laugh in his face at the idea of you considering him a friend.

But you hadn’t. You’d just confirmed to him that you did have that moment of weakness. You’d admitted that yes, for a vulnerable moment, you’d considered him a friend. A confidant over sweetened alcohol, cheap bar food, and trust.

He’d had your trust, and he’d now lost it.

You don’t wait around to see how he takes the revelation. You’re already storming out the front door of the bar, grateful you can still remember which direction his apartment is in. You don’t care if he’s following you – part of you hopes he isn’t.

Until part of you is. Because as you step out into the night, a few shadows against the brickwall are brought to life by your appearance.

“Hey there,” one of the men call out, “What’s a girl like you doing all alone?”

You don’t process that the man is talking to you at first, head down and anger flaming.

“Hey, you!” There’s a sudden hand on your shoulder, making you jolt your head up, “Yeah, you. What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here alone?”

His grin is sinister. Sickly sweet in faux honey, blonde hair swept back and breath reeking of rum.

“M-Me?” you stutter, trying to take a careful step back, to get his hand off your shoulder.

Your heart is no longer racing with fury. It’s pounding with fear.

“Does it look like there’s any other pretty girls out here?” he slurs with a chuckle, glancing around to his friends.

You look around as well, and realize with sinking trepidation that there’s no one else out here, “No. But, uh, I’m good. I.. I’m not… interest-”

“What’s your name, honey?” he leans in closer, and you can’t help but lean back. It makes his grip on you tighten. “I’m Jason. Are you all alone? Because, I’ll be honest, I’ve been striking out all night and would love to take a pretty thing like you home with me.”

“I’m g-good,” you start again, “Please, uh, please let go-” you're shaking your head, trying harder to pull off his hand.

“Oh, come on. It’d be fu-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. One second, he’s pressing too close to you, holding you tight enough to leave bruises as you’re cringing and suddenly squirming to get out of his grasp, and the next – he’s gone.

“Get the fuck off her.”

You’re still too shocked to move, glancing down at your shoulder that’s now red and sore. But you know that voice.

It’s the voice that had just told you he’d hated you before he ever met you.

“Hey, man!” The intruder, Jason, protests as he’s shoved harshly against the wall. “What the fuck?”

You finally look to see what’s happening properly. Eddie isn’t facing you, his broad back and shoulders appearing menacing in the shadows as Jason sinks further back against the wall.

“She’s not going home with you.”

His tone doesn’t waver, even as you catch the clench of his shaking fist.

Jason catches sight of you, still standing where he left you, and the nauseating smirk returns, “I think we should let her decide, shouldn’t we?”

You see Eddie move to raise his fist, and your body finally unfreezes. In an instant, you’re at his side, and your hand wraps around his bicep to prevent the punch he was surely pretending to send Jason’s way.

“Eddie,” you plead, tugging him backwards, anger momentarily forgotten. He doesn’t look at you, but he immediately takes the arm in your hold and wraps it around you in order to tuck you further behind his body, away from the wide, drunken stares of these men. You hate it, but it makes you feel safer, even as you grip the leather of his jacket’s sleeve tighter, “Eddie, please, let’s go.”

“So she’s spoken for?” Jason pushes his luck, still slurring his words.

Eddie’s fist clenches again. Without thinking, your hand not on his arm reaches down to grasp his fist.

Your heart's still pounding. You’re still trembling, shaken up terribly – he can feel it.

“Please,” you beg one last time.

This time, he listens. The fist unravels, and in an instant, he has your hand locked in his, palm against sweaty palm.

He’s not as rough as you expect him to be as he’s dragging you away from the scene. You can still hear the cat-calls, the taunts, of the drunken men, but it only spurs Eddie to walk faster. You struggle to keep up, his long legs carrying him more easily through the long strides, but you don’t protest, eager to get away from whatever the fuck just happens.

Neither of you say another word during the walk to his apartment. Your shoulder continues to ache, your hand stays tangled in his, and you can still feel the prick of civility’s shards in your chest, lodged dangerously close to your vines and closing buds of hopefulness.

Civility. What a broken construct.

–

BIRDIE: they are literally on a date right now.

JOHNNY: I’m not doing this right now.

DINGUS: god, i hate to admit it, but rob’s right. are they at a bar right now? am i seeing that right?

BIRDIE: yes!! i called it!! i fucking called it!!! god, only five hours in and they’re already on their first date.

ARGYLE 😎: love is in the air my dudes

JOHNNY: @ARGYLE 😎Don’t encourage them.

NANCE: It is NOT their first date. Eddie wouldn’t take her to a bar for their first date.

BIRDIE: hold on, how would you know what eddie would do for their first date?

NANCE: He’d probably take her somewhere nice, like whatever this town’s equivalent of Enzo’s.

DINGUS: when the fuck has eddie talked about where he’d take her for the first date?

BIRDIE: nancy what the fuck do you know?

JOHNNY: Lol

NANCE: Forget I said anything.

BIRDIE: nancy, please explain yourself immediately.

DINGUS: nance? when? the? fuck?

NANCE: He was drunk, he probably didn’t mean it.

BIRDIE: NANCY.

JOHNNY: Now you’ve done it.

DINGUS: NANCY.

ARGYLE 😎: does this mean what i think it means?

BIRDIE: NANCE.

JOHNNY: Just couldn’t keep your mouth shut, could you?

NANCE has left the groupchat.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fic #twenty four hours

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honeymark · 14 days

Text

𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒄𝒕 𝟏𝟐𝟕 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ㅡ

click 〔 here 〕 for the hyung line.

˗ˏˋ 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 :: hi miss soojin ! could u write smth ab 127 comforting their insecure gf ? thank u so much ! ´ˎ˗

⇢ 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 feels the most secure when you’re by his side, so he’s quick to notice when you start pulling away from him. at first, it was the texts — on the days you didn't see each other, you'd always text him throughout the day, even though you knew you wouldn't get a written response. it's not that he didn't read them; he was too busy with work to respond, so he'd always react with a thumbs up or a simple "haha." but then, your daily text threads stopped. he knew you had your own life, so he assumed you were too busy to send updates, but the nightly phone calls stopped, too. did he do something wrong? did you find someone else? what the fuck was going on?

he waits until the weekend to talk about it, and he listens attentively as you open up about wanting to be “less clingy and annoying.” he takes your hand in his with soft, cool fingers in a reassuring grip. “i didn’t know you felt this way, y/n,” he says softly. he presses a light kiss to your knuckles before delicately pulling you into a warm embrace. “you aren’t clingy or annoying, baby. you’re the cutest person in the world, and in a perfect world, i’d spend the rest of my life right by your side. nothing is as special as the time we spend together, and that includes reading your daily updates and watching all the tiktoks you send me and falling asleep to your soft snores on our nightly facetime calls. i love it all, and i love you, so don’t pull away from me, please?”

⇢ 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐖𝐎𝐎 isn’t one to ruminate on the past, mainly because he tends to overthink and overanalyze every little detail in a sticky situation. that being said, it would be a blatant lie to say that he hasn’t looked into your former relationships and partners. he’s matured enough over the years to keep his jealousy in check, but no matter how much time he spends with you, he just can’t seem to shake off a lingering insecurity that’s convinced him he isn’t fulfilling your needs…

which is why he’s all the more surprised when you bring up the same insecurities to him. he listens without judgement or interruption as you express how you’ve been feeling, his heart aching as you tearfully open up about not being enough for him. he waits for you to finish before enveloping you in a tight hug, and he thanks you for being vulnerable with him, reminding you that your feelings and concerns are valid. he gets carried away with listing all of the qualities he loves about you, and he doesn’t stop until you seal his lips yourself with a kiss. “there’s nothing to compare, my love. no one holds a candle to you. you’re the one for me, i mean it!”

⇢ 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 knew from the moment you met that there was no hope for him; he was going to fall head over heels in love with you. it’s been five years since then, and his affection for you has only increased tenfold. he truly admires everything about you, from your ability to understand and empathize with others, to your independence and strength, to your resilience and readiness to bounce back from any setback, to your creativity and ridiculous sense of humor. of course, he appreciates your beauty (something that he reminds you of very frequently, especially at night 🤠), but more than anything, he loves you for who you are and genuinely cherishes the depth of your connection.

so, unsurprisingly, he’s concerned by how suddenly adamant you are about not wanting to get dressed in front of him, something you’ve been doing for years now. at first, he doesn’t think much of it; you reserve the right to privacy, and he respects that, but it goes on for over a week. he’s sure something is bothering you, and his suspicions are confirmed by how you immediately burst into tears when he asks you about it. he holds you in a firm embrace as you describe how insecure you feel because of your stretch marks and acne scars. nothing hurts his heart more than to hear you disparage yourself, and he waits until you calm down to share his thoughts.

"it's okay to feel that way, babe. but i'm going to be honest...i think you're beautiful no matter what. who cares about stretch marks or acne scars? those are just nouns. they don't mean anything, and they definitely don't take away from how amazing of a human being you are. you’re beautiful, and i can’t get enough of you.”

⇢ 𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍 is the first man you’ve ever met who’s been able to intellectually and humorously keep up with you, and you haven’t given him a chance to escape from your grip ever since (not that he’s ever wanted to, of course). the two of you met in college, and after months of constantly riffing off each other, you made the first move and confessed your feelings in an uncharacteristically sincere way. it’s been a few years since then, and while it’s undeniable that you two have the most fun when you’re together, you start to wonder if he really loves you. it’s not that your relationship was necessarily lacking anything; you two were plenty intimate, both emotionally and physically, but…it still couldn’t hurt to ask, right?

it’s one of those “let’s order pizza and rot on the couch for hours” kinds of nights when you finally find the courage to ask him, “do you love me?” he hears you, but it’s clear he doesn’t take you seriously; he doesn’t even bother looking up from his phone as he answers with a sarcastic “of course not.” he waits for you to respond with some sort of witty comeback, but you don’t. he glances up and nearly drops his phone on his face when he sees you tearing up. he immediately asks if you’re okay, and he solemnly listens as you make light of your insecurities. he pulls you into a rough hug and kisses you, his lips soft and sweet against yours. “shit, baby, i’m sorry. i didn’t know you were feeling this way. of course i love you. y/n, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i’m sorry that i don’t say it enough. i love you, baby. i love you so much.”

#nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 imagines

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bwabys-scenarios · 12 days

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Tethered(NSFW)

Yandere!Kurapika x Fem!Reader

!!REBLOGS APPRECIATED!!

warnings: dubcon, Kurapika is delusional and obsessive, oral(f!receiving), breeding kink

A/N: My Yandere!Kurapika is super soft… sorry he’s not mean or crazy, he’s only a bit paranoid and obsessive

Yandere NSFW: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @aliceattheart @pannacottababy

‼️If you want to be added to the taglist, please check out the taglist information then comment what you want to be added to! Make sure you have your age in your bio and that your blog can be tagged/mentioned!‼️

Kurapika never enjoys chaining you up. Not only is it humiliating for you, but he hates seeing the fear and panic on your face when you can’t move.

But it was necessary today, unfortunately.

The day had started out normally. He held you in his lap, giving the top of your head soft kisses as he enjoyed his tea and a good book. You were very compliant, even leaning against his chest, into his touch.

He should have known something was up with you then. You were buttering him up, leading him into a false sense of security. Kurapika truly believed that things were getting better, that you had finally accepted your place by his side, and that maybe… you had even started to love him too.

But he had been wrong, and the truth was enough to break his heart.

Because of your good behavior as of late, he had decided to take you out on a date. You had been laying down hints that you were interested in the aquarium that had opened up in town, and it had been months since you’d last been outside of his property.

The small cabin and garden were nice, but you were getting beyond bored of it. Kurapika believed some time outside may lift your spirits, and even help the two of you bond.

He should have known better.

You were acting like the perfect little girlfriend, holding his hand, letting him explain to you the biology of some of the undersea creatures you passed by in the aquarium, and even sweetly sharing an ice cream cone with him.

It was near the end of the tour when you started looking around, squeezing your legs together.

“Are you alright?” Kurapika asked, his brows knit together in concern.

“A-ah, I’m okay… I just need to use the bathroom…”

Usually, that would have made him suspicious, but you had drank two bottles of water during the walk. He could understand that your bladder just be full, and he was calmed when he noticed you seemed embarrassed to ask him for help. You really did need to use the bathroom.

“Alright, I think I saw one near the exit.”

Kurapika guided you to the bathroom, squeezing your hand and leaning into whisper into your ear. “My angel, you have 5 minutes to get your business done with. Am I clear?”

You nodded quickly, shifting your weight. “Y-yes! Can I go now?”

He sighed, letting your hand go. Even when he was sure there was no way for you to escape, letting you go in public made him irritable. “Hurry.”

He watched you go, smiling slightly when you squeaked and avoided eye contact with any male that came within 5 feet of you. Kurapika wasn’t the type to kill anyone that came near you, but someone touching or talking to you was a different story. You were keeping others from getting hurt, something he found sweet.

If only you knew the amount of people he had killed on your behalf. Maybe you would be so complacent when he curled up with you at night.

Kurapika leaned against the wall, glancing down at the time on his phone. It had been 5 minutes already, and you had yet to walk out. Since it wasn’t busy and people often mistook him for a woman, Kurapika decided to walk in and get you himself, or at least check on you. He didn’t want to embarrass you if you had a stomach ache, so he used In to cloak his presence.

He just didn’t expect to see your plump ass wiggling and squirming as you tried to escape out of a small window.

Kurapika was less angry, more heartbroken and disappointed. He had assumed the two of you were finally getting to the point where he could trust you a little… just for you to try and escape.

“Seems you can’t be trusted, (Name).”

He watched as you flinched from the sound of his voice. It didn’t feel good to know you were afraid of him. “I hope you know this means you won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. You’ll be staying home until further notice.”

Kurapika was well aware that you knew running from him when you were in his line of sight would result in him swiftly catching you, so he waited for a moment for you to pull yourself out of the window and walk back. If you were good and stayed quiet while he drove you home, he might even forget this silly little attempt. It was unsuccessful after all… no harm, right?

But you stayed there, and he could see your thighs starting to tremble slightly from having you stand on your tippy toes to reach the window. Your entire upper half was outside…

“I’m… stuck…”

Kurapika blinked, glancing from you to the bathroom door. “You’re… stuck? Really? You didn’t think this through at all.”

“J-just help me!” you yelped, though you immediately backtracked when you felt his aura frow cold. “P-please, Pika.”

The use of the nickname you had given him before he had kidnapped you, when the two of you had been dating and in love made him calm down immediately. You didn’t use it often now, only when you really needed something or when you were in trouble. Even though he knew it was just to soften him up, he gave in every time.

He just wanted you to call him that again, for you to love him again.

“Alright…”

Kurapika walked forward, eyeing your wiggling hips with his scarlet orbs. He may not be furious, but he still felt anger and betrayal at your attempts to get away from him.

Did he not give you a carefree life, where you wanted for nothing and was pampered like a princess? Hell, the blonde had recreated your room from home to make sure you were as comfortable as possible when he kidnapped took you away.

His hand grabbed hold of your hips, squeezing the fatty flesh. It reminded him of the times before he took you, when he would hold onto you right as he fucked into your soaking cunt, whispering words of love and worship. You were his everything, and he did all of these things to keep you safe…

Couldn’t you see that? Couldn’t you understand that behind all of his actions that may seem cruel and unfair, that he did it all for you? Kurapika had thrown away his moral code, sacrificed sleep and time all for you.

Maybe he just had to remind you how good it felt to be with him.

He started off with a soft caress to the small of your back, slowly moving his hand to cup your ass. You let out a yelp, your wiggling increasing. “K-Kurapika, what are you-“

He squeezed harder, his thumb rubbing against your clothes cunt. “Quiet. You just need a little reminder, my angel. You won’t want to leave again after this…”

Kurapika bent down, lifting your skirt to get to your panties. He couldn’t help the pride that swelled up in his chest when he saw the wet spot already forming. Just his touch could get you like this…

“Oh, my little angel… is this why you’ve been so restless? Been missing me?” he muttered to himself, giving a soft kiss to your clothed pussy. “I’m sorry… I wanted to give you space to get used to your new home, I should have been taking care of you better.”

You could only whine, feeling his hands easily pry open your thighs. Your panties were ripped off, tossed to the side so he could get to your pretty, dripping cunt.

“How I’ve missed you…” he said softly, giving your pussy a soft kiss. “I love you so much… let me take care of you, like I used to…”

You were barely able to hold back your moans as his tongue lapped at your folds softly, finding your clit within seconds. He couldn’t help smirking when you pressed your pussy against tongue. You wanted more, you were just too shy to say it… right?

He sucked softly on your clit, his fingers teasing your hole as you panted. “P-please…” you whispered, your legs shaking. Your face was hot and you were starting to sweat, the outside air muggy from the small rainstorm earlier that day. “Need it…”

And he complied, fucking you on his fingers. His other hand kept a hold of your hip as his tongue lapped softly at your clit. “Whatever you want, my angel. Anything you ask for is yours…”

Kurapika kept at it until you cried out his name, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “G-gonna-!”

You came, making a mess on his hand. He didn’t mind at all though, feeling a sense of satisfaction as he licked away the mess. “There we go… you must feel better now, right?”

You nodded, but he couldn’t see that so you answered softly, still recovering. “Y-yeah…”

It did feel good… but you still didn’t want to be trapped with him. You had loved Kurapika once, and maybe you still cared for him to some extent, but being kidnapped and forced into isolation where he was your only company would drive anyone insane…

“I wanna… go home…” you murmured, feeling him pull your panties back over your ass. He seemed to enjoy taking care of you like this. Dressing you, brushing your teeth, doing your hair… even though you could do it all yourself, he insisted on helping you.

Maybe he wanted to feel useful so you would willing stay with him. A willing lover was much better than a captive one.

As he tugged your skirt into place, he grabbed your hips and easily pulled you out of the window. You sighed in relief, though that didn’t last long.

You felt the familiar cold sensations of chains wrapping around you, keeping your arms pressed against your side and unusable. You had been hoping he wouldn’t punish you since he had been so sweet.. but it seemed your actions were still enough to at least slightly anger him.

“Since you can’t be trusted, you’re going to stay like this the whole way home. And when we’re back…”

He formed a chain on her wrist that linked to his. “You’ll be tethered to me at all times, until you can learn to behave.”

He seemed weirdly excited about this, his face nuzzling softly against your neck as he walked you to his car.

You were starting to realize this was less of a punishment for you, and more of a treat for him.

Well… at least he seemed happy and wasn’t staring at you coldly before leaving you alone for months. That was the usual punishment. Isolation from even him. When Kurapika was the only human you received human contact and interaction from, it was torture being ignored.

So you counted yourself lucky, only pouting a little at his clingy nature.

‘Surely she understands my love and devotion to her her now.’

He deluded himself into thinking everything was okay… you were by his side, letting him hold you close as the two of you were linked together by the short chain.

In reality, you didn’t want to move away from him and get him in a sour mood after your behavior earlier. So you stayed still and quiet, your face slightly warm as he muttered those same words of adoration that you’d hear every time the two of you made love.

Your heart was beating fast, even though you didn’t want to feel these fuzzy feelings. You still loved him, forever tethered to him whether you liked it or not.

Escape was looking less and less likely… so instead of thinking about it too much, you tried your best to relax, feeling him harden against you.

Would it be so bad to have sex with the man that stole you away from the life you had before? He had been your boyfriend, and god you were too horny to even think as he tugged your panties to the side.

“You want this?” Kurapika asked, his cock rubbing against your needy pussy.

“Y-yes, please Pika!”

And he couldn’t deny you… not when you were begging for him.

His thrusts were messy, full of need and desperation for you. Kurapika had missed this, missed being inside of your warm, tight cunt. It had been months since he had last buried himself inside of you, days before your relationship was changed forever due to him stealing you away.

It felt so good, the both of you feeling all the tension fading away as you were able to focus on nothing but the feeling of your bodies joining together.

“P-Pika!”

His heart pounded in his chest when he heard you call for him. There was no underlying motive, you just wanted him, wanted him to hold you and make you feel good like he did before. You still loved him so much, it hurt. It hurt your very sole to be so reliant on someone that stole your freedom.

“I’m here… shh…”

He quieted you with a kiss, his tongue dancing with yours as you came. Kurapika couldn’t help the way his cock twitched inside of you as he thought about the possibility this creampie could get your pregnant.

One of the things he wanted in life was a family, to continue the Kurta clan bloodline. And you, panting softly after coming down from your high, were the only one he wanted to make a mother.

“Let’s get you cleaned up…”

Kurapika carried you to the bathroom, undressing you. Before, he may have been flustered at the sight of your naked body, but he had been dating you for nearly three years… if you counted the 6 months you’d been held captive with him.

Your body still made him blush, but it was familiar, warm. Safe.

After a quick bath, the two of you curled up in bed together. You didn’t have much of a choice considering the chain keeping the two of you tethered, but even if you weren’t tied to each other, you still would have wanted his comfort after sex.

“Did so well…” he whispered, kissing your forehead. No matter what you did, Kurapika was always so gentle with you.

You could kick, yell, bite, insult him, and scream at the top of your lungs, but he would only restrain you and hold you close. His touch was never rough or meant to hurt you…

“Tired, Pika…”

He hummed softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. “Sleep. I’ll be here, like always.”

It was meant to reassure you, but the thought of never being able to escape him still made you uneasy. Even if you did love him, even if he made you feel good and fuzzy inside… your freedom would still always be out of your reach.

Regardless, it had been a long day, and sleep took you without any consideration for your feelings.

As you dozed off, Kurapika just watched you. He was hopeful that soon enough, he would no longer have to keep you chained for him.

All he wanted was for you to stay with him, to be happy by his side…

And as you slept, curled up in his arms, he smiled softly.

You would always be with him, safe in his arms and away from the nasty outside world full of hate and misery.

He would keep you happy, make sure you were never hurt in any way. His mind couldn’t rest when you weren’t by his side… he needed you just as much as he needed to keep you safe.

Kurapika’s eyes grew heavy, and he knew that soon, he would join you in sleep. He could rest easy, knowing that his darling was right here with him, content and asleep.

“I love you, my precious angel. I hope you know that…”

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 1 month

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[prev]

Nowadays, Pure Vanilla has gotten used to his sleep fluctuating wildly between turbulent dreams and sleep like the void itself has swallowed him whole. It seems like a game of chance whenever he rests his head down, and neither option leaves him any less tired the next morning.

Today, his dreams are absurd, swirling and spilling into each other, and vividly upsetting in a way he can't identify. He shut his eyes tight, but that doesn't block out the rest of his senses. He can hear begging, crying, shouting, and the scent of something burning and wilted lilies clashes in the air, creating a suffocating smell that winds around him slow. It is awful, but it is slightly less so, now that he knows how to recognise when he is in a dream. More importantly, he has a question, and he is more than aware of Shadow Milk's lingering presence.

"You founded the study of Dark Moon Magic, didn't you?"

It is a soft question, but one that is sure of itself. Instantly, the sounds and smells and sensations that had been plaguing Pure Vanilla disappear. Pure Vanilla keeps both his eyes closed for the time being, just in case. Tonight, his staff is absent like a missing leg, and he misses the added security of being able to look through it.

"Oh, come on! Don't interrupt the scene, we were just getting to the good part!" Shadow Milk's voice responds with frustration, the sound coming from all sides. It is precisely because it comes from all sides that Pure Vanilla keeps his eyes closed, not quite trusting that the shards of his nightmares have been fully swept away. He doesn't want to find out what Shadow Milk could possibly consider to be 'the good part' amidst the sounds of suffering and anguish.

Instead, Pure Vanilla sighs. "It was your choice to stop everything when I asked that, wasn't it? You can't blame me for that."

"Bzzt! Wrong! I can blame you because you did interrupt. It doesn't matter what I did in response, a disruption is a disruption." Shadow Milk declares loudly, voice a little rougher, as if he was daring Pure Vanilla to argue back. But his voice is now only coming from one source, right in front of him, so Pure Vanilla cautiously opens his eyes to check the surroundings.

He finds himself in the library of Blueberry Yogurt Academy, and nostalgia eagerly rears its head within him, somewhat surprised. He's stood beside a littered table, surrounded by the deep blue bookshelves of his youth and the comforting smell of aged paper. The details blur a little past that, some of the shelves lighter, more like the bookshelves in his chambers in the Vanilla Kingdom, leaving it less like a perfect replica and more like a collage made out of bits and pieces of his lifetimes' worth of memories, but it is mostly the Blueberry Yogurt library.

Shadow Milk is across the table from him, tutting when Pure Vanilla takes too long to reply. He leans his elbows on the table, propping his chin on the bridge of his linked fingers. "Sneaky, silly-Vanilly, trying to use me to get out of your funny little nightmares. Very, very sneaky."

"It worked, didn't it?" Pure Vanilla says, a bit stiffly, because that had never been his main intention, mostly because Shadow Milk isn't nice enough for him to think it would work. No, his main intention is genuine curiosity, and that is exactly why he continues to prod. "...You didn't answer my question."

"Because it's a stupid one." Shadow Milk hums back, tilting his head to the side. He tilts it far enough that his cheek is now resting against his hands instead of his chin. "You should be able to figure that out yourself. Didn't I already tell you where my home is?"

Pure Vanilla doesn't answer for a moment, laying a tentative hand on the edge of the table as he tries to squint at the papers across its surface in the dim lamplight. It takes him a second to realise that they're all forbidden texts on Dark Moon Magic, and when he does, he murmurs back. "It's better to clarify than assume, isn't it?"

This time, Shadow Milk is the one who doesn't answer for a moment, instead staring at him with those piercing eyes. Pure Vanilla can feel more around him, behind him, lurking in the shadows pooling in the nooks and crevices and he can't help it – he shivers slightly.

That reaction must be enough for Shadow Milk, because he snorts, and pushes off the table to lean back, kicking his feet up onto the table and right on top of texts, which is already enough to make Pure Vanilla wince. Poor library etiquette aside, the movement is horribly uncanny to watch, partly because he is leaning back onto thin air instead of a chair, partly because he moves so quickly it's like his limbs snap into place, and partly because his smile is stretched far too thin as he does so.

"Of course I did. I'm very talented, you know." Shadow Milk announces smugly, his eyes never leaving him. They narrow slightly, all of them in suspicious synchronisation, and he raises his eyebrows expectantly. "But I must admit, I am crumbling to know why you brought it up."

Whys are always difficult to answer, especially for something as difficult as motives, which can morph and change over time. Pure Vanilla hates lying, but he hates lying in front of Shadow Milk even more, because he seems to recognise every single one and Pure Vanilla doesn't want to give him the satisfaction.

But he really can't admit the core of the matter to his face. He can't admit that ever since he glimpsed the ghost of Shadow Milk's past, he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it. He can't admit that he is actively trying to glimpse it again, and what better way to try and draw it out than with any scholar's pride and joy – their work?

"It's impressive. I, myself, have mastered White Magic over the years, and I certainly contributed to its development, but I cannot claim that I created it as a school of magic." Pure Vanilla explains instead, and it isn't a lie either, just lacking all the details. He fidgets a bit, tugging at his own sleeves, adding quieter. "Dark Moon Magic is forbidden too, so there aren't many detailed sources left on it. I want to know more about its founding."

I want to know more about you.

There is another lapse of silence, and Pure Vanilla is tense with tentative hope. After all, if Shadow Milk was really against the topic altogether, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of plucking him out of his nightmares.

Shadow Milk's smile is sharp like a knife, clashing with the casual way he folds his arms behind his head, almost languid as he finally muses. "Oh, really? That doesn't sound right. I'm sure there's enough details lying around to get the gist of it. After all, you've used Dark Moon Magic before, so you must know something about it already."

Pure Vanilla flinches back, and it isn't a surprise that he knows about that too, not anymore, but it still leaves him with unstable footing. Regardless, he doesn't let that scare him off the topic, which he suspects is exactly why Shadow Milk said it. "...I've only really used it once, and I don't remember much about what happened. So I may know something, but that something is rather little."

It's a confession, and the truth. His brief tangle with Dark Moon Magic is a complete blur in his own mind, watered down to blinding sensations and a heartache so intense he had felt like he was crumbling. Theoretically, he knows enough about Dark Moon Magic to hold a conversation, but he remembers nothing about it in practise.

"You know who could help you with that?" Shadow Milk asks, seemingly unbothered, but the words curl with open mockery and a smirk. He tilts his head back slightly so he can look down on Pure Vanilla and throws his arms out dramatically. "Our beloved, newly coronated Guardian! She has plenty of experience with–"

Pure Vanilla's heart lurches painfully.

"Don't talk about her!" He interrupts, voice bursting out louder than he expected and panic fluttery in his chest. He doesn't want to hear him tear at her old wounds, even if she can't hear it herself. He knows how vulnerable that cry makes him seem though, and he fumbles to lower his voice to something softer, less shaky. "Don't– please, I'm asking you for a reason."

Shadow Milk giggles, a strange grating sound that climbs higher with each breath, until he is laughing in earnest. He curls into himself, arms wrapped around his middle, and the position looks painful with his feet still planted on the table. Pure Vanilla watches him warily, a little shaken by the mention of White Lily, and wonders if maybe, he was wrong about what he thought he saw in Shadow Milk. He has been seeing more things that aren't there, recently.

His laughter stops abruptly. The stillness that follows is jarring, but doesn't last long.

Slowly – so slowly that it is unnerving, for someone who typically moves as erratically as him – Shadow Milk reaches forward with one hand and plucks a scroll up from the table. He unrolls it with a lazy flick of his wrist, the other end tumbling away over the edge of the table and across the floor. It is a smooth movement, Pure Vanilla notes through the pounding of his heart and his scrambled nerves, a practised motion that speaks of thousands of opened scrolls.

Shadow Milk peers over at the contents of the scroll with an empty, disinterested expression, his legs melting through the table until he appears to be sitting somewhat politely again. The sudden switch to this from his near hysterical laughter leaves Pure Vanilla disturbed, unsure if this is progress or not.

"I wanted to strike a balance between Black and White Magic." Shadow Milk says, his voice a disconcertingly low murmur, almost monotone. While his main eyes remain steadily on the scroll, the rest are eagerly burrowing into Pure Vanilla from all sides. "Black Magic draws from the void, making it unpredictable and destructive by nature, but full of potential. White Magic draws from the moon, primarily, and other celestial sources, making it safer and easier to use, but limited in its purity. If I could find the middle ground, I could harness magic with more flexibility and power but less unpredictability."

Shadow Milk pauses then, his eyes sliding up to stare right at Pure Vanilla, and his lips quirk upwards. When he speaks again, his voice gains a little more character but remains mainly flat, like a poorly-delivered theatrical monologue. "The dark side of the moon was the obvious choice for a source of that kind of power, because it's the natural overlap between the moon and the void. Once you figure out a source for magic, it's simple to find a way to draw from it, and to make it simpler, I had access to the knowledge of the Witches at my fingertips. All I had to do was write everything down, and the school of Dark Moon Magic was born. Easy-peasy!"

Shadow Milk throws the scroll to the side with little fanfare, not even sparing a glance at those ancient texts as they land in a heap of old paper on the floor, uncaring of if they damage or rip. And why would he? They both know this is a dream, and even if it wasn't, he had written that scroll himself.

Pure Vanilla would have cared, dream or not, if he wasn't wholly distracted, reduced to only a wide-eyed blink.

Because Shadow Milk may feign a bored face and voice, as if reading off a report or a particularly uninspiring script, but when their gazes meet, his eyes glitter like shooting stars, sparking with pride and passion and something else.

It captivates Pure Vanilla, the very same shine that comes with a breakthrough for every researcher. It is exactly what he had been hoping to see again, but the sight still leaves him feeling unmoored, even if pleasantly. Intruige and hope swirl within him, and he suddenly finds himself desperate to hold onto this ghost of the past, to make it stay longer and help it spill into the present.

"What does it feel like?" The question comes out before Pure Vanilla can think it through, focused on continuing the conversation before Shadow Milk can pick up his showmanship again in full. "Dark Moon Magic, I mean."

Shadow Milk huffs, a playful grin settling on his face again, and a sickening mix of dread and disappointment trickles through Pure Vanilla as he watches him lean over, crushing more texts beneath his palms. For a scary moment, he expects him to make another quip towards his previous use of the magic, or worse, bring up White Lily again.

He doesn't. Shadow Milk kicks his legs up behind him, so that he is laying on his stomach in mid-air, and cheerfully asks, "How about I show you?"

He doesn't wait for Pure Vanilla to process what he said, let alone reply. He reaches out and ensnares Pure Vanilla's hand, the one normally occupied with his staff, and laces their fingers together. Pure Vanilla doesn't reciprocate the hold, surprised, but only tries a small unsuccessful tug in response.

Shadow Milk's grip is an oppressive pressure, tight but not quite painful. He presses their palms together firmly, and Pure Vanilla gasps.

Magic bursts through the contact, rushing through his jam in a dizzying, warm flood. It is thicker, heavier than the magic Pure Vanilla is used to, thrumming and twisting as if it has a mind of its own, almost scratching at his dough as if trying to consume him, and he can't even concentrate on it because– because–

He can see everything.

Pure Vanilla really, truly can. He can see Shadow Milk's curling smile in front of him, he can see the Faeries having a feast, he can see Black Raisin greeting the moon from one of the Vanilla Castle's towers, he can see Dark Cacao striding through the citadel, he can see White Lily going through her morning routine, he can see his own sleeping body, and places and Cookies he doesn't have the presence of mind to recognise, all simultaneously. He doesn't know what to focus on, doesn't even know how to focus on anything, and his head hurts like it is falling apart.

This is how Shadow Milk has been watching me, he thinks deliriously, the only thought he can manage as he drowns in his sights.

And then, in a snap, he is back in the library with only one scene to see. His vision swims a little at the edges as if it didn't get the message, and he wobbles in place.

Shadow Milk is still holding his hand, but the grip is slightly looser, and the stream of his Dark Moon Magic is gone like a whisper. His grin is sinister and too big for his face, but his eyes still burn like stars.

"Fun, isn't it?" Shadow Milk coos, giddy like it is a shared secret, lifting Pure Vanilla's trembling hand and brushing a kiss to the back that buzzes with Dark Moon Magic. "My very first masterpiece."

Pure Vanilla wakes up disoriented, with a ringing headache and an itch in the back of his hand. White Lily notices his poor state almost immediately when she sees him – wonderful as she is – and she asks if he had a nightmare with that gentle, concerned slope to her brows.

Pure Vanilla adjusts his grip on his staff, leaning against it more than usual.

"No." He assures her lightly, not quite the truth and not quite a lie.

[next]

#oops this was longer than i expected #i mainly just wanted an excuse to wax lyrical about possible interpretations of their magic systems <3 #sm is having the time of his life btw. pv? not so much #writing this is like a tightrope act between pv's idealistic hopes and sm-related psychological disturbance #pure vanilla cookie #shadow milk cookie #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #pureshadow #echo paradox au #the biscuit library

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ceruleancattail · 3 months

Text

I have thoughts about Agent reader and Ground Control Idia.

It’s an odd thing to say, but you know every little quirk in his voice. It’s hard not to, when he’s in your ear whenever you’re deployed. The way he clicks his tongue whenever you go the wrong way, the monotone drone as he gives you the orders from the big guy himself, even the laughter he tries to stifle whenever you complete a mission successfully… you know it all.

You could be in a room blindfolded, but if you heard one breath from Idia, you’ll still be able to find your way back to him.

He banters with you, sometimes. Little sarcastic quips into your ear whenever you veer off the perfectly charred plan he made for you, or some snide remarks on the place’s security.

More then once, he made you chuckle when you’re on site. Snide remarks about your target’s… less-then-presentable attire, and some very unflattering jokes made on their expense.

It’s horrible, trying to keep a straight face once Idia gets going.

However, it does help you relax. You could feel the tension leave your shoulders, your stance drop from battle-ready to something more normal.

As much as he jabs at you verbally, Idia does care. You can feel it, even with just his voice. The slight panicked edge it takes when the enemies are closing in. Oh, Idia has a plan, no doubt. Also, you’re more then capable of escape.

But he hates seeing you through the screen, placed in a situation where he can do nothing but talk. It feels very pointless sometimes, being so near to someone you care about, and yet feeling so far.

If you ever get hurt on any mission, be prepared for a blur of blue to rush at you once you’re back. As much as Idia would love to handle your injuries personally, you’re in safe hands with Ortho. He’s the state of the art in the medical field. Idia trusts Ortho’s careful hands.

Of course, that being said, Idia doesn’t leave your side. Not until you’re all patched up. Somewhere, somehow, you’ll find his hand slipped into yours. Fingers intertwined.

Trembling, even.

He does care. Quite a bit.

Of course, you’ll get quite the scolding after you’re up and about. Some chiding about how you love to go off script. Look, as much as Idia hates to nag, he hate seeing you hurt even more. So just… try to take care of yourself.

Value yourself, even just a bit more, ok?

Ever since you’ve partnered up with him, you learnt how to joke along with him, to send him little jabs of your own. You’ve learnt his little quirks, his old habits, and you’ve adapted to them. It’s odd talking through an screen sometimes, but as long as it makes Idia feel a little bit more comfortable around you.

Truth to be told? You have fun, talking to him. Even if it isn’t mission-related. You’ll like to think he does to. Idia does whisper into your ears, even when you’re supposedly “off-duty”. It’s a little more softer, then.

Awkward questions about how has your day been, the weather’s rather chilly today, hm? You can’t help but chuckle then. It’s cute how he tries to bait you into making idle conversation, but what the hell?

You’ll bite. It’s a refreshing change from the high-paced, tense missions you two seem to always be in. You tell yourself that you’ll indulge him, give the poor guy some company.

Who were you kidding?

You’re the one constantly coming back to him.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Idia shroud #Idia shroud x reader #Idia x reader #Idia #Agent reader #Ground Control Idia x Agent reader #lucky charm🔷

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xrenjunniesx · 3 months

Note

thank u for all ur hardwork, ur writing is great!! can u write where u get hurt in a fight and the dreamies are the ones taking care of u after please?

they take care of you after you got into a fight

bf!nct dream

a/n ; I feel like for some of them I went more into detail of how you tell them you got into a fight… but there is still the caring aspect! went off track but never the less i hope this is somewhat what you wanted <3

mark

you had promised mark you would meet him at the cafe, so despite everything, you did. you approached him with a bandaged hand and walking at a rather slow pace. he was confused by this, since you were perfectly fine last night when he saw you. he decided to meet you half way, bringing you to a stop in the middle of the cafe.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

“kinda… got hurt.” you say, figuring maybe it wasn’t a good idea to tell him that you got into a fight.

his eyebrows knitted together but he accepted that maybe you just fell or something.

but as you two sit in the corner of the cafe slowly sipping your drinks that mark had ordered prior to you arriving, you end up bringing up what happened.

“you know that… one boy who kept bothering me?” “yeah?” “yeah… I punched him.” “oka- wait what?!” man is shocked and all of the above.

“we got into a huge fight and I had to get pulled away because I was beating his ass up.” you smiled but mark just stared at you.

“are you okay?”

“yeah I think so, just a couple bad bruises and sore knuckles but I think that’s it. I’m okay.”

“dude… you should’ve called me. I know you can handle it by yourself and you did but when you got pulled away I would’ve jumped in and continued!”

you both leave the cafe after finishing your drinks and he takes you back to his place and makes you sit on the couch with an ice pack on your knuckles as he inspects every injury you gathered, cleaning any injuries that could be dirty / open wounds like cuts.

renjun

he was against physically fighting, but this time, he wasn’t. this one girl had been awful to you practically all year long. she shoved you around and spoke horribly about you.

so when you facetimed him out of nowhere, with a bloody lip and a bright smile, he knew what happened.

“did you get her ass?”

“I GOT HER SOOO GOOD! but I have a few cuts from falling over, can we meet up?”

he was instantly on his way, stopping by a store to get some bandaids.

once he was in your apartment he was looking around all over for you until he got to the bathroom where he saw you sitting on the counter, swinging your legs as you looked at him. he laughed and placed the bandaids down, grabbing a fresh cloth to clean your wounds for you.

you go into detail about the whole story, explaining how she started it and for once you didn’t back down. even though renjun told you not to get into fights, he was rather proud of you for this one.

jeno

this man had been bothering you all evening as you and jeno were just trying to enjoy an evening with friends at the bar. the man touched your arm so you threw your elbow back into his stomach. jeno was shocked at fast this turned into a physical fight. he grabbed your waist and pulled you away from the angry man once he saw security coming.

“you should’ve let me-“ “I don’t want you going to jail, let’s go!” you both leave the bar and sit on the sidewalk. you examine your hands as they hurt pretty bad. jeno took your hands into his and looked at them, seeing that they were definitely going to start slowly bruising up and were currently really red.

he pressed kisses onto your knuckles and held your hand gently in his as he kept walking, planning to take you back home to put an ice pack on your knuckles.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I never knew you could fight like that baby.”

“yeah, so don’t make me mad jeno.”

he laughed at you, leaning into to kiss your head, “you would never.”

haechan

he was the one filming actually. the fight was one of those fights where it was just building up over the course of a few days until it finally burst and someone throws a punch.

at first you were shocked, but instantly you started fighting back. haechan whips out his camera, wanting to film this so you can see it later.

though once the fight ended and you were back at home haechan completely switched on you and he picked you up and sit you down on the counter. “don’t get into unnecessary fights.” “haechan you literally were filming it.” “yes I was but still don’t get into fights like that, because now look! my baby is hurt.”

he takes a while to help you clean your wounds and bandage them because he keeps giving you kisses and ‘scolding’ you.

“I’m proud baby, you fight really well.” he says making you laugh at how quick his opinion is changing.

jaemin

as you walked into the room, hiding your hands in your pockets and with your face down, he was immediately eyeing you. “what’s wrong?” he asks as he sits up straight and spins in his chair to face you completely. you’re at the closet, grabbing some clothes to change into.

“nothing, I’m going to shower.”

he gets up from his chair and approaches you, standing in front you. you didn’t look at him, still trying to avoid him seeing your face which had a bruise and a cut from the girls ring.

he placed his fingers on your chin and lifted it up, and at this point you figured you might as well just let him see it.

he gasped aloud, his eyes widening as he quickly grabbed your hand and took you to the bathroom.

“ow.. my hand jaemin.” he left go as soon as you said that and looked at your hand.

“oh my god…” he muttered under his breath as he looked at the red bruising knuckles. “what happened?”

“I got into a fight… she’s looking worse than me right now!”

“not something to be happy about.” he said, looking at you with a stern glare. you sat on the edge of the bathtub as he cleaned your wounds for you and out bandaids on them.

he holds your face in between his hands and presses a kiss to your forehead. “don’t get into fights, love.”

“I’ll try not too… but trust me she deserved it.” he could only roll his eyes with a scoff at that.

chenle

you walked into his apartment, dressed completely different to how you left his apartment earlier that morning.

“you changed? why?”

“oh… my pants got dirty so I went home before coming here.”

you catch his eyes briefly as you walk past and instantly knew he would pick up that something was wrong very quickly.

you came back over to his to watch a movie together since you had planned this last night and had no legit reason to cancel, you couldn’t just not show up.

you also didn’t want to tell him you got into a physical fight with someone and how your stomach hurt really bad and your knees still hurt from when you had fallen over.

“what’s wrong?” he asks about the minutes into the movie.

“what?”

“you’re holding your stomach.. did you eat something bad?”

“oh- uh yeah.”

he glares his eyes at you, not believing a word coming from your mouth.

“don’t lie what happened?”

he is sitting next to you on the couch, the movie long forgotten as you eventually confess about the physical fight.

chenle insists on seeing all your wounds, he insists that he checks your whole body and helps apply any needed treatment onto them for you. he gives you panadol and pulls you into his arms when you’re back seated onto the couch. his hands playing with your hair, “just tell me next time, I’ll go help you immediately.”

jisung

you walked into his apartment fuming with anger. “park jisung you won’t BELIEVE!!! what happened!”

he is up on his feet rushing to where you were standing. he eyes you up and down, red and beaten up hand, knees dirty and bleeding from cuts grazes and tear stained cheeks from obvious crying.

“oh my god come with me.”

he is scared to touch you in any way incase you’re injured there, so he just gestures you to the bathroom as you stomp your way over. you sit on the edge of the bathtub as he pulls out his little kit of bandaids. he grabs a clean cloth and drenches it in water as he listens to your crazed rants.

“she said that to me! right to my face! I’m surprised I didn’t punch her right then and there honestly.”  he is nodding and humming in agreement with your words as you gradually lose the anger and get more upset over the situation.

he finishes helping you clean up and puts bandaids on you where needed and looks up at your face. you’re just silently watching him, tears in your eyes.

he pulls you into a hug, still being extremely careful with your body since you haven’t told him where you got hurt except for the obvious visible injuries. he might cry a little with you if you break down crying. just seeing you upset upsets him! especially if you’re hurt.

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gatitties · 1 year

Note

Yandere!Bonten x black widow assassin!reader?

Just something that popped into my head, just imagine them in a club. One of them being a target of assassination but your target is the one who tryin to kill them. One second they are surrounded by gurls doing whatever. The next a ceiling from the floor above caves in and you have your target in a hopeless position. You leave with the target apologizing for the mishap!

─Yandere!Bonten x assassin!reader

─Summary: you were just doing your job, you don't need any more trouble chasing you in life

─Warnings: use of weapons, unwarranted obsession, toxic behaviors, yandere stuff

I apologize because I don't know how to describe fight scenes 😩🤚

Part Two / Part Three

You adjusted the belt around your waist, checking the chambers of your ebony and ivory pistols, full ammunition, checking that you had your concealed knives in place, along with the small spray cans and gas mask, you didn't used to have to use these last ones things, but you never know when you need a little help.

You take out your cell phone checking the message from the anonymous person who had hired you this time, one last look at the information you needed to know, you just had to make sure that another assassin did not kill your client's shareholders, although it did not expressly say that you should kill her, but if it was necessary to secure the lives of these men, was something you were going to do. Not for nothing were you quite well known in the underground world where contracts were agreed upon, you did your job quietly, leaving no clues and quite quickly, you offered good service and that's how you earned your living after your parents kicked you out of the house for being a nonsense in your studies, at least, you found a way to earn a living, more or less moral depending on who looks at it.

Usually you would take a more defensive position with a long-range sniper, but today you needed to blend in with the girls in a brothel, so you had to bring out another part of your arsenal, fancy clothes and accessories to your liking to look like someone rich.

It was not difficult to infiltrate as one of the workers, since they did not have a uniform as such, you located the round table of the men you had to protect, observing from afar how they interacted with the different girls who approached like bees to honey, wishing try something from them. You stood next to a guy at another table, following his dirty talk in a careless way while your attention was focused on another girl, you saw how her dress became baggier in certain areas of her body, areas that you recognized well to hide a weapon small caliber, luckily she excused herself to go to the bathroom, immediately forgetting your companion to follow her.

You waited in the restrooms, pretending to touch up your lipstick, you looked sideways when she came out of one of the bathrooms, noticing how the dress adjusted, revealing a knife attached to her thigh, you both exchanged glances, a small silence of tension and out of nowhere the two of you were fighting knife against knife.

"I knew that some whore was going to try to take my job today, those men are mine, I'll be the one to kill them."

She cut you on the cheek and you immediately kicked her, her defensive posture wavered for a few moments but she recovered, the fight reached the second floor where there was no one, since there only had furniture or old things from decor.

"You're wrong, they are not my targets."

You cut her forearm causing her to move back, anticipating her movements you hid behind a sofa, she now pointed her pistol towards your position without being able to hit you, you threw your knife as a distraction to be able to aim with your guns, but the girl reacted quickly at the stimulus, you groaned internally as a bullet grazed your arm but you began to move quickly between the different pieces of furniture.

It was like that for a while, playing tense cat and mouse, you managed to hurt her enough to make her movements much slower, but you needed to make your dominance clear, you took cover behind a pile of stacked boxes, your eyes caught a small crack in the floor, you looked up seeing some old wooden beams, that was it.

You forced the girl out of her hiding place, continuing the fight physically, again wielding bladed weapons, you lured her to the center of the room, managing to kick her to drop her weapons, before she could draw another one, you shot into the rafters and everything fell on top of both of you, the floor collapsed, consequently falling to the first floor, right in front of the table where Bonten observed how two female figures were on top of all that rubble.

The chaos had made the vast majority of people flee, they took their hands to their guns in case something unforeseen happened, however they watched in silence the interaction.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I give up, I'll quit the job, but don't kill me! I just needed the money to get my family up, please! Please…!"

Your finger brushed the trigger of your pistol that was pointed directly at her forehead, you looked at her in silence for a few seconds before slowly lowering the gun, her eyes began to water, and immediately she pushed you to run.

"My mission wasn't to kill you anyway… oh shit!" you brushed off the rubble and dust, looking around as a couple of waitresses looked at you horrified, your breathing calmed once you saw the Bonten executives safe and sound, you didn't think very well that destroying the ceiling could have crushed them, but luckily nothing fell on their table "Ok, job done… sorry for the mess."

As if you had known them all your life, you apologized for a little nonsense, and you were going to leave immediately because you needed a rest and your money, but apparently someone did not have the same thoughts.

"Who the hell are you?"

Sanzu gripped your wrist tightly, glancing at the pistols that were now visible because your clothing had been torn in places, a small smile tugging at his lips at seeing your unfazed gaze.

"It's none of your business."

You tugged at his grip to break free of it, but he tightened it causing a wince on your face, the others slowly approached to your side, Mikey watching silently as your wince turned into one of impatience and disgust.

"It is our business, you have destroyed our brothel."

"And you intend to leave like that as if nothing had happened? It's disrespectful lady."

The Haitani brothers stepped forward, Ran pointing out all the damage from the collapse while Rin crossed his arms, inspecting your face and every detail of it.

"I'm not a lady..." they all began to look at each other, giving you glances from time to time, observing your body and arguing in silence "or am I?"

You raised your leg hitting Sanzu's abdomen, he stepped back as did you, although Kakucho blocked your next attack he couldn't catch you again because he had to dodge one of your hidden blades.

"Catch her!"

"I'm sorry! I have places to be, I hope we don't meet again, maybe it means bad news."

You sprayed them with a shit-eating smile when you saw how they rubbed their eyes trying to hold back the tears from the burning, when they wanted to realize you were already a long way from there, looking for the place where they had hidden the money for the completed order.

"Have you seen her movements, damn, I think I've-"

"Cut it Sanzu, we don't want to know about your sexual fantasies."

"Always so boring Kokonoi."

"Who was her anyway?"

Mochizuki, finished wiping his eyes once they stopped watering, Takeomi answered even though his eyes kept looking at the exit through which you fled.

"She was a contract killer, apparently a good one."

"I want her."

"Huh?"

They all looked at his leader, his gaze of emptiness had a slight glimmer of desire, as if he were a child who had found a better toy than he already had, a new toy to play with and smash. You were good at your job, weren't you? He needed to get rid of a few useless ones, and he wanted you to be the one to do that job.

You unintentionally triggered an obsession in the leader of one of the worst mafias in Tokyo, no matter how slippery you are, no matter how many times you change your identity, nothing matters because now you are something he wants and Mikey always gets what he wants. His obsession with you at first was something that happened as a 'boss whim', however, the more difficult the search for you became, the others also began to become obsessed for no reason.

A long game of cat and mouse awaits you, because now these guys need to know more about you, they need to see you, they need to have you, even though they barely shared a measly moment with you, it was enough to obsess over an image of you that they held within their minds. Do you think you can escape? don't be silly.

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ironstrange1991 · 4 months

Text

Just As Good As I knew It Would Be

Pairing: Defender!Strange x SexWorker!Reader

Synopsis: It was supposed to be just another night with a new client, but Defender Strange was unlike any other and he definitely had other plans.

Word Count: 10k

Warnings: Descriptions of sex work, one or two use of the word 'whore', hickeys and lovebites, oral sex with male and female receiving, protected p n v sex.

A/N: This was planned to be a one shot, but I can easily see this story continuing, so it's up to you guys. Also, I was literary falling asleep over my laptop when I posted this so any typos or grammar errors I will fix tomorrow.

When the weight of his body left you and rolled to the side on the bed, you sighed in relief and also turned to the side, taking a cigarette from the package on the bedside table, lighting it and taking a long drag. It was still one o'clock in the morning and you had a client scheduled for 2:30 and before that you needed a long shower to get rid of all the sweat stuck to your skin.

He was a nice guy, plenty of money to spend since he paid for an hour with you almost every week. He was lonely and with the sweat problem you could understand why. You just couldn't remember his name. Andrew? No, Andrew was the one from last night. Nice guy, a little clingy but nice. Would it then be William? Fuck, it didn't matter anyway, you never called them by their names for that very reason.

Madam Elise always said that there was no other way to permanently lose a client than to call them by the wrong name. It's easier to call them all by the same pet name, she always says, and that's what you do. They were all Baby, for you. And they liked it very much.

"I would like you to stay the night with me." He murmured stroking your arm. "I like to think I'm more than just a client to you."

And didn't all of them like to think that way? You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes and took another drag from your cigarette.

"You're too good for this job. I can give you the stability you need..."

"Okay, baby, let's get one thing straight once and for all." You interrupted him, putting out your cigarette in the ashtray and getting up. "I'm not interested in a relationship. Certainly not with one of my clients. And I don't need a man to save me from the life I live because, surprise! I like this life.”

He remained silent, watching as you got dressed and when you finished putting on your shoes he stood up, took out his wallet and took out a few hundred bills.

"Baby, I don't deal with money. I thought you had paid at the club."

He nodded "I did. This is extra."

You smirked, taking the money and putting it inside your bag. "You spoil me."

He smiled. "You deserve it, Y/n. When will we see each other again?"

"Madam Elise takes care of my schedule. But from what I know, it's full until next weekend."

He seemed extremely disappointed.

"But I'm sure she can fit you in some night for an extra fee."

"Money is not a problem." He stated cupping your cheek and threatening to kiss you, but you were quick to pull away from him.

"Then I'll see you next week. Take care."

"My driver will take you back to the club." He informed.

"Thanks, baby. Have a good night."

...

Madam Elise was busy taking care of the Absinthe's accounting after the doors closed. It was already past 3am and the girls were leaving. The night had been very profitable, everything had gone normally, without any mishaps and the girls seemed happy.

Throughout her life, Madam Elise worked at night and with her own effort founded the Absinthe Nightclub, which today has the status of the largest and most renowned nightclub in New York City. No less than 25 girls, 12 dancers, 3 singers, and an entire band worked for her, not counting the waiters, bartenders, security guards, secretaries, suppliers and everything else. It was a big business that she commanded with mastery and love.

However, that night, she was tired and could hardly wait to finally leave the place and go home. She was closing the register when Aline, her personal secretary who helps her take care of the girls' schedules, came to her excitedly.

"You won't believe who called asking for Y/n."

"Whoever it is, her schedule is full until the end of next week." Madam Elise answered nonchalantly, but Aline didn't seem any less excited and handed over a sheet of paper with a name and telephone number written on it.

"That's what I told him, but he didn't seem to mind waiting. He asked us to come back with an all-night date."

"A whole night?" Madam Elise asked surprised. "Does he know her price?"

"He mentioned that money is not a problem." Aline responded, smiling as if just talking to the man had already turned her his biggest fan.

"Why Y/n? Did he ask for her specifically or did you recommend her?"

Aline shook her head "He asked for her and only her. It must have been someone else’s recommendation."

"I highly doubt it." That was all Madam Elise responded to Aline's speculation. "Call him tomorrow, schedule him for the night."

Aline looked at her as if she had said the most absurd thing. "Should I reschedule everyone else? They won't be happy."

"No, but they will accept it. Y/n has already captivated them for life. Now a new client like this one..." She stared at the name scribbled on the sheet of paper. "This is a customer we still need to captivate."

Aline nodded, but continued standing there as if she wanted to ask or say something.

"What is it?" Madam Elise asked impatiently.

"Does madam think he will come here?"

"Don't be silly, of course not. A man like him has an image to maintain. She will go to him."

...

When you woke up the next day, the sun was coming in from behind the gaps in the heavy curtains in your room and it was already past 2PM. The routine of sleeping when it was almost dawn and waking up in the middle of the afternoon was the least rewarding part of the job, but it was something you had to get used to.

You had a very chaotic routine, but you couldn't think of another way to live. Your work has provided you with a beautiful apartment and all the luxury you could have dreamed of, and most importantly, freedom.

You didn't depend on anyone but yourself and contrary to what many might think, you didn't feel used. In fact most of the time you felt like a pop star, with men lining up to have a special appointment with you.

After taking a shower and spending a long time on skin care, you went down to have breakfast - which was actually always afternoon coffee - and took the opportunity to take a look at your schedule. There were two new customers you were excited to meet. One of them was a jazz singer, the other was a politician. A deputy, if you weren't mistaken.

"More coffee, ma'am?" Karen, your maid asked gently.

"Yes please."

Karen had been working for you for a little over a year. It was actually Madam Elise's idea for you to have someone to take care of the house and you, but you suspected that Karen also did a second job: spying on you for her. You would be eternally grateful for everything Madam Elise did for you, but sometimes the woman was too controlling and a little scary. Not that you cared, it wasn't like you had anything to hide.

"Karen, remind me again how you met Madame Elise." You asked, still looking through the names on your cell phone’s notepad and taking a bite of your toast.

"It's been so long, dear, I don't even remember exactly, but I think it was a few years a go when I worked at the nightclub" The old woman responded evasively.

"Hmm" You were sure the last time you asked she said they met each other at a job interview and not once she mentioned she worked at the Absinthe.

"Oh, I almost forgot it! Madam Elise called and asked you to call back as soon as you woke up. She said there were changes in your schedule for the night."

"No, come on! I was looking forward to meeting the deputy." You murmured, finishing your coffee and already calling her.

When you arrived at the Absinthe to get ready, it was already past 6PM and you still didn't know who the special client was that made Madam Elise cancel and reschedule everyone else. She refused to speak on the phone and emphasized that you should spend some extra time taking care of yourself because this client deserved the best.

So you took a bubble bath with some special bath salts, were extra careful with your skin care, using your best oils and creams. Your hair, which you had decided to leave loose and straight, you ended up wrapping in curlers and clips so that you could finish it when you arrived at the nightclub, as well as your makeup, which Madam Elise made a point of saying on the phone that she would do herself.

"I don't know why so much suspense." You said as she finished preparing your skin with foundation.

"You'll understand when you get there." She answered.

"How about this one?" Sofia, one of the new girls who worked with you asked, holding a hanger with a very short strapless red dress.

"No. Too much." Madam Elise replied.

"How about this other one?" Sofia asked showing off a long black dress with an extravagant slit.

"Too much, Sofia. What part of elegant and discreet don't you understand?" Madam Elise responded sharply.

"It would help if you say who the client is." Sofia complained.

"That's what I'm trying to find out." You said taking advantage of Sofia's complaint. "Oh, I got it, He is a rockstar, isn’t he? Don't tell me it's Bono!"

Sofia stared at Madam Elise, waiting for an answer.

“It's not Bono. And he's not a rockstar. He's better than that."

"How about this one?" Sofia showed off a rose midi dress that looked like something Kate Middleton would wear to one of her official events.

"Perfect!" Madame Elise exclaimed, finishing applying the third layer of mascara to your eyelashes.

"Please don't say it's the president. He's too old." You whimpered.

"Don't be silly, Y/n." That's all she replied.

"Older men make the best clients." Sofia reflected as she hung the dress on the chair next to you. "They are kind and don't usually last long. Not to mention they pay extras."

"Girl, You're learning fast!" You praised.

"Learning from the best." Sofia said giving you a wink and you two giggled.

"Perfect. Now let's let this hair down." Madam Elise said as she took the clips out of your hair and used a comb to straighten your curls. She finished with a setting spray and only then let you look in the mirror. The whole thing seemed too much to you, but you didnt say anything.

"Now finish getting dressed. A car is waiting for you outside. The driver knows where to drop you off."

"Yes ma'am."

Surprising you, Madam Elise leaned over and gave you a small kiss on the cheek in a rare display of affection.

"Good luck, my darling."

...

When the driver stopped in front of the old building, you couldn't help but think he had gotten the address wrong.

"Are you sure we're in the right place?"

"177A Bleecker Street. That's the exact address Madam Elise gave me. Do you want me to call her to check?"

You shook your head "No. It's okay. Thank you." You said, opening the door and getting out of the car.

"Should I pick you up in an hour?" He asked.

"No. He paid for the night." You informed, closing the door.

You walked up the steps slowly, somewhat intimidated by the oppressiveness of the place and trying to convince yourself that this was really happening, but when you approached the door, it opened on its own and you were overcome with the realization that you were about to spend the night with none other than Defender Strange himself.

As soon as you entered, the door closed behind you and you stood in the empty entrance hall somewhat disconcerted and not knowing what to do next. It took what seemed like an eternity until you were greeted by a baritone voice.

"Hello. I'm sorry, I was sure the woman I talked to this morning told me you would arrive at 9pm" He said going down the stairs and coming towards you. He was dressed exactly as you had seen him on TV or in the newspapers. Black and red robes, boots and hair tied in a ponytail, but gosh, the TV and newspapers didn't do justice to his beauty. Defined jaw, sharp cheekbones, plump lips and beautiful blue eyes. The man was gorgeous.

"I'm sure Madam Elise wouldn't get confused with my schedule. You must have spoken to Aline, her personal secretary." You said, feeling your cheeks turning red from the strange situation and also from the way he glared at you.

"Well, I have no reason to complain if her mistake gave me more time with you." He smirked, extending his hand for you to hold and bringing it to his lips. You knew that if it was any other man doing that you would roll your eyes at how cliché and ridiculous the gesture was, but with him all you could think about was how elegant and gentle he was. He just seemed so calm and kind.

"I'm sure you already know me, but let me formally introduce myself. Doctor Stephen Strange, or how my friends call me, Defender Strange, but you can call me Stephen."

You smiled "It's a pleasure to meet you, Stephen. I'm Y/n, but of course you already know that."

His smile widened "It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Y/n." He kept your hand in his. "Come, this is my house." He said gesturing ahead and taking you to the lounge and you found yourself analyzing every detail. The place was beautiful. It definitely wasn't to your taste, but it had a certain charm. Everything looked ancient, from the extravagant chandeliers to the reddish wooden furniture, everything seemed to have been there for many, many years.

"It's very nice." You said, still dazzled by every detail that was visible to you. The place was huge. "Do you live alone here?"

"Yes. I am the master of this Sanctum and therefore I live here. It is old and makes strange noises at night, but you learn to like it over time." He seemed to analyze your expressions carefully.

"But it must be lonely living alone in such a big place." You insisted, still amazed by the size of the place and you had only seen the foyer and the lounge.

Stephen smirked "It's rarely empty and work takes up most of my days, so I don't have time to feel lonely."

"Hmm."

"Please, sit. May I offer you something to drink?"

"Sure." You said, sitting on the beautiful victorian sofa.

"Wine? Maybe something stronger?"

"Wine is great."

He nodded. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a moment."

You did as he asked and as soon as he left, he returned with two glasses and a bottle of red wine which he opened and poured.

"I'm curious" You said, taking the glass he handed to you. "How do you know me? I mean, Madam Elise told me you asked for me specifically."

He smiled and took a long sip of wine.

"It's a long story. The short version is that a friend of mine told me about you."

"Is he a client?"

He chuckled, "I don't really know. I'm just glad he lead me to meet you."

You sipped the wine slowly, savoring the sweet on your tongue as much as you were savoring the enigmatic company of the man in front of you. However he downed the last of his wine and stood up.

"If you allow me, I need to finish a few things before I can dedicate myself entirely to you. Please, make yourself at home. Choose something for us to listen to, if you like music. I have a large collection. I'm sure something will please you."

With that he walked away, disappearing from sight and leaving you alone in the huge lounge.

You did what he suggested. You refilled your glass and ventured into the huge shelf of music in front of you, which to your surprise were not CDs but LPs. You got distracted reading the titles. He had a little bit of everything, from classical to pop music, including R&B and Hip Hop, classic rock and industrial metal and other things you didn't even know.

You opted for Bon Jovi and left it playing at a pleasant ambient volume and distracted yourself by scrolling through your Instagram feed for what seemed like a long time.

When he returned, he was no longer dressed in his sorcerer robes, but rather in dark jeans and a gray shirt. His hair, however, was still tied up in a ponytail and you found yourself thinking that any man in the world would look ridiculous with that hair, but not him.

"Bon Jovi. Good choice."

"A little cheesy, but I like it." You confessed. "I don't think I've ever met anyone who had so much physical music in the days of streaming services."

He chuckled. "Let's just say I'm old-fashioned. I'm not given to technology."

"No, just magic, I presume." You teased, getting up and approaching him, deciding to take the initiative. Men usually liked you to take the initiative, but with him you weren't too sure, but you had already waited too long and to be quite honest, you were eager to finally start the night.

"Are you going to show me some tonight?" You asked in your most seductive voice, and he let you snuggle into his arms and leaned his face against your hand when you touched him and finally, finally, he kissed you. A soft kiss, as if he was tasting a forbidden fruit, but you were eager to deepen the kiss, eager to finally claim him as one of your most valuable conquests.

His lips were thick and soft, his tongue tasted like wine and something else you couldn't identify and the touch of his beard on your face was delicious.

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this turned on by a kiss, but you could feel the slick between your legs. However, he pulled away gently when your hands threatened to unbutton his shirt.

"I can show you one or two things, but I'd like us to have dinner first." He said. "We don't need to rush, we have the whole night ahead of us."

But you had no intention of stopping now, not when your lips were finally on his mouth, down his chin and then his neck, nibbling his ear lobe. "I'm not hungry. Not for food at least." You whispered in his ear and watched him swallow thickly, but he grabbed your hand and pulled you away gently.

"I must insist."

You nodded a little confused, but let yourself be pulled into what soon turned out to be the dining room. The table was set and the food smelled wonderful. You hadn't really noticed that you were hungry until now, but it shouldn't have been a surprise since you had barely eaten all day.

He pulled out the chair for you to sit down and confessed. "I bought the food from my favorite Italian restaurant. I hope you don't mind. I would have cooked, but I didn't have time."

But he knew how to cook. Noted.

You smiled reassuringly, "It's great. It's more than I expected to be honest. Men don't usually serve me dinner. It's usually the other way around, you know?" You chuckled.

He poured your glass and his and then sat down too. "Men rarely know how to value what they have."

You felt your cheeks blushing and disguised it by taking a sip of wine.

"Well, they pay two thousand dollars for the hour." You said finally trying the food. "Wow, this is delicious."

He smiled satisfied and only them allowed himself to start eating too. "I'm not talking about money. For me, having the company of a woman, whether I paid for her or not, is always a privilege.

You stared at him and then gave in to your curiosity. "I wonder why a man like you needs to pay for a woman."

He didn't seem surprised or bothered by the question. He chewed slowly and swallowed, wiped his lips on his napkin and took a sip of his wine and then said simply. "I don't have to pay for women. But I had to pay to have the woman I wanted."

You felt your stomach fluttering at those words and something about the way he glanced at you and said it made you blush, and you smiled shyly. "I hope I'm worth it."

...

After dinner you convinced him to take you on a small tour of the house and your admiration for the place only increased with each new room that was presented to you.

"This is the library." He said, opening the two wooden doors and indicating for you to enter. He entered right behind you and waited in silence while you swept the place with your eyes.

It was ancient and beautiful, like you expected the library of an old castle or something to be like. So many shelves of books that went from floor to ceiling and small ladders supported on the shelves so that people could get books from higher places. There were also small desks scattered around the place and a larger one in the left corner with a large wooden and leather chair. Some books, paper and pen and a pair of reading glasses on top of it.

"It's my second favorite place in the house." He reported proudly, "It's also where I spend most of my time when I'm not on a mission."

You nodded, walking slowly down one of the corridors and trying to read the titles of the books. Most of them were written in other languages. "Which is the first?"

He smiled getting closer and when he spoke again his voice sounded dangerously close to your ear "I'll show you."

You felt your skin prickle and that didn't go unnoticed by him. He held your shoulders and got close enough for you to feel his body pressed against yours. His fingers slowly pulled the strap of your dress and only then did you notice a tremor in his hands, but before you could ask yourself what had happened to them, he started to place little kisses on your shoulder and little by little he raised them to your neck and you completely forgot what you were thinking.

The little kisses went up to your ear and he nibbled your earlobe and exhaled heavily as if he had been holding his breath for a long time and your body trembled with the sensation of his warm breath.

Without holding back, you turned to face him and pulled him into a kiss and your lips collided with a passion that surprised you. His tongue invaded your mouth and dominated yours easily and your fingers were quick to unbutton the buttons of his shirt, while his fingers unzipped your dress and the two of you desperately undressed without your mouths separating for even a second. Suddenly the idea of being apart from him seemed absurd and you were surprised by the overwhelming passion that took over you. It was as if the two of you were live wires that had finally touched and were now joined by an electric current of passion and lust.

When your dress was lying on the floor and your hands managed to free him from his pants and finally free his cock from his boxers, you pumped him a few times reveling in the realization that he was as big as you needed him to be. He rested his forehead on yours, closing his eyes and indulging in the touch of your hand and you cupped his face and pulled him back to your lips.

"I've waited for this for so long." He rasped in your lips, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you off the floor. You locked your legs around his waist, and he carried you to the largest desk and quickly finished undressing you, but made a point of keeping your high heels on.

He kicked his shoes away and did the same with his pants and boxers, leaving him gloriously naked for you and you watched in fascination as he moved his fingers and a condom materialized in thin air. He opened it quickly with his teeth and put it in with a certain desperation and finally entered you.

You both moaned at the sensation and you held yourself on to the edge of the desk as he thrusted against you with a certain desperation that was surprising and at the same time delicious. The sound of your bodies slamming against each other mixed with your moans and echoed through the empty library.

Your head fell back and he took the opportunity to bury his face between your breasts and took one nipple in his mouth and then another.

"Fuck..." You cursed out and then bit your lips to contain your moans, but they kept escaping as he fucked you so good and with so much passion and you suddenly noticed that you weren't forcing a positive reaction to please him. If anything, you were surprised with yourself, at how he was making you feel.

Your hand grabbed his hair and pulled him back to your lips and he kissed you passionately, thrusting his tongue into your mouth with the same desperation with which he thrusted his cock inside you. Fast, intense and delicious.

He broke the kiss only to run his lips down your neck and pushed you gently so that you lay down on the desk and pulled your hips closer to the edge and with a hand flat on your lower belly he returned to thrust into you and the variation of the position made him hit your g spot with calculous precision and your mouth went agape.

Men didn't usually find your g spot and didn't even bother trying, always desperate to achieve their own pleasure, but he was different, somehow he was different from everyone else.

"Stephen... You're going to make me cum."

You confessed surprise at how the knot seemed to tighten in your stomach. "Do you want me to cum, baby?"

He didn't respond, too involved in his own pleasure, but he put a hand between you touching your clit and rubbing his fingers there in slow circles and that was enough of an answer for you and your body responded to the stimulation quickly pulling you to the edge.

You came hard and he came soon after.

When he finished, he pulled you to meet his lips and something about the sweetness of that kiss made your heart flutter in your chest in a way you hadn't felt in a long time, but you were too caught up in all the sensations to pay attention to what they meant.

It was you who broke the kiss to breathe and he gently pulled out and quickly got rid of the dirty condom with a flick of his fingers and ran his hand through his hair, tucking the strands that came loose from the ponytail behind his ear and then smiled seeming a little embarrassed.

"This wasn't how I imagined." He said and upon noticing how that sentence could be interpreted in a wrong way he ran to explain "I thought I could get to the room. Give you a little comfort at least."

You stood up and approached him, cupping his cheek gently. "Believe me, you gave me something much better." You said letting out a small chuckle and pulling him back to your lips and something between his little moan and how his hand hold you closer to him made you feel like he was melting for you.

"Now will you show me your favorite place in the house?" You asked giving him your cutest smile and he nodded smiling.

"Anything you want."

The two of you got dressed in silence, but the silence wasn't awkward, in fact it was full of smiles and glances, and you found yourself thinking that you didn't remember the last time you felt like that, like you were on a real date rather than being with a client.

Either way, you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, remembering very well Madam Elise's words: No matter how incredible a client is, never forget they are just that: a client. Because they will never forget that you are a whore.

You sighed, letting the silly smile on your lips slowly die.

Stephen led you up the stairs and you walked behind him down a long hallway until you stopped in front of a large door, but before he opened it he turned to you and gently informed, "Many of the artifacts you will see in this room are magical and their value is immeasurable. I must ask you not to touch anything."

"Geez, I'm not that clumsy, Stephen." You defended yourself giving him your best smile.

"Please" He insisted.

"Okay, no touching." You promised, showing your hands to him and holding them behind your back dramatically. He smirked and then nodded opening the door and the two of you slowly entered. He snapped his fingers and the lights came on so you could actually look at the place.

It was a large and spacious room full of pedestals with vases and other objects on top, some were protected by glass, others were not. Everything seemed so old, from the heavy amber curtains and the gold and burgundy carpets to the cabinets and book shelves, the paintings on the walls and the ostentatious chandelier in the center of the ceiling. There was a fireplace surrounded by two loveseats and a fluffy dark brown rug. On the floor, next to the rug, there were some books and a forgotten tea cup.

But all of this was nothing compared to the beautiful round window that gave a beautiful view of Greenwich Village. "Wow, this is beautiful."

You approached the window to take a look outside where cars were rushing past. You had already seen that window from the outside, not to mention they sold postcards of the city with the front of the Sanctum Sanctorum printed on them, but being inside, observing the outside through that window was something else entirely.

"I usually come here when I need to think or just disconnect from my sorcerer problems." He explained, approaching you from behind and wrapping his arms around your waist. "This window is special, it allows me to see more of what is in front of me."

You raised an eyebrow "Is this some wizard code for something?"

He chuckled in your ear making your body tingle and then pointed to the window "This pattern is the seal of Vishanti, I don't expect you to know what it means, but it is very important and protects the Sanctum from various types of threats."

You nodded, looking at the intricate symbol in the window, but more precisely looking at him, so serious when he was talking about his work and so beautiful with that long hair, the gray strands just made him even more attractive and the beard, those cheekbones and the eyes...

"The window of worlds allows me to see other realities and dimensions. Some are pleasant to look at, benevolent so to speak, so you can easily get lost while watching them, others are dark and frightening, but it is my job to observe them and assure that everything remains in its natural state, without interference in our real world."

You smiled shyly admitting, "It's hard to combine the things you're explaining with the term real world. I live in the real world, this is… something else."

He let out a small laugh and then buried his nose in your hair and inhaled deeply, "You weren't real to me until tonight."

You turned to look at him "You talk about me like you know me."

He sighed, closing his eyes when your hand cupped his cheek, but before you could ask anything he pulled you to his lips and you felt your entire body shaking with that kiss, your heart pounding in your head as you gave in to the certainty that there was more than just sex involved tonight, even though you knew it was crazy, you couldn't help but feel that way. He was different, special and it wasn't because of who he was or the things he could do - magically speaking - but rather because of the way he could turn you into a puddle of goo with a look, a smile, a touch of his trembling hands and that kiss.

He was the one who broke the kiss first and before he could pull away, you pulled him to your lips again kissing him one more time. He smiled satisfied pulling away, but made sure to keep holding your hand and gently directed you to the rug next to the fireplace.

You watched him get rid of his shoes and did the same, letting your sore feet be caressed by the softness of the rug.

"I usually meditate here." He said, picking up the cup from the floor and disposing of it with a movement of his hand. "And I read. It helps keep me grounded. It's where I can have privacy, besides my room, of course."

You nodded, sitting on the carpet and reaching out to pick up one of the books, but he quickly took them out of your reach and returned them to the bookshelf.

"I'm surprised I can touch you, since everything here is sacred." You teased watching as he sat next to you, his hands automatically pulled you close and his fingers played with the strap of your dress pulling it down and placing little kisses on your shoulder. With his other hand he started to unzip your dress on your back and you felt your skin prickling.

"I am not sacred." He explained, searching for your lips and kissing you hungrily "Actually, I'm very human..." He continued kissing you, but his hands helped you get rid of the straps of your dress, letting it fall to your waist and undressing your breasts to him as he held one of them in his hand, pinching a nipple "...with human needs that I want you to satisfy."

You intertwined your fingers in his hair when his lips went down to your neck and he began to suck on your throat. He stopped and admired his work and then continued making sure the mark stayed.

"Y-you... can't..." You tried to warn him in vain when you finally noticed what he was doing, but he covered your lips with his index finger and continued until he was satisfied.

"What can't I do?" He asked with a cute smirk on his lips once he was satisfied with his work.

You swallow thickly feeling drunk, even though all you had drank that night was three glasses of wine.

"Mark me." You finally managed to say and his smirk turned into a grin.

"Too late for that, baby. Skin is very nice and soft, can't help it." And as if to prove what he was saying, he lightly bit the spot just below your ear and then sucked on the skin, eliciting a moan from your lips.

You couldn't tell what he had, but he managed to mess with you in a way that you couldn't understand, you could either think straight or formulate a coherent sentence while he had his lips on you. He made you melt, all your self-confidence and control seemed to melt before him.

"What's going on inside this pretty head of yours?" He asked, biting your chin and sticking his tongue in your mouth in another breathtaking kiss.

You hummed into his lips and tried to formulate a response when he finally broke the kiss.

"You. Right now, there is only you."

He smiled proudly, "Yeah? But there's another place I'd rather be at the moment."

You bit your bottom lip and waited for him to tell you.

"With my face between your legs." He rasped in your ear "Would you like that?"

God yes, please. But you just nodded letting yourself be manhandled as he laid you down on the fluffy rug and finished taking off your dress and panties. Your legs hung to the sides and he didn't wait to dive between them, lapping his tongue into your folds to make you even wetter than you already were.

He used his fingers to open your folds and licked your clit lightly with the tip of his tongue making your entire body tremble, your hands searched for something to grab and stopped in his hair, grabbing his ponytail, but you policed yourself to don't pull.

"Oh fuck... oh yes, yes..."

He hummed approvingly at your reaction and the vibration made your body shake. Without waiting any longer, he took your clit between his lips and began to suck slowly and then increasing the pressure and you saw stars.

You loved oral sex, but the men you had sex with never cared enough to waste time pleasuring you like this, after all they were paying a lot of money, it was understandable they preferred to receive rather than give, but Defender Strange was different from all of your other clients, he was actually taking pleasure in giving pleasure to you and he was wonderful. You couldn't remember the last time you had your clit sucked with such dexterity, if anyone had ever managed to reach that level of excellence, that is, and your clit suckers could only do so much and were nothing compared to the real thing and Stephen, oh god, Stephen was even better than the real thing. He was perfect.

You could feel the knot inside you threatening to break, your legs shaking under the grip of his hands and the next thing you knew you were tugging at his hair, the hair tie came loose in your hand and you finished getting rid of it letting his soft locks fall like a curtain of dark brown and gray.

Of course he could feel you were close, your body was shaking, your breathing was faster, your wet, neglected hole was clenching around nothing and your moans were getting louder and louder, but then he stopped, brought his hand down to his hair moving them away from his face and stared at you with those blue eyes and a satisfied smile on his lips that somehow took your breath away.

"Please... don't..." You could barely speak.

"I don't want you to cum yet." He confessed and then crawled on top of you "You're so delicious, you know that, right?"

You pulled him to your lips instead of responding. The taste of your cunt in his mouth was so obscene and so delicious that you couldn't control a moan. He chuckled between your lips letting you control the kiss for the first time that night. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you couldn't resist, you pulled just a little to see his reaction and to your surprise and delight he moaned, a loud and unmistakable moan.

When your lips parted, he glanced at you and you took the opportunity to caress his face, tracing the outline of his beard with your finger.

"You're so beautiful." You confessed "You're even more beautiful in person than on TV."

He let out a little giggle and you could see a light shade of pink fill his cheeks and you thought it was adorable.

He kissed your lips softly and held your chin between his thumb and forefinger "You're beautiful. You have the most beautiful pair of eyes I've ever seen and your smile... it does things to me."

You smiled shyly with the way he was glancing at you and then watched as he seemed to go somewhere else in his mind for a second but soon after he smiled back. "Where have you been all this time?" He asked.

You weren't sure what to say, so you just pulled him to your lips again and kissed him, feeling a strange sensation in your stomach. His lips moved down your chin and he touched your lips with his thumb, gently forcing them apart. You took his digit in your mouth and sucked on it, teasing him to which he smirked.

"I want your mouth now." He asked, taking his finger out of your mouth and replacing it with his tongue and kissed you hard.

You cupped his cheek and asked, "Tell me how you like it."

There were many things you could do with a man's cock in your mouth and you mastered that art masterfully, but with him you were insecure, you couldn't read him and while that was frustrating, it was also what made it all the most exciting.

"Do you ask this of all your clients?" He asked, looking genuinely curious.

You shook your head "No. Usually I know what they like right away, but you... you're different."

He seemed to like your answer. He rolled onto his side and lay on his back on the carpet. "You can start by undressing me and then you can take good care of me."

You sat down next to him and let your fingers run down his chest, playing with the buttons on his shirt.

"Do you like being taken care of?" You checked.

"Very much."

You unbuttoned his shirt, pulling the fabric aside and placing kisses on his chest, lowered your hand to his belt and bit your lip, noticing his hard on contained inside his pants. It twitched with the lightest of touches from your fingers and you couldn't help the proud smile on your lips. You moved to straddle his legs and unbuckled his belt and pants and with both hands you pulled down his pants and boxers, moving to take them off completely and throwing them in a pile on the floor.

You went back to straddling his legs and finally laid your eyes on his cock. You had felt him in your hands and felt him impaling you, but it was the first time you were looking directly at him and god, it was beautiful. The curvature that let it lean towards his stomach and the veins bulging around it combined with the fat, pink head made your mouth water. He was pulsing and leaking from the head and without holding back you bent down and licked the slit to collect the precum and it tasted so good. Salt and sweet at the same time.

"I can take care of you." You purred. "Just tell me exactly how you like it."

He bit his bottom lip to hold back a moan when you finally took him in your hand, holding him tight.

"Slowly. There's no need to gag on it, just take as much as you can. And I will love if you suck my balls, lightly, I'm very sensitive there."

You listened carefully. All you wanted was to please him.

"Can I make you cum in my mouth?"

"Fuck, yes" He replied and his cock twitched in your hand.

"But there will be another round for me, right?" You confirmed, smiling mischievously.

"As many as you want." He promised.

Your mouth was salivating to have him, but you started slowly, just giving little cat licks on the head and running your tongue down his entire length while your eyes remained fixed on his. If there was one thing that was certain about all men, it's that they love it when you suck their dicks while looking at them with big dull eyes. Defender Strange was no exception. He bit his lip to try to suppress a groan and his hands grabbed the fur on the rug.

You contained a giggle watching his reaction and continued with your work, lowering your tongue to the base and then taking one of his heavy balls in your mouth. You sucked slowly and then took the other one and repeated the same process while your hand moved up and down, slowly pumping him.

"Oh fuck, it's so good." He praised you and you felt that strange feeling in your stomach again, quickly realizing that you liked hearing him praising you and trying your best to have more of that.

You moved your lips up, placing small wet kisses along his entire length and stopped at his frenulum, licking it lightly with the tip of your tongue. For most men, the frenulum was the most sensitive part of their cocks and gave them the most pleasure when stimulated, however it used to be neglected most of the time by women, but you weren't like all women, you knew how to pleasure a man and there was nothing you wanted more than to pleasure Stephen. Not only that, you wanted to be the best he ever had.

You alternated the licks with light sucks on the delicate area and he began to writhe beneath you, moans began to escape his lips and you noticed how his baritone was even sexier in that context.

"Oh, right there, f-feels so good. J-just keep doing what you're doing with your tongue." He asked and you hummed satisfied, flicking your tongue in his frenulum and with one of your hands you began to massage his balls, giving them a light squeeze. With the other hand you continued pumping him at the base and he started to pulse in your hand and you knew that if you didn't reduce the stimulation he would cum before you even put him in your mouth, but you didn't care, you wanted to see him cumming like that, you wanted to prove to him that you were that good, so you increased the stimulation on his frenulum, changing the light licks for a more efficient suction while still using your tongue, but now not quickly, but like a kiss, slowly and with more passion.

"You're going to make me cum if you keep this up." He rasped bringing his hands to your head, but he didn't push or pull, he just grabbed your hair in a ponytail to move it away from your face and allow him to have a good view of what you were doing. Men were visual creatures.

"Do you want me to stop?" You asked, stopping to make sure, but he shook his head vehemently.

"Please, don't stop. Just keep working your tongue like that."

You did as he asked, but stopped pumping him and let his cock fall heavily onto his stomach, using only your mouth to stimulate him and your hand on his balls.

You licked, sucked, kissed his frenulum and started all over again until his grip on your hair got stronger, pulling at the roots and with a loud moan he came on his stomach.

"F-fuck yes. Oh shit... oh baby..."

You couldn't contain the smile on your lips when you saw him in that state, you were so proud of yourself, and you hadn’t even put him in your mouth. The man was so sensitive to touch, you wanted to ravish him so much.

You crawled on top of him and he cupped your cheek, still panting, but there was a wide smile on his lips.

"How did you do that?"

"I barely did anything. You are very sensitive."

He smirked, "Or maybe you're just too good with that tongue. No woman has ever made me cum like this." He confessed.

You felt your cheeks blushing and that was also an effect of him over you. You weren't shy, but when he looked at you like that and talked to you like that you felt yourself melting. Instead of saying anything, you kissed him softly, but then went down your lips to his neck, licking, biting, sucking on his pulse point and continued moving your lips down to his chest, taking one of his nipples in your mouth and sucking and pinching the other. He moaned softly and you felt him twitching in your stomach, his cum running down his sides, making your skin and his stick together and making a mess, but you couldn't care less.

He was soft now, but not completely and as soon as the stimulation on his nipples intensified he began to harden again for you. The man had a lot of stamina and you could only be grateful for that because you couldn’t wait to have him inside you again.

"R-ride me." His voice sounded shaky above your head. You brushed your hair away from your face to look at him and he cupped your face with both hands "Ride me, baby. Use me. Wanna see you getting off on my cock." He asked and you felt your heart pounding on your chest. You nodded and kissed him.

"Condom?" You asked, trying hard to reason. He moved his fingers and a condom materialized between his index finger and his middle finger and he handed it to you. With another movement of his fingers his shirt disappeared, and he was completely bare for you.

Opening the package, you took his lips in a hungry kiss and your hands went down to meet his cock, pumping him slowly, but with a firm grip on your hands, making him moan on your lips.

You dedicated yourself to putting the condom on him, but first you bent down to put him whole in your mouth. His hands automatically grabbed your hair as he hardened until it was rock hard in your mouth as you bobbed your head on his length, finally giving him the oral he deserved.

"S-such a delicious mouth. So f-fucking perfect... I knew you'd be so fucking good to me..."

You couldn't shake the thought that he spoke to you as if he knew you and that it wasn't just because a friend had recommended you to him, it seemed to be something more, but at the same time you also knew that something in him was awakening a different type of attraction and that you were probably only seeing things where nothing existed because you were too involved, so you tried hard to push away those thoughts and dedicated yourself to giving him the best blowjob, using your tongue the entire time, swirling it along his entire length while taking turns going up and down and using a little suction on his head. You knew it was going well because he continued praising you between moans that grew louder and louder, however he held your chin and gently took his cock out of your mouth.

"As incredible as this is, I really want to cum with my cock inside you this time." He explained. "And not before you."

You smiled nodding and finally – reluctantly - put on the condom. Part of you wanted to fuck him raw, but in your profession, that was never an option.

Moving to straddle him, you directed his cock at your entrance which was dripping wet and let yourself sink into him feeling him stretch you deliciously.

You had seen dicks of all sizes and learned to get the best out of each one, but you couldn't be a hypocrite or lie and say that size doesn't matter. Yes, it matters a lot, and you were so grateful that Defender Strange was this big, providing you with the perfect amount of stretch and with that perfect curvature that found your g spot with surprising ease. All you had to do was lean forward a little, resting both hands on his chest and that was it.

"Oh y-yes baby... right there."

Stephen groaned in satisfaction, both of his hands grabbed and squeezed the fat of your waist, his eyes fixed on yours the entire time.

"Hit that sweet special spot uh? I can feel it. Feels so good, so fucking warm and wet... shit... squeezing me so tight."

You bit your lip, moving your hips up and down, turning it sensually every time you went down, letting his pelvic bone and hair massage your clit, providing shocks of pleasure that felt like electric currents running through your entire body.

"I love seeing you riding me like this, so fucking gorgeous" He purred "Come on, baby, need more, fuck me harder."

You increased the pace until you were both panting, the sensuality giving way to the tireless search for your release that you knew wasn't too far away. You couldn't help it, he was so perfect, everything about him exuded sex, the looks, the moans, the dirty words of submission taking you to the limit and at the same time making you hold on to the edge because you didn't want it to end, you wanted to let that continue forever.

However, he seemed to understand that you were stalling because he wrapped his arm around your waist and sat down leaving the two of you in a lotus position and began to move you faster on top of him, thrusting his hips against you to increase the intensity of the thrusts.

Getting carried away by all the sensations and feeling the knot threatening to break, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and grabbed a handful of his hair tugging at it with more force than you should have while the movements of your hips on top of him became faster and more desperate.

"Do it again." He urged in your ear, his baritone little more than a whisper.

You pulled his hair again, even harder this time and his head fell back and you felt his cock throb inside you. A part of you loved that and without him asking you did it again and again and took advantage of the fact that his neck was on display for you and started sucking it hard, biting it and sucking again until it left a purple mark. Satisfied, you grabbed his chin and pulled him to your lips, sticking your tongue in his mouth and being surprised by the way he let himself be dominated and when he let out a sweet moan in your mouth and his dick throbbed again Inside you, you knew he had reached his limit.

You sunk your teeth into his shoulder, feeling the wave of pleasure and euphoria wash over you as the knot broke and you came hard on his cock and with a loud, animalistic groan he came soon after, his cock pulsing and spilling into the condom. God, how you wish it were your walls that he was painting white.

That thought alone should have been enough for you to question your sudden involvement with that man, but at that moment you didn't want to reason, you just wanted to feel.

...

You were still lying on the rug, staring at the ceiling in silence and immersed in your own thoughts. Although your head was still spinning, your breathing had finally returned to normal, and the reason seemed to be coming back to you because you were suddenly too self-aware of everything that had happened that night.

Stephen had left you for a few minutes and you could hear him cleaning himself in the bathroom. You should also get up and get dressed, but your legs felt like jelly and you couldn't find the will within you to do so.

When he came back and laid back down next to you he was dressed in gray sweatpants and his hair had been pulled back into a ponytail.

"Don't you think sex is a weird thing?" You said, verbalizing the confused thoughts in your head. "I mean, you say things you would never say if you weren't aroused, you do things you can't imagine doing under any other circumstances."

He smiled thinking for a second. "I think it's called intimacy."

"Yes and no. Personally, I think intimacy is different. It's when you feel free to continue talking after sex is over and how you feel about it."

"Like now?" He asked.

You didn't respond, instead you sat down and faced the fireplace.

"I have a list of things I don't do or don't let people do to me." You admitted it.

"What for example?"

"Hickeys" You replied holding back a smile "As you can imagine it's not smart of me to arrive at the appointment with my client marked by the previous client."

"And why do I think you weren't reluctant enough when you realized what I was doing?"

"Because I wasn't." You sighed. "I also don't usually kiss my clients. I mean, it's not a rule, but I avoid it if possible. It makes me uncomfortable."

He sat down, seeming to watch you closely, but didn't say anything.

"Talking about personal things, like I'm doing now, is also on my list." You hugged your legs and rested your chin on your knee giving him an apologetic smile. "You left me disconcerted."

He smiled touching your knee and with his other hand he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear and then caressed your cheek.

"I'm not usually like this with other women. Although I enjoy it, I rarely let myself be in a position where I'm not in control. I think it's safe to say that we both did things tonight that we don't usually do, and I don't know about you, but I really liked it and I really hope you liked it."

You sighed, feeling that strange feeling in your stomach again. "That's the problem, Stephen. You shouldn't care what I like or don't like."

"But I care." He replied chuckling dryly. "Is it really that bad that I care?"

You shook your head trying to think straight. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have started this conversation."

"You can tell me whatever you want." He said moving to kiss you, but then stopped and decided to confirm, "Is it okay to keep kissing you?"

"I don't know." You admitted with a sigh, but surrendered and threw yourself into his arms anyway.

He let out a small giggle when your lips collided, but then he took control of the kiss, kissing you like that was the only thing that mattered to him and god, he was such a good kisser. One of the reasons you hated kissing your clients was because they were terrible kissers and also because you thought it was too intimate. But with Defender Strange neither of those things applied.

When he finally got tired of your lips, he stood up and held out his hand for you to do the same. "Come on, let's go to bed."

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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buckychristwrites · 10 months

Text

About You | Day 1 | j.t.

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x F!Reader

Summary: Your job? Pop culture journalist for The Independent. Your assignment? To write a profile on the cocky footballer that you're publicly feuding with.

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Cussing. Enemies to lovers

A/N: I know I just posted the Prologue but here's the first chapter! All of this plus chapter two are posted on my Ao3 :) enjoy!

Masterlist | About You Masterlist | Main Blog

The Nelson Road Stadium was bigger than you had imagined it, though you had never seen it in person before. Walking through the door, you timidly showed security your press pass before asking where you would be able to find either Keely Jones or anyone in charge. The security guard was less than helpful, just pointing haphazardly to the left. Instead of pressing further, you just decided to walk. Eventually, you’d have to run into someone who knew something, right?

Your eyes jumped from wall to wall, taking in the pictures and memorabilia that filled them. Pulling out your phone from your pocket, you opened your camera and snapped a picture. Either for the article or just for bragging rights, it could be useful in the future.

“Hiya,” An uneasy voice said from behind you. Startled, you whirled around to find a vaguely familiar face staring at you, a tiny woman with light hair, big eyes and eyebrows knitted together. “Are you waiting for someone?” It took a second for you to process what she was asking you. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to bring your heart rate down, you shook your head.

“I’m looking for Keeley Jones, or anyone who could be in charge here, really,” You explained before introducing yourself. “I’m from The Independent, and I’m doing the piece on Tartt.” Saying his name and the whole sentence out loud felt like a betrayal to yourself, but you tried to hide your distaste from your demeanor. The woman’s face lit up.

“Perfect timing then,” She said brightly. “I’m Keeley Jones.” Relief filled you. The idea of navigating this place on your own had been very stressful.

“Thank goodness,” You huffed. A part of you had been worried that everyone would be as lackadaisical as the security guard before.

“Thank you so much for doing this,” She said as she began to lead you down the hallway. “I think it’s going to be a wonderful opportunity for Richmond, and for Jamie.” Your face contorted slightly at the sound of his name, and you were thankful you were walking behind her so she couldn’t see it. When you didn’t respond, she glanced back at you. “I really think that once you get to know him, you’ll change your mind.”

Ahhh, so she had read your work.

“My articles about him were never meant to be personal,” You said while trying not to sound defensive. Wanting to elaborate further, you searched your brain for any semblance of an explanation, but turned up empty. She nodded in a surprisingly understanding way.

“You weren’t wrong by any stretch,” She admitted, giving you an earnest look. “He’s a piece of work. But he has changed, I promise you.”

You said nothing. What was there to say? Every person in this club all views Tartt as family. Of course they would be quick to defend him, especially against someone who was very publicly critical of him.

Not that he needed the defense, of course. Whenever an article of yours about him hit the socials, he was quick to respond on Twitter, and it always led to a very public spat between the two of you. Another reason on the list as to why the public loved the feud you had with a man who you had never met in person.

Keeley led you up a set of stairs and outside a closed door. She gave you a quick smile before tapping her knuckles against it.

“Just wanna let Rebecca know you’re here before letting you meet the team,” She whispered as a voice called from the other side, Come in!

The door swung open and the two of you entered. Your presence was swiftly forgotten as the two of them squealed and embraced. Crossing your arms over your chest, you glanced around the office and pretended to not be eavesdropping on their mini conversation.

“What are you doing here?” Rebecca asked excitedly.

“I set up a profile on Jamie for The Independent! I wanted to be here when the journalist showed up,” She explained, before turning back to you. When Rebecca did the same, she seemed to be studying you. She was taller than you had imagined her to be, wearing a pencil skirt and a sleeveless top. You felt nervous just being in her presence.

As Keeley introduced the two of you, the platinum blonde’s face seemed to firm at the sound of your name, making you nauseated. The warmth returned to her face just as quickly as it went.

“Pleasure to have you,” She said as she held out a hand. Whether her tone was sincere or not, it was hard to say. Swallowing the anxiety, you took it.

“How long are you coming ‘round for?” Keeley asked. You looked up at the ceiling in thought.

“A week or two, depending.”

“Depending on… what exactly?” Rebecca asked, her grin faltering ever so slightly. The question itself made you want to turn around and run home. You had met a lot of powerful people in your career, but there was something about the way Rebecca held herself that made you more intimidated than you had ever felt before.

“Just depending on how things are going and if I feel like I need more time,” You explained quickly. “I will be at the next two matches.” Keeley broke out into a wide smile.

“That’ll be fun! You can sit in the box with us!” Keeley exclaimed. She tried to be subtle, but you didn’t miss the squeeze Rebecca gave Keeley’s arm at this comment, all while keeping a cool, collected face. You could almost feel the spike in your blood pressure.

“Shall I meet the team?” You asked, averting Rebecca’s eyes while desperately trying to appear as if you didn’t want to cry.

“Yes! Of course!” Keeley exclaimed. She quickly turned and gave Rebecca a kiss on the cheek before heading towards the door, a slight bounce in her step. “I’ll be back for lunch, Becs!”

“Do let me know if you need anything!” Rebecca called to your receding back. In lieu of a proper response, you gave her a quick smile before closing the door behind you.

The tension in your body seemed to go away, but you knew it was only temporary.

Keeley gave you the grand tour of the building. Every bathroom, office, or cleaner’s closet, she knew where it was and she made sure to show you. It hadn’t occurred to you just how big the stadium was on the inside, and it made you all the more grateful for her guidance.

The changing room was empty when she opened the door and let you venture in. Something about that was relieving to you. You walked along the benches, reading every name over each locker. When you got to Tartt’s name and number, you felt your heart drop into your abdomen. Something about reading his name on the wall and seeing the contents of his locker made this whole thing become suddenly real. And while you stood behind every word you’ve ever written about him, you felt incredibly anxious over how the next week (or two) would go.

“Where is everyone?” You asked Keeley while trying to pull my eyes away from the placard.

“Training,” She answered. “We’ll go out in a second.” You nodded, turning to find her beaming at you. Raising a hand, she pointed at one of the doors. “That’s the coach’s office.” You glanced at the closed door, seeing the desks through the window. “And that is the boot room.” You turned your head once more to find her other hand pointed at the room across the way. She took a step towards you, lowering her voice. “Careful going in there. It’s used for more than just dirty boots and washing the kits.”

You raised an eyebrow at her.

“It’s a sanctuary, so to speak,” She elaborated. “Serious conversations. Therapy sessions. Maybe even a shag, who knows?” Your shock must’ve crossed your face, because she instantly laughed. “I would never, but you can’t be sure.” Her eyes narrowed slightly in thought. “Also Will the kit boy is always in here. It's practically his office.. Seems to hear everything, that one. So be careful of that as well.” Before you had any chance to give a response, she turned and began to move, prompting you to follow.

She led you to the tunnel, and you could feel the anxiety pouring out of you. As you made your way into the sunlight, you squinted as everything slowly came into focus.

If you thought the stadium itself was bigger in person, you weren’t prepared for the field itself. The green was so brilliant when it wasn’t on the other side of a television screen. The seats appeared as if they had just gotten a fresh coat of paint. As Keeley led you towards the coaches, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking around. In the distance, you could see the players running around the field as they practiced plays for the next game. When your eyes caught a flash of the number 9, you turned your gaze to Keeley’s shoes in front of you, wanting to crawl out of your skin.

“G’ morning, gentlemen!” She called as the two of you approached the coaches. A chorus of greetings rang out as Keeley approached the tallest man with black hair and mean eyebrows, who you could only assume was the famous Roy Kent, and gave him a sweet kiss. As soon as she pulled away, his eyes fell on you.

“Who’s this?”

She introduced you, and not unlike Rebecca, the second your name left her mouth, the three of them visibly tensed. It went as quickly as it came, although the tension within yourself was only starting to build. If Keeley had noticed the change in the air, she didn’t voice it.

“This is Roy Kent, Nate Shelley, and Coach Beard,” Keeley introduced. You went around to each of them to shake their hands while she continued on. “She’s here to do the piece on Jamie.” You were already taking a step away from them when all their eyes widened.

“They- they’re having you do the profile?” Nate asked in a soft, unsure voice. Holding back a sigh, you nodded.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?” Roy Kent asked, his eyes still on Keeley. Her face fell slightly at his reaction, and it was then that it occurred to you that these reactions were just as hurtful to her, who set the profile, as it was to you.

“Don’t be rude, babe,” She said, shaking her head. “This will be good for both of them.” Coach Beard cleared his throat.

“Only if she-” He nodded his head at you. “-can remain unbiased.” All four sets of eyes fell on you, and you could feel the blood rising in your cheeks.

“I’m always unbiased,” You said, unable to hide the defensiveness this time. Beard scoffed.

“Okay.”

Just barely shaking your head, you wanted to walk out right then and there. This whole thing already felt like you were walking around with your tail between your legs, but coming for your journalistic integrity was something you weren’t going to take lightly.

“I’m going to write the truth,” You said simply. “And the truth will be whatever Jamie gives me.”

Despite what the reader’s would want, you thought to yourself, which would be the continuation of the war between the two of you.

As if on cue, Roy Kent turned towards the players in the field.

“WHISTLE!”

The yell made you jump, but everyone else seemed to be accustomed to it, the players immediately pausing the play and running over. A few confused looks were thrown in your direction, but you took the time to take your notepad out of your pocket to take some notes as the coaches addressed the team.

Roy Kent yells “whistle” instead of using one. Beautiful weather for practice. Team really responds well to-

“‘Scuse me, Coach?” A familiar Mancunian accent called out. Your pencil froze instantly, but not before a line went across the paper in surprise.

“Yeah, Jamie,” Coach Beard said patiently. Out of your peripheral vision, you saw him point a finger at you.

“Who’s that?”

All eyes fell on you. Despite the warm, late spring heat, your blood ran cold. Keeley, who was now tucked into Roy’s side, cleared her throat before announcing your name. Your eyes fell on every players’ face, watching as their expressions changed from confusion to downright disdain. A few heads turned in the direction of Jamie, who’s jaw had tensed.

“She’s here to do a piece on Jamie,” Keeley continued, and you had to give her credit for being completely unfazed by the change in mood. “She’ll be here for a week or two, and will be at both of the next matches.”

Unsure of what else to do, you raised a hand in greeting, trying to muster up a smile. Surprisingly, there were a few muttered greetings, although the overall impression you had was not pleasant.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?”

All eyes turned to Jamie, who had been quiet until this point. He wasn’t looking at you, just staring in disbelief at Keeley and the coaches. Roy raised and dropped his shoulders in response, having said the exact same thing just moments before. Keeley’s head fell slightly to the side.

“Come on, Jamie,” She said, pleadingly. “This’ll be good for you! It’s a chance to show everyone how much you’ve changed!”

He wasn’t hearing her, however, as he shook his head before storming off back towards the changing room. When he disappeared down the tunnel, all eyes fell on you once more. Keeley broke from Roy to follow Jamie, but you stopped her.

“I should probably handle this,” You said to her quietly. She looked unsure, but still nodded. Taking a deep breath, you turned and made your way back towards the changing room. The coaches didn’t miss a beat as Roy Kent’s voice could be heard echoing throughout the field.

“Get moving! Fifty laps, let’s go!”

Just before you passed the threshold of the tunnel, all of the team made their way past you, and not a single one went by without giving you either an intense glare or curious stare.

As you made your way into the changing room, you were greeted by something hitting against the wall loudly. Across the room from you was Jamie, and across from him was the laundry bin, which was now tipped onto its side and well away from the spot you had seen it in before. He was wearing a black sports shirt with dark blue sleeves and the word Bantr sported across his torso. His black Nike shorts went above mid thigh, and hugged his muscular thighs just perfectly. When he looked up to find you, he immediately turned away.

“I don’t want to fuckin’ talk to ya, just piss off,” He said, voice laced with venom. Despite his tone, you took a few steps forward.

“I didn’t want to do this either, you know,” You told him. “It’s all for publicity. You have to understand that.” He laughed.

“Wasn’t publicity when you wrote that bullshit about me,” He threw back. “‘If Jamie Tartt behaved in public the way he played on the field, a lot of journalists would be out of a job, including meself.’” There was something surreal about your words being used against you in this moment, but he kept going. “‘This stint on Love Conquers All just proves that some of us should stick to what we know, although for Jamie Tartt, that narrows down to football and being a twat, so maybe he was just trying to explore his options.’” Despite his anger, you had to bite the inside of your cheek.

“So you’re a fan.”

“Hilarious.”

“You have my work memorized,” You pointed out in a vain attempt to break the strain. “Sounds like fan behavior to me.” He shook his head, not amused.

“A proper comedian, you are.” You let out an exasperated sigh.

“I won’t apologize for what I wrote,” You said bluntly. “Just like I don’t expect you to apologize for anything. But I have to be here. And I’m not here to make you look bad. I’m just here to write what I see.”

Though his jaw was still tense, he seemed to consider this as he stared at the ground.

“Is that what you’ve always done?” He asked, his head still turned towards the floor with his eyes jumping towards you. “Wrote what you saw?” You nodded slowly. His gaze dropped to the floor again, his hand running through his long hair, which was falling on either side of his forehead. “So all you saw me as was a fuckin’ twat?”

The easy answer was yes, but it didn’t feel so easy when you were being asked the question now.

“It’s easy to see things in a person when you don't really know them,” You admitted quietly. “That’s probably why a lot of journalists aren’t very popular.” He nodded, seeming to agree with you. “But maybe you could take this as a chance to prove me wrong.” Suddenly, he raised his head so he was staring straight ahead, still not at you. “Everyone who I’ve met since getting here has shown in one way or another that they don’t approve of what I said. You’ve shown many people that there’s more to you than a cocky arsehole.” Confidently, you took a step forward, and you were pleased when he didn’t react to it.

“So show me too.” This is what made him finally turn his head towards you. You nodded at him. “And I’ll show everyone else.”

A nod from Jamie was all you got before he turned on his heel and walked back out to the pitch. Something in you felt relieved over this chat. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as hard as you thought it would.

For the rest of practice, you sat in the stands, taking notes, watching and listening. For the most part, it seemed that your presence had been forgotten, although there was the occasional glance from one of the players or coaches. Keeley had long gone back to work, leaving you in the trenches.

Afternoon quickly fell into evening. When the players were released to go to the showers, you rose and began to collect your things. A slight whistle came from behind you, and when you turned, you were unexpectedly greeted by Coach Beard. Slowly rising to stand straight, you waited. He seemed to be struggling to find the words to say.

“I don’t have kids,” He started, causing your eyebrows to knit together. “But these players are my sons.” Your face relaxed again, understanding hitting you. He gestured towards the players who were still filling into the tunnel. “Those are my boys. When you come for one of my boys, you come for all of us.” You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised his hand to stop you. “I won’t fault you for what is in the past. I understand you have a job to do, and no one will stop you from doing it. But he’s not the same.” As he said it, he turned in time to see the number 9 disappear into the tunnel. “He’s not the guy you wrote about before.” He turned back to you, a tender smile on his face. “Give him a chance.”

You weren’t sure if a response beyond a nod was needed, so that was all you gave. He nodded back, as if some unspoken agreement had been come to, and followed after the men. You threw your bag over your shoulder and made your way out.

When you got to your car, the car park had largely emptied out. As you threw your bag into your passenger side door, you noticed the car a few spaces away from you was occupied. Jamie Tartt continued to sit in his idling vehicle, staring at the wheel. When you climbed into the driver’s side, you looked over to find that he was already returning your gaze.

You hesitantly lifted your hand and gave him a wave. He waved back with an over-enthused smile, before raising the middle finger at you and quickly pulling out of the spot, tires screeching behind him.

Your hand dropped back to your lap in defeat.

This was going to be the longest week of your life.

And there was no way you were staying for two.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso fanfiction

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

try to relax

bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ minors dni. (fingering, fxm intercourse, dirty talk) drug use (don’t do drugs kids) and kinda dub-con because drugs. this is a FIC okay fictional. FAKE. swearing. one mention of death, tiny illusion to bucky’s sad little life but he’s fine now okay.

a/n: i honestly don’t know how good this is but i’m just happy to have finished SOMETHING these past two weeks. ding dong eat this!!!!

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You need to chill the fuck out.” You say from your spot against the wall. Even watching him was stressing you out, your eyes tracking him back and forth as he paces the room you have both been stuck in for the last 3 hours.

“And you need to take this more seriously.” He takes a break from walking in a straight line to run a hand through his hair, peaking out the window for the hundredth time.

“They aren’t coming. Not for a while, at least.” Your head rolls back, the hunched position making you ache everywhere, but you didn’t have anywhere else to go with Bucky’s pacing.

“How would you know? You’ve been sitting there half asleep on your ass for hours while everyone else is probably searching for us.” He was so worked up— had been all day. This mission had gone wrong the minute the two of you had been paired up. Secure the perimeter, that was all you had to do. It was simple, but you and Bucky were anything but.

You don’t know when it started; it had to of been in the past few months when you started helping Steve out with a few lower level drug guys that turned out to be linked to Hydra. You never thought drug-dealing would turn out to lead to a promotion like this— staking out a building with an Avenger, but now here you were, and Bucky seemed to hate it from the start. Hated you too, probably.

There was just something about you that didn’t mesh well with him. It could be the way he never seemed to take a breath for one second, constantly either in a state of combat or some sort of depressive episode. Either way, the two of you worked well together— as a working team, that is. Even if it was paired with constant bickering that made the entire team rip out the comms in there ears.

Bucky just made you feel… things. You didn’t know why you always bickered with him, always found an excuse to talk to him, even if it was to argue. You were just drawn to him in a way you didn’t understand, but it was best you didn’t. He certainly didn’t feel anything but mild irritation. Maybe more than mild.

“Look, they are either still trying to clear out the building across the street, orrrrr… they are all dead and we are next. Either way there’s nothing we can do about it right now, so you might as well get comfortable.”

“Our friends could be dead, and you want to get comfortable?”

“Your friends. My co-workers.” You drag your backpack over to you, using it as a pillow before laying down on the floor, preparing for a long night. The area Steve and Natasha were covering was huge, and now that you and Bucky had been locked in this room before you could finish your sweep, you were stuck here until they met up with you on the other side. “They aren’t dead, James. Without any super powered help though, it’s going to take them hours to even figure out we are still here. So chill out.”

Bucky sighed, but he had exhausted every way possible to get out of this room. There was a window, and if he was alone, he would take his chance and jump, but it was way too far for you, and Steve would kill him if he left you here. That’s the excuse he told himself, at least.

In reality, he didn’t want to leave you. You were the first person he’d had a connection with other than Steve in decades. Sure, you hated his guts and found him annoying, but you talked to him. Didn’t look at him like he was some kind of monster. You were never afraid of him, talking back at him like he was just another person, not a super soldier who could kill you in less than a second. You were also an ex-drug dealer, though, so maybe he shouldn’t value your opinion as much as he does.

The little fight he had about getting out of here drops out when his back hits the opposite wall to you, sliding down now that his body feels heavy with exhaustion. It had been a long day, and even if this mission was cut short, hanging around you all day always sucked the energy out of him. It was like adrenaline pumped him awake when he was with you—that was probably why you thought he was so strung out all the time. It was just you that made him nervous, put him on edge.

“I can practically hear you thinking.” You were staring at him, watching how his metal hand and the real one linked behind his neck as he leaned back. Yeah, he might hate you, but fuck if he didn’t look good doing it. His hair was getting a little longer now, fading around the nape of his neck, and you tried to look away but his eyes caught you like a snare, pulling you in.

“What?”

“You’re stressing me out. Take a Xanax or something, you need to just… relax.” He rolls his eyes, stretching his legs out in front of him.

“Of course you would tell me to take a fucking pill.” He shakes his head, and you shrug. “Your whole bag is probably full of shit to offload, huh?”

“One, I’m offended. I’ll have you know I’ve gone straightened arrow thanks to my new, well paying job. Two, this is my personal stash, and you’re lucky to be offered anything at this rate.” He scoffs, and for a second he thinks your bluffing— you must be. No one in their right mind would pack for a mission anything but the essentials; ammo, ropes, necessary supplies. Drugs were out of the question, why would anyone ever— “But, since we’re stuck here, it’s your lucky day.”

You reach into the side pocket of your bag, and pull out one small tin. It’s the size of your palm, and when you open it, the room is instantly filled with a smell that Bucky knows too well.

“Seriously? You brought a blunt on a fucking recon mission?” He nearly laughs. “You have to be kidding. You know Fury would kill you for that.”

“Well, technically it’s medicinal. And in the state of New York, it’s almost the same as carrying a firearm— legal as long as you have the right paperwork, which we do.” You pull out a lighter, and shuffle over on your knees to sit closer to him. He must be high already, because the sight of you coming closer, on your knees has his breath hitching in his throat. You reach out, offering him the tin.

“I’m not smoking.” You take the tin back, looking up at him through your lashes before lighting one end and inhaling deeply. Your eyes flutter shut, and he knows he’s watching you too intently, but your eyes are closed, and he lets himself indulge for one more second before looking out the window, hoping for a distraction from the way you have him feeling.

“Suit yourself.” You lay down, spreading yourself out on the floor as you bring the blunt back to your mouth. Your eyes cross as you watch yourself exhale, letting the heavy smoke fan out in the small space around you. “You know you could really use it, though.”

“I’ve had enough of people fucking with my head. I don’t need to do it to myself.” You sit up on your elbows, your hair sliding over your shoulder as you turn to look at him.

“This is weak as shit. With your super soldier blood, you probably won’t even get high, but if you don’t want it, I’m not gonna make you.” You weren’t feeling any of the effects yet, so the look of sincerity in your eyes almost makes Bucky feel a little bare. “I get it. Not wanting to fuck yourself up.”

“Yeah.” He manages to get out, watching at you inhale again. The room feels ten degrees hotter, and your chest puffs out just a little when you smoke. Bucky tucks his legs up to bend them.

“You drink like a fucking sailor though. Constantly. This—“ You wave the blunt in the air, smiling a little. “—this is much healthier.”

“Oh? Healthier? Must be why it’s illegal.”

“Medicinal.” You purr, looking at him again with a spark in your eye.

“I don’t get drunk.” You turn to face him then, still laying down, and the curve of your hip is exposed with how your shirt rides up. Bucky coughs, looking out the window again.

“Why do you drink so much, then?”

“Medicinal.” You grin lazily, flopping your head to one side, and then a light giggle comes out of your mouth, and Bucky is pretty sure he’s breathing in too much of your second hand smoke with how fast his heart is beating, despite the fact it’s all flying out the open window.

“You’re funny. Why didn’t I know you were funny?” You lay back down, exhaling more smoke and watching a little bit of ash fall off the end of the blunt.

“Too busy yellin’ at me.”

“Yeah, well if you didn’t go out of your way to piss me off so much, I wouldn’t yell.” Another few rings of smoke hover above you, and the more you smoke, the more intrigued he is with the effect it has on you, and what it would do to him.

“I don’t try to do that.” Bucky says, a little more defensive than he meant.

“Must be your natural charm, then. That or you just really hate my guts.” You say it jokingly, but there’s a tinge of truth behind it. You think he hates you? Sure, you argue, but he argues with everyone. It’s practically a personality trait. After a long silence, he finally finds the mind to say something.

“I don’t. Hate you.” His hands nervously tap against his knees. “If we’re being honest, I actually always kind of liked you. Even if you did piss me off all the time.”

“Aww. You like me!” You chirp in a sing-song tone and he scoffs, dropping his head to hide the stupid smile that makes his eyes light up. “That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah? I’ll take it back. No one’ll believe you; you’re high as shit.” You start laughing harder, proving his point.

“Well, there you go. Only took us being locked in a room for three hours, and now we’re best buds.” You laugh at your own joke, and Bucky shakes his head, only smiling because you were.

Inhaling again, the paper in your hand is nearly burnt out, and you relight it before sucking in one more time, and snuffing out the flame on the ground. The muscles in your shoulders nearly sink into the ground, and your eyes close, sighing.

“You okay?” He asks quietly after a few minutes, and you smile, keeping your eyes shut.

“Never better, Buck.” The nickname makes him straighten. You hardly ever call him Bucky, only James. He likes it a little too much; the way you say it. He sees how relaxed you are, how easy words come to you the longer you sit with the drug in your system, and he wants to feel that relaxed. Since he came back from Wakanda, he doesn’t think he’s had a second of feeling as relaxed as you are now. He was constantly wondering what was around the corner, terrified of his own mind, and even though he knew he was free, there was always going to be that thing in the back of his mind that told him to stay alert. Stay tense.

“What’s it feel like?” He hates how fucking young he sounds, but it’s an experience he’s never had. He didn’t do shit like that when he was young— never had a chance to. He was straight into the army, and the only thing he ever smoked was cigarettes.

“Warm.” You hum. For a second he thought you were asleep with how still you were. “Feels better the longer you wait.”

“Thought your tolerance would be better for a drug dealer.” He teases.

“I don’t use a lot. Never did.” You suck in a long, clean breath, and finally open your eyes again.

“Why not?”

“I gotta be with the right people. I don’t want my head all messed up around the people I was with. Need to trust them.”

“And you trust me?”

“Of course I do. I would of died a hundred times over if it wasn’t for you.” Sure, the two of you may not agree, and most of the time argue about it, but you trusted him a hell of a lot more than anyone you sold with. More than anyone, really. His eyes linger on the joint in your hand, and you raise an eyebrow. “You curious?”

“Kind of.”

“Really?” He shrugs, looking around the empty room. The sun was starting to set, washing you over in a hue of orange. There was literally nothing else to do right now. “Okay. You done this before?”

“I’m 106 years old.” He deflects, and you squint at him. “No, I haven’t.”

You laugh, sitting up and bringing your lighter in your right hand. You shuffle over on your knees, and you get a little closer than you need but Bucky lets you. Widening his legs, he lets you lean against the inside of one of his thighs.

You feel high as a fucking kite, and it’s not even the blunt that’s making you all lightheaded. Bucky smells so fucking good, and this close you can nearly sink into him. He’s watching you intently, eyes tracking when your hands fiddle with the paper and lighter, and as you bring it to his lips, he stares into your eyes when his parts his mouth.

“So, what you wanna do is—“

“Yeah, yeah. Light it.” He says, the blunt muffling his words as he leans forward. His chest presses against your side and you feel him breathe in, the small flame of the lighter licking at the twisted end.

He takes a long, deep breath and holds it for a couple seconds, staring at you with slightly widened eyes. You wait for it— the realisation it’s too much too quick, and in the next moment he’s coughing practically into your lap, turning away and snatching your water out of your hands.

“Jesus. You really are old.” He was still coughing, trying to swallow some water, but after he got a couple breaths back in he was smiling with you. Head resting back on the wall, grinning from ear to ear. “You good?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just been a while since I smoked anything.” You nod, taking a hit of your own. The familiar burn keeps the warmth spreading in your chest, and you can feel how hot your face is getting, the warmth of Bucky’s body heat making you want to reach out and grab him.

Okay— you needed to cool down. Clearly, being near Bucky was making you delirious, because the thoughts you could usually shut down were the same ones you couldn’t stop thinking about. How warm his mouth would feel, how easy it would be to curl into his chest and sleep this stupid mission away.

“Can I?” His metal hand gently drags the joint from your mouth as you nod slowly, staring up at him. You watch, enthralled at how he makes it look so good. He shuts his eyes, concentrating on the feeling of breathing and the honeyed feeling slipping into his chest. It was the closest thing you’d seen to pure perfection— how his hair fell, how his metal hand looked so careful, even though you knew what it could really do. Your eyes must nearly have hearts in them, you were staring with that much intent.

Bucky, on the other hand, was on cloud fucking nine. Two drags in and he could feel that warm, sleepy high you were talking about. He was worried about… well, something, at some point he thinks, but honestly he couldn’t hold onto a single thought other than the way you were looking at him right now. It was the drugs, he reasoned, but Jesus, he couldn’t help it. You were so close, and your eyes were so wide…

Wordlessly, the two of you share the second blunt, passing it between you with a few small laughs if Bucky chokes. You show him a few dumb smoke tricks you picked up along the way, and he fails miserably trying to copy them. Eventually the paper burns through and you snuff it out on the wall, letting your head fall back on the top of Bucky’s knee.

“Damn.” He says now that he’s sat in the feeling for a while. “You were right.”

“Huh?”

“Feels… good. The longer you wait.” You hum, smiling, and his face falls when you turn your head to look up at him. Wind blows through the crack in the window, and no matter how warm the weed is making you feel, you still shiver as it crosses over you. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… wind is cold.” He blows out a breath, head flopping to the side to squint at the window, almost like he’d forgotten it was there.

“We are high up. Gonna get colder tonight.” Neither of you expected an overnight mission, and you hadn’t even packed a jacket. “Come here.”

“What?”

“I’m cold, too. Come closer.” Arms outstretched, he looks way too inviting. It was James, though… and up until about three hours ago, you thought he hated you. Now, he wanted to… cuddle?

“James.”

“Don’t say my name like that.” He pouts. Like a four year old.

“Like what?”

“Like you hate me.” You shook your head, hair falling over your now heated cheeks. Feeling like you had to prove him wrong, like you had to make it up to him, and also like the only place you wanted to be was tucked into his giant frame, in one movement you spin around and lean into him, your back pressing against his chest. You sigh, sinking into the feeling of him pressed to your feverish skin, every exhale dropping you further and further down in his lap. His arms wrap around your waist, and you can feel his nose on the skin at the back of your neck.

“S’better, yeah?” His voice is gravely and low, the heat of his words brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Yeah. It’s good.” Your eyes were a little heavy, but you had never felt more awake. Bucky’s hands were fanned out on your stomach, holding you a little tighter now that he knew you wanted to stay.

“You smell nice.” His head is pressed against the back of yours, and the comment breaks you out into a fit of laughter, because of course he would say that.

“You would think so. It’s your shampoo I use.” You feel his laughter on the back of your neck, and it’s then that you somehow notice the sun has completely disappeared from the window. “Shit, Buck. What time is it?”

“Dunno.”

“We… we should try the comms again. See if Steve can hear us.” Bucky makes a noise, maybe agreement, or maybe he’s just humming a tune, but one of his arms skates along your side to reach for his pocket, and he holds out the comm to your ear, pressing the receiver.

After a few tries, you give up. It’s clear your going to be stuck here all night, but with the way you are now, you don’t really give a shit.

“Nothin’.” You say and he chucks the comm to the other side of the room, pulling you closer as he threads his metal arm back around your waist. “And you said I needed to take this more seriously.”

“I am being very…” His lips brush against the hot skin of your collarbone “..very serious right now.”

“Bucky…” He hums again, the vibration on your skin sinking all the way through your body. “You’re… friendly—when your high.”

“I’m always friendly.” Fuck— the way he says it, he’s not even trying to but it makes your toes curl in your shoes. You don’t say anything, just let his head press into the crook of your neck, like he’s using you to hold himself up. He probably feels as weighed down as you do, all your limbs feeling like weights now. After a bit of silence, he picks his head up. “I like this.”

“You like it?” He nods, the few curls on his forehead tickling under your jaw. “Well, I can get you some if you—“

“Not the drugs. You.” A noise erupts from your throat, somewhere between a gasp and a pathetic whimper.

“You’re just high, Buck.” It makes you a little angrier than it should— he gets to say stuff like that now cause he’s all fucked up, but then he’s gonna go right back to his old self when this wears off in a couple of hours, and you hate that he can make you feel all these things with a few sweet words. As hard as it is, you slide out of his hold, and he frowns, head falling back to lean on the wall again.

“M’not.” He moans, shuffling up slightly.

“Yes, you are. Let me see your eyes.” Bucky lets his head fall forward dramatically, and now you’re on your knees in front of him, you can see how flushed his face is, and his eyes are bloodshot. “You’re high as fuck.”

“So?”

“So, you’re talking out of your ass. You don’t get to say things like that then take them back when your heads clear.” It comes out a little more bitter than you planned, and you shove yourself backward, putting more space between you two. It didn’t matter how much you wanted it— he was fucked, and would never want you sober.

“What? Wait… give me a second.” He rubs his eyes, and shakes his head in this totally endearing way that makes you want to slide back over in his arms, but you keep your hands cemented to the floor. “That’s not— I wouldn’t take it back. I do… like you.”

“Why are you saying that like it leaves a bad taste in your mouth?” He swallows and blinks slowly, and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. If you weren’t so high right now, you might be more upset with him. Or more… reactive, in another way. Instead you just sit and watch him blink at you, nearly being able to hear the cogs slowly turning in his brain.

“No, I just... Jesus, you are so complicated.” Your jaw hangs open, and it’s you that gets a little closer this time.

“Me? I’m complicated?”

“Yes. Complicated.” He pronounces every syllable of the word, a slight smirk on his face. “You act like you hate me most days, but you always look at me like...”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me. Bad.” That wipes the expression off your face, and you can’t tell if it’s the drugs in your system or just the effect Bucky has on you, but you struggle to get a proper breath in. “Like maybe you want me as bad as I want you, and for some reason you don’t want to admit it.”

“Bucky.” You say, and it was meant to have some kind of warning in it, but it comes out more as a whimper. He was reading your mind, all those times you rolled your eyes at him, started an argument just so he would get angry at you and focus on you; you could blame the weed as much as you wanted, but even stone cold sober Bucky would be able to get you to give in this easy.

“Tell me you haven’t thought about it. Even once.” He shuffles forward on his knees, towering over you.

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

“Yeah, I do. Really bad.” He’s closer now, and you can smell the faint remains of his cologne. It’s nearly intoxicating. Your back was pressing against the wall, and you weakly kick out a leg into his chest, stopping him from getting closer. It’s the last thing you want, but Bucky stops, sinking back on his heels.

“You don’t. You aren’t thinking clearly.” His shoulders slump, and the way his eyes are all wide and puppy dog like, you can’t figure out if you should just let him do whatever he wants to you or splash water in his face. The only reason you haven’t jumped on him yet is because this must be the weed. It has to be, because there’s no way in hell Buck actually wants you. He’s just cold, horny, probably, but he doesn’t want you. He doesn’t even like you…

“Nothing I haven’t thought a hundred times before.” Bucky whispers, staying where he is opposite you. “Think about it too much, probably. All the time.”

“Think about what?” He smiles then, like he could almost see the last bit of your rational brain fly out the small crack of the window. He moves, not on top of you like you hoped he’d try, but next to you, exhaling as he relaxes against the wall. His shoulder presses into yours, and his head flops to the side nearly resting on you.

“Think about how you always piss me off. Like you do it on purpose.” The anxiety you were feeling starts to fade away, and the calming effects of the drug set in, making your eyes flutter shut as you smile. “Makes me think you just do it to get my attention.”

“You wish.” He’s right, reading you like an open fucking book, and even with his inebriated state he knows it. He looks up at you, grinning ear to ear, and you shove him. Not hard enough to get him off you, though.

“I’m not saying anything I don’t mean. I’ve never hated you. Never not wanted you.” He blows past the admission, stretching his legs out and moving so the entire length of his body was pressing against the side of yours. But it’s not lost on you. It’s almost like you’re dreaming— everything you never thought you’d hear is laid out in front of you, and your heart nearly stops at the thought of taking it.

“Wanted me, huh?” You deflect and he nods, still staring at you. “You have a shit way of showing it.”

“I haven’t got the best game nowadays. It’s been… a while.” Both of you laugh a little harder than necessary, and now you really feel it. That familiar buzz… it’s taken a little longer to set in, but now there’s not a thought in your brain other than the way Bucky’s head was resting on your shoulder, and his nose was grazing the skin just under your jaw. “Let me make it up to you.”

“You know this isn’t what I had in mind when I said you needed to chill out.” You suck in a sharp breath when his hand comes up under your jaw, two long fingers angling your head up just right, so your lips would melt together if he moved half an inch forward.

“That’s not a bad thing, right?” He says it so soft, and his eyes flutter closed, letting you make the call. You stare at him for a second, trying to find any part of your blissed out head that would take the moral high ground. “Cause I would be very, very relaxed if you kissed me right now.”

“Bucky…” His eyes open, keeping his hand on your jaw. “I don’t want to kiss you if you’ll go back to hating me tomorrow.”

“I never hated you.” His hand slides back, fingers threading in your hair and he shakes his head. “I want this if you do.”

“You know I do.” You whisper, and he hums, eyes darting between your mouth and his hands in your hair.

“S’fucking pretty, too. Always thought that.” The compliment makes you lose your edge, and you stutter through your sentences, trying to be the rational one— but let’s face it, he’s got you wrapped around one metal fucking finger.

“You aren’t— Bucky. I’m… we can’t. You are off your face—“

“I’m a fucking super soldier. One joint doesn’t make me want you any less.” Both of his hands hold you, his eyes wide. It’s like he’s suddenly awake, proving a point that if he concentrates, he’s still able to think clearly. “I want you. Now and tomorrow. After that.”

“After that?” You smile and laugh, and he brushes his nose against yours.

“Do you want this, doll?” You blink a few times and nod quickly, not wanting him to mistake your sluggishness for hesitation, and he leans forward. The buzzing of adrenaline is mixing with the warmth from the joint, and you know it’s going to happen, because he’s never someone you could say no to. When he finally kisses you it’s soft, electricity almost zapping if he wasn’t pressing against you so lightly.

It only lasts about three seconds and he pulls away, smiling like a kid before his metal arm wraps around your back and slides you over his lap. Both of you breathe in sync, sucking in air before colliding your lips again. It’s still slow, but harder this time, Bucky’s hand pulling your hair a little as he makes a fist, trying to hold onto something— anything to ground him.

Maybe it’s the fact your both in the clouds, or it’s the built up tension from months of bickering and side eye glances, but one roll of your hips has both of you panting, and you swear if you just get a little more friction you could finish right in his lap, him only needing to tug on your hair a little harder.

“Bucky.” You moan like it’s a curse word, and he growls into your mouth, pulling you tighter. Your movements aren’t controlled, your brain so foggy that you aren’t sure you can really feel your fingertips and how hard they might be digging into the strong lines of Bucky’s neck, but he’s just as gone as you are, and you both revel in the unhinged desperation that has you both pulling— pleading with the other to give in.

“Baby, baby…” He sighs, and kisses down your neck. His teeth scrape along the skin, nipping lightly, the warmth of his mouth following in a soothing apology. “Tell me you want me like I want you. Don’t want you to hate me for this.”

“Never fucking hated you, Bucky. Just…” You roll your hips again and let out the most pathetic sound you think you’ve ever made, the drugs only making everything feel slower and a hundred times better. “I want you. Want you now.”

Your hands slip between your bodies, and Bucky bites harder than he wanted to on your collarbone when you palm him roughly through his jeans.

“Fuck. Sorry, baby.” He kisses over the spot, now destined to leave a mark, but the way you bummed when he did it makes him think you like it.

“It’s okay. You feel good.” You say, breathless and voice heavy with need. He has to stop himself from tearing your pants open and shoving himself inside of you then and there, but the weed and the fact you were finally letting him touch you like this makes him want to draw this out. Make you wait; have it nice and slow like you deserve. “Buck. Please, need you to—“

“Shh. I’ll take care of you.” He mumbles into your ear, feeling you shiver as both of his hands drop to rest on your upper thighs. He squeezes, forcing you to relax, although your limbs already feel like jelly. Then they slide upward, tugging at the button of your jeans and pulling them down. “You trust me?”

Nodding again, you both move at the same time. It’s awkward and fumbling, you trying to keep your hands on him while the both of you try to undress, and you feel so lightheaded that when Bucky swears under his breath while yanking your pants over your knees, you can’t help but laugh between the moments Buckys mouth isn’t on yours. He smiles back, you know even though your eyes are shut, and suddenly you don’t feel trapped in this room at all.

Your bare knees hit the cold hardwood floor and you sigh, putting the rest of your weight on top of Bucky. He sucks in a breath, one arm wrapping around your lower back, the cool metal making you flinch slightly. He notices, and goes to let you go, but you just shake your head.

“Don’t. I like it there.” Your eyes flutter open to find his own staring right at you, and when you talk he gets a lazy smile, his face relaxing before his real hand reaches up to your face and kisses you again.

“You like it?” He whispers, moving down to kiss your neck and you nod. “Good. That’s good. What about this?”

His mouth moves lower while his other hand does the same, resting on your hip and pushing you down a little harder.

“Yeah.” You breath, threading your fingers through his hair. You tug lightly and he groans, the sound making you smile. You can’t count how many times you’d imagined your hands in his hair. His hand lets go of your hip, rough pads of his fingers tracing lightly over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He traces the outline of your underwear, the gentle touch sending shivers up your spine and making it hard to get a full breath in. You press into him harder, the haziness in your mind pin pointed to the burst of pleasure rushing through you at the feeling.

“Let me help you, baby.” His words are a little slurred, and he moves slowly, but there’s nothing hesitant in the way his hand slips under the thin, ruined fabric of your underwear and draws slow, tight circles on your clit. You choke out a moan that’s lost in his mouth, body slumping forward as your head falls into the crook of his neck. “There you go. Good girl— good fucking girl.”

“Oh god—“ You moan, and he doesn’t get faster, just keeps that same slow, controlled pace.

“That’s it. Just relax— let me… shit, wanna hear how good I’m making you feel.” You don’t think you could possibly be more relaxed right now, feeling Bucky in all the right places.

He kisses along your jaw, letting his tongue dart out and teeth drag lightly over the spots that make you gasp. There isn’t a spot he hasn’t explored, the attention making you feverish and your eyes squeeze even tighter shut than you thought possible.

Your back arches and he grins against your skin, feeling your fingers grab his hair desperately and hearing you get louder and louder. His metal arm gripped your hip tight— forcing you to go at his pace, a slow staggering towards the building pleasure unfurling low in your stomach. When he kisses you again, head finally pulling back to your lips, it’s short and has you chasing his mouth.

“Wanna see those pretty eyes you when you cum. Look at me.” On command, you open your eyes, finding his gaze all too consuming. “There she is. You close, baby? Wanna cum around my fingers?”

Nodding, you cry out as he slides one finger inside of you, the wetness letting him open you up embarrassingly easily. He hums, almost smiling proudly, and you fight every instinct in your body to keep your eyes open and on him, because he told you so.

Everything halts for a second— you feel all your muscles contract and it’s almost like you’re falling, Bucky’s eyes burning into yours. He holds you closer, forehead pressing against you, and then pleasure overrides all of your senses. He guides you through it, his pace drawing out your release for as long as possible, still that slow, strong force that has you seeing literal stars even though you know you are looking at his eyes. The drug only heightens the sensation, feeling warmth and weightlessness like you never have before.

“Fuck. You’re so pretty.” You moan in response, feeling his index finger brush past your clit again as he slides away from your entrance. Heaving breaths return the oxygen to your brain, and you pull him into a bruising kiss, shaking fingers slipping under the fabric of his boxers.

You hear Bucky suck in a sharp breath when your hands skim lower, pulling his boxers down ever so slowly. He couldn’t figure out what to look at— your hands, soft and gentle, brushing against parts of his skin he’s not sure anyone this decade would of seen, or your face, the lazy smile and the way you bite your lip when you see how fucking hard he is for you just from hearing you say his name. Your hand brushes against him, lightly; teasing, and you smile a little wider when he lurches forward.

“Relax.” You say mockingly and he shakes his head, pulling your mouth back to his. Your bodies move in sync now, him shuffling down as you move up, and the kiss is only broken by a pleasured gasp from both of you as he slowly slides inside of you. “Oh, fuck—“

“You feel so good.” Bucky whines into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t move just yet, giving you time to adjust and only shifting your hips so you can take the weight off your legs. “Can feel how tight you are.”

“Bucky… please. Need you.” The feeling of him moaning against your skin makes your spine shiver.

“Alright, sweetheart. Stay nice and still for me, yeah?” Nodding, he shifts his hips, driving deeper inside of you and your mouth hangs open as fireworks shoot off in your stomach. His pace is slow at first, but Bucky doesn’t have the control he did with his hands. Not when he can feel you reacting to every move he makes, feel how you tighten around him when he talks to you— “Tell me how it feels.”

“Really… really good, Buck.” He looks up, not able to do anything but admire the way your head falls back, exposing all the little marks and bruises he’s made against your soft skin. “F-faster. Please.”

“Wrap your arms around me.” He can’t smell the weed anymore, just the intoxicating scent of you as your arms link behind his neck, kissing his forehead before he speeds up, feeling all that pent up anger and stress chin away with each passing second. “God, that’s it.”

He was too far gone now, being buried in you the strongest high he’s felt in his entire life— you were too sweet, too fucking tempting and good to him, he couldn’t even think about how wrong this was right now, all he could think about was how god damn good you made him feel, and how you were saying his name over and over like it meant something to you. Saying it with none of that hate and bite, no attitude, just pure fucking pleasure, and that thought pulled him over the edge.

“Buckyyy…” You whined again, jaw slack, and he could feel you were close too. Another few seconds and he’d be right there with you, and he wanted it more than he’d let himself admit.

“Hold on. Little bit longer.” He grunted into your mouth, one hand holding your jaw.

“I can’t… please—“

“Yes you can. So fucking stubborn. You can.” He kisses you softly and your eyebrows furrow in concentration— so fucking good to him—“Almost, baby. Doin’ so fucking good.”

He tightens his metal arm around your waist, moving your body into his so hard your nails dig into the flesh of his neck, and a choked whimper comes out of him before he can stop it.

“Gonna cum, okay? Wanna feel you first though… please.” The softness of his voice is what hurls you over for the second time, your body collapsing into Bucky’s strong arms.

You feel his abs tense under his shirt as he cums, the warmth of him filling you so deep you can’t imagine feeling anything else for days. You kiss him again, and his mouth falls open, wide and all consuming, pulling you in so deep you have no choice but to let him take what he wants, what he needs— and fuck, you are glad to give it to him.

There’s nothing cold about the way he holds you now, the open window blowing in a breeze from the now pitch black night, but Bucky’s arms are tight around your waist, and he’s still buried inside of you, panting with his face pressed to your skin. He’d catch his breath faster if he wasn’t constantly kissing along your collarbone, but he doesn’t seem to care.

“Buck—”

“Don’t move yet. Just a lil’ longer.” You feel metal fingers grazing the line of your spine, running up and down in tentative lines.

You weren’t really going to tell him to move. You were going to say something about how the comm he threw had been flashing for twenty minutes, indicating someone was trying to reach the two of you, but couldn’t get through because neither of you were on the other line. You pick your head up off his shoulder, pushing him back gently to look in his eyes. His head falls against the wall, a grin spread on his face that makes him look a hundred years younger.

“Why are you smiling?” He laughs, slowly looking down your body to where you were still connected, his hands now resting firmly on your hips.

“Just… happy?” The rooms silence is broken up with your scoff and more of his laughter, the sound only making you feel even lighter. He gives your hips a light squeeze, and you open your eyes again. “Been thinking about this for months. You. You’re why I’m smiling.”

Kissing him again felt like the most relaxing thing in the world, and when he flipped you on your back, you shoved your backpack over the comm link, covering the flashing light and leaving the two of you in darkness.

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