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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months

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Pretty like the wind

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a/n Part four! I know I said no stories till the end of the week but my class got delayed and I dreamed of this so... here we are. This is a bit of a roller coaster.

warning: nightmares, injuries, past trauma, mean people.

Not proofread just yet

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Azriel was walking through the forest. Thick snow heavy on his boots. Yet the sound of it was soothing. Azriel always loved winter. There was just something so beautiful about it. Or maybe it was the cold that spoke to him. But then it only showed that something so lethal could also be beautiful. Delicate. And that in itself gave the spymaster hope that he too wasn't a lost cause. If someone managed to love winter as much as he did, they would learn to love him as well.

"Boo", the sound made Azriel flinch slightly. He was too lost in his own mind to notice that he was indeed no longer alone. Axel stood in front of him, a cheeky grin on his face. The spymaster pressed a hand to his chest dramatically and said, "Nearly gave me a heart attack". The boy fell into fits of laughter, too distracted to notice Azriel reaching for him before he playfully pulled the boy into his arms.

"Don't get the mittens wet, you two", your voice broke through the laughter. Gentle and soft. Guiding. Azriel looked up. Here in the middle of a forest clearing, you looked like an actual angel. He imagined that was what men in war called for. That's what an angel of mercy looked like. Had to... A snowball hit Azriel right in the chest. The little mischievous youngling was already racing through the piles of snow. His little feat of little help. The broken wings barely managed to lift his body, even a tiny bit.

Azriel chased after him. The silent forest was beating with screeches. "I want to join! I want to join!", Zofie's voice rang out too. She was nestled in your arms. All bundled up in knitted layers. Her tiny button nose was already rosy. She was too tinny for the snow. The storm must have been wild last night. It was more than clear that she would submerge in the white blanket, at least up to her armpits. Azriel quickly snatched Axel off his feet, pulling him up with one hand. There was no doubt that his tummy would be hurting from this extensive laughter.

"Want to sit on my shoulder?", Azriel suggested, his attention now fully occupied by the little girl. Her curious eyes gleamed. "You can tell me if the river over there is frozen over. I can't see myself", that was a white lie. Azriel knew it was. His shadows had scanned the place. But he wanted to make her feel special, so he wasn't all that surprised when she scrambled to get out of your hands and onto Azriel's broad shoulder. She felt like a little feather in his arms.

"It's frozen", Zofie muttered. "I want to look as well", Axel scrambled for Azriel's side, pulling up. "Kids, Azriel is not a climbing tree", yet your voice didn't seem to reach them. You stepped closer to them, your foot sliding down the rock that must have been under you. Azriel was quick to steady your step. "Careful, love", he muttered under his breath. You smiled lovingly at him right as you reached the very edge of the river.

Azriel stepped first. Testing the ice before he reached out a hand for the kids. The two of them were way too occupied as they held onto one another, giggling, their feet slippery beneath them. Azriel held both of your hands as you steadied yourself. Big smile on your face as you opened to say something, but all that came out of your mouth was blood, your body lunging forward as an aero pierced your heart. Azriel caught your body right as the white material of your dress pooled with your blood, turning crimson. "No", was all he managed to mutter. "Y/N, hey... hey, love", his vision grew blurry. Your big eyes staring at him.

Thudding filled his ears. Then came the sound of crackling. Chipping ice hitting the snow. Azriel's head leaped sideways. He caught a glimpse of the two kids' fists hitting the ice. "No", he shouted. Your body slipped out of his arms as he scrambled to get up. Only to lock eyes with them as the ice gave in beneath them, and both of their bodies sank into the icy river. Azriel let out a deadly roar as he hurdled toward the crack, dipping himself into the water.

"No", the spymaster shot up with a jolt, his body covered in sweat, hair sticking to his face. For the first time, he hated the darkness that surrounded him. With one swift movement, Azriel jumped out of bed. His heart was beating so fast that he was sure he was going to puke all over himself. "They're fine", he muttered to himself, "It's fine". Yet his feet were already moving. His body carried on its own as he vaulted through the stairs. Fist pounding on the door while Azriel leaned against the doorframe.

He nearly fell to his knees when your smaller body appeared. Messy hair - clear evidence that you have been in a deep sleep. "Azriel", you mumbled as you scanned the male in front of you. His heavy breathing was so loud that you barely heard yourself. "Are you okay?", the spymaster whispered, his eyes looking all over you. So mortified. Shaking. "Well, besides the fact that you just woke me...", you tried to lighten the mood, but it seemed like his mind was moving a step forward. Azriel peered over your shoulder and asked, "Axel and Zofie?". You stepped aside to give him a clearer view of what was behind you. The room was dim, but the fireplace cast enough light to see the two kids nestled in between the sheets. "They're...", you started, but cut yourself off quickly. "Is everything okay?", you reframed your words.

That seemed to snap something within Azriel. He ran a hand through his damp hair and said with a deep breath, "Yeah, sorry, sorry, I...", he shook his head, almost in disbelief, that he had even come all the way here. As if his mind had only grasped onto reality just now. "Hey...", you moved to reach for his palm. Your hand was much smaller than his, but they fit snuggly against one another. Azriel just looked at you. Soaking in your soft gaze, the feeling of your skin. Your hand was indeed warm. And soft. Those two things alone seemed to settle him. You let him take a couple of calmer inhales before stepping out of the room. "Come", you beckoned him.

He just watched you move around the kitchen. The silky nightgown flowed with every move. Light goosebumps on your skin. The lower levels seemed to get colder at night. Azriel was still burning up from his nightmare, so he didn't seem to feel the chill, but you did, and a part of Azriel felt guilty that he had nothing to offer. He was... shirtless. That made his cheeks heat even more. His muscles flexed, but he tried to calm himself down. Azriel didn't want to gawk. He wasn't that kind of man, but the silk, your body beneath it... And all you were doing was making a cup of tea for him. He shifted in his seat. Eyes burning holes in your back. You felt his gaze too, grateful that your back was turned to him. You caught the strap of your nightgown slipping off your shoulder as you reached for the honey, cursing silently before turning back to the spymaster. Eyes meeting his in an instant.

"Drink", you handed him the cup, his fingerprints brushing over yours. "Poison?", he asked, your lips curving upwards, "The strongest kind". Azriel held your gaze firmly before he slowly nodded his head, "Hum, you licked the spoon, though". You crooked your head with a sigh, "Well, shit, huh. Guess we both are doomed now". Azriel let out a chuckle that matched yours before his eyes settled back on you. You were right beside him. Even with him sitting down, you still had to tilt your head up slightly.

"What?", you asked after a light smirk curled his lips. "Why are you looking at me like that?", you asked, crossing your arms over your chest. "You cursed", his words took you by surprise before you snorted slightly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "I'm not an angel", you cackled quietly. But Azriel didn't find it funny. You look like one, he thought. But he couldn't bring himself to say that.

"Sorry, yeah, an assassin,", he said in a serious voice, narrowing his eyes. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh as well. "You can be funny, you know", you told him, Azriel's eyes grew big. "Is that a compliment?", he said in a teasing manner. "Hmmm", you tapped your finger on your chin a couple of times, "No, an observation". Azriel took a sip of the tea before looking back at you. "Keeping tabs on me?", and you could swear his voice sounded deeper, even more velvety than before. Something shivered deep within you. "Most definitely", you said firmly.

Your eyes locked once again. Only now did you realize how close you'd been standing. You could feel the heat of his body radiating. You bit your lip without thinking, and Azriel let out a low growl. Darkness flowed through his eyes. His magic rippled beneath his skin. Your hand reached for him. Your fingers glowed slightly as you brushed them over his chest. It felt like there was no oxygen in the room for a moment. But you equally felt as if you were floating. Azriel leaned closer. You could feel his breath against your skin. Yet another shiver ran down you. You were inches away. There was so little space between you. You sucked in a breath. Something creaked in the distance, making you both jump apart. You quickly tucked your hair behind your ears. Azriel let out a cough. "It's getting late", "The kids upstairs", you both said at the same time, nodding. Eyes everywhere, but on each other.

You brushed a hand over your face before plastering a big smile for Zofie, who was nervously twisting the side of her skirt between her fingers. You knew that the moment the music filled the room, she would loosen up and grow into her body, but now she was fighting her fear of being around others. Past terrors eating at her. "Hey", the feeling of a warm palm on your shoulder made you turn to the side. Your cheeks instantly grew crimson as you saw Azriel standing there. His hair was messy, and from the bags under his eyes, you were almost sure that he too got little sleep last night. You couldn't help but wonder if the same thing kept him up for the rest of the night. You didn't say anything; you just scooted to the side to give him more space. His eyes instantly moved to look for Zofie; that alone made your heart swell. Azriel waved her way, and she instantly dropped her head, her long hair covering her face, but you could see a little smile on her face from where you sat. "She's been asking about you", you said softly, pulling Azriel's attention back to you. "Has she?", the tinge of hope in his voice was evident. You hummed, "That cookie was surely made with love." Azriel stayed quiet, but you knew that your words hit the spot.

You two watched Zofie in silence, besides a laugh here and there when she lost herself in the sound of music just a bit too much. Her wild hair, accompanied by a bright pink too-too, made her quite a character. Azriel went back and forth between watching Zofie and you. His hand inched closer to yours. Your gaze caught the subtle action. "About last night...", Azriel said quietly. You were about to turn to him when the voice from another direction caught your full attention instead. "Y/N," it was Padme. The look on her face made all the blood drain from her body. You stood up quickly, "What is it?". She rarely got down to the communal levels; work kept her in the upper tower. So the fact that she was here had to mean that something bad must have happened. And all she said was one word, but that was enough to make you sway. "Axel", she muttered. You felt a hand steady you from the back. The world blurred for a moment, and then you took off running.

The healer level was laced with a thick smell of herbs and brews. That didn't help the dizziness that pulled at you. You must have looked like a mad woman, the way you barged in. Your eyes were wild as you scanned the healing pods. "What happened", you breathed out. Trying. Hoping that someone would give you the answer. Any answer. But no one said anything. Did you even speak the words aloud? You took a deep breath. "What happened?", you asked firmly.

One of the healers waves you over from across the room; the door to the last pod was open, and you assumed that was where Axel was. "He tried to fly over the wall", the female said once you were close enough to her. "Axel", you nearly shrieked at the image of that. He couldn't. There was no way. His wings were too weak. "He made it to the second floor", she continued, but you raised your palm, silencing the healer. You could imagine the rest yourself.

You pushed past her, slipping into the room. Axel was covered in bruises. The deformed wings were all scratched up, lying on his side loosely. Bile rose in your throat. You swayed slightly, only to be met with a strong wall of muscle behind you. "We cleaned up the bruises in the front but not the wings,", the healer said quietly. You knew their help was minimal when it came to that. In this case, at least. "I've got this, thank you", you said as professionally as you could, your nails digging into the warm muscular arms that were the reason why you still stood on your own two feet. "I'll call you over if I need help", the healer nodded her head, stepping away.

You inched closer to the bed. "I'll turn you on your stomach, okay?", you asked Axel softly. He barely showed any emotion, silent tears streaming down his face. You knew he endured worse pain. The night you dragged him out of that cellar... Your hands trembled at the cries that echoed.

"Let me", Azriel stepped up, reaching for Axel. You knew he was here. That he was with you. You felt Azriel right beside you up here, but it felt as if your brain had only caught up to the fact that it was his warmth that comforted you all this time. Now that he was away from you, the cold that nipped at your skin seemed almost unbearable.

Axel's face changed once he saw Azriel. A hiccup slipped past his lips, and you had to turn your head to the side to hide the tears that fell down your cheeks. "Hey, I've got you", Azriel muttered, both of his hands gripping Axel's as he kneeled at the top of a bed the boy was resting on. "I'm sorry, I'm...", Axel crocked out, trying to move his bruised body. "Why did you do it, bud?", Azriel might not understand and know most of the things yet but to make a flight like that... No youngling could do that; their bodies simply lacked strength. Another choked-out sob slipped past Axel's lips before he spoke up again, "They were making fun. Said I was... I was deformed", those words ripped out a chunk of Azriel's soul. In flashes, Azriel saw himself within the boy. He was eager to show that his will wasn't broken and that he had the spark within to be just like the others.

Azriel opened his mouth, but you quickly cut him off. "Let's look over your wings, okay? We'll figure out the rest later", you muttered, brushing away Axel's damp hair. You met Azriel's eyes briefly before all of his attention was back on the boy, who held onto him for dear life. You plunged deep within yourself. Searching for that familiar thread of light. You let our palms drown in the white light, coating the beaten wings and forming a cast over the mangled boning. Axel winced. "You're doing better than most soldiers in a war camp, bud", Azriel was quick to reassure him. His cold shadows brushed over Axel's forehead and neck, trying to keep the fever at bay and hold the boy conscious for as long as possible. "It hurts", he wept through gritted teeth. "Y/N will make it better", Azriel muttered, his eyes drifting to your hands, which by now had both of the scattered wing tissue glowings. Your body was shivering; it was no doubt taking a toll on your body too. Azriel was quick to calculate the leap he would have to make if you were to pass out. Keeping some of his shadows alert so they would notice the change in your breathing. "Hang in there, okay? This will be over soon," those were the last words Azriel told Axel before the boy limped completely. The tiny hands that held onto his palm so firmly fell loose. But Azriel didn't let go. He was not going to leave him. Wasn't going to let him feel alone and helpless ever again. He felt like he owed it to Axel and to the young version of himself too.

The candles were burning low. Azriel had lost count of how many times he had replaced them by now. He had bumped into Padme. The female didn't fully introduce herself, but Azriel had a feeling that she was an important figure here. She had wanted to talk to you, but you were barely a shell of a living creature by then, and something within Azriel protested against letting anyone else talk to you. Not now. So Padme talked to him. Gave him an image of what had happened.

The flying lesson the Illyrian children had. The fact that Axel watched it from the sidelines. Unfit to fly until the healing process had finished. "Kids can be vicious", she said with a voice so ancient that Azriel's bones shrieked, "But our Axel is different". Those words left a bitter taste in Azriel's mouth. "He's special, not flawed", the spymaster said roughly, and the woman sent him a pleased look. As if he had passed a test he didn't even know he was having. The rest of that conversation was hazy. Azriel was running on too much adrenaline himself.

He carefully opened the door to the healing pod. He did not want to wake any of you up, especially if you had finally fallen asleep. But you were just in the spot where Azriel had left you last. Axel's head was on your lap, your fingers slowly brushing through the boy's hair. Your eyes were empty as you looked down at him. "I brought some food", Azriel whispered, making you snap your head up. You were drained. He might not know much about the magic you possessed, but whatever you had done had taken its toll on you. "He just dozed off", you muttered quietly, turning your attention back on Axel. "It's for you", Azriel said, setting the tray on the little table. "I'm not hungry", you said bluntly. "Y/N", Azriel breathed out. He had seen denial and anger eating up at his soldiers. Had seen it eating up at Rhys when he had to let go of Feyre.

"I'll watch over him", you said stubbornly. "You need to rest", Azriel tried to reason, but all he was met with was a shake of your head. "I'm resting", you said, pointing at the bed you were sitting on. "Y/N", the spymaster said softly, way softer than he usually liked to use his voice. "He's in pain. I need to help," you said, Azriel looked down at the palms that you kept tucked away beneath the boy's wings. This whole time? You've been summoning magic this whole time. Worry laced Azriel's whole body.

"Y/N," he said, way more firmly this time. The way he spoke, your name had finally broken something deep within you. "If I fall asleep...", your voice died down. Bottom lip quivering. "Y/N, come here, love", Azriel pulled at your wrist, mindful of the boy resting against you, until you were up on your feet. He brought you closer. Your final undoing was the moment his arms wrapped around you.

"I'm failing them. I keep failing them", a sob slipped past your lips, your hands taking fistfuls of his shirt. "No, you are not", Azriel said firmly, "I've been here long enough to see how much you love them. And they need just that, sweetheart. They need love". You let your tears flow freely at that. All the emotions were pouring out of you. Azriel didn't budge, holding onto you just as firmly. "I'm so scared", you hiccuped finally, with no strength to keep your walls up any longer.

"I know", Azriel muttered. "I'm so scared", you pressed your face into his chest, and Azriel moved to brush his fingers through your hair, "I know, but you don't have to be. I'm here now. I'll keep watch over you all". And there was no doubt in his words. There was no doubt in your soul. You knew he wasn't lying. You could feel it. "Foreign soldier", you muttered after a while, Azriel chuckled slightly. Brushing a strand of hair away from your face, "I need to find a sword like Axel drew", he stated, making the corners of your lips turn upwards slightly. You closed your eyes, letting the world flow through you. Allowing yourself to stop for a minute while Azriel held you. Until your eyes snapped open and you pushed back slightly, "Zofie...", you muttered.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel imagine #azriel acotar x reader #azriel acotar imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #acotar imagine #acotar x reader #acotar x you

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heavysoldat · 2 years

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it’s really you (on my mind)

best friend’s brother!bucky barnes x fem!reader

(gif by me)

inseparable since middle school, it was no surprise that you ended up falling for your long-time best friend. what was surprising, was who you actually ended up with at the end of the day.

warnings: SMUT (unprotected vaginal sex, blowjobs, face fucking, finger fucking, dirty talk, name-calling, slightly public sex, consent checks, breeding), angst, insecurities, language, very small age gap, hurt/comfort, a little cheesiness.

(this is highly inspired by something i watched a while ago, that i cannot remember for the life of me)

A two-week long vacation between two families can go one of two ways: completely fine and dandy, or a total fucking disaster mid-way through.

This one time, it’s not so perfectly black and white.

Your feet are covered in wet sand, sliding through your flip-flops and even found home in the bottoms of your bikini. It doesn’t help, how they drag along the hot pavement on your way back to the shared beach house.

The crash of the screen door hitting the wall is the last thing on your mind, shaking body making it harder to walk as you storm through the living room, hell-bent on landing upstairs with a crash land onto your temporary mattress. You’re practically dizzy with embarrassment, shame, anxiety and fear— feeling like you just swallowed an entire bottle of Adderall mixed with coffee.

Your own anxiety blinds you from your surroundings— so the sudden, jarring feeling of a hand stopping you via a grip on your wrist is enough to have you letting out a shriek.

��Hey! Hey!” Bucky calls, a lighthearted chuckle gracing his voice, “What’s the hurry?”

You’re breathing shallow and fast, heartbeat practically pounding in your chest; you’re crumbling in on yourself. You try to cover it up, try to calm yourself down, but the shakiness in your breathing and palms is enough to blow your cover.

“Noth-nothing,” You stutter, barely meeting his gaze. “I’m just- tired, and wet, I just wanna take a shower.”

He goes quiet, smile leaving his features. His eyes are scanning you, scanning you with a softness you rarely see from him. Always the cooler, more aloof, older guy— fresh out of college, hurdling closer towards his future than you’ve ever been. It’s rare; rare that he speaks like this, rare that his voice isn’t threaded with incessant teasing and sarcasm.

With one look down to your shaking hands, fiddling with each other nervously, he steps closer.

“Hey,�� His voice is soft, “What’s goin’ on? You’re shaking.”

“Nothing.” You insist— but the tears threatening to spill from your eyes tell a different story.

Bucky grabs your trembling hands, holding them together, “Take a deep breath. Calm down.”

After staring down at his feet, lulling it over in your head, you let out a shaky, trembling breath. You continue, deep, in-and-out, until it’s smooth. Until it’s not withering in your lungs. Until it’s not an uphill battle.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Bucky asks, slowly letting go of your hands, letting them fall to your sides.

You watch as he leans back against the marble countertop, on the side next to the bar stools. You rub your right arm with your left hand, still trembling, but at least breathing.

“It’s- uhm,” You’re struggling to get past the wall of anxiety that’s flooding you. “I asked- I asked him out.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, staring at you with the prompt to elaborate.

“Beckett.”

His eyebrows raise in knowing. “Finally?”

“What?”

He laughs humorlessly, picking at the loose thread on his Baja hoodie. “I mean, I can’t say I didn’t see it coming? I honestly expected you to do it sooner.”

Your eyes grow sad, scared and wary.

“It wasn’t obvious, or anything,” Bucky retracts, hoping to calm you down, “At least, like, not to him. No offense to him, but... my little brothers fucking oblivious. Honestly.”

You hum in response, tugging on your bottom lip with your teeth.

“I’m assuming it didn’t go well?”

You shake your head.

“That’s... really surprising.” His voice raises in pitch, eyebrows going back up. “I mean, I- I always thought, he had a thing for you. I think we all thought it. That’s why, well, I-“

“Really?” You cut him off- tugging on your lip harder when he nods. He watches as your fingers grab onto the skin of your arm harder, pinching it between your fingers with unease.

“Do you want a hug?” Bucky asks, voice soft, eyes soft, but with uncertainty.

You nod, almost childlike, immediately melting when he pulls you into a tight embrace. The fabric of his jacket is enough to warm you, fingers folding into it to pull him tighter.

“I’m getting your jacket wet,” You mumble, muffled, head buried in his chest.

He blows a raspberry, mouth vibrating against your hair, “I don’t care.”

It’s the constant throbbing in your brain— the fear of you being you that keeps dragging you down. The fear that you weren’t good enough, weren’t hot enough, weren’t funny enough. It has you crying softly against his chest, rough sniffling muffling with the fabric.

After a few, long, heavy moments of you rotting against his chest, slightly calmed by the constant rubbing he’s providing to your arms, you finally manage to pull yourself away.

Rubbing a tear from your cheek, you gulp. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Hey, what?” His voice strains, “Don’t say shit like that. It’s not personal, I fuckin’ swear. You didn’t- you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s his own shit. That doesn’t mean you fucked up, or-or you’re fucked up.”

Your eyes continue to water, your wiped away tears still making your cheeks sticky and hot. You still can’t look at him, even when he’s holding you, even when he’s guiding you.

“Then why does it keep happening?” Your voice is barely there. Barely a whisper.

“What?”

You swallow, thick in your throat, sucking your bottom lip in behind your teeth.

“This- it’s the second time I,” You breathe, “I just keep getting turned away, rejected, I feel… I feel so fucking stupid.”

“You’re great. You’re... you’re fun, and you’re smart, and you’re- you’re hot.”

That has you scoffing. It’s not in disdain for him, not in anger— but in sorrow and pity for yourself. The frown on your face is bigger than your own eyes.

Sensing the tension, the anxiety, he asks: “Do you want to sit down?”

When you say yes, he guides you to the long, L-shaped couch in the corner of the room. Sitting down with you, letting enough space sit between you two so it’s not awkward— but not enough that he can’t comfort you.

“You’re not- you’re not unlovable, or unattractive, or whatever is going through your head right now.” He reassures you, still rubbing your arm with his thumb, “I swear to god.”

When you look at him, you can’t help but feel the words bubbling at your throat, giving you heartburn and scorching your mouth like vomit.

“It was you first.”

First, he’s confused. His eyebrows furrow, his eyes squint, his body tenses. “First?”

But when it hits him, it hits him.

“Oh.” He gasps, “Oh.”

You turn away, staring at the wooden floor poking out from between your feet.

“You never- I never- That’s impossible. I never, I couldn’t have rejected you. You never said anything.” He rambles.

You shake your head.

Oh.

His eyes soften.

The years of him dating his past girlfriend; Dot, was her name. They had met in college, hit it off quick, and swallowed up two years of your life. The Instagram photos, the times she slept over, her insistence on PDA and flaunting him anywhere she can— it ate you up. It broke your heart.

“I didn’t know. You didn’t- you never said anything.” He stutters, voice still soft. He sounds sad, almost regretful. He sounds saddened for you and himself. “I’m... I’m sorry. I always thought... I thought you and my brother...” He explains, dread filling his lungs like air.

Your face only saddens, swallowing thickly. You can’t help but feel your lip quiver, fingers beginning to tremble again.

“Did you actually?” Bucky asks, slowly.

You nod. “Yeah... yeah.”

Bucky can’t help but go silent. He takes a moment, takes a second to really process it, staring off into space next to you for moments before he speaks. The silence kills you, it’s painful, it’s murderous, almost violent in the way it hits you— almost threatening to draw tears from your eyes once again, finally looking at him.

“I wouldn’t have rejected you.” He states, finally, eyes closed. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I... I liked you too, you know.”

“What?” You ask, almost like your flabbergasted by the idea that he would even think about seeing you that way. You’re younger, you’re behind him, you’re from a different world— not even in his peripheral vision.

“Yeah.” Bucky sighs. “I just, I thought you liked Beckett, so I never- I never said anything. And even- and even if that wasn’t the case, I didn’t want to make it awkward, didn’t want him to hate me for ruining your friendship or something.”

“So you...” You trail off, trying to collect your thoughts, “You were into me, before Dot?”

He chuckles, dry and nervous. “I mean- It’s... it’s shitty, but, I did even while I was with her.”

You’re staring, eyes blank, eyebrows raised, finding yourself trying to soften your breathing again. “Do you, still...?”

“I mean...” Laughing awkwardly again, he leans his elbow on his thigh to rub at his forehead, “Yeah. Yeah. Of course I do.”

“Really?” Your voice is hopeful, a smile appearing at the sides of your mouth.

“Yeah.” He laughs again, but this time, it feels genuine. “I mean- have you looked in the mirror? That swimsuit you’re in today is enough to drive me to fucking drink. And it’s not just because you’re hot, you— you’ve been taking up my mind, like. constantly. Every time we talk, I walk away so fucking...” He lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Satisfied.”

That has you almost crying again, but for a completely different reason. You’re laughing, wetly, trying to pry your eyes away from him despite the fact that you can’t. He squeezes your arm, reminding you that you’re still connected.

When you turn back to him, he brings his hand to your cheek, wiping some stray, wet hairs out of your eyes. His hand lands to cup your cheek, just to hold you.

“Can you kiss me?” You find yourself asking, before you can even think about it.

Bucky’s taken by surprise. It has him almost acting immediately, before he roots out his worries.

“I’m not...” Fingers trailing your face, “I’m not taking advantage of you, am I?”

You giggle, heart beating warm from his care. You shake your head. “No. I promise.”

Slowly, he leans in. He places a tentative, experimental kiss to your mouth— lips barely even pressing against yours. You grab his face, pulling him in, swallowing his mouth in yours. It has him grunting and moaning against you, hand moving to your back to pull you in closer.

After exploring each other’s mouths, practically eating each other whole, Bucky pulls away:

“What about- what about my brother?” He asks, out of breath.

“I don’t- I don’t care about him,” You breathe heavy, nose rubbing against his, “It was you first. It still is.”

He basks in your words like they’re the sun, a grin exploring his entire face and crinkling his nose. He brings you in again; has you moaning and gasping into his mouth, hands holding onto his stubbled jaw for dear life. He can feel his body vibrating, his stomach wrapping up in knots as the familiar, cold desire spreads up his spine; the same one that is spreading throughout your core.

With your body pressed so close to his, getting closer by each minute- you can feel his length under his sweatpants, growing harder with each kiss. He apologizes, pulling away from you.

You’re trying to catch your breath, “Don’t be.”

You lean down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck, fingers trailing down his clothed chest with the same rhythm. Feeling his fingers itching near your ribs, you grasp your hand in his, bringing it to cup your clothed breast.

Bucky groans as he squeezes the mound of flesh— he’s quick to pull down one of your bikini cups, head moving quick to bring his mouth to your nipple. He wraps his lips around the bud, suckling onto it as he massages the rest of your breast.

That has you tossing your head back, letting a moan out into the air- “Fuck.”

“Is this okay?” He asks, mumbling against your bust.

“Yes,” You whine, “Fuck yes.”

With him sucking on your exposed tits, you brush your hand down, palming his cock overtop of his pants. He groans against your nipple, pausing his movements at your distraction.

When he stops, you pull him away from your tits, grasping his face in both of your hands.

“I want you in my mouth.” You confess, breathless.

That has Bucky groaning again, cock throbbing in his pants. “Are you sure?”

“Please,” You whine, “I wanna suck your cock. Please.”

How could he ever say no to that?

With his approval, you lean your head down almost immediately. You pull down his sweats, exposing his boxers, which are removed just as quickly. His cock; hard, leaking and pink at the tip smacks against his clothed stomach. You wrap your hands around his length, suppressing the moan threatening to spill when you realize you can’t even touch your fingers around his width.

When you give your first experimental lick, he’s moaning, head tossed against the couch; “Fuck.”

Bucky’s hand moves to wipe the hair out of your face, watching as you wrap your lips around his cock and slide him down your throat. He’s grunting, moaning at the sight; unable to keep his eyes away from you, despite how they threaten to close.

He’s salty in your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat as you bob your head up and down. Your hand massages the part of his length you can’t fit down, feeling the way he’s throbbing against your palm.

One thing you’ve learned is that Bucky is extremely vocal. He can’t keep his mouth shut— between grunts, moans and whimpers, he’s letting out an entire symphony above you, free hand gripping the couch so tightly his hand turns white.

You lean up to grab his hand, pressing both of them at the back of your neck as a signal.

He stares into your eyes, big and round above his cock, “Are you sure?”

You hum against his cock, making him grunt.

“Fuck, okay.”

Bucky grips your hair between his hands, spreading his legs enough to let himself balance. He starts slow; pushing and pulling you up and down his cock, groaning at the feeling of your tongue moving around his tip.

He gets faster, fucking your face within minutes. You’re gagging around him, spit trailing down onto his pants, tears slipping from your eyes to mix with your already wet face.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl.” Bucky moans, “Takin’ it so well. You like my cock down your throat? You like letting me use that little mouth of yours?”

When you moan at his words, he can’t help but laugh.

“God, I know you do,” He gets faster, grunting harder, “I can tell. Such a little- fuck, little whore, lettin’ me use her like this- I love it, shit, I fuckin’ love it.”

He pulls you off of him with a wet pop, whining at the loss of your mouth- despite the fact that he’s the one who caused it.

“C’mere.”

He’s quick to pull you up, pulling you onto his lap. You can feel his cock against your stomach; but before you can react he pulls you back against his mouth, moaning at the taste of his precum against your tongue.

Bucky pulls the other cup of your top down, freeing both of your tits to the air conditioned breeze. He slides his hands down your stomach; tickling your skin, before it slips underneath your swim trunks.

His fingers rub on your folds, smiling when he finds you already soaked.

“You get that wet just from suckin’ me off?” He asks, after pulling away from your desperate mouth.

“Uh-huh,” You whine, “Can’t help it.”

He coos, rubbing your cheek with his free thumb, “I know you can’t, baby.”

Bucky’s fingers catch in your hole, slipping inside with ease. He’s able to fit two in with your provided slick, soaking his fingers and sliding them right in. His thumb flicks at your clit as his fingers scissor inside of you, pumping in and out.

You bury your face in his neck, desperately grinding against his fingers with heavy moans against his neck. That only makes him get faster; pistoning inside your heat with abandon, hitting that spongey spot inside of you with ease.

“You want me to fuck you?” He breathes, strain in his voice clear. “Want me to fuck you right here on this couch, where anyone could fuckin’ walk in and see you?”

You whine, “Yes, fuck, please.”

When he pulls your trunks to the side, he slips inside of your wet heat easily.

Bucky groans at the feeling of your fluttering core clenching around him, harmonizing with your whimpers.

He pulls you up by your chin; softly, stroking your cheek with his hand, despite how it shakes with pleasure. “You okay?”

You nod, “Mhm. I’m okay. Please move.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your awaiting lips.

Bucky starts off slow— a tantalizing, torturous grind, barely even moving inside of your cunt.

“Mm, I know, honey.” He coos, after you whimper impatiently against his skin, “I gotta- fuck, gotta go slow. Pussy’s so fuckin’ tight, if I go any faster I’m gonna blow my fuckin’ load already.”

That has you moaning. That image: him filling your cunt, having him leaking out of your folds and onto the couch, over top of your trunks— it fulfills this primal desire in your stomach, making you even more desperate than you were before.

“Oh fuck, do you like that?” Bucky asks, almost shocked, “You like the idea of me fillin’ that little cunt?”

You nod, whining.

“Fuck,” He moans, drawn out in a long groan. His thrusts get faster; he’s grabbing onto your waist, pulling you down against him so he can piston into your cunt from below. You’re loud, moaning into the air as his heavy balls slap against your ass. “God, you’re so fucking dirty.”

Your hand draws down to beneath your pants, rubbing your clit in circles.

“Fuck, baby,” Bucky grunts at the sight, “Look so pretty gettin’ yourself off like that, shit, yeah, make yourself cum on my cock. That’s fuckin’ it.”

You’re bouncing on top of him without even moving, tits moving rapidly in front of his face, hair flowing every which way with the fast movement. You’re so close, so desperate to that rope finally ripping, tearing inside of your core in the most delicious way.

Bucky’s sounds of pleasure fuel your need, getting you closer to that edge, hurdling, hurdling, hurdling, until—

“Fuck, Bucky, fuck!”

You’re crashing. Falling down off the cliff into a bone rattling orgasm, cunt clenching so hard around his cock you’re suffocating it. Your legs are twitching, trembling around him, but he doesn’t let up. He keeps fucking you through it, using you to get himself off- now that he no longer needs to worry about you coming.

“Oh god, baby, gonna fuckin’ cum,” He grunts, “Can I really come in you? Fuck, you gonna let me?”

His voice is so genuine, it has you turned on all over again.

“I’m on the pill, please. Please, fill me up.”

You lean down, whispering, whining encouragement into his ear, practically pleading for him to spend his load deep inside your cunt.

When Bucky cums, he cums hard. His balls slap against your ass one last time, burying himself deep inside of you. His legs are trembling, burying his face into your neck to muffle the yells he’s letting out, almost completely against his will.

“Oh,” He moans, voice trembling like his limbs, “Oh god.”

“Mhm,” You whine, brushing his hair in your fingers.

You two stay there, wrapped in each other. You can feel his cum dripping out of you already, running down your leg to stain the grey fabric of his sweatpants; which undoubtedly need a thorough washing now.

You feel Bucky leaving soft, gentle kisses against your jawline, up to your ear, cheek and nose, then finally planting one on your lips.

“You okay? Was that okay?” He asks, brushing your hair from your face.

“Mhm.” You hum, again, “Was really good.”

He smiles, genuine and soft. “Good. I’m glad.”

You giggle, bringing him in for another kiss by the back of his head, more sloppy this time.

“Hey, uh,” He says after he pulls away- much to his own dismay, “As much as I’d love to just stay here, we should probably move. They’re gonna be comin’ back from the water, soon.”

“Oh- shit, yeah, right.” You laugh, letting out a harsh breath. But when you move to get up off of him, he pulls you down, wrapping your mouth in another harsh, tongue-filled kiss.

“Sorry, just had to do that one more time.”

#me naming his brother beckett because it's the closest to rebecca </3 #bucky barnes #sebastian stan #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan x reader #bucky barnes smut #sebastian stan smut #my writing #why is writing kissing scenes so hard??#i dont know how many different ways i can describe sucking tongues

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vodika-vibes · 1 month

Note

could I have pearl with Fives at night please?

I love your writing so much!!!!!

So This Is Love

Summary: A late night rendezvous on Coruscant gives Fives the opportunity to make a confession.

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x F!Reader

Word Count: 699

Prompts: Pearl - Honest Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you for your request! I freely admit that I wrote this before I finished my coffee, so it might not flow well.

“I appreciate you walking me home, Fives.”

He turns to look at her, a crooked grin crossing his face, “It’s not a problem. Pretty lady like you shouldn’t be walking around alone so late at night anyway. It’s not safe.”

She sighs, “Don’t I know it. But the Gallery wanted to keep going until all of the art was sold-”

“Did it work?”

She grins at him, “It did~”

He laughs and throws his arm over her shoulder, “That means the next time we go to 79s, drinks are on you. Right?”

She giggles, a pretty noise that has him tugging her closer to his side, “It’s only fair, I suppose. After all, you and your brothers are the inspiration for my artwork.”

“Ooh, so I suppose we’re famous now,”

She laughs and elbows him lightly, “Inspiration, not subject.”

“If you wanted to paint me, you could. I wouldn’t mind.”

She averts her gaze, “Ah, well…maybe. But I wouldn’t want to sell that one.”

Fives’ stomach flips pleasantly, “Because you love me and want to look at me as often as you can.” He says with a bright grin.

She huffs and bumps him with her shoulder, “Because the Republic has already taken so much from you, they don’t get this too.” She corrects.

He pauses, and then his arm tightens around her, “You might be one of the few people on Coruscant who actually understands where the clones legally stand.”

“Yeah, well…” Her hand comes up and she threads her fingers with his. Her hand is so much smaller and so much softer than his. Fives almost worries that his touch will hurt her. Almost.

“Yeah, well-?” He prods.

“If more people paid attention they’d see.”

“They don’t want to see, beautiful. We both know that.”

She scowls off into the distance, and Fives laughs, before he leans in and bumps his forehead against the side of her head, lightly rubbing his nose against her cheek, “You care though,” He adds, “That’s enough for me.”

“You deserve so much better though!” She says as she turns her head to look at him, her nose bumping against his.

Fives doesn’t bother to give her any space. If anything, he wants to be closer to her. “You know, beautiful, I don’t think life is about what you deserve.”

She huffs, “It should be. You and your brothers deserve so much more than the Republic-” She rambles.

“I love you.”

She stops mid-sentence and blinks at him. “You…what?”

“I love you. I’m in love with you.” Fives flashes a nervous smile, “I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks, but telling you over comm just felt cheap.”

“You love me? Why?” She asks, looking so genuinely befuddled that Fives can’t help but laugh.

“Ah, so you want me to list all of the ways that I love you?” Fives teases, “Well, alright. If you insist. Reason one, I love the way you look at me, like I’m the only man in the galaxy. Reason two, I love how we can sit and talk for hours about anything and everything. Reason three-”

He stops when she presses her hand over his mouth, her face burning, “Please stop.”

“But I barely started. You didn’t even let me list all of the physical reasons I love you. Like your hair. And eyes. And lips-”

“Fives!”

“And I really love how you say my name-” He continues, a wide grin on his face.

And then he’s stopped for real, because her lips are pressed against his, and he has something much more interesting to focus on. Like replacing all of the oxygen in her lungs with him.

When he breaks the kiss, her gaze is hazy and she’s slightly breathless, “In case you were wondering,” she mumbles, “I love you too. But I’m not going to list all of the reasons why! Your ego is big enough as it is!”

Fives just chuckles and kisses her again. “Does this mean that I can come in when we get to your place?” He asks against her lips.

“Only if you want.” She replies.

“Beautiful, I’ve wanted an invitation to your home for months. I’d be honored.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #arc trooper fives x reader #fives x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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nonclassyparty · 5 months

Text

wednesday, 21:48, 22:10, 22:58 (j.wy)

title; hey honey, you could be my drug, you could be my new prescription

summary; wooyoung is your sworn enemy but hooking up with him becomes a habit you just can't seem to quit (gen v au)

notes; part three of a drabble series called 'rule of thumb' set in the gen v universe where y/n is a bigender superhero and wooyoung is a blood bender. drabbles are posted in chronological order, there is no updating schedule.

playlist // my main masterlist // click to donate to palestine

if there was one thing you enjoyed doing more than fucking jung wooyoung, it was kicking his ass.

wooyoung falls to the mat with a grunt and you can't help but grin as the rest of the guys cheer from where they were sitting on the floor of the otherwise empty gym, a couple of feet away.

you can't help the pride and accomplishment surging through, your progress being evident as you grow stronger and faster in your male form week by week. last year during this time, you could barely beat yeosang during a fight and now, you were flipping wooyoung over like a pancake. wooyoung - the number two.

what catches you off guard is wooyoung's own grin as he stands back up, licking his lower lip and getting back into position, meaning he's not giving up yet.

something flutters in your chest at the thought of him seeming proud of you. but no, that's all in your head. wooyoung isn't proud of you. you two are barely friends.

you swiftly dodge wooyoung's blood-made whip and lunge at him, successfully taking him to the ground once again. his hands slap the mat and you stand above him, catching your breath, happy that he gave up first because you were growing tired as well.

you give him a satisfied smirk, enjoying watching him plastered on the floor below you, before turning around to make your way off the mat.

what you don't expect is for wooyoung to stab you in the back. literally.

three rapid-fire blood bullets ram into your back making you fall face-first onto the mat while letting out an embarrassing yelp.

the guys let out whoops at your demise. traitors.

it can't really hurt you, nothing can hurt you when you're in your male form, durability being one of the gifts it offers - but being caught off guard and once again, beat by jung wooyoung is enough to make you turn around to glare at him as you curse him out in your head.

he gives you a wicked grin, jumping to his feet lightly while you sit up.

you rub at your shoulder, the bullets not injuring you doesn't mean they don't leave an ache afterwards.

sneaker-covered feet come to stand in front of you and you look up to see wooyoung crouching in front of you with a sweet smile and a mean glint in his eye.

just to be a patronizing asshole, he gives you a pat on the head like you were a dog.

"never turn your back on the enemy, y/l/n." he says with a mocking pout before tilting his head, hand still on your head and you think he's even playing with your short hair for a second, fingers twirling around the ends of it but it could also just be another occurrence that happens in your head. "next time, baby face."

baby fac-? what?

and just because you can't let him get away with that (you're already blushing for fuck's sake), the moment he turns around to walk off the mat, you straighten out your leg and trip him up, making him fall face first on the floor.

jongho stifles a laugh as seonghwa gasps.

"ow!" wooyoung exclaims, rubbing his chin as he turns to glare at you. you give him an innocent smile.

"okay, don't start you two." hongjoong sighs, running a tired hand down his face because it's not the first time he had to stop a petty fight between wooyoung and you.

"yeah, at least not in front of the rest of us." yeosang adds with an annoying smirk and your head whips towards him. you will need to have a serious conversation about this with him. how is it that he barely talks on the regular but the moment you actually want him to be quiet, he starts yapping?

"i heard that, y/n." yeosang glares at you.

"good." you tell him unbothered.

"wanna go back to my place?" wooyoung asks and you're surprised to see that he waited for you to finish showering. the rest of the guys already left, leaving the place completely empty.

you fix the sport bag hanging from your shoulder and scoff, "you still seriously have energy for sex?"

this new thing has been happening between wooyoung and you where the hook-ups aren't only reserved for the weekends where you get together at some shitty party anymore. now, it's after training at night or after classes in the afternoon or whenever wooyoung (it's always him, never you because you don't want to seem desperate) texts you.

"we don't have to have sex, y/n."

you look at him with furrowed brows, "what else would we do then?"

wooyoung goes quiet and when you turn to look at him, you're greeted by a bothered expression on his face. when he catches you looking at him, he shakes his head with an eye roll. "fine, you wanna go back to my place and have sex?"

you bite your lip. "i'm hungry."

his eyes light up, "i know a food stand that's still open. the grandma running it likes me, she'll give us a discount on the fries."

he's immediately plastered at your side, steering you in the direction of the food stand, as his hands weasel their way under your jacket and hoodie to rest on your stomach. they're cold but you quite like the feeling of them on your warm skin.

you don't know what to make of him touching you like this while you're in this form. granted, wooyoung is touchy with all his friends. you didn't know you were on that level of friendship with him.

you scoff, "everyone likes you."

he grins, hand softly scratching your tummy while you walk and it makes you squirm. he laughs softly, "does that mean you like me as well?"

"i didn't say that." you respond, not being able to fight off the blush crawling up your neck. you should probably push his hands off of you but it feels too nice...maybe just a little bit longer.

now, it's his turn to scoff, "fine, pay for your own damn fries then."

he still doesn't move his arms wrapped around you though.

wooyoung's fuzzy sweatshirt feels pleasant under your fingertips as you drag your hands over his back while his mouth moves against yours. you're on his bed, surrounded by the clean smell of his sheets, with him on top of you. he pulls away, lips glossy.

recently, wooyoung cut his hair. dark hair that used to be parted down the middle and curling at the nape of his neck was now back in his neat short haircut with bangs covering his forehead. in moments like these, it made him look so unexplainably soft and domestic. two words you never thought you would use to describe jung wooyoung.

"you know, my chin really hurts after what you did today." he says with a pout and before you can stop yourself, before you can think about how the fuck you're behaving - you coo at him.

and if that wasn't enough, you start placing small apologetic kisses over his chin that make him sigh until eventually you move onto his jawline.

"i'm sorry." you whisper in earnest, swiping your tongue quickly over his honey skin before moving to gently bite at his neck. he shudders at that. "i don't like losing."

wooyoung chuckles but it turns into a small moan when you kiss the spot behind his ear that makes his hips jerk against you. "you're so cute."

you pull away with a frown and he looks down at you with brows raised in amusement, "i'm sexy and cool."

he lets out a husky laugh at that, eyes roaming over your face in what seems to be endearment. because you're friends now, right. it's only because you're friends.

"because that's exactly what a sexy and cool person would say, right."

you roll your eyes, pulling him down to kiss him again by the nape of his neck. you pull away just enough to whisper; "enough talking."

wooyoung smiles against you but kisses back nonetheless.

you flip him over with unexpected ease and realize it's because you've unconsciously shifted into your male form again. you squeak in embarrassment, immediately shifting back.

"sorry."

wooyoung looks dazed, "huh-?"

you just kiss him again. hopefully, you can kiss the embarrassment away.

he hums against your mouth, long fingers running up your neck and curling in your hair as he deepens the kiss.

you like wooyoung's hands. you like when they're in your hair, you like when they caress down your body, you like when they grip your hips and thighs. you really like his hands.

you really like the rest of him too, so you get lost in pulling the clothes from his body and he does the same to you and then more kisses, more licks, more bites and then panting and moans, sweat gliding down your back and calloused fingers gripping at your waist as he placates every hard thrust with a slow kiss to your exposed neck until you're pushed over the edge and see white flashing before your eyes.

and wooyoung kisses you sweet and slow and you promise yourself to try and not come out of this with a broken heart.

#sorry! ik u guys want soot pt2 but im rly enjoying writing these for now lol #ateez angst #ateez x reader #ateez imagine #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagine #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst

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yuumaofc · 2 years

Text

//EP. 3; The brothers are acting weirdly, how strange.

TW// Death threats, Cursing/bad words :(,

MC POV

It’s been a fairly strange morning, if I do say so myself. Firstly, the brothers were annoyed and irritated but I simply brushed it off as them waking up on the wrong side of the bed as this is nothing new. Secondly, Felix has been quiet ever since our encounter with the demons from yesterday. He’s usually always so talkative so maybe he’s also not feeling well.

MC- “Good morning everyone.”

The only response, or vocal response, was from Felix. He gave a barely audible hum as acknowledgement to my greeting, everyone else stayed silent at the dining table as I put down everyone’s respective plates of breakfast.

Everyone- “Thanks for the food.”

The brothers are acting weirdly, how strange.

{ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴋɪᴘ; 10:57ᴀᴍ, ʀᴀᴅ ᴛʜɪʀᴅ ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ}

{SFX; Clack.. clack.. clack..}

???- “distantly it’s all.. plan.. this’ll be.. sy..!”

MC- ‘Whoever could that be? Well whoever it is, they won’t be for long since it sounds like they’re up to no good.’

I sped up my pace, hoping to catch the demon quickly and report this to Diavolo.

{SFX; SLAM!}

At the point I was sprinting down the halls, this definitely wasn’t good.

???- “Just what the hell do you think you’re planning, Huh?! You better fucking tell me of else I’ll rip off your stupid empty head and feed your worthless body to-“

Before things could escalate any farther, I turned the corner into the hallway with the two and saw that it was Felix and Satan. Felix had an expression of the upmost fear and hurt you could ever see in a person. Satan, on the other hand, was bursting with rage. He looked so angry that he was about to explode like a volcano.

Satans grip on Felix’s biceps was deathly, his knuckles were white and was cutting of the circulation quickly, at this rate he might break Felix’s arms like toothpicks. He squeezed him harder to which Felix yelped loudly, he was borderline about to scream his lungs out from the pain.

MC- “SATAN! What the hell are you doing?! Let go of him immediately!!”

Satan looked at me in shock and let go of Felix instantly, clearly stunned at being caught looking like the villain in this situation. Felix took this chance to run over to me and crash into my arms. He was trembling, holding in his sobs, he explained to me what had happened.

Felix- “I-I was just walking back to m-my class after u-using the bathroom and g-got attacked by S-Satan out of n-no where!”

Satan grew angry again at his accusation, impossibly even more so, and screamed,

Satan- “FUCK YOU MEAN I ATTACKED YOU OUT OF NOWHERE?! YOU KNOW DAMN WELL AS I DO WHY I DID WHAT I DID!!”

MC- ‘At this rate, the other demons would be coming out to see what the commotions all about..’

Placing one hand on the back of Felix’s head and the other on the small of his lower back, I looked up and glowered at Satan. In return, Satan flinched, having never seen such a look ever cross my face before, too used to seeing a smile or calm look come to my face.

MC- “Satan, I believe I’ll have to be telling Lucifer about your behavior after school unless you can somehow make it up to Felix about this. You disappoint me. I thought you knew better than to attack a new arrival who is still getting used to being here.”

Satan stared at me in shock. Why? Why was I, the one who’s been with him and his brothers for 2 years, be trusting someone who’s only been here for a week!? How could I be taking this.. things side! When I didn’t even know the full story?! But I suppose I can’t take the attackers side and blame the victim during the act of violence displayed before me when I arrived, now can I?

Before he said anything, he shut his mouth and growled, storming away to go take out his anger on a helpless tree or read a book to calm down. Growing ever more angered, irritated, and aggravated after seeing the mocking and cocky smirk he got from a certain someone but going unnoticed by someone else, practically screaming, ‘I win.’ Right in his face.

MC- “Felix, let’s get you to the infirmary as you’ve most likely gotten bruises from that. His grip looked deathly tight on your arms.”

Felix nodded, not saying a word as he was too shaken up by the encounter with the Avatar of Wrath. The experience is definitely not amazing as he could break your neck with just a flick of his wrist.

{ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴋɪᴘ; ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ɪɴғɪʀᴍᴀʀʏ, ᴛɪᴍᴇ; 11:36}

When we got to the infirmary, I sat Felix down on one of the hospital beds and went to go look for the nurse but she wasn’t here.

MC- ‘Why are the nurses never here when needed? Maybe she just left to the bathroom or something then.’

I walked back over to Felix to check up on him. He was looking at the floor, feeling a little disappointed in himself about having to depend on me so much but it’s only been a week since he’s been here so I do not hold it against him for clinging to me on a daily basis. The shock of being in a new area on such short notice will definitely have effects on your current self.

MC- “Felix, are your arms okay? They’re not sore or anything, are they?”

He jolted at the sudden ask and looked up at me with slight puffy eyes.

Felix- “No.. I.. I don’t know, maybe? I mean, I probably can’t use them for a bit? Y’know because he grabbed me pretty tightly and all…”

MC- “Yeah I understand that part. I’ll be reporting this to Diavolo and Lucifer. Just stay here and rest until the nurse gets back.”

Felix nodded and laid down on the bed, it’s been a really weird day.

MC- “I’ll be back to check on you after school, alright? Can you wait until then or do I need to check up on you regularly during the breaks between each period?”

Felix flushed at the second option.

Felix- ‘As much as it would be nice..’

“I don’t want to take up your time and make it feel like you’re obligated to watch and take care of me.”

MC- “So you would rather have me come and get you after school?”

He nodded and smiled, albeit weakly..

Felix- “Yeah, I would feel like a burden if you came in often just for me..”

I stared at him before sighing and nodding at his words.

MC- “Alright then, but if you have any questions or problems then just tell the nurse to come get me.”

He smiled and nodded with much more enthusiasm, waving at me as I left the infirmary.

{ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: ʀᴀᴅ; ʟᴇғᴛ sᴄʜᴏᴏʟ ᴡɪɴɢ, ᴏᴜᴛsɪᴅᴇ ᴏғ ɪɴғɪʀᴍᴀʀʏ. ᴛɪᴍᴇ; 11:57}

MC- “It’s almost time for lunch, I should report to Diavolo and Lucifer then-.. I sound too much like Lucifer, I need to loosen up again and stop being around him so much. . . And I need to talk to Satan about his outburst.”

{ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴋɪᴘ; ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ; ᴄᴀғᴇᴛᴇʀɪᴀ, ᴛɪᴍᴇ; 12:04}

As I entered the cafeteria, I made a beeline for the table that they sit at, needing to talk with Satan and ask him why he did what he did. I’m not choosing sides, everyone has a reason for why they did what they did. Even if it’s one of the dumbest reasons you’ll ever hear…

Beel- “Oh- Emshee! Whush up?”

He greeted me as I approached the table of 6, their heads turning in my direction. Satan’s face soured, resentment clawing it’s way back into his body but it wasn’t resentment meant for me.

MC- “Hello Beel, please don’t talk with your mouth full, you could choke.”

Beel nodded and swallowed his food before speaking to me again.

Beel- “So what’s up? Did you need something?”

MC- “Yes actually, I need to speak to Satan.”

Satan sighed with slight annoyance before standing, patting down any wrinkles that formed in his uniform then walking away with me to converse.

{ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ; ʜᴀʟʟᴡᴀʏ ᴛɪᴍᴇ; 12:37}

Satan- “If you’re still mad at me about what happened earlier then you might as well just-!”

I stopped him in the middle of his sentence by caressing his face gently. He blinked in surprise before leaning into my touch, it always helped calm him down.

MC- “I’m not mad about that anymore, I just want to know why..”

Satan scowled at this, wasn’t it obvious?!

Satan- “I did it because he’s planning something! That little good for nothing crybaby bitch is planning something, and it has something to do with you! Okay?!”

I stared at Satan in surprise, how could Felix do something like this? That shy pink haired boy that wouldn’t harm a fly, is planning something? And it has to do with me?

MC- “Well that’s a little far fetched since Felix wouldn’t harm a fly! But if what you say is true then I guess I’ll have to ask him myself.”

Satan- “No! Why would you ask him?! He’s obviously going to deny it!”

MC- “Then what do you suggest we do?”

Satan- “We wait it out I guess..”

MC- “Hm.. I guess we could, it’s for the best I guess.”

Satan hummed in content before separating from my hand and taking it into his, dragging me back to the table with the other 5.

It’s been such an unusual day today.

AJJFKSPEC LOOK I KNOW ITS BEEN LIKE 2 WEEKS SINCE MY LAST UPLOAD BUT I GOT STUCK ON WRITERS BLOCK AND HAVE ONLY BEEN ABLE TO DO THIS BIT BY BIT DJSKKDOSD

Anyways I’ll try to get the next chapter out as soon as I can.

AND IM WORKING ON SOMETHING ELSE SOOOOO

Be ready for that!

Taglist;

@books-and-catears @time-shardz @mr-rosehearts @m1ss-c4mrader1e @gallantys

I think that’s all for my taglist?? Comment if you wanna be added but ISTG if I missed someone.. imma cry because I checked like 300 times before posting this😰😰

#obey me #obey me replaced au #obey me vengeful mc #obey me angst #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me leviathan #obey me luficer #obey me mammon

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noficbyhalves · 2 months

Text

I'm not dead, I was just eaten by the brain weasels. Everything is fine and I really meant for this to be over 5k :/

I would also like the record to state that I did finish this last night, I just chose sleep instead of staying up til 4am formatting it and fighting with tumblr about Malik's fucking name. So my Valentine's Day one shot was toooootally on time shut up don't look at me.

In other news febuwhump is looking more like it'll be whumpril but *gestures at the length of this monstrosity* y'all can deal. (If my life is enough of a disaster maybe my brain autofilling it as whumptober will be accurate! T_T)

Anyway!

Content warning for panic attacks, implications of past abuse, light internalized homophobia, vague allusions to sexual acts, a lot of profanity, and Altaïr being horny on main

Flowers, or A First Valentine's

(or, Altaïr's biggest enemy is actually the closet in this essay I will-):

Altaïr was very careful to avoid looking at Malik when the mail appeared, or he was certain his face would give him away. He knew what was going to appear anyway, had spent a week and a half overthinking it to death. Malik may not have thought much of the holiday, but Altaïr didn't feel right doing nothing at all. He had settled on a dozen red roses - simple, tasteful, impossible to misinterpret - with a note smothered in so many layers of handwriting charms so as to make it functionally anonymous.

Thankfully a convenient distraction materialized in front of him, in the form of the rapidly growing pile of envelopes addressed to him. Altaïr was considerably less thankful the second he looked closer, realizing they were dozens and dozens of Valentine's notes. He recognized some of the handwriting - the purple one was definitely Katerina, and he noticed Rhona's loopy script, which was baffling for numerous reasons - but there were many of them that he didn't in the slightest. He gingerly pulled one open, increasingly alarmed to find a love letter as long as his arm from some lady he had never met.

Malik still hadn't said anything, which would have stressed Altaïr much more if Malik's ankle wasn't pressed against his under the table. He couldn't have still been reading the note, it was barely two sentences, and even that Altaïr had spent days agonizing over, whether it was too much or not enough. If he had tried to write something half as long as the monstrosity in his hand, he'd have given up and flung himself into the lake. He had the words on it burned into his brain:

My Vega, May your day be as bright as your smile Happy Valentine's Day - Your not-so-secret admirer

Curiosity got the better of him. He dared to glance over at Malik, and for a second everything stopped. Because Malik was looking at the note, yes, but he was also trying and failing to hide a bashful smile in his hand. There was a blush blooming on his cheeks, a sparkle in his eyes. And if Altaïr was walking on air then, the moment Malik looked up and locked eyes with him stole the very breath from his lungs. He had to bite down on his tongue until it hurt, so he didn't say something out loud where other people could hear (something like help I'm so fucking in love with you).

The words that came out of Malik's mouth were not thank you or I love you (as Altaïr's daydreams where everyone else in the great hall suddenly disappeared would have gone). Instead they were, "What in the hell?"

At which point Altaïr remembered he was, in fact, holding a letter from a crazy woman, sitting next to a pile of similarly unhinged mail. "I... this lady sent me a Valentine's... essay? I have no idea who she is." He skimmed further through the letter, but each subsequent sentence made him more uncomfortable than the last.

"Well you are a public figure, I guess. Ladies love a war hero...?" Malik trailed off in a shrug.

Altaïr winced. "She's, uh, really into me having been a Templar, actually." That part was deeply weird on multiple levels, not least of which was the interpretation that any of it had been a deliberate ideological choice, as opposed to Altaïr being backed into approximately six different corners.

"What. You're joking," Malik looked as dumbfounded as Altaïr felt. His bafflement turned to outrage when Altaïr didn't break. "Who's screening these things?"

He had an awful suspicion the answer was nobody, or at least not for anything that wasn't a death threat. Not for the first time, Altaïr was very glad they had conspired to keep Malik out of the public eye. It was bad enough with all of this addressed to only one of them. "No, apparently she wants to-" He squinted as he searched for the correct line. "-heal the wounds on my soul with the power of her love?"

The noise that came out of Malik's mouth was somewhere between a gag and a laugh. "Oh my god that's terrible. What else did she write."

"Something about wanting a summer wedding..." Altaïr adjusted the parchment so he could double check the woman's name. "I don't know who this person is, why...?"

Malik had dissolved into laughter, and it took him a few moments to compose himself. "Read the rest of it," he said, wheedling when Altaïr balked at the idea. "C'mon, give her the dramatic reading she deserves."

Altaïr opened his mouth, closed it. Considered the merits of fleeing into the woods never to return. He quite frankly didn't want to read another word of the letter, much less out loud.

Malik seemed to catch that, at least, and had switched tactics to reaching out for the letter, slightly wiggling his fingers in the please give me that thing way (rather than the wands are for amateurs way, which he was also prone to doing). His eyes were wide in an approximation of an innocent look that Altaïr knew was total bullshit, but it wasn't like he could deny Malik anything on a good day.

He sighed, and handed it over. "You do it."

Malik's expression grew gleeful (not benevolent, not by a long shot, but gleeful). He started to read but immediately choked on a laugh, trying and failing to muffle it into his elbow. "She spelled your name wrong," he wheezed.

Altaïr had noticed the writer had used his grandfather's surname instead of the one he had chosen, but hadn't thought it was that funny.

"No, look," Malik said, turning the parchment around and showing him. Sure enough, the top of the letter had Altear scrawled on it. Altaïr let out a huff of laughter.

Malik pulled the letter back and cleared his throat, beginning to read in a deeply overblown falsetto. "My dear Alteeeer Wrong-Last-Name," he said, before switching back to his normal voice, "you're not even good at being deranged and obsessive, honestly..."

Altaïr snorted. "Is that the offensive part to you?"

"It's not wrong to expect a base level of competency. If you can't trust your stalker to get your name right, who can you trust?"

Altaïr decided there was no good response to that, and tore open a different envelope.

The falsetto was back. "I am writing this letter to tell you that I am madly in love with you. I had a vision you see, months ago, foretelling that you and I are destined to be soulmates." Malik rolled his eyes, "see, this is why divination is bullshit."

"That's not how divination works," Altaïr said tiredly, pulling out what appeared to be a normal card, along with a little bag of chocolates. "What are the odds these are laced, d'you think?"

"Too high to risk it. Novice, do not."

"I wasn't going to!" He insisted. Malik gave him a doubtful look. The problem, Altaïr thought, with Malik famously being half of his impulse control, was people refusing to believe that he was capable of the other half.

They steadily worked through the pile like that, Altaïr putting anything edible directly into the baskets that vanished garbage, and Malik providing scathing commentary on the letter all the while. It helped, having Malik there, the grounding contact under the table and the reassurance that "oh, ew!" was a reasonable response to someone telling him she wanted to lick his scars what the fuck.

He had gotten down to the last few envelopes when he dared to look at the one from Rhona again. Altaïr couldn't fathom why she would write to him. He was pretty sure there was no possible combination of words that wouldn't be weird. Would an apology be better or worse than none at all?

Malik had paused, eyeing the note in his hand, but didn't say anything. He just sipped at his coffee and let Altaïr sort it out in his own head.

That, more than anything, made up Altaïr's mind. "Mal?" he said.

"Yeah?" He frowned when Altaïr held the envelope out to him. "Is that what I think it is?"

Altaïr nodded. "Can you burn this for me?"

"I'm not a fucking matchbook," he grumbled under his breath, but flicked his wrist regardless. The paper caught in an instant, flames licking up the edges. It was ash before it hit the table, vaporizing in the scorching heat that merely felt pleasantly warm against Altaïr's fingers.

***

By the time they had gotten midway through the day, Altaïr was already cracking at the seams. He couldn't make a beeline directly for the secret passageway down to the second floor, no matter how much he wanted to. Malik had been giving little pleased smiles (pointedly at the flowers, not at him) all through class and making his heart flutter every time. If he couldn't get a second alone to kiss his fucking boyfriend, Altaïr was going to go insane.

Malik caught on anyway, steering away from the main stairs without Altaïr having to say a word. He was talking about the Runes essay he had due later that week in a way that was clearly intended to be space filler, so Altaïr let the words fade into comforting white noise. He made affirmative noises at the right times, used to the steady rise and fall of Malik's tone as he more-or-less monologued.

By the time they reached the tapestry hiding the entrance, the hallway had emptied around them. Altaïr dared to reach out and grab Malik's hand. The bright smile Malik turned on him when he threaded their fingers together made his heart skip in his chest. He sped up, towing Malik along behind him, shoving the tapestry aside with more force than necessary.

"Slow down!" Malik laughed.

The lack of light in the passage left him briefly blinded, operating mostly on muscle memory to pull Malik forward without running into a wall. If they had twenty feet or so of distance, they'd be hidden enough and Altaïr could finally kiss him.

When his vision adjusted, he froze. Just ahead of them in the corridor (twenty feet from the entrance that's enough space not to get caught) were two other students - a boy and a girl, a couple years younger than them - locked at the lips. He dropped Malik's hand like it had burned him, and he must have made some sort of noise because they suddenly sprang apart, staring at him.

Oh fuck they had seen them. Anyone could have seen. Other people used this passage. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"So much for that shortcut," he distantly heard Malik huff, through the ringing in his ears. There was a hand tugging at his elbow, pulling him back out into the sunlight. "C'mon Altaïr, don't be a creep."

Anyone could have seen them. Altaïr would've been too wrapped up in Malik to notice. How many times had he closed his eyes in hidden corridors, trusting that they were alone?

His head was full of static. Everything was too loud but indistinct and blurry. Malik was talking but he couldn't make out the words. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his robes. It didn't help. The only solid thing in the world was Malik's steadfast grip on his arm, tugging him forward.

They could've seen anything. Altaïr kissing Malik, fuck, Altaïr on his knees. Everyone would know, his grandfather would find out. A blasting hex would be the least of his worries, with a stain on the family name like that-

"Oi, habibi!"

Altaïr startled. They had stopped walking, and Malik was snapping his fingers in front of Altaïr's face, looking at him with poorly disguised concern. The floor was swaying beneath him, shit they were on one of the moving staircases how the hell had they gotten there. He surreptitiously glanced around them, at all the other people on the landings and other flights of stairs. "Don't say that here!" he hissed.

"Unless half the school became fluent in Arabic overnight, I think we're fine," Malik said dryly.

Altaïr blinked. On second thought, fair. The tone of voice Malik had used was more in tune with calling him shithead than darling (though with Malik the line between insult and term of endearment had always been very thin).

"Are you okay?" Malik asked, stepping back to a more respectable distance.

Altaïr clutched onto the banister as the stairs began to pivot. He didn't want to lie to Malik, but the weight of the proverbial gaze of the entire school kept him from admitting just how shaken he felt. He settled for a wobbly so-so gesture and whatever the hell his face was doing.

"I can spin Berg some excuse if you need to go back to the dorm."

The offer was tempting, but he knew Malik couldn't join him if Altaïr didn't want anyone to suspect anything, especially not today of all days. Sitting alone with his thoughts for a few hours would probably be a bad idea right now, at least going to Alchemy would give him something to do with his hands. "No," he cleared his throat. "No, I'm good."

Malik's flat look clearly expressed his doubt on that front. "Am I going to regret handing you a knife?"

"I'm fine, Malik. I'm not going to cut off a finger."

Malik's face contorted as he tried to fight a smile. "You're not funny, novice."

***

Alchemy helped, for the most part. With a little breathing space, his panic felt slightly ridiculous (his grandfather had been dead for months, he wasn't sure why his brain had jumped to that). No one had stumbled across the two of them, or there would have been rumours or gossip or worse. Instead, Katerina was trying to bat her eyelashes at him from across the room, looking rather like she had been hit with a twitching jinx, while he was struggling not to stare too blatantly at Malik.

The heat and humidity in the Alchemy classroom worked unfairly well for him. With his sleeve pushed up and his hair mussed and his dark eyes focused intently on wandlessly adjusting the flame beneath their cauldron, he looked a bit like if a fire elemental had a ridiculously gorgeous human form. Altaïr, in comparison, felt a bit like a drowned rat. (A drowned rat that really should be paying more attention to the herbs he was mincing; if he actually injured himself, Malik would be pissed and worried and also would never ever let him live it down.)

Malik straightened, content with the temperature, and reached past Altaïr to write something down. Malik had been the dedicated notetaker in Alchemy for basically forever - for a myriad of reasons, including but not limited to the weird language of symbols he used to delineate changes in fire spells that only made sense to him, his handwriting was generally neater, and the fact that Altaïr never remembered to bring pencils instead of quills on Alchemy days. The problem was that he was so close Altaïr could feel the heat of him, and on any other day that would only be mildly distracting. On any other day Altaïr wouldn't feel quite as flayed open, equal parts desperate for contact and terrified of being too close. It just wasn't fair.

"Those, then the moth wings, then the gold dust. Ninety seconds between each of them," Malik muttered, reading out of the textbook. It snapped Altaïr back to the task at hand.

He frowned. "Shouldn't that be gold dust first? For stabilization?"

"Quote-" Malik flipped a few pages. "Nicholas Flamel, goddammit, gold dust is last."

Altaïr knew the rant that was brewing there quite well - he internally called it the "you idiots have trains (why is progress scary to you)" rant, after a particularly inspired rendition several years ago. Malik probably had three or four multi-hour lectures worth of content for it in his back pocket at all times. As entertaining as it usually was, Altaïr was still puzzling out the gold dust thing. "No, shush," he said, running back through the contents of their cauldron in his head.

The look Malik leveled him with would have caught a lesser man's hair on fire. Altaïr was more than willing to blame the heat in his cheeks on that. (It was, on occasion, reassuring that his taste in women was not so diametrically different from his attraction to Malik. This was not one of those times.)

"It shouldn't mess up the xanthosization, if anything it'll give us a wider window. Three minutes, maybe four?" Now that Altaïr thought about it, they could probably rework the whole recipe, cut the brewing time, maybe improve the potency?

"Makes sense," Malik said, jolting him out of his scheming. He dropped the bag of gold dust next to Altaïr's hand, where he hadn't realized he started drumming his fingers against the table.

Altaïr glanced up at Berg, who was standing across the room, scowling at another student's cauldron, and not paying them any attention whatsoever. Perfect.

"Don't fuck up," Malik said in an undertone, as he scattered the gold dust into the steaming liquid. The slight curl of his smile belied the severity of his words.

"Gee, thanks." Altaïr thought he did remarkably well at keeping his voice even, though Malik would probably be the only one who would notice. It took all of his concentration not to fumble into an overpour, with the way his heart was hammering. Malik was moving over to his right, grabbing the herbs, leaning into Altaïr's shoulder as he did. He was so close, Altaïr could slide an arm around his waist and hold him. Maybe if he was quick, no one would notice him kissing Malik's cheek. Maybe they could-

Maybe he needed to add the moth wings.

Malik plucked the stirring stick out of his hand when he did, taking over now that he was empty-handed. Altaïr could see his pinky twitch as the fire beneath the cauldron grew steadily, until the elixir was hot enough to bubble merrily.

They had half an hour or so until the filtration step, which left them sprawled in the chairs around their clean workstation. Malik had pulled out the project notebook and, based on the runes scrawled all over the pages, was trying to sort out the last set of enchantments for the map. Altaïr was tilted back in his chair, twisting his sash over his fingers since Rosa had glared at him when he was audibly tapping a few minutes ago. (And wasn't that interesting, how when it was Rosa it was just kind of uncomfortable, but when it was Malik it made him want to- nope.)

He had counted the number of cracks in this part of the ceiling months ago, and though he had a History essay he could be editing he deeply did not want to. He couldn't really help Malik - while Altaïr could probably pass a Runes exam based solely on several years of listening to Malik chattering about it, that didn't mean he could make heads or tails of whatever hellish combination of that and numerology that Malik had been beating his head against for months. Something about a youclid and a quantum whatsit? It made his head hurt, was the point. And trying also ran the risk of someone noticing the amount of enamored staring he would inevitably devolve into once he stopped being able to say anything meaningful.

Their elixir had been getting bluer by the minute but wasn't done yet. Which left looking blankly around the room, avoiding making eye contact with Berg lest he decide Altaïr looked too bored and made him grade essays or something. No one was doing much of anything interesting, only one other pair hadn't gotten to the simmering stage yet, but they weren't messing up in any interesting ways. Katerina had been distracted by her brewing partner, at least, so she wasn't trying to convince him to... canoodle with her or something. Whatever that couple in the corner was doing whenever Berg wasn't looking directly at them - Altaïr was not going to examine them closely enough to check. Though, speaking of-

"Hey, Malik?"

Malik glanced up at him, twirling his pencil around in his hand.

"Why didn't you tell off those kids, in the corridor?"

It took a couple blinks for Malik to catch where his train of thought had wandered. "It would be a pretty futile endeavor? I mean it is Valentines," he said, as if Altaïr were particularly oblivious. As if he hadn't been the reason for the flowers tucked into Malik's bag, as if seeing every couple in the castle didn't feel like they were flaunting it in Altaïr's face, as if it didn't make him want to scream. "They'd just go make out somewhere else." He shrugged.

Wasn't that the point? Altaïr thought but could not say. It wasn't like kicking them out would have stopped him from spiraling, but at least away from prying eyes Malik could have held him. "It's definitely not allowed, though," he said petulantly.

"They weren't doing any harm," Malik's tone softened. He flicked his gaze deliberately over to his schoolbag, with the roses peeking out from where they sat just inside the flap.

And Altaïr knew that logically. They hadn't set out to hurt him, to mess with his brain. They were not unlike the two of them, looking for a safe place away from prying eyes, and clever enough to know at least a couple secret passages. If Altaïr hadn't been so in his own head they probably could have just passed each other in the dark, not a notable encounter in the slightest.

"Besides," the corners of Malik's mouth tipped up ever so slightly, "I'd be a massive hypocrite if I did."

Altaïr was very glad for the roaring flames masking the flush in his cheeks.

***

The rest of the day dragged on. When they finally made it back to the dormitory that evening, Altaïr could barely wait for the door to be shut before he was pushing Malik up against it to kiss him. Malik breathed a laugh into his mouth and tugged him closer, draping his arm around Altaïr's shoulders. He tasted like sunshine, like warmth and fire and home.

Altaïr only broke the kiss when air became an issue, leaning back just far enough to notice Malik's breathless grin. He was sure it was mirrored on his own face.

"Holding that in all day, were you?"

"Yeah," he croaked. His cheeks heated with the heady mix of embarrassment and arousal he found all-too-common around Malik.

And he knew it was his own fault, that there was a very simple solution to this problem. If the idea didn't scare him so badly, they could have spent the whole day hand in hand, sneaking kisses in alcoves without caring if others knew.

Malik didn't bring it up at least, despite the easy opening to mock him. He just kissed Altaïr again, slow and deep, stealing the breath from his lungs. One of his hands slid down Malik's torso to clutch at his hip, his fingers fitting into place like they belonged there. Like his hands were crafted to fit Malik, and vice versa.

The idea of soulmates had seemed silly from the mouth (quill?) of a stranger that morning. It seemed a little bit less so now. Soul magic didn't work like that (he knew in excruciating detail how little it worked like that), but Altaïr knew without a shadow of a doubt that Malik would be the other half of him if it did. He felt more calm than he had all day, having wasted the morning tying himself up in knots over the flowers.

Speaking of... "They were okay? They weren't..." too much not enough somehow both. He asked, when they separated again.

It took Malik a few seconds to catch up. "Oh, the flowers." He smiled. "They were very sweet. Thoroughly unnecessary, but sweet."

Altaïr blinked. "Unnecessary?"

Malik let go of his shoulder to cradle his face. "You don't need to give me flowers to keep me, habibi. I'm already here." He kissed Altaïr's nose.

"That's not, I don't..." he trailed off, struggling to phrase the feeling that had been clanging around his head the whole week. Malik waited for him, held him tight and didn't bat an eye when the implication of his gaze became too much and Altaïr had to bury his face in Malik's shoulder. "...I just, I want to do more than just necessary. I want to do this right, I guess?"

"So which phase of doing it right is breaking blood curses, exactly? In case it comes up," Malik said. Altaïr couldn't see his face from this angle, but he could perfectly picture his shit-eating grin.

He jabbed Malik in the side, making him twitch and curse at him. "You know what I mean," Altaïr grumbled.

"I can't say I do, actually."

"Maliiiiiik," he whined.

"Should I expect a candlelight dinner and rose petals next year?"

Altaïr snickered, but he couldn't help but get stuck on that thought. It felt a little crazy, talking about next year as something attainable. Making plans with the expectation that the world wouldn't burn down in the interim, and there being an actual chance of being right. "...Yeah," he mumbled into Malik's jaw, "next year."

"Novice, that was a joke, don't-"

"Too late"

"Altaïr-"

"'M gonna romance the shit out of you." It was starting to take form in his head, an image of when they'd have their own space and he wouldn't have to smother his feelings outside these four walls.

Malik let out a massive sigh and let his head thunk back against the door. "Why do I have a feeling I'll regret this."

Altaïr pulled back so he could kiss him again. "Because you're being melodramatic?" he teased.

"Rude. Also, hypocrite."

"I have never once acted like flower petals were the end of the world."

"They're not the end of the world, I'll just genuinely be annoyed with you if you fling them around."

Altaïr squinted at him, attempting to make sense of that logic. Malik was deeply opinionated, sure, but there was usually at least some amount of internal consistency in those opinions. For the life of him, Altaïr could not parse how rose petals were that meaningfully different from roses themselves.

Maybe it was another don't treat me like a girl thing? But that missed the point, that when Altaïr imagined a nebulous future, a place that he shared with someone, where the idea of scattering rose petals on their bed felt indulgent instead of fake and performative, there had only ever been Malik in that image. (Truthfully, even just the idea of sharing a bed with someone long-term had been only Malik in his head for an embarrassingly long time.) "...what?"

"It's messy, and wasteful, for something that looks nice for what? Thirty seconds?"

"I... magic? You're a fucking wizard, Malik, come on." Malik's insistence on ignoring magic as a solution still blindsided him sometimes.

"That's still wasteful!"

"How?!" Altaïr fished his wand out of this sleeve to better make his point... somehow, and realized halfway through that nothing was stopping him from demonstrating right that moment. Unfortunately, Malik could read him like a book and immediately made a grab for it.

Any advantage Altaïr may have had by being right-handed (and therefore giving Malik fuckall for leverage), was swiftly countered by the fact that Malik had never once fought fair in his goddamn life. Malik dragged him into a truly filthy kiss, which made it difficult to focus on much of anything except Malik's tongue in his mouth, Malik's body pressed against his. Malik's fingers sunk into his hair, lightly tugging with just the right amount of pressure to make Altaïr's brain go fuzzy. A moan bubbled out of his throat, entirely against his will, as he melted into it.

Altaïr's hands fumbled of their own accord, clinging to Malik's shoulders, dragging him closer by the small of his back. He wasn't sure how exactly he could get closer, only that he needed to. That every inch of distance was unbearable, with how his blood was singing in his veins.

Malik shifted slightly, and Altaïr dimly realized he had been played when his wand was knocked out of his grip. Faced with the decision of letting it drop or letting go of Malik, he opted to pin his boyfriend harder against the door. Finding his wand - wherever it rolled after he heard it hit the floor - in the morning would be annoying, but if Malik stopped touching him Altaïr might actually die.

Altaïr pulled his lips back just a hairsbreadth, Malik nipping at him as he went. "You're an asshole," he panted.

He couldn't physically see Malik's eyeroll, but it was thoroughly implied. "Pot, cauldron." Altaïr was a bit appeased that Malik sounded just as out of breath as he did.

He kissed Malik again, just because. One kiss turned into two, turned into more, turned into Altaïr pressing his hips flush with Malik's, devouring the quiet groan that came out of his mouth. Kissing Malik was unfairly distracting. "Just because you're hot doesn't mean I'm wrong."

"If I concede to the dinner date will you shut up about the fucking petals? Oh my god." Malik growled at him.

Altaïr was tempted to ask Malik to convince him, but knew that was the kind of incentive that would make Malik turn him into a little puddle of goo on the floor. While that was a very appealing prospect, he did have a point to make. "Depends, will you let me be romantic or will you bitch about it the whole time?"

"I can multitask."

"Malik."

"Yes, fine," Malik huffed. "I will let you be as sappy as you like on this hypothetical dinner date that would require being out in public."

Altaïr watched Malik wince as his conscience caught up with his mouth. It happened more often than people thought; Altaïr did wonder sometimes whether Malik's instinct to poke and prod and needle was actually stronger than his instinct to breathe. The criticism wasn't completely out of line, though. If Altaïr had been frustrated with how the day went, it must have been eight times worse for Malik. He shrugged. "That's why it's next year," he said quietly.

"Shit, I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry,"

Altaïr scattered kisses on his cheeks. "Don't worry about it."

"You really don't need-"

Altaïr cradled his face in both palms, looking him dead in the eyes. "Malik, I want to," he said. "I just... I can't. Right now."

Malik's gaze was so fond it made his teeth ache. "I don't want to rush you, is all."

Altaïr had no way to put it into words, that the tightrope he was fumbling across was in no way Malik's fault. That it was his own fear and chagrin that had him stuck like this, and he was so sick of being stuck. He desperately wanted to wake up one morning, forward in time to where it was all out in the open and whatever chaos that caused had blown over. "You're not," he said, glancing away, but it seemed deeply inadequate. "Besides, where would we even go right now?"

"If you take me to that awful cafe that is allegedly the height of romance, I will break up with you on the spot."

Altaïr laughed. "No, no way. I can still smell the incense in my nightmares."

"Eugh, I had forgotten about that part. Why is everything magicside like this."

"Yeah... it might have to be somewhere over the line," he admitted. Malik had been thoroughly right about it being less terrifying over there, where no one knew his name or his family or what he had done. Where he could just be Malik's boyfriend Altaïr, one person in a sea of strangers. "But I'll get there, by next year. Promise."

Malik smiled at him so softly, brushed his fingers over Altaïr's cheek. If he kept looking at Altaïr like that he was going to break in half. He looked like he was about to say something, was deliberately choosing how to say it best, which with Malik usually only took milliseconds.

Altaïr had a pretty strong suspicion of what it could be, and headed it off at the pass the second Malik opened his mouth. "If you say 'I don't have to' one more time I swear to Merlin I'll-"

Malik's snort of laughter cut him off. "I was going to say I love you, birdbrain."

"Oh." Altaïr could feel the heat flood his cheeks.

"Yeah, oh." Malik pressed a kiss to his jaw, then another. "You going to finish that threat?"

Altaïr, who hadn't really planned the end of that sentence even as it was coming out of his own mouth, shrugged.

"I mean... you don't have to finish it..." Malik said.

At which point Altaïr had no choice but bodily picking him up - ignoring Malik's startled squawk and flailing of limbs - and crossing the room to toss him onto the bed.

"I feel very discouraged, bravo." Malik's tone was undercut by his barely suppressed giddy laughter. "Get over here."

And when he tugged Altaïr down on the bed with him, Altaïr couldn't say he minded in the slightest.

#altmal #skies au #they are so fucking gay jesus christ #for context they've been together for like 4-5 months #and have been *deeply* codependent for 4+ years #altair: yes the only person I could see myself living with long term is my bestie this is very normal and heterosexual of me #malik; head in hands: I am going to scream #altaïr ibn la’ahad #altaïr ibn la'ahad #altair ibn la'ahad #malik al sayf #autistic altair ibn la'ahad #you can pry autistic altair from my cold dead hands #assassins creed #assassin's creed #words that mean things #i should put this on ao3 shouldn't i

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ssavinggrace · 2 months

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day twenty two, twenty three, and twenty four. prompts: mortal au, revenge on cupid, found family

💀⚡️jasico bingo challenge 2024⚡️💀

In a bustling city, amidst the noise and chaos of everyday life, Nico Di Angelo and Jason Grace found solace in each other's company. They were two ordinary men, living ordinary lives, but their love was anything but ordinary.Nico worked as a librarian, his days filled with the smell of old books and the quiet rustle of pages. Jason, on the other hand, was a firefighter, his job demanding bravery and quick thinking in the face of danger.Despite their busy lives, they always made time for each other. They would meet at their favorite coffee shop after work, sharing stories and dreams over steaming cups of coffee.One evening, as they walked home hand in hand, Jason stopped suddenly, a look of wonder on his face. "Look at the stars, Nico," he said, pointing up at the night sky. "They're so beautiful."Nico looked up, his heart swelling with love. "They are. But not as beautiful as you."Jason smiled, pulling Nico into a gentle kiss. "I love you, Nico. More than words can say."Nico's eyes shone with unshed tears. "I love you too, Jason. More than anything."As they continued their walk, a sudden downpour caught them by surprise, sending them running for shelter under a nearby awning. Laughing, they huddled together, seeking warmth in each other's embrace."We're drenched," Jason said, a grin on his face.Nico chuckled, brushing a wet strand of hair from Jason's forehead. "It's just water. We'll dry off."As the rain subsided, they made their way home, their clothes clinging to their bodies. But they didn't care. All that mattered was being together, in that moment, in that city that held their hearts.As they reached their apartment, Nico turned to Jason, his eyes filled with love. "Thank you for being in my life, Jason. You make every day brighter."Jason pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "And thank you for being in mine, Nico. I love you more than words can say."And as they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the city bustling around them, they knew that as long as they had each other, they had everything they would ever need.

The air crackled with tension as Nico Di Angelo and Jason Grace stood before Cupid, their eyes burning with fury. Cupid, the god of love, had thoughtlessly outed Nico to the entire camp, causing him immense pain and embarrassment. Now, it was time for him to pay the price."Cupid, you have caused enough harm," Jason's voice was cold and steely. "You will answer for what you've done."Cupid, who had been lounging on a golden throne, sat up, sensing the danger in the air. "What do you intend to do?"Nico stepped forward, his voice dripping with venom. "We intend to show you the pain you've caused. To make you understand what it feels like to have your heart torn apart."With a wave of his hand, Cupid summoned a bow and arrow, ready to defend himself. But Jason and Nico were prepared. They had spent weeks planning their revenge, and they were not about to let Cupid off easy.Jason lunged forward, his sword flashing in the sunlight. Cupid barely had time to react before Jason's blade sliced through the air, cutting a deep gash across his chest. Cupid cried out in pain, but Jason was relentless, raining blow after blow upon him.Meanwhile, Nico summoned shadows to his aid, enveloping Cupid in darkness. Cupid struggled, unable to see or defend himself against Nico's relentless assault. Shadows twisted and writhed around him, causing him to feel the anguish and heartbreak he had inflicted on others.As the battle raged on, Jason and Nico fought with a ferocity born of love and betrayal. They had both been hurt by Cupid's actions, but now, they were determined to make him pay for his sins.Finally, with a final, devastating blow, Cupid fell to the ground, defeated and broken. Jason and Nico stood over him, their chests heaving with exertion."You have caused enough pain," Jason said, his voice filled with anger. "From now on, you will think twice before meddling in the affairs of mortals."With that, Jason and Nico turned and walked away, leaving Cupid to ponder the consequences of his actions. They had taken their revenge, but more importantly, they had shown that love could overcome even the darkest of betrayals.

In a world where demigods and magic were real, Nico Di Angelo and Jason Grace found solace and companionship in their friends. Thalia Grace, the fierce and loyal daughter of Zeus, and Reyna Ramirez-Arellano, the determined and compassionate daughter of Bellona, had become like family to them.One sunny afternoon, Nico and Jason decided to spend time with their friends at Camp Half-Blood. Thalia and Reyna greeted them warmly, and together, they embarked on a day of adventure and laughter.They started by exploring the woods surrounding the camp, sharing stories and jokes as they walked. Thalia regaled them with tales of her adventures, while Reyna shared her wisdom and insights. Nico and Jason, in turn, shared their own experiences, their bond growing stronger with each passing moment.As they reached a clearing, Thalia suggested a game of capture the flag. The four of them split into teams, with Thalia and Nico on one team, and Jason and Reyna on the other. The game was intense, with each team using their unique skills and abilities to outwit the other.After the game, they gathered around a campfire, roasting marshmallows and sharing stories late into the night. Thalia and Reyna listened intently as Nico and Jason spoke of their adventures and their dreams for the future.As the stars twinkled overhead, casting a soft glow over their makeshift campsite, Jason felt a deep sense of gratitude for his friends. They may not have been related by blood, but they were a family in every sense of the word."I'm so grateful for all of you," Jason said, his voice filled with emotion. "You've been there for me through thick and thin, and I couldn't imagine my life without you."Nico nodded, his hand finding Jason's and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I feel the same way. You're all like family to me."Thalia and Reyna smiled, their eyes shining with affection. In that moment, surrounded by the people they loved most in the world, Nico and Jason knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be. Together, with their found family, they were unstoppable.

@jasico-challenges

#jasicobingochallenge2024

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brick-a-doodle-do · 2 years

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Woahh part two already?? 👀 This was done way too quick and the pacing is shit, but that’s okay cause this chapter is just a conversation with Tommy and Wil :D Also yooo thanks for the love on the last one, it made my day :] <333

Kind of read over!! Any errors you see do not exist.

Curiosity Killed The Cat (2)

_ WC 1.8k

_ TW: Swearing, slight panic, dehumanization (not really, just Tommy’s interpretation of it), vore mention (kind of)

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A hazy feeling remained in his head as he slowly came to, eyes nearly completely clouded over to where he couldn’t make out his own hands as anything more than a blob of skin. His body also had a similar feeling of numbness from before. Said feeling was enough to have him regain the memories he couldn’t recall a moment before, and it started making sense as to why his entire form felt like it had melted.

While the last thing he can remember is talking to the giant-

Giant.

Shit- fuck- Prime what did he start for himself? Despite his fucked up eyes, he still took the time to sit up and ground himself to his surroundings to at least get a guess as to where he was. Obviously he couldn’t be home since.. it seemed-

Tommy palms rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to try to clear them, but it didn’t work. He went back to using a different sense. Beneath his fingertips, it almost felt glassy. Clearly that wouldn’t.. while it fit the scene, he couldn’t possibly be in a jar, could he? Now, of all times, was not the time for fairytales to actually come fucking true.

His thoughts taunted him with what-if scenarios and the beginning of what felt like a sob started, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as his throat clogged up at the same moment, nearly choking him. He gasped, keeping a hand to his mouth to silence the cry. Tommy drew his knees up and leaned against a wall, just further proving his jar theory.

Fucking giants and their need for human snacks. He’d be lucky to be a fucking snack- to have a quick and easy death, where anything but would be taunts and torture before it all ends in a week or two’s time. Tears continued to fall, though the rather short panic began to pass as he realized there was no time to break down when he should be trying to… do anything but that. Tommy’s eyes began to slowly, very slowly, clear up. He still could barely pinpoint anything, but it was better than what it was a few minutes ago.

He at least knew when someone walked by. Someone walked by. Tommy used the best of his broken eyesight to stand up without falling then look to his left, where a figure much darker than what was there before seemingly sat, eyes unattended on him and instead on something else.

He put a fist against the glass wall and pounded on it once, seemingly catching the man’s attention just fine.”Dickhead! What- what the hell is this?!” He cried out in a scratchy voice that hurt his throat. “You’re awake.” The giant said simply, the same accent from before coming through the glass in a slightly muffled version. Tommy waited, taking a few steps back and wiping away the new round of tears. “Yeah- I’m fucking awake! What did you do to me?” He wanted for his tone to come out rude or threatening, but it came out weak and pathetic. Exactly how he felt.

“I could tell you were going to leave, and I had to stop it somehow.”

The voice was so unbothered. Despite the way he wanted to scream until his lungs hurt he still stayed quiet. His hands balled into fists as he fought back the remaining tears that annoyingly offered to leave. “So you fucking locked me in a jar? That’s a pretty- a pretty shit thing to do, you prick.”

“As I said earlier, I can’t exactly have you leave.”

Tommy groaned, beginning to pace back and forth as he once again attempted to clear his body of whatever the hell this man did to him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?! I can’t even go anywhere, it’s just a fucking- a fucking mountain to the window, but, yeah, clearly I can get out with you there! And my eyes, what did you do to them?”

First there was a deep sigh, then his reply, “It’ll wear off. And.. uhm, can I be honest?”

Tommy stopped pacing to look at him. “I can’t really say no.”

“Yeah- your word isn’t good enough. I can’t really believe you’ll stay quiet.” Tommy laughed, an expression of furrowed brows and thin lips taking its turn on his face. “Can’t believe me.” He whispered. “Obviously you can’t believe me because, I don’t know, I’ll call the police! So what, prick? It’s not like they can fucking do anything.”

He could now make out the basic shape of things and it just looked like he had yet to put on glasses. If he had glasses. It was blurry but not cloudy, which was a good relief to know it would be wearing off soon. He wants to know where the hell he is. Apart from the jar, since, he kind already figured that the fuck out.

There was no reply from the giant and for a moment he wondered if he’d changed his opinion, and he clung onto that hope with dear life. “I can never be too sure, can I? Like how you couldn’t be satisfied with your curiosity until you could break in. Is that right?”

“…It was too weird for me to not look into. I didn’t really think I’d be fucking kidnapped for it, though. So I guess it was proper stupid of me to do that, huh? Forgive me for thinking that it would just be something like a ghost and not a psychotic giant.” Tommy huffed, sitting against the glass wall again. He shook his head at himself, ignoring the urge to fall asleep so he could wake up in his bed, happy to know it was all a dream. This is so, so stupid. Leave it to him to break into the worst house on the street! “People will look for me, anyway. I can twist the story, I’m good at it. Just let me go.”

“I don’t know what isn’t clicking, king, but you are not leaving until-” The man paused. “Until what?” He said firmly, his old voice slowly coming back along with his eyesight. “Until I can trust you enough.”

“How- wha-” He sputtered. There’s no possible way keeping someone locked in a jar is a way to gain trust- it’s kidnapping, and it’s even more likely that Tommy will call the cops on this idiot if he’s stuck for weeks on end.

Who knows how long he’lll be here for.

“That’s stupid.” Tommy spat.

His eyesight was nearly as it had been before this all happened, and he could finally make out that, yes, he was in a fucking jar, and he seems to be in some basement type thing. The giant, though slightly warped, seemed to be working on something small, since it could barely be seen as more than a small bit of blue against the skin of his captor. Interesting.

He should ask for a name, but then again that’d be like he’s warming up to this man, and he is doing everything but that. I- When he gets out, he’s going to tear this bitch to shreds, even if the size difference is major and he’d probably end up back in the jar.

On second thought, maybe it’d be okay to ask.

“Bitch.” He said, tapping on the glass with his nails.

It caught his attention.

“Your name- what is it?” He cringed at the way he formed his words but the point got through and the tension in his chest snapped at finally getting the question out, seemingly with no problem. It was a casual offer to know someone’s name, which does not, and he repeats, does not mean he’s calming down. There’s still a fire in his eyes that wants to kill this dick.

“Wilbur.” Wilbur replied, eyes never taking themselves off of the blue. “And you?” He asked before Tommy could even begin to diss his stupid fucking name. His thoughts of Wilbur went to thoughts of his reply, which he was unsure of. There’s no real reason for him to hide it, it’s not like he’s going to find him through something, since he’s already caught him. With that in mind he gave his response.

“Tommy.” He said in a mumble but he was sure it could be heard from Wilbur; he seemed to hear everything else just fine.

The two sat in silence for a moment before Wilbur shifted his chair to the side and slid it to the edge of the desk, where Tommy and his jar rested. He shuffled to a stand quickly, eyes watching Wilbur’s hands on instinct, torn between hope that they’ll move and hope that they stay put. He wants out but Prime, he doesn’t want to be grabbed by a hand thrice his size.

“Hi.” Wilbur said, too calm for comfort. “What do you want? You can’t expect me to be all nice when you’ve trapped me.”

“It’s not forever, Tommy.”

“Yeah but it could be a good while.” Tommy sat again. “It will all depend.” There was a small pause and a shift in Wilbur’s eyes. “Do you need anything?”

Tommy scrunched up his face at the question, a weird feeling settling in his stomach. “I’m not your pet, okay? I don’t need anything, and I should be the one asking you for things. I can talk and I don’t need you acting like you own me now.”

“I never implied that. The effects of certain potions lead to different things, and I might’ve.. put you somewhere for safety, but i’m not going to dehumanize you. That’s cruel.”

For safety. The only safety this is for is Wilbur’s. Tommy doesn’t have any reason to be hidden and captured except for Wilbur’s own fucking benefit. “Yeah, so is keeping me here. I don’t need anything.” He crossed his arms, trying to keep his eyes off of Wilbur but they always ended back to him. “Are you sure? I-”

“I don’t need anything, you dick!” He snapped, a very subtly scared feeling washing over him, but he didn’t let it show. He just waited for a reply of anger. Like his freedom, that never came, so he just tried to relax. Turns out it’s pretty damn impossible to relax when you’re being held captive by a- oh.

Potions. Potions! The man’s a fucking wizard or some shit. It would explain the illusion of the house and why he blacked out, it was most likely a splash potion to make him faint- it completely made sense now. His secrets could be spilled, therefore, he wants Tommy. It’s not about the giant, it’s about the potions. The magic. He stayed quiet about his discovery and tried to push his smile down. The beginning of a plan slowly crept into his mind as he wondered if he could execute it well enough with his slight history in theatre at school and his alright lying abilities.

He zoned out of Wilbur’s voice as he started really running through it all. He could pull it off, but he needs two things before he can. Trust, and a backup plan.

Maybe, if he’s really lucky, this could work.

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chapter three

#curiosity killed the cat #everybody ignore the pacing and the word count /lh #t!tommy #g!wilbur #brickfic #g/t #dream smp g/t #mcyt g/t #mw #tw vore mention #something’s brewing au

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cha0ticspacebi · 1 year

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The King of the Hellfire Club: Chapter 10

Your dad promised this was the last move until after you graduate. You see Eddie Munson outside Nancy's house shortly after your arrival in Hawkins. Everyone tells you to stay away but you're sure there's more to him than he lets on. Now it's the day before spring break and you just have to work up the nerve to actually talk to him before you lose your chance.

Tags: 18+ MDNI,falling in love, full of cheesy cliche high school romance tropes, dungeon master Eddie, dom Eddie, rockstar Eddie, hurt/comfort, getting together, fluff/smut

dividers by firefly-graphics

Chapter 10/13 ☆ Previous chapter → Next chapter

☆ You can find me over on A03 as Cha0ticBi ☆ Master list link! ☆

You waited outside Eddie’s classroom at the end of the day. This was it. Everything he had been working so hard for the last few weeks all came down to the news he would give you when that door opened. He had given it his all on this last final and today he got his score back. You snuck out early from your last class to use the bathroom and now, well there was only 3 minutes until the final bell. You might as well just wait here, no sense in walking back to english. Robin would grab all your stuff. You anxiously tapped your foot against the ground as that final bell rang and classrooms everywhere poured out into the hallway. You pressed your body against the wall waiting to see that lovely head of curly hair emerge from the room. Your heart sank the longer you waited, the classroom had to be empty by now right? You peeked inside and your face was met with Eddie’s chest, you looked up to see a huge grin on his face. Without a word he held up a paper with a big “B” written in red marker.

You couldn’t contain your happiness! You screamed at the top of your lungs and jumped into his arms. He laughed dropping the paper to the floor and wrapped his arms around you, you held his face in your hands and kissed it what felt like a million times.

“Edward,” Ms O’Donnell cleared her throat, “As I said I’m very proud of you and I look forward to seeing you at the graduation ceremony this Saturday. Now,” she addressed the two of you in your current state, “Could you clear my doorway please?”

Eddie put you down and picked up his test from the floor, his voice was barely audible, “I can’t believe it. I did it.” He looked so proud of himself and you just couldn’t keep quiet about it.

“Eddie! I’m so proud of you,” you hopped on his back as he walked you through the parking lot, “We need to celebrate!” You got that look in your eye, “I have an idea.” You kissed the side of his head and instructed him to go home to tell his Uncle Wayne the good news and then you’d pick him up shortly. You took off running to find the hellfire kids.

Mike and Dustin were leaving as you ran back towards the door. Dustin looked around excited, “Where’s Eddie? Did he do it?”

You smirked, “I’ll let him tell you himself. Grab the rest of the hellfire club. You know that make out spot Steve was telling us he made popular? Meet Eddie and I there in an hour. I’m going to go get Robin, Steve, and Nancy.”

The conversations were all the same. Everyone wanted to know if Eddie was going to graduate this year. You told everyone the meeting place and then before heading to your car, you headed to the pay phone to call your mom, “Mom? Can you make me like a ton of sandwiches and pack up the picnic basket for me? I’ll be home shortly.”

You were moving as fast as your body allowed. Running into the house barely remembering to close the car door. You changed clothes into something cuter, kissed mom on the cheek for being amazing, grabbed the basket she had packed up for you, and drove off towards Eddie’s place.

You knocked on the door to the trailer and Uncle Wayne pulled you into a big hug, “Thank you for believing in him. I know how most of the town feels about my nephew but I’ve never seen him this happy. He’s a good kid, he just needed someone to remind him of that.”

“He really is great, so great I’m going to steal him if that’s alright,” you eyes full of affection.

“I’m right here you know,” Eddie laughed. He scooped you up in a warm embrace, “What on earth do you have planned fair maiden?”

“Come with me and find out!”

Eddie closed the passenger door of your car as you put the top down. Before pulling away you brought out a brand new cassette from your bag, “Now I hope you're not mad but I went to the record store and spoke to another metalhead about suggestions,” you popped it in the player. And turned up the volume. Guitar riffs filling the air.

You'll take my life, but I'll take yours too

You'll fire your musket, but I'll run you through

So when you're waiting for the next attack

You'd better stand, there's no turning back

“How could I ever be mad at you? You went and bought an Iron Maiden album by yourself!” He stared at you for a moment, “Are you certain you’re real and haven’t been a figment of my stoned imagination this whole time?” His words echoing those from the first night you spent together.

“Absolutely,” You took off leaving a dust trail behind you as you sped out of the trailer park.

You picked up speed as you headed towards the Hawkins city limits. Loving the feeling of your hair blowing in the wind on this warm late spring day. You looked over to see Eddie’s eyes wide as he noticed your speed, “Damn girl slow down! You weren’t kidding when you said you liked to drive. You tryna’ kill me? Where are you even taking me?” The questions flowed from his mouth as you pulled off to the side of the road and into a clearing. You put the top back up and got out of the car.

“We have to walk from here,” you grabbed the picnic basket and a large blanket from the backseat.

The two of you walked into the woods and following the instructions Steve had given you, made your way to Skull Rock. You heard voices as you approached the large stone formation.

Dustin practically attacked Eddie as he attempted to hug him, “Eddie you son of a bitch you did it!” Eddie tackled him right back. The pair wrestled as the group laughed. Eddie had Dustin locked down. Dustin screaming, “No wedgies no wedgies!”

Eddie flipped his hair up over his head and looked down at Dustin, brotherly love in his eyes, “Never change Dustin Henderson… Never change,” Eddie smacked his shoulder.

He sounded taken back, “Wasn’t planning on it.”

Robin called to them, “Hey your girlfriend promised me food so get up here!”

You laid out the big blanket and everyone complimented your mom’s hastily made sandwiches. By the time the sun was setting the food was gone but the conversation kept going.

“So,” Nancy said, “How soon after graduation are you heading back to California? I’ve heard UCLA has some nice student housing.”

Eddie’s brows lowered, confusion rapidly spreading across his face, “You’re leaving?”

Nancy immediately realized what she had done. Of course she assumed that if you told her about your acceptance letter, you must have told Eddie right?

“Well about that,” you started to speak but Eddie’s expression worsened.

“Did anyone else know about this?” You watched as Steve and Robin silently raised their hands. “When were you planning to tell me? Hm?” the anger bubbled in his throat, “You didn’t even tell me you’d been accepted anywhere let alone that you were leaving! Were you ever going to tell me or was I just going to wake up one day and you're gone!” He stormed away, turning his back from the group.

Steve whispered, “Uh move along people. Nothing to see here,” He ushered everyone to leave. Nancy put her hand on your shoulder and mouthed an apology as they all left.

You tried to approach him but he turned harshly away from you, “Eddie wait your not,”

He cut you off, a pained and hurt look as he fought back tears, “Wheeler knew? How long ago did you decide this? Was I so much of an afterthought? Have you known this whole time that you didn’t plan on staying here?”

You pleaded with him for a chance to explain yourself, “It’s not what you think Eddie.”

He raised his voice, “What is it then? Because all I can see is a fool who actually thought for once something good could happen in his miserable life. But obviously I’m not important enough to you for me to be the last one to know that you are leaving for school 2,000 miles away on the other side of the damn country.” His voice broke you.

You sniffled. Clearing your leaking nostril from the tears running down your face, “Eddie you know that’s not true!” You matched his tone, “You know how much I care about you but you’re not giving me a chance to speak!”

His voice lowered with bitterness, “You cared enough to tell Steve though,” he shook his head and started to walk away.

You yelled after him, your voice cracked as you screamed through the tears, yet he continued to walk away from you. Your heart raced, aching to be heard as it cracked. The crack spreading all through your body. Reaching every inch of your skin causing your legs to buckle and fall out from under you as you collapsed to the ground. You closed your eyes and shouted, voice hoarse and sore, “Eddie Munson I love you!”

Your breath caught in your throat realizing this was the first time you’ve actually said it out loud. You heard his footsteps stop. Then get closer. Closer. You felt his hand on your back as you lifted your torso to look up at him. His face was wet with tears.

You repeat yourself, “I love you Eddie. Now please,” you grabbed a paper from your pocket and crunched it in your hands, “Let me explain. I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do yet. Nancy knew I had applied and she saw the letter on my dresser one day. She must have mentioned it to Steve, who probably told Robin. I didn’t say anything because I was waiting. I’m sorry if I hurt you. Here,” you handed him the crumpled paper in your hands, “Read it.”

He slowly took it from you. A red University of Indiana logo sat bent at the top of the paper. Congratulations! Your application has been accepted. His demeanor changed reading it aloud. His head fell with a sigh.

“I mailed in my application the day after I punched Jason Carver in the face. I didn’t tell you about UCLA because I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go yet. Can you forgive me?”

He held both hands out and helped you up from the dirt, brushing your legs clean. ““It is I who must once again beg for your forgiveness, my queen. When I thought for even a second that you’d leave without saying anything and I might never see you again, I just couldn’t handle that fact. I know college is important to you and you my love are destined for greatness and if that means you have to go to California. Go. Don’t let me stop you,” he held you close as you laid your head on his shoulder, “I love you too much to do anything that might hold you back. I’m sorry for overreacting.”

Walking hand in hand you grabbed the abandoned picnic supplies and headed for your car. Night had come and it was cold again. Eddie gave you his jacket without hesitation. You turned the car on and Iron Maiden resumed their songs. You drove one handed refusing to let go of Eddie’s hand the whole way back to his trailer.

The light was off. Uncle Wayne was working. You turned your head to see if Eddie had the same thought as you. You both grinned and made your way inside.

“My outburst ruined the mood earlier darling. I’m so sorry again, you were right today is a day to celebrate,” he held the test again in his hand. He stared at it as if it would vanish, “I still can’t believe it. After all these years…I finally get to walk that stage and snatch that diploma. I’ll never have to be Eddie “The super senior freak” Munson again.”

“Nope, you can be whatever you want! You’re the one destined for greatness love.”

He set the test down, “I’d like to try something new tonight my love. If you're up to it.”

“What’d you have in mind Eddie?”

He closed the door and stalked you, his movements pressuring you to go exactly where he wanted you to go. The backs of your knees hit the edge of his bed, crumbling as you fell to the soft surface below. Your heart raced. Your legs rubbing together, clenching your muscles tightly. His voice a low growl as he grazed the soft skin of your ear with his lips, “You have done so much to help me that tonight I want to make all your fantasies come true. Tell me your most filthy thoughts, what do you think about while you're alone in the dark pleasuring yourself?”

You melted under his expert touch, moans escaping your throat, “Ahh- Eddie,” you covered your face in embarrassment, “Well I do have something…I guess you could all it a fantasy…I’m always the good girl who follows the rules and sometimes,” you took a deep breath letting the words out with an exhale , “I want be a bad girl who needs someone to put her in her place.”

A devious smile appeared on your boyfriend’s face, “Are you telling me you want to be a little brat who needs a strong hand to control you?”

“I’d like that a lot,” you played with your fingers chest tight with anticipation as you considered telling him more, “ There’s something else I’ve thought quite a bit about. I love the idea of being hunted by some strong creature, taken back to his lair where he has his way with me.” You shy away, avoiding his eyes, ashamed of what you are asking for.

He lifts your chin, “Use your words love. Listen to me. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. It would be my pleasure to give you the release you so desperately need. Now listen,” he got very serious, “Before we do this we need to discuss a few things. I can be much more…demanding…when given the chance. I want you to tell me if there’s anything you don’t want me to do. Can you think of something that would upset you if I did that?”

You searched your thoughts, “I want you to make me submit to you but I don’t want it to hurt too much. Also, you can be…mean but no name calling like slut or whore,” your mind flashed to just after spring break, “I don’t want to feel like a cheap hooker.“

He nodded, “No pain harder than what we’ve already done together and no degradation. Understood. You’re already doing great sweetheart. Next, if in the event I do something you find in the moment you're not enjoying or you need a break. We need a safe word. You say this word and I will stop without hesitation. We can then talk about it and either stop all together or resume after addressing the concerns. If you can’t speak I want you to flip the bird on both hands. Do you understand?”

“Yes Eddie,” you modeled the hand signal, “Vecna. That’s our safe word.”

He laughed, “That’s perfect. It should be something you would never otherwise say during sex so Vecna is perfect. Last, it’s always more satisfying to earn a lover's submission which means I want you to push me. Really get into the bad girl mind set, are you ready?” He held the evening's soundtrack in his hands.

“Yes Eddie,” you’ve never wanted something so badly in your entire life.

He put in the cassette and as soon as the music started, you took off running out of the room! Your heart raced as Metallica’s pulse quickening sound filled the trailer. You hid in the corner behind the couch as best you could, simulated fear filling your body with adrenaline.

End of passion play, crumbling away

I'm your source of self-destruction

Veins that pump with fear, sucking darkest clear

Leading on your death's construction

Eddie’s hard footsteps sent shivers down your spine as he hunted you throughout the small space, “Oh you really are a bad girl. You didn’t even wait for me to finish,” his delicious voice spoke to the air, “And now you think you can hide from me? You better hope I don’t find you, you might not like me anymore after I get my hands on you.” His footsteps neared your hiding place, “Come on out little lamb. I promise I won't bite.” You peaked your head out and tried to take a chance to escape while his back was turned and made a run back to his room. His movements were faster though. He snatched you right up into the air and swung you over his shoulder, his hand holding tightly just below your ass, “Gotcha.”

His footsteps still affected you as he carried his prize back to his bed. He tossed you on the mattress and locked the door this time, “No more running little lamb. Stay.” He grabbed the chain and handcuffs that hung on the wall, “And this time I’m going to make sure you can’t go anywhere. What do you think about that sweetheart?”

You crossed your arms and stuck your tongue out, “You can’t make me do anything. I don’t have to listen to you!”

He clicked his tongue at you, toying with the chains, “Big bad girl thinks she can resist me. Tell me little lamb, how will you escape me then? There’s nowhere left for you to run.”

“You're not as strong as you think you are,” you started to get up from the bed and were pushed back down by Eddie’s forceful hand, “I said stay.” He pinned you down. You fought him. Arms flailing, powerless against his strength, he grunted as he held your legs down beneath his pelvis and easily overpowered you. Grabbing both of your hands in his one, he struggled to get the handcuffs around your wrists as you put up a fight. Click the metal latch on the second cuff locked, securing your hands together, “There.”

You continued to try and break free. He smirked, running the chain through his hands, “You’re cute when you struggle.” He guided the chain under the center of the cuffs and attached one end to either side of his bed frame. You pulled and pulled but couldn’t get free.

He got up and sauntered over to his chair, “Careful sweetheart, that metal might leave marks on your pretty skin if you struggle too much.”

“Fuck you!” you spat back.

“That’s the idea little lamb, but not yet,” he got up from the chair and smacked the tops of his thighs, stepping towards the door, “Maybe I’ll give you a little time out to think about the situation you’ve found yourself in.”

“What’s the matter big tough guy, can’t handle me?”

“Only I can handle you in all the right ways love, but you already knew that didn’t you? Isn’t that why you stopped struggling?”

You flushed, “No!” you pulled on your bonds again, “I just didn’t want to mark up my skin.”

“Sure,” he nodded, “If I undo the chain do you promise to behave?”

“Oh of course,” you mocked sarcastically.

He shrugged his shoulders, “Have it your way,” he tested the restraints again, “Oh one more thing!” He pulled the black bandana from his pocket and wrapped it over your eyes tying the ends behind your head. “There, now maybe a quick timeout will do something about this attitude of yours.” You hear his footsteps moving away from the bed then the door opens and slams closed.

You called loudly, “Hah! You think leaving me alone will make me behave?” you got no response, “I can’t believe you're giving up so easily.” Still no response. You didn’t hear any more movements. Your breathing quickened, panic creeping its way into your voice, it had to of only been a few moments since Eddie left. You listened for any sign that he was still even in the trailer. You pulled at your restraints again, “Ok haha real funny.” You felt yourself starting to sweat a bit. The loss of your senses starts to get to you. You struggled again, harder this time, you called out his name, “E-Eddie?”

“Yes love?” The door immediately opened, “Are you ready to play nice?”

You nodded fiercely, “Yes, I promise.” He removed the blindfold.

He hummed, pleased, “That’s better my little lamb. Now here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to undo the cuffs and you're going to crawl on your hands and knees and come to kneel in front of me. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“Words sweetheart.”

“Yes.”

“See now you're getting it,” He undid the hand cuffs and admired the reddening skin there, “So beautiful.” He stepped back into his chair and patted his lap, “Crawl to me. Now.”

You slid down the side of the bed and started to crawl towards him. Just when you had tricked him into thinking you were actually going to listen, you made a dash for the door. It was locked.

“Poor choice,” His voice was hard. He picked you up with both arms and bent you over his knee on the bed. You continued trying to fight him. He smacked your ass. Hard. “Keep moving like that and I will lock you back up. I’ll jack myself off all over your stomach and then not touch you for the rest of the night. Am I clear?”

Your voice cracked, “Yes…” you wanted to add an honorific but sir didn’t feel right. Your mind provided the perfect inspiration remembering how this all started, “Yes Dungeon Master.”

His palm rubbed your sore ass, “Oh sweet thing you have no idea how dangerous that was. Now. Let’s try this again,” he guided you to the ground, and returned to his chair, “Crawl to me and kneel at your master’s feet.”

This time you didn’t have it in you to disobey. You crawled slowly, not breaking eye contact with him. When you reached him, you stopped and innocently laid your head on his knee.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous my love, but those sweet doe eyes won’t save you now. Take my cock out.” You unbuckled his belt and pulled down the zipper. You looked up to see his impatient expression so you worked faster. Pulling his cock from his blue boxers. You looked up at him waiting for the next instruction, “Well? What are you waiting for? Suck it.” You sat back on your knees waiting for him to bring it to you. His fist grabbed the back of your head, “Do I have to do everything?” He brought your mouth to his cock and used his hand to move your head up and down, “Do you like that sweetheart? You like my cock in your mouth like this?”

You tried to speak around him, “Yes.”

He continued to fuck your mouth and put his foot up on your thigh, pressing down. You moaned around him, mouth vibrating his cock. He pulled you off, “Bed. Now. Put your hands up over your head and beg me to put the cuffs back on.”

“Master… please restrain me,” your hair was a mess and your eyes watered.

“Certainly love. I thought you’d never ask,” He tenderly put the cuffs back around your wrists and tied you back to the bed with the chain. He sat back on his heels admiring his work.

“I know what you want sweetheart but you’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble tonight with your disobedient behavior,” he pulled your skirt off and pushed your shirt up over your chest, “You’ve earned yourself a matching punishment.” He pulled your panties down revealing your soaked cunt, “I’m going to fuck you with my fingers. If you come, my earlier offer stands. Do you remember what it was?”

“Yes master. If-if I come you’ll jack yourself off on my stomach and you won’t touch me anymore.”

His expression softens, “Wow love I’m impressed you managed to remember all that. Not coming then should be no problem for you.” He opened the folds of your cunt and stuck two fingers inside. You screamed out at the sensation, moaning and begging for him to keep going. He slowed down, “Tsk Tsk, we can’t have you going over the edge by accident.” He removed one finger and continued, “Think you can handle just one without coming?”

“Yes master,” you closed your eyes, focusing really hard on your breathing. Trying to avoid the inevitable. Eddie’s finger rubbed every surface of your hole. You squirmed, aching for him to touch you more.

“Just a little longer love. You’re being such a good girl now.”

His voice traveled right to your clit, “Ahh I don’t think I can hold it anymore.”

He pulled his finger out and rubbed your thighs, massaging your tension away. He crawled over you and kissed your forehead, “Tell me what you want pretty thing.”

“Master I need…I need you to touch me. Please fuck me.”

“I’d love to sweetheart but I want to give you one more test. If you can take it I promise I’ll fuck you until you break.” He pulled your pussy apart with his thumb and middle finger, “I’m going to tease this lovely neglected clit of yours and I want you to count backwards from ten and if you can make it without coming I’ll take good care of you. Are you ready?”

You took a deep breath, “I’m ready master.” you started counting and Eddie’s two fingers took no mercy on you. They moved effortlessly quick across your wet surface pressing in all the right places. You screamed out trying to focus on the task he’d given you. It helped. You were so close. Almost there.

“One!” you screamed out arching your back.

Eddie smiled, “You ready for my cock sweetheart?”

Your voice was gone. All your screaming and begging had made your voice barely a whisper as you continued to string together a barely coherent thought of please Eddie. He was true to his word and fucked you hard and fast all the while whispering how good you were doing and what a lucky man he is. You lost track of how long you’d been under his hand.

“Tell me who you belong to fair maiden, who does all your pleasure belong to?”

You came for some unknown number of times, “You! Master, all yours!”

Eddie came inside you with a deep moan, god you understand why he likes your noises so much. His absolutely drive you wild. He pulled out and immediately uncuffed you. He took his time moving you slowly up to a sitting position. He took the condom off and tossed it, grabbing lotion for your wrists.

“That was amazing love. Did you enjoy that?” He massaged the lotion into your shoulders, wrists, and neck, “It’s important that we talk afterwards. Tell me how you feel.”

You didn’t realize how exhausted you were until he wanted you to speak, “Loved every single second,” You leaned back into his chest and he continued massaging you, “I love you Eddie.”

He hugged you tightly, “I love you too.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things fanfic #stranger things smut #18+ content #high school sweetheart eddie munson #dungeon master eddie munson

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rileyglas · 23 days

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The List ~Pt. 3 - Chance~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: As you adjust to life in the hotel, you start to form bonds with other guests and offer your help when needed. However, things take a turn when you faint and wake up in the room of the one person you hoped to avoid.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), sassiness, Val is mentioned, Angel gets hurt (sorry), cursing, fluff, eventual smut (the next part is a SPICY one sinners), actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+, this is the last shorter chapter, I'll start feeding you more!

1.7k Words

Part One Part Two Part Three (You're on it!) Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

Over the next few weeks you seem to adjust well to the hotel. You try to help Nifty with at least one meal a day, give advice to Charlie on different ‘redemption exercises’, and have even helped an eggboy or two not get scrambled. Alastor seemed to keep his distance which was much appreciated (especially after hearing the stories and history of the “Radio Demon”). You do what you can to fill the void you feel from not being able to help to your full potential. Of course, there really hasn’t been a need for your expertise. But as they say, ask and you shall receive.

Angel was coming in from yet another brutal shift with Val. He was usually quick to dismiss the bruising around his wrists and face. “Comes with the job babe!” He’d say through a toothy smile. “I didn’t do a good job if I don’t come home with some battle scars!” You’d share a look with Husk, silently agreeing how fucked up this was, but Angel always changed the subject to avoid any pity or awkwardness.

This time was different. It was later than usual. Everyone but you and Husk had long since made their way to bed. Angel walked in staggering and not in the ‘oh he was out with Cherri’ way. He was barely able to make it to the couch before collapsing to his hands and knees. His breathing shallow and raspy – you could hear the blood gurgling in his lungs as he struggled with each breath. This was the worst Val had done yet. That motherfucker is going to kill him one day if he keeps this up – Overlord or not, he’s going to pay. You take a mental note to make a visit to Val, but right now, Angel needed help.

Carefully you try to lift him onto the couch. Angel hisses from the sudden movement. Damnit this is bad. I need a few seconds without any eyes around. “Husk, be a dear and run up to my room please. I have some medical supplies by my bed.”

“No need, I have some stuff behind the ba----” he stops when he sees the glare you’re shooting over your shoulder. “Ah alright fine, I’ll be right back.” he grumbled as he made his way up the stairs. That was the great thing about Husk - he wasn’t one to ask too many questions.

Finally alone you lay Angel back on the couch. “Hey Angel? Babe? I need you to look at me. I know it hurts and it’s hard to breathe but I have a trick that’ll help relieve some of the pressure. Trust me?” He places one of his hands on your shoulder as confirmation, unable to get enough air to speak. Time to work my magic.

Kneeling by the couch, you gently place your hands on his ribs and stomach while leaning your head over his chest, “Alright babe I need you to take a deep breath and close your eyes. This won’t feel great.” You wince as the words leave your mouth. For this to work you’d have to cause him some discomfort otherwise some more complication questions might arise. R̷̢͙̃ǘ̷̮͔͠l̵̰̝̆ḛ̷̀͊ ̵͕̍#̵̜̌2̷̼́̅ Never tell a soul what (or how much) power you have.

“Ok eyes closed and breathe in 3……2…..1….” I’m sorry Angel, you deserve so much better than this. In one motion you shove into his ribs sending him writhing in pain while you place a soft kiss on his chest. The internal injuries made it easy to hide the pink glow that usually came from the wound, however the pain…yeah that shit still felt like torture. During your time training with Carmilla you learned the graver the injury, the more agonizing it was for you. After a few intense moments of pain, you pull away and sit back on your legs, trying to hide the lingering sting you felt in your lungs.

Angel groaned as he opened his eyes, finally able to take a proper breath. “Uhhhgg—what the fuuuuuuuuuuck was that?”

“Just some tricks I had to learn living in the city. You know how rough it gets out there. Glad you’re already feeling better.” You peck Angel’s cheek, feeling a soft twinge on your lips. The last bit of bruising on his face fades without him even realizing it. “Thanks toots. I don’t know how you did it, but I owe ya one.”

On queue Husk turns down the stairs with your medical kit. His face twists in a mix of relief and shock watching Angel up moving as if he wasn’t just on the verge of death five minutes earlier. He chuckles making his way back behind the bar. “Damn you’ve got quite the touch I see.” You tense at his choice of words. Fuck fuck fuck…calm down, he didn’t see anything. “Remind me to keep you on speed dial. Satan knows this one is bound to need you around again!” Husk points to Angel who by now has taken his usual place at the bar. “Oh shut up pussycat – the only thing I need right now is a few shots to forget this day ever happened! Let’s go! Booze me up Mr. Bartender!”

Deciding you have had enough excitement for the night, you say good evening to the guys and drag yourself through the quiet halls. Cursing the aftershock your body was going to endure after having to heal such extensive damage. It wasn’t horrible, more annoying like a bad hangover or flu, but the joy and warmth you felt from being able to help always made the pain more than worth it. You were just a few doors away from your room when your vision blurred. Why is the hall spinning? I don’t remember drinking. Oh fuck ----

Soft music fills your ears as you regain some form of consciousness. A familiar smell floods your senses causing your eyes to shoot open. Looking around you realize you’re in Alastor’s room. Not that you’d been here before, but between the bayou to your left and the freshly laundered red suits hanging by the door - it was obvious. Plus, his smell filled the room. You’d only dreamt of that smell and his warmth at least twice a week since first meeting the demon, much to your frustration.

Sharp static and ringing fill your ears as you sit up. Is this going to happen every time with this guy? Alastor appears in his chair by the bayou, chest puffed out and legs crossed. “Finally awake I see. I was just leaving my radio tower for the evening when you were coming down the hall. Quite a spectacle watching you try to walk straight. Drink too much with our good pal Husker?”

There he goes again trying to drill his eyes into your soul. You’ve seen him interact with the others. His eyes never had the same intensity as they did with you. Lie lie lie. “Yeah, you know how hard him and Angel go some nights. Guess I shouldn’t try to keep up next time.” You try to laugh it off hoping the answer was sufficient enough for him to drop the subject.

It wasn’t.

“Hmmm that’s funny. I didn’t smell a bit of alcohol when I picked you up off that floor.” Shit. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything dear however blatantly lying to me will get you on a side you don’t want to be on.” The static in his voice was piercing. You stared at him in silence. Work brain work, please give me anything. Rule #4 Never let your w̸͉̐e̵͓͐a̷̘͆k̴̭̏ñ̶͔e̶̢͒s̵̩̉ś̵͈è̸̮š̶͚ ̴̣̏s̴̖̈́h̷̲͐o̶̳͗w̷̱̾. Your lack of response apparently told him everything he needed in the moment. Standing up now, he begins to mindfully take off his jacket, unbutton his vest, and push up his sleeves.

This is it. This I how I die. And all because ---- oh fucking hell --- how did he get even more attractive? Is he doing this on purpose? Wow I’ve really got to get my priorities straight.

You can feel your heart pounding into your throat in anticipation as he sits in front of you on the bed. He slowly removes his gloves and tosses them to the side table.

“Let’s try this again…“

He reaches for your hands making you jerk slightly but he doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. You feel him pull you and as if under a spell, you follow mindlessly until you’re resting on your knees. He brings your inner wrist to his lips, gently peppering kisses between his words.

“What could possibly... “ kiss

“cause someone to drop as if… “ kiss

“the very life was sucked out of them?” kiss

An unfamiliar heat rips through your body, settling in your stomach and a little lower if you were being honest. You’ve never allowed anyone to be this intimate with you. Rule #3 N̴e̵v̴e̶r̵ ̷b̶r̷i̶n̸g̷ ̷a̸n̵y̷one too close.

“I – I – don’t..I didn’t – just tired.“ you give up on trying to form a coherent answer. What is he trying to get out of this? Alastor rests your hands on his cheeks. A deep sigh leaving his lips when he feels your warmth. You didn’t dare move, realizing you were just as touch starved as the demon in front of you.

Your mind is at full blown war. Torn between the desire to lean into this precarious high and absolute rage that he was trying to get into your head.

“I need to know so I can help you, my dear. I want to protect you.” His voice was clear but low. It lacked any trace of his usual radio effect. It’s as if he was dropping every façade. Speaking to you not as the Radio Demon but as just Alastor. “You and I could do great things [Y/N]. Trust me. Let me show you.”

What is he doing? I have worked relentlessly to be one of the strongest, most elusive demons in Hell. I fear no one. I need NO ONE. Yet here I am completely unravelling…

….to the Radio Demon.

Rule #̴̤͌1̴̢͝ ̶̘̽N̵̹̐e̴̯̋v̷̳̈́e̸̯̎r̵̠̕ ̸͈̊t̵̼͑ŗ̷̃u̴͔̓s̷̢̑t̴̪̓ ̵͎̊a̴̺͛n̶̛̳o̴̺͆t̴̤̿h̶̗̿e̴̞̋ȓ̸͜ Overlord.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #fanfic #x reader #angel dust #hazbin hotel husk #reader insert #fem reader #slow burn #alastor smut

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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BABY MAMA

A/N: woke up and just knew i needed to write about dad Harry, bc lets be honest, he is my fav. this fic is perfectly fine as a oneshot, but if you'd like, it could be a sequel to Grammy Winner Husband and Baby Grammy, i wrote things to line up with them!

PAIRING: Husband!Harry / Dad!Harry x Reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

masterlist

The arena is blowing up, the fans are screaming from the top of their lungs and Harry is putting out a show just as good as the previous ones have been. He is blowing the stage up, singing, dancing, joking around with the fans, enjoying this time he gets to spend with the people who got him to this point in his life. He’ll never be not grateful for what he has, what he is experiencing, no matter how hard this life can get sometimes.

“Dallas, how are you feeling tonight?” he asks in the mic as he walks back to his water bottle to have a few sips. The crowd erupts, the screams almost burst his eardrums, but he just chuckles, easing his thirst with some water before he returns to the microphone stand.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he teasingly asks, though the reaction is the same. Insane screaming. “Alright, let’s move this show on before you get bored,” he chuckles playfully, the band starts playing the next song and he is back at what he does the best. Performing.

Though not far from the arena, there’s someone who thinks there’s something he is even better at than performing. That person is you, and you’re one hundred percent sure Harry is best at being a father to your five months old son.

Owning the stage, putting out the utter best he can, Harry’s thoughts still wander away from the show he is supposed to be focusing on. He can’t help it, his instincts are just completely drawn to his baby in the hotel suit, dying to know how he is doing. Leaving for the show late afternoon was harder than usually, because baby Theo was having a fever and coughing quite badly. His heart was breaking that he couldn’t help his son, didn’t even know what could be done for such a tiny baby.

“Love, he’ll be alright, okay? The doctor is on the way, it’s gonna be fine,” you told him gently as he was cradling Theo to his naked chest, always so eager to be skin-to-skin with him. Harry kissed his soft little curls on top of his head before nodding, though you knew it was eating him away.

“Call me or Jeff if something happens, okay?” he told you, handing Theo over to you, who was finally asleep after fussing for hours.

“I will,” you nodded, but he cupped your face to make you look at him.

“Y/N, I mean it. I’ll come off the stage if—“

“You won’t come off the stage, Theo is gonna be fine, he just probably got a cold from the aircon at the greenroom in Denver. He’ll be here when you get back, okay?”

He knew this tone, this was your momma bear voice and he would never argue with you when you used it, so he just nodded, kissed you and then Theo’s chubby cheek before heading out.

Now as he is nearing the end of the show he can’t help but think about finally being back at the hotel with his wife and baby, though he won’t let it be seen how eager he is to get off the stage.

The last song passes, the whole arena blows up from the energy and he is throwing kisses everywhere as he heads off the stage, down the aisle that leads him backstage. As he puts on his mask he turns around one last time, throwing some more kisses around to his beloved fans before disappearing behind the curtains.

“Did she call?” he instantly asks Jeff instantly, who hands him his phone over, a text from you already waiting for him.

Doc just left, everything is fine, left some meds for bub. Love you Xx

Even though this is what you told him before too, he feels relieved that the doctor confirmed it, but he still can’t wait to see the two of you.

“Alright, get the car ready, I’m leaving in ten,” he tells Jeff.

“Got it,” he nods, not even daring to argue with him. He knows better than to stand between Harry and his baby.

His legs bounce nervously on his way back to the hotel and he jumps out of the car as if it was on fire, running inside in a rush. He swipes the keycard through the reader on the door and opens it quietly, scanning over the place for you and Theo and there you are, sitting in one of the armchairs with his sleeping son in your arms, your hand gently tapping on his bum. You must have just finished feeding him, because a rag is still thrown over your shoulder and your shirt is all wrinkled around your chest. Theo loves playing with the fabric while you breastfeeding him and Harry loves watching his tiny fingers grab onto it and massaging it aimlessly.

“Hey,” he breathes out, quietly pushing the door closed behind him before he walks over, kneeling in front of you. He kisses Theo’s forehead first, before pressing his lips to yours too. “How is bub feeling?”

“He is doing good. The doc gave him some meds for the fever and we have a syrup for the coughing. He said he’ll be fine in a few days,” you softly explain to him, nodding towards everything the doctor left you on the coffee table.

Harry grabs the bottles, inspecting them as if he knows anything about medicine and you can’t help but smile as he furrows his eyebrows, reading the packaging.

“Want to put him to bed?” you ask him, his head snapping up right away.

“Of course,” he nods eagerly. You both stand up and he carefully takes the little boy from your arms without waking him up. “Hey bubs, I missed you,” he coos at Theo and as you watch him sway with the sleeping baby, your heart could easily burst from just the sight of them.

You didn’t know what life would be like as a family of three. After Harry posted a picture of you with his Grammy award and your belly ready to pop, the whole world went crazy over the fact that Harry Styles is going to be a dad. Despite the buzz, you managed to stay hidden for the rest of your pregnancy and just three weeks after that post, Theodore Styles decided to come to the world. Harry cancelled everything for the first two months, it was just the three of you, showering in the joys of parenthood. You had all the ups and downs, but you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Then tour got rescheduled and Harry was hesitant whether it was a good idea to go on the road with a five months old.

“Sarah and Mitch are coming too, she gave birth a week after me,” you reasoned when Harry was about to cancel the whole tour. It took you some time to convince him that it’s gonna be fine, though you knew he would be extra cautious with Theo.

Now as you see him gently sway his way to the bassinet next to your bed, knowing that he just performed to thousands of people and now he is here with you and your son, you wouldn’t change it to some peace at home. Besides, you’re convinced tour is gonna do good for Theo, make him get used to people around him, not just the two of you or the grandparents and aunts. During the first night in Vegas, he barely spent an hour in your arms, everyone wanted a piece of him and you gladly let them befriend him, especially because he loves meeting new people, just like his daddy.

As Harry lays him into the bassinet and stands next to it with a lovesick smile on his face, you sneak behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smells so fresh, he surely had a quick shower before heading back to the hotel, but you’re already planning to seduce him to join you for a quick shower as well. He won’t say no.

“Watched a livestream for a bit, you were so good,” you hum, kissing his right shoulder blade and you don’t miss how he leans back against you. “Loved the shimmery outfit.”

“Yeah?” he chuckles softly. Reaching around, he pulls you forwards so he can wrap you in his arms, kissing your forehead gently. “I missed seeing you dance at the side,” he smirks at you and you don’t miss the reference to the old times.

On his first solo tour, when you weren’t even married yet he often caught you dancing like crazy at the side of the stage, it would always make him laugh mid-song and you loved hearing his giggles through the mic, so you often did it on purpose. A few nights ago in Vegas you did the same, but with Theo in your arms, a massive ear protector on his head so the noise didn’t hurt him. When Harry spotted you, he almost started crying, he mouthed I love youand then carried on with the show.

“I’ll be there soon,” you smile at him, cupping his face in your hands to pull him down for a kiss that’s more than just a peck. “Now, I need help with something,” you mumble against his lips.

“Anything, baby.”

“I need you to help me shower,” you tell him cheekily. He pulls back and stares down at you with a playful grin, his hands already wandering under your shirt.

“Oh, is that so?”

“Yeah, I need someone to wash my back and… maybe somewhere else,” you hum seductively and start pulling him towards the bathroom, peeking at Theo one last time, but he is sleeping so deep, the two of you can have some alone time.

“Alright, I could never deny anything from my favorite milf,” he grins, but you smack his chest with a gasp.

“Harry! I told you not to call me that!” you protest, the two of you walking into the bathroom not to bother the sleeping baby in the room. You start running the water right away so it can be nice and hot for you when you walk in.

“Why? You are a milf,” he smirks, so full of himself, already pulling his shirt over his head.

“Then you’re a dilf, just so you know.”

“Baby, my fans have been calling me that for years, even before Theo,” he chuckles softly.

“You were destined to be a dad,” you giggle, getting rid of your own clothes. “Hey, if Theo feels better tomorrow, we could maybe take a walk in that park we saw on the way here,” you suggest, but when no answer comes, you look at Harry and find him just standing there, fully naked, staring at you grinning widely. “What?” you ask, glancing down at your own naked body. Suddenly, you are way too aware of the weight you haven’t been able to lose after giving birth, the stretch marks on your waist and how you’re not at all freshly shaved. Just as you’d move your hands to cover yourself a bit, Harry grabs your wrists and stops you.

“You are so fucking gorgeous, baby,” he hums, dropping his head until his lips could reach yours.

“Stop being such a flirt,” you giggle, feeling your face heating up.

“It’s the truth! I have the prettiest baby mama and that’s a fact.”

He looks at you with so much love and adoration in those beautiful green eyes, it almost makes you cry, knowing that this man is your husband and you get to spend the rest of your life with him.

Wrapping your arms around his neck you kiss him hard, pulling him into the spacious walk in shower.

“Then come and get your baby mama wet,” you giggle against his lips, making him laugh with the ambiguous request as he shuts the glass door behind him, his lips hungrily kissing wherever he can reach and you’re pretty sure the hot water is not the only thing that’s steaming up the glass.

Thank you for reading! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #dad!harry

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metalbuckaroo · 3 years

Text

505

Summary: "Stay this time."

Warnings: age gap, (reader is 24, Bucky is 38), smut, light praise kink, the slightest hint of a breeding kink (literally mentioned once), angst, 18+ only

AU: Dadsbestfriend!Bucky x Fem!Reader

AN: This is my first time writing for dbf!bucky, hopefully it turned out pretty nicely. I also hope that I did this request justice, it played out a lot better in my head.

This is based on this ask and the song 505 - Artic Monkeys

MASTERLIST

Gif not mine

'Can I come over?'

You stared at the screen of your phone. Thinking over the four words that stared back at you.

Four words that held so much meaning, but, at the same time, didn't mean anything. The ones you told yourself that you wouldn't answer anymore. The last time was just that, the last time.

But, you still wanted more. More of the rush that was Bucky Barnes and definitely more than what he wanted. More than what those four words promised.

A few hours of intoxicating touches, then he was gone; sometimes leaving something of his, so he'd have a reason to come back.

You wanted to say no, it would save you more heart ache if you did. But just the thought of Bucky made you press your thighs together and gnaw on the inside of your cheek.

Just as you had expected when you didn't answer, his face and name lit up the phone; calling this time.

"Yeah?" You said when you answered. "I'm in town and missin' you. Can I come over?" The husky tone of his voice sent a shiver that went straight to your core, only adding to the anticipation. "Yeah, of course." You exhaled

Your stomach churned from the nerves, waiting for the sound of familiar footsteps outside of your apartment door before it was being shoved open by Bucky's shoulder.

"Should really fix that. Safety Hazzard." He laughed, pushing it closed before taking long strides to where you were leaned against the kitchen counter. "Missed ya, sweet girl. You haven't been around all week." He purred, placing two cool fingers under your chin to lift your head; pressing a simple kiss to your lips.

You just stood there, making Bucky pull away with a confused look. "What's wrong? You're usually jumping my bones by now?" He questioned, wondering where the fire in you every time he got you alone had went.

"Stay this time." You said softly, looking at him through your eyelashes. "I can't do that, Sugar. Your dad has a key-"

"He calls before he comes over." You said, cutting him off. "I thought this is what you wanted, just sex."

You shook your head and pushed his hands away from your waist. "No, I want more. But, you don't. That's the problem." You took a step away from him and his arms fell to his sides. "You're dad would kill me. Hell, he will kill me just for the last two months if he finds out."

You could feel the tears burning at your eyes. Even though you knew this is what was going to happen, you weren't truly ready for it to end. Bucky saw the pooling tears and reached out towards you.

"Just leave." You scoffed, shaking your head. "Wh- no, I'm not just gonna leave when you're crying. I-" His tongue jutted across his bottom lip, a hurt look etching across his face. "I'm done, James. I'm not a toy."

"I know you're not... You're not gonna tell your dad are you? He'll have my head on a platter."

You breathed a dry laugh, running a hand through your hair, aggravated with his reactions. "Fuck, no. Do I look stupid? Is that all that's mattered to you this whole time? How my dad would feel about you fucking his daughter? Not how it would make me feel?"

He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't say anything that would stop the tears that were threatening to spill onto your cheeks. "Get out." You ordered, voice shakier than you'd hoped it be.

Bucky nodded, jaw clenched as he gave you what you wanted and jerked the door open, leaving you in silence as the tears fell to your cheeks.

He wanted it, more than anything he wanted to wake up next to you; to take you on real dates. That's why he took every chance he could to be around you, even steal kisses and touches when your dad would be just a few rooms over.

The heartbroken look on your face was all he could think of when he got to his car, fiddling with the keys in his fingers. He couldn't just let you go. He wouldn't.

The walk back to your door felt longer than before, hoping you'd let him back in as he lifted his hand to rap his knuckles against the door.

"I'll stay." He nodded when you opened the door, pushing his way in as he grabbed the sides of your face; his lips engulfing yours in a hungry, messy kiss that made your skin heat up.

Your hands pawed at his jacket, pushing it off his shoulders as he fumbled with his belt. "Really?" You asked, leaning back to look at him. "Yeah, really." He huffed, bending down enough to lift you onto the kitchen counter.

"How could I want anyone else when I've had your sweet pussy, pretty girl." He cooed, tugging your underwear down your legs before shuffling his jeans down. "Just tell me you want it, and I'll give you anything. I'll even fuck a baby into you if it's what you want." He promised, eliciting a whimper from your chest when he buried himself in you with a guttural moan.

You don't think you'd ever truly get use to the stretch his girth caused, bucking your hips to tell him to move as you slipped your hands under his shirt to feel the flexing muscles; your lips attaching to the sweet spot at the base of his neck.

He found a pace that made your head feel fuzzy; short and hard, his tip brushing the sweet spot that was deepest in your walls.

Bucky's head buried in the crook of your neck, warm hand going up your shirt to knead the supple flesh of your breast as he drank in every vulgar sound the relentless thrusts pulled from you.

"Fuck- so close-" you mewled, nails dragging down his abdomen when he jerked your hips further off of the counter; fucking directly into the rough patch that knocked the breath from your lungs and sent you over the edge, stars blurring your vision.

"All mine, no one elses. Ok, sweet girl? No one else gets to fuck you like this." He panted, lifting his head to look at your blissed out face. You nodded, barely able to hear him, let alone answer. "Wanna hear you say it." He grunted through clenched teeth, thrusts becoming sloppy and fingers digging into the flesh of your hips.

"All yours." You whined, the feral look on Bucky's face nearly enough to set you off again. "Gonna cum again already? Can feel your milking me, sugar. Go ahead." He moaned, pressing a finger to your still sensitive clit as he chased his own orgasm with quick thrusts.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck!" You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut as you released around him again. Bucky's hips stilled as he came with a low groan, each twitch of his cock painting your walls with his release; thrusting through both of your highs.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he rested his chin on the top of your head, chests heaving and hearts pounding away as his hand trailed up your back to tangle in your hair; pulling it so you'd tilt your head back.

He had a lazy, yet cocky, smile on his face as he looked at you with hooded eyes. "Just don't tell your dad."

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes smut #dbf!bucky smut #dadsbestfriend!bucky #dbf!bucky #dadsbestfriend!bucky smut

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suna-reversed · 3 years

Note

Hello :)

Sukuna. fluff. Pretty please.

Could you write something about sukuna falling for itadori's best friend. You can throw some angst in there too because I am a masochist❤️

Sukuna x F! Reader

oh god, this turned purely self indulgent halfway through. low key thinking of turning this into a series to give you the angst you deserve.

A/N: (reader is Itadori’s senior and is 18) (loosely inspired by the song “me and my husband” by mitski)

“And I am the idiot with the painted face

In the corner, taking up space

But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved”

——-

- You had been one of the few poor senior students who had been victim to what had been Itadori’s “elevator pitch” for more people to join the occult club early back in high school. [the said “elevator pitch” being him jumping out at random people with a white bedsheet over his head saying “boo” as he handed you the club form]

- You didn't end up joining the club. But you somehow did end up getting joined at the hip with the chaotic mess under the white sheet.

- Whether it was you two rushing to the theatre to watch Jennifer Lawrence’s new movie, or going to a revolving sushi place [only to get pocky from a nearby vending machine instead because revolving sushi is apparently expensive], Itadori Yuuji had become a comforting and very important presence in your life.

- So of course when he suddenly dropped out of your life, being the worried friend you were, you decided to poke around a little only to find out that he was...dead?

- Maybe a few months down the line, you would’ve started to slightly recover from the tragic news you had just gotten. Instead, what you got was your supposedly dead best friend popping up days later to tell you that he ate a finger and now he was the vessel for some centuries old curse,,,

- Um yeah...safe to say that Yuji did not expect you to go into the fit of emotions that you did [boy had the audacity to call you dramatic for fainting and then crying while hugging him once you gained consciousness]

- some time passed and Yuji and you didn’t see each other much with him practically training to be the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. Still, simply happy to have him back alive, your brain managed to convinced itself that everything was still the same.

- And it was when he’d sneak out a day or two from his heavy schedule and you’d be back to your normal routine of watching movies, stuffing your face with snacks, getting your face licked by the mouth on Yuji’s hand…

- ,,,wait what

- The first time the curse had made contact with you was simply out of annoyance of why the stupid brat even took the time to see someone as mundane as you so often.

- His plan was to simply scare you into leaving, knowing it would cause the brat pain.

- So he grabbed the opportunity when Yuji moved forward to brush off some popcorn dust on the side of your mouth, not only licking the side of your face but also being successful in slightly grazing his teeth against your tender skin.

- Yuji had mentioned that being a vessel had caused some weird physical “abnormalities” for him. you didn’t understand it back then but at least knowing that had sort of prepared you for such an instance.

- So imagine the curse’s surprise [and an even further growing annoyance] when your eyes barely widened for a second before you burst into laugher,

“Didn’t you train your dog to not bite?”

- by now, Yuji had jumped 5 feet away from you and was still halfway through his string of apologies, but upon hearing your reaction, he mused on your fake calm while letting out a chuckle himself,

- “Guess I’ve got to get a leash for him”

- By this point, the ever so indifferent curse had taken two teenagers talking about him like a mere annoyance as a personal challenge.

- And that’s how it started.

- He’d come out every now and then, licking your fingers as Yuji passed you something or making lewd remarks on anything and everything that you ever started a conversation about.

- But you and Yuji barely paid him attention and it was an understatement to say that it infuriated the living hell out of him.

- Particularly you, who wouldn’t even be annoyed or sarcastic about his tactics anymore. Instead, treating him like a friend who was simply joining you and the brat to hang out.

- He hated it. Hated how bright your laugh was. Hated how you made them stop every time you saw a stray animal just so you could pet it. Hated how your skin was as soft as a cloud and how you sometimes smelled like cherry blossoms. He’d kill you in an instant if he could ugh.

- it was a weekend and Yuji and you had been watching a movie, even though Yuji was barely paying attention. You knew he was tired as his large frame slumped over your shoulder. Pulling the blanket up to his face, you once again felt the wet feeling of the assaults you had grown familiar with on the side of your hand.

- “You could’ve just asked for a pocky if you wanted one, no need to lick it off my fingers you grumpy little thing”, you laughed as you stood up to go to the bathroom

- that snapped the final string.

- Coming back into your living room, you wondered if Yuji had somehow gotten up in his sleep and managed to draw weird black lines over himself all in the span of 5 minutes.

- ‘Yuji, what the fuck?’

- ‘Well well, now who’s acting like a grumpy little thing’

- The deep voice sent rumbles down your spine and you knew in an instant what had happened.

- Even though your breath hitched in your throat and your body begged for you to run as fast away as you can, you held your ground as you simply tilted your head at the curse

- “Well, I’d like my best friend back if you don’t mind.”

- You saw the smirk on Sukuna’s face falter for just a second before he crossed the space between the couch and you.

- Now as strong of a front as you managed to hold up until now, watching something like that stride straight towards you would have had even the strongest of sorcerers shitting bricks.

- Instinctively, you took a few steps backwards, but he simply continued to close the distance between the two of you until you were backed up against the wall.

- You flinched as he slammed a hand right next to your head and he seemed to gain immense satisfaction from that as he looked down at your startled face with a smirk plastered on his tattooed face.

- Sukuna was sure that you’d be begging for his mercy any second now. His smirk widened and he was ready to mock your pleas as he saw you open your mouth to say something,

- “ ...so much for a damn pocky.”

- All those other times you had caught the curse off guard were nothing compared to the “partially-confused partially-baffled” expression that he held on his face now. It almost made him look human. Almost.

- You didn’t realise just how long you were holding his gaze until Yuji took back control and apologized like a million times over, reassuring you that he would’ve never let you get hurt.

- The curse didn’t show up for almost a week after that. And while you were grateful for not having to wash off your hands or face 14 times a day, you somehow felt anxious about its sudden disappearance.

- All those worries were thrown out the window as he once again showed up while Yuji was passed out on the couch after a particularly tough session with Gojo sensei.

- Looking at the curse, you felt anger more than anything, how could he just drop out on you with no warning and then show up in the middle of your living room- ...wait a second, why the hell are you mad at a literal curse for not telling you he was taking a mental health break or whatever it was that he was doing?

- While you sorted out through these conflicting thoughts in your mind, the curse seemed to be going through a similar crisis.

- Having woken up in the brat’s fragile human body with no warning whatsoever, Sukuna wasn’t in the mood to see your face so soon again. He didn’t know why your physical presence unsettled him so much. All he knew was that he hated it. Even more now that he knew what you looked like all scared and small compared to his vessel’s towering build, and how you smelled even sweeter than what he had tasted, and how despite all that you still had the courage to stand up to someone as dangerous as him. Ugh, disgusting.

- “The stupid brat passed out.”

- Such a simple statement caused you to snap your head up at him. But he didn’t wait for your reaction as he somehow managed to plop down on the couch while still looking graceful. Picking up the half eaten box of pocky, he warily pulled one out, eyeing it as if it was a poisoned dagger before breaking off a piece and placing it on his tongue.

- “This is what you would risk your life for, brat?”

- He turned his head slightly to look at you still frozen in place, staring at him with that doe eyed look that made his chest burn a little. Isn’t this what he wanted all along?

- “Are you simply going to stand there and gawk? I don’t bite-...well, not unless you ask me to.”

- He knew that would set you right back to your usual self,

- “...maybe we do need to get a leash after all.”

- Sukuna internally grinned as he saw you move to the other side of the couch, ready to hear whatever more of the snarky comeback that you’d have (not that he was anticipating it, it was just the better alternative to being gaped at. Or so he told himself)

- “You ate the non chocolate covered part of the pocky by the way-”

- “As if a layer of this disgusting brown substance can make the rotten stick taste bette-”

- “Well aren’t sticks all you had to eat in yOuR TiME anyways?”-

—-

- You somehow managed to fall asleep after the bickering, proceeding to sit in silence after you told him to not bother you while you tried to read. You wouldn’t admit it, but you were a little disappointed when he actually didn’t. Instead, he sat on the couch with a slight smirk still plastered on his face, continuing to simply gaze at you. your heart did lunges every time you slyly looked up from your book to take a peak at him. you wondered how many ways he had come up with to kill you so far.

- On the other hand, the curse sat idly, watching you while his thoughts rumbled in his mind. Maybe killing you can be pushed off the agenda for now. There are much better ways to hurt the brat anyways aren't there? Perhaps he could use one of these brownish covered sticks to-...what is he thinking?

- He ultimately deems it stupid brat’s humane emotions and sheer stupidity that must be interfering with his thoughts.

- A loud sneeze snaps him out of his daze as he sees you slumped against a pillow, your book falling off your lap. And then he does something that he immediately decides that he would pretend to have not done for the rest of his existence. Luckily, the brat takes back control right after he does it anyways.

- But that thought slips his mind as he finds himself replaying the serene look on your face as he gently pulled the book out of your hands, and how his hands shook a little as you nuzzled your nose into the fabric of the blanket that he pulled over you. How could you have felt so calm around him?

#jujutsu kaisen #jjkxreader #jujutsukaisenxreader #yujiitadori #sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #itadori x reader #sukuna #sukuna headcanons #jjk headcanons #sukuna smut #gojo saturo x reader #jujutsu Kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen hcs #sukunafluff

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missmonsters2 · 3 years

Note

today I feel awful... idk my insecurities are taking over me and I just want to curl into a ball and cry. maybe it's my hormones maybe the fact that I weighted myself and found out I gained weight (I can't fit into my jeans 😭) and the fact that I saw my sister in a tight skin dress looking perfect while I'm in my pj's just destroyed my confidence. I need something angsty to read to make me forget about my sad, miserable lffe right now. would you be down in writing sth angsty with nat maybe? you don't have to though. it's fine either way. I really appreciate all of your work and I keep reading on repeat whenever I'm feeling down. makes me cheer up. thank you, van ❤️

It's like we're the same person because I also went to visit my sister recently and my sister has gotten her life together and is living her best hot girl bod while I...let's not go there.

I just want you to know that you're hot as fuck and a body is just a body that we can change with time and effort. We're lit rally in this together. This time next year, we will be rocking the body that makes up happy and we'll be healthy!!! 💘💘

But I will still give you nat angst...but with a happy ending bc I said you deserve a HEA!!

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

The Withers of Springtime Bloom

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spring is a time of blooming and when things come back to life. You can't help but notice things that may be causing your relationship with Natasha to wither.

Warnings: self-esteem issues, insecurities about body, relationship with working out and food, seasonal depression. angst with HEA.

Count: 2.1k~

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You're not sure when things changed.

Things change so slowly after all.

Without you noticing, things change and change and change until one day, you do notice.

You notice that Natasha has become quieter, somber.

You notice the lack of date nights and affectionate touches.

You notice that you've let yourself go a little.

You're standing in front of the mirror, staring at your body with a frown. You've gained weight since dating Natasha, but relationship weight gain was normal, wasn't it?

But you remember how Natasha was just as fit as she was before she met you. Sure, she was a superhero, and you were a regular civilian; there was no reason for you to train long hours as Natasha did.

Still...

You turn to the side and peer at yourself in the mirror again.

You can't help but wonder...were you becoming less attractive to her?

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

It had been the beginning of fall when you met Natasha. You loved the season of change and when things turned into warm colors before withering away for winter to come.

Natasha had come like a blessing, and in the winter, she was just warm as the colors of fall. Instead of withering away, she bloomed and invested that warmth in your relationship with her.

Despite always being an early riser to work out, weekends were the days she stayed in bed with you just a little longer. There had been so many breakfasts, lunch, and dinner dates. You found yourself moving things around or neglecting to work around her busy schedule.

Perhaps that was when things began to change. Eating out so often and forgoing working out to spend time with Natasha was what led to this.

Spring has arrived, and things are coming back to life. Yet somehow, your relationship with Natasha was withering away.

"Hey," you greet her as you come home, shopping bags in hand. You bought some more clothes when things felt like they didn't fit comfortably anymore. The experience had been upsetting for you, and you didn't end up buying too much, telling yourself you didn't want to spend too much when you were going to lose the weight.

Natasha was working in her office, peering down over reports, and barely acknowledged you other than with a hum.

"Long day?" You ask her as you put your things away and walk over to her.

"Yeah," Natasha sighed. "Trying to get these reports done since Maria needs them tomorrow."

That had been Natasha's excuse for spending long hours in her office every night for the last two weeks.

You place your hand on Natasha's shoulder with a reassuring squeeze, but she leans to the side as if to readjust herself, but still away from your touch.

The sting immediately comes, but you try to push it down, so it doesn't hurt as bad.

"Right," you say hoarsely, but Natasha stares on at the reports. "I'm just going to get ready for bed. It's been a long day and all. Let me know if you need anything."

Natasha gives you a nod as you leave the room. You feel awkward as you lie in the bed you share with her. You wonder if you're taking up too much space.

There's a pang of something as you try to curl yourself to be smaller and only distantly realizing you've skipped dinner before you fall asleep.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⋆⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

You fall back onto the mat, chest heaving and your lungs burning.

It's been a while since you've worked out, and now you're definitely paying for it with how unfit you are.

The gym is moderately empty with the hour it is. You hate going to a public gym because it always feels like someone is staring, but it's better for strangers to stare than working out at the Compound for people you know to stare at you.

The rational part of you knows that you should just talk to Natasha, but the emotional side of you whispers that you won't like what Natasha has to say, that she might even end it before you've had a chance to change yourself.

When weeks pass, and you weigh yourself again, you almost start crying because you've only lost a couple of pounds.

It's normal, you know it is. You're losing weight at a normal rate, but it's not enough. You know fast weight loss wouldn't make sense for your body but you also feel you don't have half a year to go back to your normal weight.

You sit on the bathroom floor for hours, debating what to do when you hear a quiet knock.

"Sweetheart, are you in there?" Natasha's muffled voice comes through.

You wipe at your eyes furiously as you stand up.

"Y-Yeah," you answer back. "I'm just in the tub soaking."

There's a moment of silence through the door before Natasha answers back, "Alright. Enjoy yourself. Did you want me to order anything specific for dinner?"

"No, it's okay," you tell her. "You order anything you want. I already ate on my way home." You think about the chicken salad you've been eating for the past two weeks and almost sigh.

Natasha answered that she just came back to see if you've eaten, but she actually had to head back to the Compound. You were Natasha shuffling around before leaving through the front door, and you let out the breath you were holding.

You actually take a long, hot shower before putting on sweats and a big hoodie.

The truth was, you were hungry. The chicken salad was okay on the way home, but it had been a couple of hours since.

You knew starving yourself wasn't the answer, so you went into the kitchen to see if you could find something healthy to hold you over until you could go to bed.

But you can't find anything in the fridge except for Natasha's leftovers from whatever she ordered the day before. You can't find anything except frozen pizzas and microwavable foods.

You check the calories on the back and let out a frustrated sigh. Checking your watch, you realize it's too late in the evening to go grocery shopping because, by the time you get there, stores will have closed.

You slump down on the floor, leaning against the cabinets as you let out a pathetic whimper while your eyes became hot with tears.

You miss Natasha. You want Natasha holding you and telling you it would be okay. But you couldn't have that until you were back to what you were when you met her.

The front door suddenly opens.

"Have you seen my—sweetheart?" Natasha started to call before she noticed you sitting on the floor. "What's wrong?"

You use your sleeve to wipe at your eyes as you sit up straight.

"Nothing," you sniffle before you start to stand. "I just stubbed my toe against the edge of the kitchen island. What were you looking for? USB? You left it next to the bedside."

Natasha stares at your back, hair still wet as she takes in your attire.

"It's a little hot to be wearing a hoodie and sweats, isn't it?" Natasha asks softly. "Doesn't seem like you turned on the aircon in here."

You keep walking, but Natasha starts to follow you.

"'m cold," you say quietly so she can't hear the tremble in your voice.

"Are you feeling sick?" Natasha asks with concern as you sit down on the couch, turning on the TV. You pull the blanket over you as if to make your point.

"No," you tell her because you don't want her to worry. "Just cold after a bath."

Natasha sets her things down before she takes a seat next to you. Even in the low lighting, she can see your eyes rimmed red and dampness of them.

You're refusing to look at her as you have your knees drawn up to your chest and stare stubbornly at the TV screen.

Then she hears it.

Your stomach grumbles.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" Natasha asks softly again. "We can just order food and stay in tonight."

Your cheeks grow hot. "Don't you have to be at the Compound?"

You don't mean to snap at her, but you can't help but feel embarrassed.

Natasha remains quiet for a moment, quickly thinking over the last few weeks before she feels guilt trickle in.

She doesn't remember the last time she ate with you—doesn't remember the last time she saw you eat.

"Sweetheart," she calls you gently again, and you bristle at the tone. "Is there something wrong?"

The fragile dam you've built to keep the weeks of compiling emotions at bay breaks, and you're hurtling down the stream over the waterfall.

"Are you not in love with me anymore?" You choke out as you begin to cry.

You can't even register to feel horrified at your breakdown because you just need to know.

"I know...I know my body has changed since we first met and I've gained weight but I really am trying to lose it. I just—I feel like you're avoiding me. At first, I thought things at work have been really stressful for you, and I wanted to give you space but you're gone all the time. You're gone even when you're here."

Natasha can barely understand anything you've said after hearing you say the first part. Her breath hitches painfully in the back of her throat, and she legitimately feels appalled at herself.

She starts to say something, but you keep going.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to make this about me because if you're going through something then I want to support and be there for you. But I can't help but feel like you're grossed out by me. I mean—I feel grossed out when I look at myself. I feel like I'm taking up so much space—"

Natasha cuts you off abruptly, pulling off the blanket as she pulls at you until you're in her lap.

"Nat—"

"You're not gross and this is not about the weight you have or have not gained. You hear me?" Natasha says forcefully as she holds you close to her, hand over your thigh to keep you against her.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry if I've been making you feel like you're not attractive me," Natasha's eyes well up as your tears wet her shoulder. "You're literally still the most gorgeous person I've ever met and you're always going to be that to me."

Natasha's hand at your waist dips underneath your hoodie, her fingers trailing up your back as she sighs at your warmth. "I should've told you, but the springtime is just really hard for me. It's odd because it's a time for things to come back to life but some of the worst things have happened to me during the spring and things blooming makes me think about things that aren't coming back. I think it's also just a little bit of seasonal depression too. I'm just the rare percentage that gets it in the spring."

The explanation makes your body sag with relief because while you feel so horrible that there is a reason Natasha doesn't like spring, she's not falling out of love with you.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize that I was hurting you," Natasha apologizes again. "I didn't mean to be so distant but I didn't want to bring your mood down as well, which is why I've been working so much to keep busy."

"It's okay," you muttered as your turn your head, forehead pressed against her neck. "I'm sorry spring is depressing for you."

Natasha merely hushes you as she kisses the side of your head.

You begin to feel awkward, thinking about how you must be heavy on her and try to move, but Natasha doesn't let you.

"Sweetheart, I don't know how to convince you that you're perfect to me," Natasha says so seriously as she forces you to look at her. "If you want to lose weight because that is what you want, then I support you. But I need you to understand that I love you no matter what. I don't care either way because you're so fucking lovely to me always. Do you understand?"

Timidly, you reply, "Okay. Thank you."

Natasha presses her lips against yours in a long kiss before she pulls back.

"Now, I'm going to ask again. Are you hungry? We can order in and watch that new show on Netflix I heard was pretty good from Wanda."

You feel lighter. You think you might still want to work out because that would make you happy, but you don't feel the rush like you did just a couple of hours ago.

"Yeah," you say shyly. "But maybe something not so heavy?"

Natasha nods as she presses another kiss into your cheek as she helps you settle onto the couch right beside her to grab her phone.

"Anything to make you bloom."

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff oneshot #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow imagine #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #mm: my fics #g.angst #g.fluff

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nightowlwriting · 3 years

Text

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.

#steve rogers imagine #steve rogers/reader #steve rogers x reader #marvel imagine #mcu imagine

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