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davosmymaster · 2 years

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hi! i don’t know if you take requests, so if you don’t, totally ignore this but a) would you ever consider writing a part two to Fallen from Heaven, Grown On Earth? and b) if you take requests, could you write something abt touchstarved steven getting into a relationship with the reader & he’s totally obsessed with them. the reader is kind to marc when he fronts & gives him little touches & soon he’s in love with them too & he feels horrible, but one day he’s so stressed that he confesses & is crying/almost crying? & the reader cares for him & his anxiety & tells him that they love him too & steven is okay with it so long as they share? your current writing rocked my world & i feel like the specific way you characterize these two is perfect, and you could really do this idea justice if you’re up for it

Hello, anon! First of all, there will be part 2, although I cannot guarantee it will be a good one, bc some people are getting expectations and I'm actually getting a bit scared it wil dissapoint. Second, I did get inspired with your request and wrote something (I shouldn't have bc I have no time but I did, I should be sleeping rn, but srly, thank you). I don't know if it's how you liked it or what you expected, and I gave myself the freedom to add a few more things and plot. It's different from what I've done before, but I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you for the ask and all the love <3

TAGS AND WARNINGS - a lot of angst, like a lot, medical procedures (mentioned), blood, not beta read, I did a quick grammar check tho, could be read as poly if you want. Marc-centred.

PAIRINGS - Marc Spector x fem!reader (focus) ; Steven Grant x fem!reader

WORD COUNT - 5k.

SUMMARY - Steven gets a girlfriend. Unfortunately for Marc, that also means that he's part of that relationship, in a way. And when you move in, there's no going back.

I'M GETTING TO KNOW SOMEONE

The first time Marc sees you, he wakes up in your lap; and it's unofficial.

It takes him a moment to acknowledge his surroundings, after all he usually wakes up with the sound of Steven's alarm for work, even on motherfucking Sundays. The room is dark and the only source of light comes from a Disney movie playing in front of him. It's not his apartment either, the flat he got Steven in south London looks nothing like the half image he has from that angle.

He's about to jump right out of where he is, confront whoever else is in that room with him, when he feels your hand massaging his scalp, expert fingers knotted in his dark curls. His unmoving muscles relax even more than when he was asleep, somehow, and Marc has to actively retain a moan of satisfaction. Then he remembers.

Yeah, Steven said he was getting to know someone.

Steven had warned him about that. He felt like Marc should know, in case something happened, something like waking up in someone else's house with said person's fingers in his head; or maybe somewhere else. Steven had threatened him with two full-days of work with Donna if he didn't behave and/or ruined it. To be honest, Marc hadn't even paid attention to his rambling; it wasn't like any of Steven's relationships were serious enough, or long enough, for Marc to actually front near his dates. He had heard that speech a thousand times.

So he pretends to be asleep, which isn't difficult being in that situation. You seem so invested in the movie, mindlessly stroking his hair, that you don't notice the change in his breathing or how tense his shoulders got for half a second. Marc could have let Steven front, because the scene is private between him and you and Marc's just a demon getting hold of the body by accident. Plus, he doesn't know you, your face or your name. He only knows that your caresses are putting him to sleep, and that he's so comfortable and warm under the blankets that it takes him less than five minutes to go back to dreamland.

It was the first time someone touched him in a long while, even longer since someone had cuddled with him. He could understand how much Steven longed for affection, because unlike him, Steven never had a proper girlfriend; so it made sense that he got someone who loved touching and cuddling as much as Steven needed it. Marc couldn't complain, even though his conscience told him that what he was doing was slightly wrong.

But then he drifts off again.

The second time is Steven's idea, actually; and it's official.

Marc takes you to a steakhouse in Soho because Steven told him that you wanted to try it some time, and it's the perfect date —without being an actual date— because Steven's vegan but doesn't want you to go on your own or wait for weeks so you can go with your busy girlfriends. So in a way, it's a win-win situation.

It's a bit uncomfortable at the beginning, but you're funny and an excellent story-teller. The conversation revolves around the weather and the only link you both share, Steven; at least at the beginning. Then you mention a horror movie that both of you love and just like that he's invested in the conversation. Marc might not have a lot of time to watch tv, not when Steven is fronting most days and Marc only seems to front to carry out his duties as a masked vigilante for an old Egyptian fossil; but he does love a good horror movie, just like you, and Steven hates them with passion. That's one point for Spector.

After that, it could be said you two see each other often, which is not often enough having as little time fronting as Marc has, but enough to get along really well. Then one day Steven starts acting weird, organizing more and more dates that only include Marc and his own girlfriend —Steven's, not Marc's—, and a month later he finally understands why Steven's been such a damn pain in the ass about getting to know you. They are moving together. The three of them. Unfortunately.

Don't get him wrong, the girl is really nice, like really really nice, like you-have-memorized-how-he-likes-his-coffee-and-you-usually-ask-'coffee or tea?'-to-figure-out-who's-fronting kind of nice. And your conversations are not about Steven anymore, there's no more awkward silences. It could be said that you're friends, to an extent.

The conversation happens one morning. Marc's all happy with his five minutes of consciousness when Steven gets a full-length mirror next to the dining table and starts talking to it.

"I'm summoning you, idiot," he says, squinting at his reflection when Marc doesn't respond the first time he calls his name.

Steven's reflection in the mirro,r —Marc's invisible body— straightens his back and stops squinting, but only Steven can see.

"What do you want, now?" he asks, Marc is usually that friendly with Steven, even now that they get along as if they were actual brothers. "I'm not fixing the sink again, do it yourself," he crosses his arms. "And I'm not Khonshu, you don't summon me."

"First of all, this is not about the bloody sink, you arrogant," Steven says, his nose almost glued to the surface of the mirror. You chuckle behind it. You walk back from the bathroom, take something from the kitchen counter and sit next to Steven, a glass of orange juice in your hands. "Second, we're trying to be nice here, to you. Would be lovely if you were nice for once, you prick." Steven says.

They really do get along. It might not seem like it, but they do have fun with all the name-calling and arguments, you can't help but smile at the idea. It's just their love language.

Marc looks at you through the mirror, at your eyes looking straight at him. You're wearing one of Steven's hawaiian shirts and a short so short that he thinks you're naked for a second, then he realizes that the shirt is simply too big on you and covers it. You cannot actually see him; but you thought that Marc would feel better if you pretended you could.

Either way, he can sense Steven's eyes on him; even when Marc's actually locked somewhere in his own brain and not in the actual mirror. He hopes that Steven doesn't think he was checking you out, because he wasn't, but it's not like he's too worried about it either. Steven knows his girlfriend is a real beauty, and he's not a jealous man.

"Oh, Steven," Marc groans. "Please, please, tell me you didn't get her pregnant."

"Of course I didn't!" he almost shouts, jumping on the chair. "Are you bonkers? "

"Translate for me, darling," you whisper in his ear, still looking at the mirror as if you were asking for context while watching a movie; hoping that Marc doesn't hear. And of course he does. He's not in the fucking mirror, he has explained it a million times.

Marc's aware of the shift in Steven's voice when he talks to you. He mirrors you, whispering back.

"He asked if you're pregnant."

You laugh, hard. Marc feels something in his chest, something he hasn't felt for a long time; so much so, that he cannot quite label it. But Steven's grin while looking at you is so big that he wonders if what he's feeling is a Marc feeling or a Steven feeling. Could be both, though.

"Oh, god, no," you respond, still smiling. "No fucking way, man. You're not having children any time soon."

Steven crosses his arms, a proud grin on his face.

"The banana's well-dressed, cheers."

"Steven, you didn’t call our dick a banana, did you?" Marc squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head.

Steven huffs in responde and turns his body slightly at you, ready to serve as an interpreter, but he makes a weird face at the very last moment, slightly shaking his head. "I'm not translating that."

You take a pill out of the package you got from the kitchen counter, but start laughing again thanks to him, so you leave it back on the table. Steven decides to ask the question from the beginning, so you two can relax.

"We want to move in together," Steven says, he thinks that there's no better way to have this conversation than biting the bullet. "We wanted to check you were okay with it."

Marc doesn't have to think much about the answer.

"Look," he started. "I'm very happy for you two, but I got a really good deal for this apartment and the area is expensive as hell, so we're not selling it, let alone renting it."

Steven translates in a whisper. And this time is your turn to talk.

"We thought that maybe I could move in, here," you say, your anxious fingers squeezing the glass in your hands. Marc can't help but remember the soft touch in his scalp. "We thought that it would be easier to move my things here rather than moving one person," you point at the mirror "and one bookworm hoarder's worth of things," she points at Steven.

Steven turns to look at you as if you had insulted his precious Egyptian gods, which was your intention. Marc just laughs.

"Whose side are you on?" Steven asks.

"I like this woman," he's pointing at you when Steven looks back at the mirror. "I accept her in my house."

"Our house."

Marc rolls his eyes. Steven leans to whisper his acceptance in your ear. Marc rolls his eyes again. He's not in the mirror, he can hear it loud and clear, but he says nothing.

"Yeah, whatever..." he says instead.

You smile, and it's the most beautiful smile he's ever seen. Steven giggles when he turns to you, happy and excited, and you can't help but peck his lips and hug him until it hurts. Marc's just a witness there, a being, little more than a ghost witnessing two people in love. He's smiling, he feels happy and content now that Steven can finally experience true love, just like what he had with Layla and ruined, but the feeling is bittersweet.

"So..." he says once Steven is back. Behind Steven, you take the pill back in your hands, Marc frowns at the sight. "Is there anything I should know now that she's moving?" Marc asks, and before Steven can formulate the question, Marc gestures towards you. You swallow the pill and the orange juice, not even aware of the conversation still unfolding.

"It's just an iron supplement," Steven says, and your body gets rigid as if you had been caught red-handed.

You swallow another mouthful of orange juice and ask Steven for Marc's words. He repeats, one of his hands going up and down your back.

"I have iron deficiency," you respond. "Nothing serious, you know, the usual. If you ever see me blinking like crazy when I get up —and you will— I'm not having a seizure, I swear."

Steven purses his lips and nods profusely. "She does blink a lot, tho."

Sometimes Marc would like to punch his own face. "I know what happens when you get dizzy, Steven."

He simply shrugs. "Thought I'd warn you."

No amount of warning could have prepared him for that.

The first time is three weeks later, there's almost no boxes in the flat anymore, except for the one labeled "that drawer full of useless sh-". It actually said shit before, but someone got rid of it by crossing it out with a red marker. Marc would bet his right hand that it was Steven.

Another thing you have in common with Marc is that you both swear like sailors.

You're both working on your laptops; you're doing some homework your boss gifted you for the weekend. Usually, you would get stressed and rush to finish it on friday so you can spend the weekend with whoever is fronting —you'd prefer Steven, or so he thinks— but Marc said he'd probably be busy tracking some people down and spending time together is spending time together, so you don't mind working and talking to him at the same time, watching tv or anything else that doesn't require much concentration.

Once you've spent endless hours working on that couch next to Marc, you decide that your ass hurts enough to spend any more time sitting there. You get up suddenly, without thinking, because if you don't do it now you're not sure you'll do it later, and walk two steps before your vision gets clouded with dark spots.

Marc's focused on the maps, on where he's traveling next to arrest —or kill, if it gets ugly— the next big drug dealer, mobster or any other asshole who thinks they can get away with some heavy crime without facing him. He sees you getting up from the couch sensing how your fingers stop their motion in the back of his neck and then vanish into thin air. He wants to groan, but he is in no position for that. He also notices when you get stuck next to the couch as if you'd forgotten your next move.

You blink, twice, that Marc can see, but it's a lot more terrifying than what Steven had said. Marc wouldn't say you blink too much, quite the opposite, you almost don't blink at all. He sees your clouded eyes from where he is and his mind reminds him of a corpse with its eyes wide open. He feels as if someone had stabbed him in the heart with a fork and twisted it.

He calls your name, but doesn't wait for you to answer. He's taking your laptop, barely hanging from your hands, before his mind can process it. He almost throws it to the coffee table. One of his hands grabs you by the waist, he's standing so close that you can smell him, feel his quick breathing falling in your neck. He waits a literal second before he decides you've pushed yourself enough trying not to faint.

"Easy... Sit down, come on," he encourages you, gently pushing you to the couch again while not letting your body lean on anything that is not his own, your elbow in his grip while he holds you. He's almost dragging you to your previous seat.

"I'm fine," you mumble, slowly, and before you hit the couch your vision and strength are back.

He sees the change, your happy features are there, your eyes are focused again, the faintest tint of red on your face, too. But he still kneels on the floor and says:

"What do I get you? What do you need?"

He looks so worried that you can't help but chuckle. Your hands travel to his face, you cup both his cheeks and Marc feels that something again in his chest. Not the fork, though. You seem to be about to say something very important because the smile has vanished from your face, so he focuses all his attention on you like nothing else exists.

"I need you to get out of my way and let me go to the kitchen," a soft laugh emanating from your lungs. "I'm fine now. We told you this would happen."

He nods, mindlessly at first and profusely after a second, as if trying to convince himself.

"Yeah, yeah... You did," he says.

It still takes him a moment to stand on his feet and step back. His gaze follows you all the way to the kitchen space, though, and then he remembers he's standing in the middle of the living room and he sits down on the couch; but he feels an odd kind of apprehension now that you're out of sight, so he looks at you above his shoulder, once. And you catch him.

"Go back to your business, Spector!"

Grabbing his laptop again, he tries to focus on the maps; but he can't.

The second time is the most horrifying experience of his life, and he's seen some things. Marc's certain that the memory will haunt him to the duat, to the afterlife and he'd be thankful if he can forget it afterwards, whatever comes next. He's beyond thankful Steven wasn't there to witness it.

He's back from a long, exhausting night of being Moon Knight. He's stressed out. He's tired. He's seen people die tonight and has no desire of doing anything other than hit the sack and lose consciousness for a few days. Literally.

Maybe he should stop wishing so hard.

He crosses the front door, careful not to wake you up. It's not even dawn yet. He walks to the bathroom in total darkness, only the moonlight guiding him around his own apartment. He stops for a second to see you asleep over the comforter, the ipad still on, showing the page of an ebook. A small smile appears on his lips. Then he tiptoes to the bathroom.

His t-shirt is full of bullet holes, he can see it when he switches the light on. It's been a rough, long night. He's killed someone, someone who almost killed someone else, but a someone nonetheless. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he notices he has drops of blood on his face. It 's not his.

"Marc?"

"Coming!" he says, cursing under his breath because he doesn't want you to see him covered in other people's blood. He splashes water on his face and rubs. "Stay there! I need a second!" but you don't obey him, he knows you won't.

It takes him longer than a second, but not much longer. He rubs the last drop on his cheek and, when it's finally gone, he hears a heavy thud.

At first he thinks it was his imagination. He calls your name, and eventually sees his own confused face in the mirror when you don't answer. He calls you again, walking through the door frame.

His heart sinks in his chest when he sees you lying on the floor. His stomach takes a violent turn. Before he notices the floor under his feet he's already next to you. You have your eyes closed, your face pale. He has that terrible vision again, with the wide-eyed bodies, but now they are closed, and when his hands get in his field of vision, patting you gently on your cheeks while he calls your name, he sees his hands fiercely trembling.

One second his mind is completely blank, white, empty, he feels out of his own body and he doesn't know what to do. On the next, he tries to calm himself. He's not helping you by freaking out.

It's just a low iron, he thinks. It's just that. She will wake up soon, the hit to the floor is not hard enough, surely it cannot be.

It doesn't help. Not enough for him to feel like everything's spinning around both of you. And certainly not enough to prevent the tears from pricking his eyes. He does the only thing he can do, which is get you on the bed so you can rest, but he feels so weak and he's so afraid of hurting you, that his hand barely touches the back of your head in a desperate attempt at lifting you, and he feels his fingers wet.

He doesn't feel his heart beating anymore, there's only a hollow space where it used to be. He doesn't think he will ever get it back, even less when he sees the fresh blood on the pad of his five fingers.

"No, baby," he whispers the words, he chokes on them. "No, no, no. You can't do this to me."

As if by magic, your eyes start fluttering. Marc's just a witness kneeling there, unable to do anything as he sees you struggle. His mind wanders, half of it panicking in your home, half of it asking how the hell something like that could have happened. Then he looks ahead, trying to find someone or something to blame, and he finds the edge of the bedside table.

Who the hell needs a fucking bedside table? What's so important that you need it next to your head while sleeping? He had once opposed the idea of selling or renting the apartment, now all he wants is to burn it to the ground. The whole damn building if possible.

"Steven..."

He hears your voice calling his alter, whispering, and he swallows what seems to be a rock in his throat. You're calling your boyfriend, he understands that; but he doesn't have the heart to correct you.

"Don't worry, baby," he says, but the words barely make it out of his own vocal chords. "I got you. Just don't fall asleep, okay?"

You're not even half-conscious, Marc knows that because you said Steven's name with your eyes closed; but he cannot just stay silent while you suffer. He tries to reach his phone on the back of his jeans, but once he has it between his fingers and he's already calling A&E, he realizes that he cannot wait for an ambulance. And he has another way, a quicker one, of getting you to the nearest hospital.

It physically hurts him not to touch you, but he has to in order to summon the suit. Once he has it, he carries you in his arms, as gentle as he can. He sees his own tears falling and staining the fabric of your pajama when he lifts you. He had always hoped you never had to see the Moon Knight suit, but he's so pleased that you seem to get at least glimpses of it now that he could cry.

In fact he is crying; sobbing more like, but he doesn't like that word.

An hour later he's sitting next to you in a waiting room, a small and empty one, waiting for the results of an MRI. You have one of those hospital gowns, so he wonders if you're cold; he knows your butt probably is. Then he wonders if the room is not too bright and white for someone who smacked their head against a bedside table and the carpet; but he doesn't say anything because he knows he's probably just freaking out again. He knows he shouldn't be freaking out, you're in good hands. Actually, you're holding his.

He tries to take his mind somewhere else, somewhere nice, but he's seen too much blood in the last twenty-four hours and it's almost impossible. He tries to remember something from his childhood, but that's a no-no too. Shit, that's fucked up, Spector, he tells himself. But he's so used to that old wound that it doesn't hurt anymore.

He remembers the first day he fronted with you, the Disney movie playing was Nemo, obviously the first one, your favorite. Also Steven's. Then he remembers how the doctor asked if he was your boyfriend. He said no, you know, like a dumbass. And technically they shouldn't allow anyone who's not a first-degree relative or a partner in, but the doctor mumbled something about how complicated modern-day couples were and let him through.

Oh, he had no idea how complicated it was.

"Would you like Steven to front?"

He's the first to talk; suddenly aware that he's not the one you want by your side.

"No, he will freak out."

"Yeah... probably," Marc answers, asking himself how he didn't think about that before.

"You're a drama queen, you know that," you say, your arms crossed over your chest. Is not a question but a claim. You're still holding his hand, even though the angle of your arms crossed and Marc's hand is weird, but it works out and everything else doesn't matter.

Marc has always thought you look beautiful when you get angry, even if you're pretending, but it's twisted that he's thinking that right now, with a hospital gown and three stitches on the back of your head. You go on, because he doesn't say anything.

"You didn't have to bring me here all Moon Knight style."

"You were bleeding," he simply answers.

"They said it's not even serious."

"You could've died." Marc says, his voice emotionless. "...and if they're doing a scan they must have their reasons."

"See?" you say. "You're worse than Goog- auch..."

He turns to look at you so quickly that you wonder if he snapped his neck. You can't help it, a loud laugh fills the room as you touch the stitches. You shouldn't be gesticulating so much.

"Can you stay still for a second?" he asks, it sounds more like a beg, so he repeats it with the right intonation; and you think that Marc has already had enough between your attitude, kicking asses, the hospital, and going home to you passed out on the floor; so you don't say anything else.

"I'm sorry," he says after a second.

"It 's okay, you're right," you agree, your head is starting to throb as they didn't give you a high dose of painkillers, in case you fell asleep. "I'm not getting out of bed ever again."

Marc sighs, pleased that you're not playing with his nerves anymore. His hand squeezes yours, it's a gentle and short squeeze, but enough to calm him.

"I'm not letting you out of bed ever again."

The scans are perfect, it was all just a scare. Albeit one Marc will never forget in his life. Both of you get home and he has no idea why he's silently crying again. He can feel a tear falling down his face while he opens the door, so instead of waiting for you to cross first as he usually does, he walks in first and walks to the bathroom again. Not without taking a glimpse of where you fell, thanking his own egyptian god and all the others that there's no blood to clean. Not visible from where he stood, at least.

His chest is tight and he's soon crying his heart out on the bathroom floor. He tries not to sob, muffling the sound with the palm of his hand while covering his mouth; but you hear a faint hiccup coming from the bathroom. Now it's your time to call for him, and he doesn't answer, he can’t.

"Marc?" you ask, slowly opening the door. Then you see him crying on the floor, his knees to his chest and his hands now covering his whole face. "Oh, baby, no. Don't do that."

You get on the floor next to him a second later, ignoring the throb in the back of your head.

"I'm sorry," he says, even if it takes him a few tries. You hug him as tight as you can, until it hurts in your ribs. It's almost physically painful to witness the image of Marc Spector crying, you can barely hold back your own tears. After all, you've never seen him cry before. And there he is now, having a meltdown on the floor, holding on to you as if you were his anchor, the only thing keeping his feet on the ground, his head above water.

"Don't say sorry, babe. I did scare you, didn't I?" you say, and stroke his hair the way you know he likes it.

"I love you so much," he said, then he covers his face again, as if he was embarrassed he said that. He runs his hands through his short black hair, his eyes blood-shot, his fingers trembling. "I just love you so much, and I was scared I'd never be able to say it. I've spent such a long time, such a long time, waiting for it to pass because- Steven... he doesn't deserve that."

"That's why you're crying?"

Marc looks at you confused, his whole face red as blood itself, his lashes wet with tears. Your fun tone is usually music to his ears, but not now. Now he's just confused.

"No- I mean... It's... part of it, yeah..." he says, then he frowns. "What?"

"Marc we've known for a while," you say, taking his hands in yours.

"What?"

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice?" you draw circles with your thumbs in his palms. Then you chuckle. "Did you really think Steven wouldn't notice?"

"You both knew?"

You smile, because it's the only thing you can do, that, and shaking your head.

"Marc, Steven loves you, he would never not let you be happy," you say, now sitting next to him on the floor. You hit his knee with your own, gently, joking. "And how could I not love you, too? You're Marc, my Marc. I'd do anything for you. I love you both. Steven and I, we were just hoping you'd accept it soon enough; but it took you a while."

You watch him attentively, he's not crying anymore, but he has that look in his face like he can't believe what he's hearing. He feels that sensation in his chest, again. He tries to follow it, to touch it with his own hands, and he finds out he has his palm over his heart. It 's love. He never thought he'd ever feel alive again, let alone feeling love, but there it is, beating under his muscles and tissues and whatever else.

You pull from one of his curls, jokingly. Not to hurt him, not to take his attention, but because you know he likes it when you play with his hair. The curl rolls around your pinky. You literally have him wrapped around your finger; you've had him for a while.

"He's okay with it?" Marc asks. "You're okay with it?"

"We're more than okay with it, babe," you say, then you smile with pursed lips. "Sorry, it seems like you're stuck with us, now."

He could weep with joy.

And so he does.

#marc spector x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight fanfic #moon knight fanfiction #requested #moon knight request #I had so much fun with this #it's insane #steven grant x fem!reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight #marc spector

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yellowroseswrites · 1 year

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i almost cried from happiness when I found you

Jonathan Byers with a reader with ADHD and anxiety

But not the crying kind

Nerves are always fried, just stressed

knee bounces

Hands are always doing something, tracing patterns, playing with rings,

Doesn't mind crowds but some people give her random anxiety

Isn't to worried about school, but is worried about Jonathan, anxiety for loved ones

I need him not trying to fix her. Trying to appreciate her for who she is

Here you go :)

"Your string of lights is still bright to me"

Jonathan Byers x Adhd!Anxious!Fem Reader [she/her pronouns used]

{TW/CW}- Talks of adhd, fidgeting, food is mentioned, reader doesn’t eat breakfast bc of executive dysfunction, but jon does have her eat, but the actual action of eating isnt discussed, sweet jonathan byers, I love him your honor, mentions him trying to ‘help’ her but it's not fixing her, reader has issues with body temperature, like she gets hot flashes bc of overthinking and stuff, jon calls reader honey once

{Authors note}- Tbh, i kinda hate this fic, but I love jon and this reader. so please, if you have any specific scenarios or prompts you want to see with them, send me an ask with it. i want to write for them more! GIF creds to the owner, title creds to taylor swift

{Word count}- 1,101. It's a short one today babes

There was no one in this world that you loved more than Jonathan Byers. He meant everything to you. He accepted you for who you were, and that mattered more to you than anything else.

You can remember clearly how it felt when he realized there was something off about you. You can remember how you were certain he would leave you. You remember telling him about your ADHD and being scared that he would think differently of you. You remember describing what it was like to live the way you live, with feeling nervous and fidgety for no apparent reason. You thought you were too much for him, you had too many things wrong with you.

And you can remember the indescribable peace you felt when he held your hands and told you he loved you. Even with your faults, though he would never see them as such. It was all you. He promised himself that he would never let you think less of yourself for things you couldn’t control.

That’s not to say it was easy, because it wasn’t. It still isn’t. But Jonathan’s effort to help will always have you falling for him all over again. He spends his time watching and noticing, picking up on ways he can help you.

Sometimes it’s small things, one’s that you don’t even pick up on. He’ll buy you new rings and bracelets, ones with beads and charms that you can fidget with. He’ll place rubber pieces to the ends of your pencils for you to chew on to keep your pretty little nails intact. He rubs his hand along your back when bouncing your knee, keeping you calm but never making you stay still. He lets you run your fingers through his hair when you need to do something with your hands. He keeps the temperature cooler when he knows you’re coming over, afraid you’ll overthink and overheat.

Sometimes it’s bigger things, things that make you feel like a burden. He’ll stay over at your place when you can’t fall asleep, or drive you around until your eyes flutter closed. He’ll leave with you if you get overwhelmed, anytime and anywhere. He always asks you before inviting someone else to hang out with yall, you’re always his first priority. He would shut someone up immediately if they said anything bad about you or the way you were acting.

You had only told a few of your friends. You tended to avoid the subject, you didn’t like the way people would view you differently or the way they would treat you. You didn’t want to hear about how you should ‘take a deep breath’ or ‘just sit still’. Many people just didn’t understand, but Jonathan did.

Today was a particularly bad day. You woke up and the temperature was too hot in your room. When you wake up warm, your day is wrong, that’s how it works. You don’t know why and you always try to get past it, but your bad day usually continues to persist.

You didn’t want to brush your teeth. You weren’t too tired, or too lazy, you just felt like you couldn’t. You saw the toothbrush, and you saw the toothpaste, and you couldn’t. So, you went to your kitchen to grab something for breakfast, maybe something to kickstart your day, but nothing seemed appealing.

Finally, you simply settled in your bed. You laid down and stared at your ceiling while you let your thoughts run freely. You heard the phone ring but you couldn’t get up to get it. You couldn’t do anything but stare and think and run your hands along your blankets. You weren’t aware of how much time had passed before you heard a small knock at your door.

“Come in”

The door creaked slightly and you heard a familiar set of footsteps approach you.

“Bad day sweetheart?” Jonathan asked as he sat down on your bed, weighing down the left side and causing you to roll a little bit.

You laughed as you sat up and motioned for Jonathan to lie down. He laid back against your lap, your hands soon finding their way to his hair.

“I’m fine.”

Even with his face being upside down for you, you could tell he didn’t believe you. He hummed before he responded,

“You sure? You didn’t answer my call and you didn’t eat breakfast.”

“How do you even know that?”

“When you eat breakfast, you have a snack right after, or chew gum. You have to keep chewing.” He replied casually, as though he didn’t just call out a specific detail a normal person would never take notice of.

It scared you a bit, and yet it didn’t surprise you at all. He always noticed things that you thought people would try to ignore. He never once judged you or tried to ‘save’ you, he only asked how he could help, and sometimes he knew you better than you knew yourself.

You were quiet while you thought, though your hands were still brushing through the boy's hair. You sighed before you spoke, “Don’t you ever get tired of me?”

Jonathan sat up at that and turned to face you, “Why would you think that?” His hands found yours before you could bring your nails to your mouth.

“I just, I don’t know, I’m a very tiring person I guess. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you ever thought I was too much.” It most certainly would hurt your feelings, but you wouldn’t say that.

He took in a breath, you could see in his eyes he was a little hurt.

Of course, you thought, he is tired of me. I gave him an out and he’s going to take it.

“Oh honey,” here it is, “I could never get tired of you.”

“Nothing you do is ‘too much’. You mean everything to me, I could never think of you like that.”

It’s moments like this that make you wonder how you were so lucky as to have Jonathan in your life. You don’t say anything back, you just allow his words to fill your mind. You take a moment to believe them. Even if you don’t feel that way about yourself, you know he wouldn’t lie to you.

Jonathan seems to know that that’s all you needed to hear. He also knows he’ll have to tell you again, and again, and again, but he doesn’t mind. He’ll tell you forever if you needed him to.

He stands up and holds out his hand, “Come on, let’s go get something to eat mkay?”

#yellowroseswrites #comfort fics #jonathan byers x reader #adhd!reader #anxious!reader #jonathan byers loml #executive dysfunction #stranger things x reader #jonathan byers x you #jonathan byers x y/n #jonathan byers x reader hurt/comfort #jonathan byers x reader fluff

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imtooscaredforthis · 2 years

Text

Antagonist

Chapter Eight: Nice

Mentions of: Knives, threats, Frank being an asshole, and also the zombie apocalypse bcs Bill

A/N: Here’s another chapter for y’all

Tags: @prettycutebunny @autisticpickle @dead-bxxxtch-walking @moonshineinasippycup @froegis

Once again, you awoke, thankfully with that horrible aching feeling gone, numbed down to the occasional dull pains in your body, and a heavy fatigue. You’re laying on a dirty old mattress, new bandages wrapped around your stomach, your tank top slightly raised above it. Someone must’ve changed them while you were asleep.

Where are you? Your memory’s a little fuzzy. The last thing you remember was fixing Susie up, helping her walk through the woods, then seeing that Ski Lodge and taking her there

“Well, look who’s finally up.” A familiar voice greeted. Sitting up, you looked in front of you, finding Frank, standing there.

He’s leaning up against the door frame, tossing his switchblade before flipping it around his hand. You move backward, a look of distrust crossing your face. “What the hell, were you watching me sleep?”

“Watch your tone, and no, I just got here a couple of minutes ago. I was waiting for you to wake up.” He warned, but his voice seemed softer and had less of a harsh edge to it like it normally does.

“What do you want from me?” You sat up straight, eyeing the door behind him. He’s blocking all of your exits, and you can’t help but feel trapped.

How can you trust him when he’s lied to you before? When all he’s done is kill you and insult you? You know he didn’t have a choice, but still, he doesn’t have to be such a prick all the time.

“Susie told us everything. The others are all out in trials right now, and she wanted to say Thanks, so…”

Everything? As in everything everything? Including the fact that you tried to kill her? You can’t help but feel like there’s something else Frank wants to say, something else he wants to do. Maybe hurt you for hurting one of his own, or something like that.

“That’s it?” You asked, still unsure if you should trust him. “Uhm, yeah? What else were you expecting?”

“Well, it seems like every time we talk, I end up dying. And you’re normally a lot more angry and stabby.” You told him.

He paused, looking up at you, before pulling the blade out. Slowly, he walked over to you, with the butterfly knife hovering over your face. He moved even closer, before gently tracing it down your cheek.

“That does sound fun, doesn’t it? Killing you again? Who knows, maybe the third time’s a charm, and you’ll actually stay dead.” He remarked coldly, and you glared at him, too tired to move. It wouldn’t be smart, anyways, he could cut your throat with the snap of his wrist.

Then, he pulled away, laughing hysterically. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. That was pure gold. I’m just fucking with you, babe. I’m not gonna kill you. Wouldn’t wanna upset Susie when we just got her back.”

“You’re a sadistic asshole, you know that?” You spat bitterly, getting to your feet, and preparing to leave. “Well, you’re not exactly a charmer yourself, doll.”

You scoffed, right about to storm off, when Frank grabs your arm, pulling you back. “Wait. Again, Thanks, from everyone.”

“I don’t get why you guys are so thankful. I mean, I tried to kill her.” You admitted, still feeling guilty about the whole situation.

“Well, yeah. You could’ve just left her there, but you didn’t. Even after everything she said that you were kind to her, and helped her calm down a bit. So, we’re good now.” He explained.

“Uh, no. I’m glad you guys are thankful or whatever, but I’m only good with Susie. I don’t trust the rest of you. Especially not you, oh no. You and I are not on good terms.” You told him, before tearing your wrist away from his grip and walking off.

“Noted. See you around, toots!”

–

After a long and exhausting walk back to the campfire, you finally made it. You let yourself lay down and rest your head against the log, shutting your eyes and sighing.

“You look…rough.” A familiar voice said. Opening one eye, you spotted Bill, sitting on the log beside you. The familiar scent of cigarette smoke entered your nose, making it twitch slightly, but you couldn’t help but find it comforting.

You can’t believe how relieved you feel seeing him again. Plus, you can really use a smoke right now. “That’s a nice way of putting it. But yeah, I've had a long day. Are there even days here? You know what? I don’t give a shit anymore.”

“Wanna talk about it?” He asked, offering you a cigarette. Sitting up, you take it from him, letting him light the cigarette with his own.

“Not really…I kinda had to see some shit from the past that I didn’t want to see. And I had to see it from another perspective, which made it all worse. Like, at the moment, you think you’re doing the right thing, but seeing how you affect others it just…messes you up.”

He nodded with a solemn look on his face. He agreed. You’re sure he’s had his fair share of traumatizing experiences too, especially since he was in the military.

“You served, right? Was it the Vietnam war? Or- You don’t have to answer if you don’t want-”

“Don’t worry about it kid, and yeah, I did.” He replied. “My grandfather served during the Vietnam war, and my Dad did too. I think my grandfather also served during World War II, and the Korean War too. Hey, maybe you knew them.”

He reminds you a lot of your grandfather, and you have a good feeling you remind him of someone too. Maybe that’s why you get along so well.

He grinned, letting out a soft chuckle. “I hate to break it to you, kid, but I don’t think we’re from the same place.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You raised an eyebrow, a curious look on your face.

“Well, where I’m from, things have all gone to shit.” Was all he said in response, piquing your curiosity.

“Oh come on, you’ve got to be more specific than that. Is the world ending or something? Nuclear warfare? The zombie apocalypse?” His expression changed at that, making you realize.

“Holy shit!” You exclaimed, sitting straight up, an excited look on your face, much more energetic than once before. “Shhh, keep your voice down.”

“Okay, okay. But you’ve gotta tell me some stories sometime.”

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daz4i · 1 year

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vent under the cut. sorry. tw suicide depression etc

this is nothing i haven't already said but. idk what to live for. i don't see a point in recovery bc i don't have any concrete reason or something to keep living for. i don't care about anything or anyone enough to put in the effort

i talked to my psychiatrist today and she gave me some phone numbers for ppl who can help start the whole process i mentioned a few days ago, the help with recovery thing. i consulted my friends and they said i should go for it (i said it's not like i have anything else to do and they agreed) but it made me feel worse

the realer it becomes the less i want it. i don't want to recover. i want to die. i had someone who made me want to live and they cut me off, but i shouldn't want to live for someone else anyway (tho. that's what most of my depressed family members and friends live for, in a way)

i can't adopt the "you're alive anyway so may as well use this time" agenda my old therapist tried to offer me. i want to die. existing is too much effort i never wanted to put in, especially when i need to take a big step (along with many other small steps) to get out of depression. the fact I'm already alive isn't a big enough reason to take this step. I've been having more concrete plans for how I'd off myself lately, and while that might be hard, it's still easier than recovering, and has an outcome that without a doubt will be good (while a good life after recovery is never certain. honestly i don't think i ever could have one anyway)

idk how to finish this post. there isn't really a point. i just. need to let it all out. I've been crying for over 2 hours straight now lol I'm feeling awful. the more hopeful I'm supposed to become, the more despair i feel. at the risk of sounding cliche i hope i fall asleep and never wake up

#vent #negative //#suicide //#ask to tag #sorry. might delete later. idk #well since i mentioned the psychiatrist meeting today I'll also tell you an anecdote from it #tw self harm in the next tag #so. i told her I've been self harming more often lately. and she asked me why #like a normal person i said ''bc seeing my own blood is calming. i like it'' never saw a mental health worker write smth down so fast fr #it's a miracle she hasn't kicked me out yet. I've been getting used to mental health workers not wanting anything to do with me #she's nice tho. and she tries harder than my old psychiatrist. that's nice #also gave me a new prescription so wish me luck with that ✌️ spicing it up by switching from ssris for the first time 😱

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n3onguts · 3 years

Text

5 times he said i love you. | kim taehyung

summary — different versions of ‘i love you’ told throughout the course of a relationship.

pairing — kim taehyung x f!reader

genre&tags — slice of life au, fluff, angst out of nowhere???, a terrifying lack of plot and direction (i cannot stress enough how unedited this story is. at some point, it got away from me and i just needed to be rid of it), taehyung making terrible choices while drunk, healthy-eating propaganda, pettiness and pride being the pitfall of every relationship, yk how it is

warning(s) — mentions of alcohol consumption and intercourse (but it's chill, they're both adults)

w.c. — bordering on 5k but pretty easy to digest

a/n — yes i have been working on my drafts (!!!), don't really wanna think abt them tho bc my laptop broke like two days ago, right when school's about to start so i'm not doing v good rn :/ anyways i've had this story in my head for a while ever since i read this one fic that used this same format (if i can find it i'll be sure to link the author as my inspo!) so i just wanted to get it out of my system. i'm not rlly a hardcore fan of bts (gotta admit tho... yoongi's passion for making music is so mmmmm), but when i started writing this i used taehyung's name as a filler for the guy character and it kinda just stuck. i hope u still enjoy, and as always, if u have any feedback, i'd love to hear it! :)

i. WHEN HE WHISPERED IT INTO THE NIGHT

Taehyung loves your apartment.

He loves it in the morning. Waking up to the sound of sizzling, of wood against metal, lightly clanging in your kitchen as you whipped up breakfast-for-two. Exiting the comfort of your bedroom to find early solace in the domesticity of the sight before him — you, with your sleep-ridden hair and bare legs peeking out from under an oversized tee. Messy and mussed but still looking oh-so-fucking-angelic, crooning along to your favorite Etta James record playing in the background as the rising sun bathes the scene with its glow. Solid hands wrap around your waist from behind as he rests his head in the crook of your neck. Syrupy kisses come in place of a greeting and contented sighs seep out when you break apart: all he could ever want, and more.

He loves it in the afternoon. Both of you on your lumpy couch in the living room; your head in his lap, his hands in your hair. Everything in its place the way it should be. Happiness is home-grown and laughter permeates the air perpetually. You tap-tap-tap away at your laptop, which rests on your chest. He tries to pay attention to whatever’s on TV, but his eyes always end up on you.

He loves it in the nighttime. Dancing together in front of the bathroom mirror before bed, toothbrush still in mouth. Lights off, lamps on, the safe warmth of your thick comforter enveloping you two. Legs intertwined as your dainty fingers trace his features, like you’re trying to commit a map of him to memory. Minty lips follow to sleepily graze against the trail you’ve left — starting at the top of his forehead, along his cheek, down the bridge of his nose, and, finally, after what feels like eons and then some, pressing onto his patient mouth. The evening does something to you both: honest words are exchanged with less resistance. Admissions of pleasure and confessions of pain spill out after dark, until you both succumb to the exhaustion, bodies interlaced like puzzle pieces.

Taehyung loves your apartment, he really does. He’s told you that numerous times. It’s a lot easier to say than what he actually wants to, but, well, those three goddamn words? They relentlessly attempt to claw out of his throat.

So he waits.

In the dim moonlight, the white noise of the city below acting as the soundtrack to your romance, he waits.

He waits, and when he’s certain you’re fast-asleep — chest gently rising and falling at a measured rate, cheek taking ownership of his chest — Taehyung surrenders to the feeling.

Glancing at you through drowsy eyes, he mouths it in the dark, rapid yet cautious, like a secret and a promise meant only for the night.

I love you.

ii. WHEN HE WAS DRUNK

Friday night — he found himself stuck at some bar, God knows where, struggling to stay upright.

Just one shot, Taehyung's sober self had stupidly claimed. One shot, and I’m done. But once his surroundings had started to go out of focus, and all he could make out were the cheers of his equally-idiotic friends, egging him on, well, how could he not succumb to the cloying pull of his own recklessness?

Alcohol was a shitty lover; it was bittersweet moments interspersed with short-term euphoria and long-term regrets. Side effects almost always included the following: (1) the ill-advised ballooning of his usually-muted ego, (2) a sudden and asinine surge of confidence, and, finally, (3), the mistaken belief that his present actions would have no future consequences, as though tomorrow would never come.

But tomorrow always did, and a half-dead, hungover version of him was always left to fix whatever mess he had made the night before.

Tonight, it seemed that drunk-dialing you was on top of his to-do list of mistakes to make. Clumsily, phone in hand, Taehyung summons your contact number, a familiar feeling of home washing over him once he spots your name at the top of his screen through heavy-lidded eyes.

It’s barely midnight, but half of him expects you’re already passed out, too glued to your bed from exhaustion to pick up. The other half — soft, daring, wishful — hopes that you aren’t.

It takes 3 rings before he hears your sleep-ridden voice hum through his line, “Hey. What’s up?”

For a moment, sobered by a split-second semblance of level-headedness, he hesitates.

“Hello? You there?” You patiently wait for a response, but worry laces your tone. Time to buck up and get this shit over with, he realizes.

Taehyung’s voice is timid, gentle, a juxtaposition to his booming surroundings, which are awash in a red glow and brimming with a sea of sweaty, intoxicated bodies. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really.” He hears you shift in bed, most likely sitting up to focus on the conversation. “Where are you?”

His response comes out slurred and ambiguous. “Um. Out?”

“Ah… you’re drunk.” He mentally curses himself for being so easy to read; you must be so annoyed, having your sleep disrupted by some boozed jackass. Instead, you laugh knowingly, and a wave of calm rolls over him. You don’t hate him, thank God.

Buzzing with a newfound self-assurance, the words start slipping out with much more ease. “Well, just a little.” You laugh again, and he’s grinning now, something wide and goofy and uninhibited.

“That sounds fun,” You murmur. “As long as you’re okay and you’re alive.”

“No—” He sighs dramatically. “I’m in agony. I wish you were here.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” He can practically envision you as you say this: eyebrow quirked and delicate lips pulling into a faint smirk.

“I miss you less when you’re next to me.”

“O-kay, stupid. You know, you’re cute—” Taehyung pumps his fist in the air in celebration. I’m cute! He rejoices. “But you’re drunk.”

“What?!” He exclaims, and he hears you giggle at his sudden outcry.

Eyelids fluttering at the melodic noise, he imagines you’re seated at the foot of your bed, hugging your knees. Your ear is warm from the phone pressed against it and your toes are curling along your mattress. There’s a glint in your eyes as you speak to him, probably relishing in his current state of ill-advised inebriation. He’s making a fool of himself, he understands that much, but he doesn’t care — he’d run through the streets naked, if you willed it.

“You are, though.”

“I am, yes.” He concedes, nodding ruefully.

Another giggle. God, he’d never get tired of that. “Wonderful. So, do you have any more nice things to say to me while you’re drunk?”

You weren’t taking him seriously — couldn’t, seemingly. You were teasing him, he was sure, but he didn’t want that.

“I’d still miss you if I was sober, you know. Probably more so. The alcohol helps tamp it down a bit.”

“Sure.”

“I kind of wish we were attached by the hip — or, like, I had a leash that I could use to drag you around with me.”

“Oooh… Kinky.” Now it’s his turn to laugh.

“No, hey—”

“Hey.” You interject, voice a bare whisper.

“I…” Taehyung massages his temples out of frustration. He wishes you would just listen. His restlessness has two fingers down his throat, pushing the words out before he’s even ready. “Look, it really doesn’t fucking matter whether I’m at some bar or at your place: I want you next to me always. You haunt me everywhere I go, and I’m tired of trying to escape it. Because, well, um, you know— Shit. I love you, okay? Sober or not. Dead or alive. Stupid or whatever the opposite of stupid is.” He pauses to take a breath. “Me. I’m the opposite of stupid.”

Silence consumes your end of the line, and it implores — no, demands him to fill it. The world around him seems to slow as he rambles on, “That’s why I called you. I wanted to tell you that I love you.” Hope overcomes him. “Fuck, man, do I love you! And I know you think it’s the alcohol talking or whatever — which, sure, yes, Jose Cuervo did help push the words out — but I’ll still wake up tomorrow morning and you will still be my first thought, just the way you are every single fucking day.”

A tense quiet lingers, terrorizing him. Finally, after what feels like a millennium in his drunken stupor: “Smart?”

Your voice is tender, lighthearted, yet simultaneously consoling — he could sense a masked apprehension that you were deliberately trying to keep hidden.

“What?” He eventually stutters out.

“The opposite of stupid is smart.”

Oh. “Yeah. Um. That’s me.”

“Uh…” You begin and he absolutely despises how patronizing you sound. “Let’s just forget about this, okay? I get it: you think you love me and that’s really sweet, but…”

As soothing as your voice attempts to be, it’s a stab in his gut as he realizes that you don’t believe him — or maybe don’t want to.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Um, so, I’m a bit tired, I think I’m gonna go back to bed.”

A monotonous ‘sure’ leaves him reflexively. There’s a numbness that takes root inside of him as he stares straight ahead.

“Take care of yourself, please. Text me tomorrow morning so I know you’re okay, alright?” You hang on for a few more seconds, expecting a half-hearted acknowledgement from him, but you get nothing in return.

Taehyung hears a final, careful ‘bye’ muttered from your end before the line cuts. He lowers his phone down from his ear, resting it on the counter next to him. For some reason, it feels oddly heavy now. Stuck in a daze, he stares at the device like it’s an alien—

What the fuck had he just done?

iii. WHEN HE WAS SURE

“Tae, why would we ever need this much Jjajangmyeon?” You scold as he haphazardly scoops an entire row of instant noodles from the shelf into your shopping cart.

He shrugs, “It’s easy to make — you know I’m shit at cooking. Plus, it’s quick. And filling.”

You give him a withering look. “And full of sodium! Do you want a UTI? I swear to God, if you get sick, I’m not taking care of you.

“You say that but last time I did, you took a 3-day leave from work and rubbed my supposedly-smelly feet until I fell asleep.”

Grunting in response, you huff and he hears you mumble something along the lines of, “But they are smelly.”

You turn away from him to gingerly return the packets back into their place, ignoring his cries of protest when you leave only two behind — one for him and one for you. “Shut up. Why would it matter if you’re shit at cooking? You have me.”

At this, Taehyung smirks, leaning against the shelves like a quintessential rom-com lead. “I do?” He asks, voice dripping with innocence but eyes sparkling with mirth.

Grumbling, you wave a hand to dismiss him and he stumbles back dramatically, as though he’s been shot. You roll your eyes, “Will you behave? I feel like your mother.”

��Are we roleplaying right now?”

“We won’t be tonight if you keep being so annoying.”

“Okay— Sorry, sorry. My bad. Got the message. Behaving now.” He gestures to show that he’s zipping his lips.

He pulls out his phone to check your grocery list for what you two need next, eyes squinting to read the screen. Without missing a beat, you fish in your bag for his glasses and hand it to him. Taehyung pauses to look at the specs in your hand then back at you, before nodding gratefully and accepting them.

“It says we need bread next.” He announces, and you walk ahead to find the aisle containing bread. He maneuvers the cart to follow the route you leave behind as you check the aisle markers, zig-zagging along the pathway like a little pinball machine.

“Here!” You call out. Up ahead, you disappear into one of the aisles, and moments later, he enters said aisle to spot you trying (and subsequently failing) to reach the bread you want on the top shelf. You stop tiptoeing when you see him rush over.

He grabs the nearest loaf, one that’s eye-level to you, and waves it in front of your face, “Why not this one?”

You send him another withering look. “That’s white bread, Tae.”

“And so?”

“It’s super processed.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m young.”

“And you’ll die young if you eat garbage. Will you just get the whole-grain bread I was reaching for?”

“I don’t understand why you’re so concerned about these things — I’m an active guy, I’ll be okay.”

“Well, I’m sorry I care about your health.”

He wants to laugh at the scene before him — you, with your arms crossed and your eyebrows hardening like a petulant child — but he knows that would only irk you even more.

“No— Hey— C’mon.” Taehyung tries to pull you into a hug, but you swerve and swat away his attempts to close the gap between you two. “I’m glad you do. I’m very grateful, actually.”

Your pursed lips melt into a soft pout. “You just— You don’t know what a demon white bread is! I read an article about it the other day, and it’s made of refined grains, Tae! Refined grains.” You explain hysterically, hands buzzing around with the air of someone who's just divulged an incredibly juicy secret. “They’re chock-full of sugar and preservatives! And these preservatives have chemical names that no one ever questions because they can’t understand it, so they just accept it! You can eat a whole loaf in one sitting, Tae. I don’t want you to contract diabetes or something worse.”

When you finish your tirade, you go quiet, and when he looks into your eyes, dark pools he wouldn’t mind drowning in, he can’t tell whether he wants to laugh at your absurd worry over him or cry at your sincerity.

Instead, he smiles. It’s unrestrained, crinkling the corners of his eyes. “That’s a bit of a far reach.”

In one swift movement, Taehyung grabs the loaf you were eyeing earlier and hands it over nonchalantly. “But I do love you. So I’ll try my best not to.”

Perhaps it’s because he’s just said he loves you for the first time — terrifyingly sober, under the harsh fluorescent lights of your local supermarket, after you’ve lectured him about his health and as he casually tries to give you bread — that you stare at him for longer than he’d like, eyes peering like he’s become transparent. But he stands his ground.

He shrugs, tossing the loaf into the metal cart behind you. He thought your inability to respond might bother him, but, surprisingly, it doesn’t. In fact, he doesn’t think he minds much. Taehyung always assumed loving someone with certainty would be like an immediate thing, a singular, specific moment he’d have to seize with confidence or it would pass, leaving him wrecked with nerves and regret. But, as it turns out, certainty could wash over him during the most mundane of instances and love would slide out easily into his words, as though it always belonged. Maybe it had.

“You love me?” You say, and when you do, it almost sounds like a wish. One he’d go to Hell and back to grant.

He looks at you like you’ve just told him that the sky is blue or the Earth is round. “Yeah. Of course, weird-o. Was I not clear enough with my profession of love earlier?

You shake your head as you laugh. “No, you were.”

Taehyung nods, satisfied, moving past you to push the cart in search of the next item on your grocery list. But before he can, he feels a pair of small hands clutch his arm and a face nuzzle into the wide expanse of his back.

“I love you too.” You muffle, voice humming warm air against his sweater. “Which is why I’ll let you get a pack of Oreos.”

“Fuck yeah!”

“But just one.”

iv. WHEN HE WAS SORRY

Stumbling inside your apartment, you rush out of your boots and head straight for your bedroom, locking the door. A few footsteps behind you, Taehyung follows, disgruntled by your brisk pace.

“Y/N!” You can hear him from inside your room, where you’re sat on the bed, staring into space as you try to process what had just ensued during the car ride home from Jin's dinner party.

“Your ‘friend’, huh?” You're staring stonily ahead, eyes carefully fixated onto the cement floor of the car park.

He’s still settling into his seat, shuffling on his seatbelt, too busy to really comprehend the challenge you’ve just initiated. “What?”

“When Jisoo asked you to introduce us, you said, and I quote, ‘Oh, this is my friend, Y/N.’ You called me your friend.” Gone is the acidity that laced your tone mere moments ago, replaced by an almost mechanical voice, something carefully constructed to mask feeling.

Taehyung stops what he’s doing to look up, finally taking notice of your cold demeanor. He frowns, “But you are my friend.”

“So that’s all I am to you? Just your friend?” You whip your head to face him now, fully, arms crossed. You’re devoid of emotion as you await an answer from him. He, on the other hand, looks utterly confused.

“What— No, of course not—”

“No, you were right. We’re friends. We are.” You cut him off. “Just friends. You’re correct.”

“I didn’t mean anything by—”

“I know. Which is why it’s no biggie.” You shrug, switching from robotic to indifferent. He can’t decide which is worse. “Let’s go home. I’m tired.”

You turn away, finished with the conversation, but he isn’t.

“I don’t understand— You were in such a good mood at dinner. What the fuck is happening?”

Looking at him again, you smile now, a sedative Taehyung won't fall for. “Nothing. Nothing’s happening. Can you start the car now? It’s freezing.”

Frustrated, he shuts up and does as he’s told, punching the keys into the ignition. You two sit in aggressive silence as he exits the car park.

The city roads are relatively bare, save for a few trucks driving along the highway. Passing street lamps illuminate your face in intervals, and every so often he looks over to check on you. When the car reaches a stop light at an intersection, he speaks up.

“I didn’t mean anything by it. Honest. I didn’t.” His phrasing is wary, but heartfelt. So much so you almost want to put the matter to rest.

But pride is the only thing you’ve ever known — your child, a monster you’ve nursed back to health when wounded and fed when starved. You’ll be damned if you back down now.

“Right. It’s okay. We’re fine. I swear.” It’s terrifying how easily these lies breeze out of your mouth, without so much as a pause.

“I mean— We never had a discussion about our label— I just assumed—”

“I get it. No harm, no foul. We’re friends.”

“It was just automatic in my head, and I don’t know why. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

At this, you let out a cruel laugh. “Jesus, Tae, let’s not jump to conclusions here. Don’t assume I even care enough about you to get hurt by something as stupid as that.”

His face contorts as though he’s been bitten. “I understand that you’re mad, but you don’t have to be so unnecessarily mean.”

“I’m not being mean. I said I get it, right? You think our situation is too difficult to explain and blah, blah, blah. Now, can you focus on the road?”

When the traffic light turns to green, he steps on the gas pedal. Any and all discussion is once more extinguished, up until you reach the warm basement parking lot of your apartment building.

You’re gathering your things, about to head out of the car door, when you feel his hand pull at yours.

“I really had no ill intent when I said that. You’ve just always been my friend, so I had no other word for what we are now.”

You twist your head to see him, eyebags accentuated in the shadows, pleading with you to understand. You grip him tightly back, a sickeningly sweet smile etched onto your lips, “Like I said, we don’t have to discuss this anymore. We are friends, Tae, you were right.”

“But—”

“We’re friends— I’m your friend! The friend whose bed you spend more nights in than your own. The friend who knows that you brush your teeth in a specific order because that’s how your grandma taught you when you were nine— Or that your favourite compliment is when people tell you that you look like your dad because he’s your idol. I’m that friend! The friend who takes off from work the minute she hears you’re sick, who learns how to make Japchae exactly how your mom did. The friend who’s held you when you’ve cried, cleaned up your sick when you’ve gotten drunk, and swallowed your goddamned cum! The friend you fucking said ‘I love you’ to! Just fucking friends!”

Your furious shouts echo throughout the empty space, bouncing from wall to wall so that even when you've finished your rant, eyes frenzied and hands done flying, Taehyung can still hear your words create a cavern of guilt in his chest.

Fast-forward back to the present moment: there's a knot in your heart as you get ready for bed. Looking at your reflection in the mirror as you brush your teeth, you wonder, is loving someone supposed to be this hard?

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. Open up.”

You gargle the last of the water in your cup and spit, wiping your mouth and smoothing down your pajamas as you head for the door. Opening it up, you assume a pleasant facade.

“What’s up? Sorry for the wait, I was changing.”

If your nonchalance deters him, he doesn’t show it. “I’m sorry. I realized I never said that. I’m sorry I called you my friend— I wish I hadn’t.”

“Tae, I told you, it’s not a big deal, we’re goo—”

“No, we’re not.” He runs a tired hand through his hair. “If you had introduced me as your friend, I’d feel fucking terrible. I’d feel so put out.”

You stay quiet, and you don’t want to, but you can feel yourself cracking.

“Friends don’t say I love you like that. And I love you like that. I’m sorry.”

You let a sigh escape. Your mom once told you that you housed a terrible anger, one you’d hold onto no matter how exhaustive it could be. But when he looks at you like that — disarmingly earnest in his sorrow, like wounding you wounds him — you want to raise a white flag in surrender, want to promise him you’ll do everything in your power to douse your pride.

You rest your forehead onto his chest and you hear him exhale in relief. He envelopes his arms around you (a cocoon you think you never want to leave), burying his nose into your hair.

“I should’ve just called you what you are: my girlfriend.” Taehyung whispers, a final reparation. “You’re my girlfriend, right?”

You pray no hesitance bleeds out into your words. “I’m your girlfriend.”

v. WHEN HE TRIED TO HOLD ON

“You’re my girlfriend.”

“I know.”

“And I’m your boyfriend.”

“I know.”

“So if you know, then why—” Taehyung exhales out of his nose. “You can’t treat people this way, Y/N.”

“I know.”

He’s standing across the room, arms crossed as he berates you. You really want him to leave, but if he did, you’re certain you’d run after him. You also want him to hold you, but if he did, you’re sure you’d only push him away. Feelings are stupid like that.

You poke craters into your lumpy mattress, chin resting in between your raised knees. Parts of you feel guilty, and perhaps that’s why you’re avoiding his gaze. But you’re also stubborn. I’m entitled to be selfish about my pain, you think.

“You’re supposed to— Why won’t you—” Lots of words swim in his chest. Taehyung wishes he could just reach inside and pull out the right ones, because all of the ones he uses only make you seem farther away. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N.”

“Doing what?” You spit out, all poison. Why? You wonder. You’re clearly in the wrong here.

“This.” He gestures towards you like it’s obvious. “Holing up in your own little world, refusing to let anyone else in. And then when I come to you to try and understand, you make me feel like I’ve done something wrong.”

You open your mouth to say haughtily that he hasn’t, but you’re cut off.

“God, Y/N, you know— It’s actually fine that you’re like this. I don’t mind if you shut everyone out, don’t mind if you’re hard to reach, because I’ll put in that effort. You expect me to give and give and give, and you know what? That’s fine. It’s fine with me. I’ll say sorry first, I’ll concede, I’ll swallow my ego, I’ll let you win. I don’t mind.”

You fiddle with your bedsheets, eyes fixated on them so hard you think you might burn a hole through. You shouldn’t be, but for some reason, you’re irritated that he’s confronting you with all your wrongdoings and letting you get away with it.

“I don’t mind! Really, I don’t. I’ll let you do whatever. That’s how much I love you.” He runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “All I ask for in return is that when I knock on the door of this little cage you’ve built for yourself, you let me squeeze in beside you.” His voice tapers off, “I’ll make myself small, won’t be a bother— Won’t even take up that much space, really. I just want to be in there with you. That’s all I want. That’s not much, is it?”

You want to tell him you’ve always lived like this — behind a smoke screen, inaccessible, like connection is a tap you can just turn on and off. Hurts less that way.

When you glance at him, guilt swells. Did you do this to him? Taehyung’s face looks worn; his eyes, desperate. A flicker of sadness pierces through your gut. You let him infiltrate your life, carve out a designated space for himself in your daily routine, and when he tells you he loves you, drunk, you refuse to believe it; he tells you again when he’s sober and you still can’t. You hate it when he introduces you as his friend, but get scared when he refers to you as his girlfriend.

You don’t know when it all turned to shit. Maybe it started during that week he was too busy to contact you, and you retaliated by ignoring him for the next two. Maybe it was because of that time he called you ‘difficult to be with’, and how no matter how many times he apologized, you couldn’t prevent that cancerous little seed of insecurity from burrowing itself in your mind. Or maybe it’s always been shit, and you’ve just been too spellbound to look at things with a clear head.

You try to absolve yourself of any blame, try to convince him as well as yourself: “I never asked you to do any of that. You did that to yourself.”

His hands implore you to see reason. “But that’s what a relationship is. You don’t ever have to ask— I’ll still be here anyway, still be waiting. That’s what loving someone is.”

There’s a phenomenon in psychology known as Stockholm Syndrome: it’s when a kidnapping victim forms an emotional bond with their captor. It seems irrational, unlikely. How could anyone fall for a person who’s hurt them? Defend them like none of that pain ever happened? But people do it everyday, you realize. People settle — they make compromises, they let themselves get stepped on, they excuse their chest aching as part of loving someone.

You let Taehyung’s words drift into the cold air of the room. The scene has slowed down. He’s sitting now, on the edge of the bed, and he looks like a husk of himself, as though getting all those words out has sucked him dry. You look outside of your window and notice that it’s drizzling.

“Did you bring a coat?”

“Huh?” He follows your line of sight. “No, I didn’t.”

“You can borrow my umbrella.”

From your position on the bed, you watch the rain fall, and from the corner of your eye, you see him tilt his head at you, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to figure out.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” When you inquire, it comes out casual, without the cadence of the argument you just had.

“Of?”

“Being here. Waiting.” A pause. “Loving, I guess.”

Taehyung shakes his head firmly, obediently, like he’s confident his love will be enough for the both of you. “No. Never.”

The next time you speak, you can hear two hearts break. “I do.”

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bittersweetmorality · 3 years

Text

— chuuya boyfriend headcannons (sfw & nsfw)+ drabble

☾ genre: SFW and NSFW Headcannons (NSFW section is marked-- 18+)

☾ pairing: Nakahara Chuuya x GN!reader (reader is given the name ‘mommy’ in the drabble)

☾ warnings: none for the SFW– general smut for the NSFW ??

☾ w/c: 1,978 words

☾ a/n: hey lol :D as a certified chuuya fucker, i just had to. i literally have like three other chuuya drafts that i’m currently working on. hopefully they turn out like i want and i can post them bc :| the chuuya tag is starving. anyway i hope i can populate it just a tad. thanks for reading bugs !

— SFW

lemme start off by saying that he will treat yo ass RIGHT. ON MY MOMMA.

not to bring his trauma into this already but :| my man has major abandonment issues. he will not do anything to jeopardize your relationship, and he honestly just values your happiness above anything else

you just know how much he cares about the fellow members of the mafia– even though they don’t requite the same amount of love that he gives them, he still loves them wholeheartedly

even dazai

little shit

his love language is definitely touch and gift-giving. no i don’t accept criticism because i’m right

you’re telling me he wouldn’t absolutely spoil you with expensive gifts ?? mans is a mafia executive– he’s making hella bank, and he is spending it all on you

he’s also definitely a pretty clingy significant other, but good luck trying to get him to admit that :|

his life is… well… yaknow

there’s always a lot going on there..... he’s stresst

he wants nothing more than to just hold you in his arms after a long day-- especially if he just came back from a hard day at work

times like this are when he’s most clingy-- he feels like he almost lost you, and now he never wants to let you go

many, many times he’s fallen asleep like this; you’re basically suffocating in his grip as his eyelids flutter closed, either on the couch or your bed

but of course you’re not going to complain

and he’s so glad you don’t

he’s also the type to almost never explicitly say that he loves you at first, it’s simply not something that comes naturally to him

instead he indulges in his love languages profusely, and he just hopes you get the message

he’s also afraid that you’ll leave him if he says something like that, so for a long time he doesn’t :(

so when you come home to a bottle of expensive wine wrapped in an exquisite red ribbon, you know he just wants to tell you how much he loves you

eventually, of course he’s comfortable with you enough to say it, and it comes completely natural

and since he’s such a romantic, he says it every morning when you wake up, and before you go to bed without fail

he’s definitely the type to show you off too

like, as he’s having a conversation with someone, he’ll suddenly get really loud when talking about you so everyone within a three-mile radius can hear

“well, you see i would go out drinking with you tonight, but i actually have a date. with my partner. you know them, right? here’s a picture i took of them a few days ago, just look a-”

also: biggest hype man

you could open a jar of jam and he’d be like “holy shit, you go babe”

nakahara chuuya kiss me rn challenge

anyway, basically he’ll love and support you no matter what

like truly you’re like a walking ray of sunshine to him

anyway !!!! DATES !!!!!!!

dates with chuuya are planned. always.

like i SAID he’s a hopeless ROMANTIC MY GOD

he absolutely loves picking you up at your doorstep and taking you for a ride around town on his motorcycle

speaking of which, your arms wrapping around his middle and squeezing him tight as he drives the bike is literally his favorite thing in the world. oh my god you’re going to make him melt

and i know for a fact your first kiss with him was after he dropped you off at your door when your first date was at its end

it was almost completely perfect honestly, except when your faces were just mere inches from one another, his hat bumped into your forehead and fell to the ground

baby was so embarrassed-- he went bright red and picked up his hat, basically shielding his face

he just wanted the date to be completely perfect– and it was!! until that happened

but obviously you just let out a light giggle and pulled him against you, and he quickly closed the gap between your lips

also, chuuya sleeps in

he sleeps a lot <33

that being said he loves lazy mornings

it’s well past 11, but you’re still laying in his arms– who is he to get up?? and disturb the peace??????

he will not.

also!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i can’t even emphasize this enough, but please comb your fingers through his hair

there’s a chance he might melt into a puddle on the spot and never recover but still

on the rare occasion where he’s the little spoon--

(which, speaking of which, @dazai-centric has a headcannon that chuuya always insists on being the big spoon no matter what, but on rare occasions he lets himself be wrapped up in your arms and THEY’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.)

anyway, so on this rare occasion

where his head is basically buried in the junction between your shoulder and your neck, and you just rake your fingers through his hair softly

he dead. dead as hell.

and ERRRRM. kisses with him are just……… wow…………

naturally, he always wants to be the best at everything-- it’s just his personality

and kisses are no exception

he has to be the BEST

and he is

so, kisses are always so passionate and rough

okay hold on maybe this should go under the NSFW category 😐

ANYWAY!!!! 19472946/10 boyfriend

— NSFW

so rough sex is very common for y’all 😁

he likes to take his frustrations out from the day like this, and honestly you don’t complain

he definitely has a high sex drive so 😁

obviously you have an established safe-word and talk about everything before anything transpires because the LAST thing he wants is to hurt you in any way

but if you ask him to spank you he is definitely not gunna say no <3 chuuya said spanking kink

speaking of kinks

bondage xoxo

this goes both ways— he likes to tie your wrists to the headboard with rope and tie your legs down if you’re okay with it

for him, he likes his wrists cuffed to the bed

but he definitely doesn’t like all of his power stripped away by having him completely tied up

also he loves eye contact

that’s why missionary and mating press are his favorite positions <3

he likes to grab you by the jaw and make you look at him when he’s fucking you

“hey, hey, princess what did we say? if you want to cum, look me in the eyes when i fuck you, yeah?”

he loves praise and degradation equally

but if you’re degrading him don’t go too far :((

degrade slightly him while he’s on the bottom and he’s putty in your hands

now, if you praise him while he’s on top, get ready to not be able to walk for the next 3-5 business days because that’ll feed his ego a LOOOT

and he’ll just get lost in the moment because he loves you....... so much

he degrades you slightly, but only during foreplay

he calls you his little slut, or his whore

“aw, so wet for me and we’re barely getting started, doll. such a little whore, aren’t you?”

when you actually get into it, it’s all praise from him

he wants you to know how important you are to him, how good you feel and just everything on his mind

he loses his filter in the moment awn god

“so fucking perfect, i only want you. you’re mine. god, you feel so fucking good.”

he loves to hear you too-- it really feeds his ego

but sometimes if he’s really had a rough day, he’ll make you gag on his finger or wrap his hand around your neck

he doesn’t squeeze too hard nor genuinely make you gag, he just likes the way your eyes are barely able to meet his because he’s making you feel so good

but ANYWAY pet names are a MUST with him

he calls you doll, sweetheart, princess, baby, dove, doll

basically every sweet name under the sun during sex

he likes you to call him sir 😁

this man has no shame when it comes to noise

like absolutely none

since he’s possessive, he wants people to know he’s fucking you, and how good he feels because of you

no one else can make him feel that way and he wants everyone to know

so he’s LOOOUUUDD,,,, especially in your ear

he likes leaning down and moaning in your ear, just to get a reaction out of you

he makes fun of you for it later on, and you have his full permission to smack that smug little smirk off his face

but the amount of times you had to stop mid-way because y’all got knocks on your door from your neighbours 😐 they’re so sick of y’all

on average, you have sex at least 4 times a week

that’s not including quickies tho

did i mention that chuuya loves quickies <3

especially when it’s in his office and he fucks you on his desk

and because he doesn’t care who hears him-- you bet your ass the entire Port Mafia has heard you

he likes to go down on you for quickies more than actual sex, and he will respectfully never decline a blowjob

because he’s a gentleman

anyway

sorry to any of y’all who have a breeding kink,,, but chuuya definitely does not

he’s so afraid of having kids

moving on

onto sub!chuuya

did somebody say SWITCH 🤨☝️

chuuya did <3

now for a long time he doesn’t really let his submissive side out because,,, it’s a really vulnerable part of him yaknow?

but after a while, and after he’s completely trusted you to take care of him like that

oh boy

bottom bitch <3

still loud as HELL

except it’s less of moaning and more of whining

he’s such a whiner

and a brat

mommy kink mommy kink mommy kink mommy kink mo

also i don’t really know how else to describe it but-- if you force him to look you in the eyes and use a stern tone

..........dead. dead as hell.

now take this drabble as a tribute to sub!chuuya

“and why should i listen to you? what are you gunna do?” chuuya furrowed his brows at you, as if he was challenging you.

“aw, baby,” you leaned down from your position of straddling him, caging his head between your arms. “you still have so much to say even though your hands are handcuffed to the bed. so bold, aren’t you?” you stroked his lower lip gently, and he whimpered lowly in response.

suddenly, you sat up, getting into a position to prepare to get up off of him completely, “but, you’re right. what am i going to do? i guess i’ll just leave you here for the rest of the night. go-”

“WAIT!! NO- I-” he bit his lip to stop any more words from escaping him.

“’wait’? is there something you wanna say, baby?” your legs trapped his once again.

“... please.”

he averted your gaze, and you reached down to grip his jaw sternly, moving his head to face you completely.

“please what?”

no answer.

“you know i can’t read your mind, baby. you’re going to have to use your w-”

“please fuck me.” the words tumbled out of his mouth, almost too quickly to even be audible, still, your lips shifted into a gentle smile.

but you weren’t completely content with him yet.

“and what’s my name?”

“...mommy.”

“and you want mommy to fuck you, is that right?”

“...yes. please...”

you planted a passionate kiss onto his lips, and upon breaking it, you shifted closer to his ear.

“well, i can’t say no since you asked so nicely, now can i?”

masterlist

#chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya smut #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya scenarios #bsd imagines #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd smut #chuuya imagines #chuuya fluff

764 notes · View notes

daverygalskisbff · 3 years

Note

could we get some allura & lance friendship prompts? i LOVED your other ones btw 💖💖💖💖

HI I'm sorry this took forever I have honestly no idea why bc I adore these two and I ADORE this prompt so my brain should not have shut down the way it did. anywayz to make up for the wait i tried to make this a bit longer than my usual posts :) I hope you like it!

(also, as usual, everything here I came up with myself, and if there's any similarity to someone elses post I apologise and promise it wasn't intentional)

now without further ado,

Lance and Allura!

similar to lance and pidge, the two are decidedly Not close in the beginning

i had an entire thing about how i imagine they became friends at first written out, but it was a tad too long and i didn't want to clog up the post with too much exposition. so instead, let's just skip forward and get into their dynamic after they become buddies :) (however, if anyone wants to see the backstory I would not be opposed)

although he no longer has a crush on her, lance makes it a point to hype her up as much as he possibly can

at first allura was confused, because she thought it was him trying to flirt with her still, but once she understood what was going on she was more than willing to join in

lance when allura completely destroys the training droid: WOWZA ladies and gentlemen of the jury may I present to you the icon the legend the moment herself her royal highness princess allura of altea!!!!! if you thought that was impressive just WAIT till she gets warmed up because this is just the beginning!!! she can even do it in heels-

shiro: lance, please focus, this is really important that we-

allura: no no, shiro, please. let him finish.

they both show their friendship in slightly different ways. lance's way is that he is physically incapable of not humouring the princess

allura when lance shows her his cartwheel: incredible!!!!!!! i have never been more impressed in my life!!! do you think you could do it in heels??

lance: uhhh. y'know princess I'm really loving the faith, but-

allura: :)?

lance:.... what if you don't have my size?

lance fractured his ankle. allura has yet to stop apologising.

allura's way is definitely safer, but it's also a lot more... cluttered. to say the least.

allura, returning from a recon mission with a tiny bag filled with what looks like tiny, glittery dinosaur figurines made of glass: lance! look at what i bought for you!

lance, taking one look at the contents of the bag: wow, 'lurra, this is… so nice of you

allura: lance, are you. are you crying?

lance (definitely crying): what? NO! of course not!! I'm just. allergic, to. uh. oxygen.

allura: what.

allura never had any siblings back on altea, but she always wanted them

this, paired with how much lance misses his own family, means that the two of them kind of gravitate towards each other in terms of siblinghood.

as a child allura would imagine what it would be like to have siblings, but especially a twin. she would fall asleep to dreams of secret handshakes, finishing each other's sentences, and swapping places to trick people

she doesn't realise the brother she has found in lance until a long time after they've become close (how would she recognise a dynamic she has never been privy to?)

this realisation happens on just a random day in the castleship lounge. she is talking to hunk, when suddenly lance, who she didn't even realise was listening to their conversation, butts in and finishes her sentence.

she's annoyed at being interrupted at first, but then what happened sinks in, and suddenly she's fighting off tears. lance doesn't know why she's crying, but he hugs her anyway.

the two of them match accessories a lot

with allura's love of pretty things (and the abundance of stuff in her closet) paired with lance's natural dramatics, nobody else on the team is entirely sure of whether this is intentional or not.

it started off as intentional. it is now second nature.

one decision, however, was completely planned and thought out for exactly twenty minutes, and then deeply regretted by both parties for the next 48 hours

allura pierced lance's ears

now before you get judgemental, you try making a smart decision at two am space-time while very giddy and slightly buzzing on some weird old alien candy that not even your resident alien is sure the ingredients of. then talk to me.

pidge: okay so you're gonna need a needle, ice, and… yeah I'm pretty sure that's it

lance: don't we need a potato too

pidge: … why the fuck would you need a potato

lance: I dunno!!! my sister pierced her friend's ears one time and she mentioned a potato!!! I'm just trying to make sure everything goes well, pidge!

allura: I love these earth customs you two are showing me!! when I got my ears pierced it was done with some kind of laser, but your way sounds much more fun :).

allura: also, what is a "potato" and where can we find one?

it goes about as well as you would expect

the excited buzz on lance lasts about three ticks into the process, and then the screaming starts

pidge (the genius who came up with the idea) gives him some altean taffy to chew on to stop him from making too much noise, and allura, the angel, is babbling right along with him

allura, with tears in her eyes: how was I supposed to know it was going to hurt mine didn't hurt well it was 10,000 years ago and I was very young altean children don't have very strong pain receptors you know, maybe that's why my parents had it done at that age, or maybe your people are just completely barbaric, who thought this would be a good idea?? pidge why did you suggest this poor lonce is in tears lonce I'm so sorry but if it's any consolation at all at least now your ears won't be nearly as hideous as before and you can borrow as many of my earrings as you want except for the sparkly green ones that dangle those are my favourite well they're actually my second favourite I'm wearing my favourite - you can't borrow those either, by the way, but you can have any of the others I promise

lance, also crying and still chewing the altean taffy: hhb, llura yub domf hoff do bologuys, ss long'ss yub sanstsd thu niddle frst

allura (who did not remember to sanitize the needle), now crying freely: I don't understand what you're saying

(pidge records the entire thing)

the next day lance wakes up with ears that are very sore and slightly green, and allura faints

they spend the entire morning avoiding shiro in case they get in trouble and trying to figure out how to get the healing pods to work

lance: what do you mean you don't know allura you literally lived in one of these

allura: I was asleep the whole time!!! don't put this on me!!

lance: don't put- you are the one that pierced my ears, allura, of course it's on you!

coran, who has been watching this entire interaction in silence: oh, I thought i noticed something different about you, number three!

lance and allura: [screaming]

coran helps them set up the healing pod

unfortunately lance has to take the earrings out, so the holes close back up, but fortunately coran just so happens to know how to pierce ears the correct way that they did on altea

lance, after half a day in the healing pod, watching coran advance upon him with a literal handheld flamethrower that shoots lasers: is it too late to go back to the ear infection

coran is surprisingly very adept at the skill of altean beautification (an activity that has a surprisingly long and rich backstory, which lance and allura get an in-depth lesson on for the hour that it takes to do lance's ears properly)

they're exhausted afterwards, but lance looks great, so they're in good moods regardless

they like to teach each other about things from their respective planets - both for fun, and because it helps them feel less homesick

whenever allura is particularly down about the loss of altea, lance will visit her in her room, and the two of them will just lie together on her bed.

they don't say much, most of the time, just link their pinkies together and stare at the ceiling

when they do talk, it's quiet, and always allura who starts it - she might share something she remembers about altea, and lance listens quietly and then responds with something he misses about cuba

it isn't always sad tho - sometimes they just talk about things they remember that pop into their heads, or explain things to each other that they wouldn't otherwise know

at the space mall, they make a game out of pointing things out to each other and trying to guess what it is (allura can only guess when they're in the earth shop, but it's okay because she more than makes up for it in enthusiasm)

lance, holding a my little pony collectible: okay princess. what is this.

allura, completely serious: a weapon

lance: ... close

allura, holding up a set of magnetic heart necklaces to the light: what does… "biffs" mean?

lance: it's "bffs," princess, it means "best friends forever"

allura: oh! you mean like me and you?

lance:

lance: 'lurra what did we say about making me cry in public, we've talked about this-

(they buy the necklaces. obviously.)

they mess with each other's hair a lot

once allura learns that lance's hair is naturally curly, and that he just straightens it all of the time, she makes it her god-given mission to convince him to wear it naturally more often

this mission includes plans such as stealing his hair straightener, "donating" a bunch of curly hair products to him because she "doesn't have the space", and getting keith to say he thinks curly hair is cool one day in the rec room

she still thinks it's the funniest thing ever that that actually worked

other than week-long sabotage plots, they both think it's fun to have lance braid allura's hair

he used to braid his sister's and niece's hairs all of the time, so he has a knack for it that allura did not expect at all but is obsessed with anyway

allura, coming to lance's room a few hours before another diplomatic party: hey..... how yall doin.....

lance, already prepared with a million different brushes and bands: oh my god just get in already

lance and allura have a lot in common

one of these things, they learn very early into their relationship, is that they are both disasters when it comes to pretty girls (and boys, but that's a lance-exclusive situation)

so they become each other's wingmen

they both tend to get… a little too into it

the team: [at a diplomatic ball]

lance, seeing a pretty alien girl looking allura's way and "politely" speedwalking over to her: alluralluraalluraalluraalluralluraalluraalluraalluralluraalluraallura pretty girl look over there eleven o'clock LOOK she's gonna walk away looklooklook

allura: lance darling thank you so much for your help but I am in the middle of talking to the president

and alternatively:

allura tries to set lance and keith up all the time. at first she was worried she would be overstepping boundaries, but after one particular sleepover where lance spent an entire hour lamenting his "bad luck" she decided to take things into her own hands

this includes, but is not limited to; sending them on supply missions alone together (often), mentioning particular things lance has done to his appearance to keith every time she can, and talking about specific paladin bonds more than she maybe should

lance hates it

keith, walking into the lounge: h-

allura, immediately: hello keith!! help settle an argument, will you :)?

keith: um… okay

allura: lovely! now, tell me, do you think lance looks cuter today than he did yesterday? we can't seem to agree on whether or by he's stunning or simply handsome. what do you think?

keith: uh-

allura: oh, and while I have you, have you noticed that his ears are pierced?

lance, beet red: allu-

allura: what :(?? can't i be proud of my handiwork??

lance, to keith: I am not associated with her

after a week of this keith literally sets up a system where if allura is in a room he walks into he just does a complete 180 and walks back out

one time, at a diplomatic meeting, an alien politician mistook them for a couple and they both choked on their drinks at the same time, and then got offended that the other one agreed that the concept was insane

allura: what happened to being the princess of your dreams, lance?? I thought I MEANT something to you. obviously! i was wrong!

lance: oh yeah?? then why did you GIGGLE, allura. what's so funny, huh?? my good looks??? my charming charisma?? how far out of your league I am???

allura:

lance: okay maybe that last one was a bit of a stretch

another thing lance and allura do is pronounce each other's names wrong

they call each other lonce and allora

it started as lance kind of making fun of allura's accent, but turned into just one of their Things

allura honestly didn't know it was a bit until the habit had been long constructed

#pippa.post #pippa.canon #vld lance #vld keith #vld allura #klance #vld pidge #pippa.ask #vld shiro #i added klance bc i know you like it gia i hope this was up to your standard <3 #vld coran #vld team

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babydarkstar · 3 years

Text

cacoethes

part two: bring your sweet loving

rating: E (18+ ONLY) || pairing: ezra x f!reader || word count: 10.5k

chapter summary: as the night winds down and tensions simmer, we learn more about you, pieces of your past, and your relationship with ezra.

warnings: ezra’s gigantic mouth that won’t shut up (suggestive language) and two criminals not knowing how to act; caretaking, i guess? reader cleans ezra but it’s nothing erotic; SMUT; handjob and graphic depictions of a glorious dick; dirty talk; dubcon maybe bc painkillers but he’s enthusiastic abt it; praise kink; switches having a great time; ezra’s subby in this but i promise he’s a dom too just not tonight; mentions of death, killing, tattoos, scars; mention of past drug use, bad coping mechanisms; mm i hc that ezra is a tiny tattoo guy so there’s that; fluff bc im sweet; author is a southern peach, forgive her if it gets a little slow and twangy up in here

a/n: un-beta’d bc mistakes are sexy. i’ll go back later and fix whatever i find but for now. enjoy. i’m literally just making shit up about this universe as we go but it’s working out for the best so bear with me. lmk if u want me to add u to be tagged here. tagging: @pedros-mustache @jk7789

crossposted to ao3 :) || playlist || one || two || three

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Here, Cee,” you said, adjusting the threadbare blanket over your cot and splaying a hand over it while she eyed you from across the tent, still standing amongst the carnage of a violent field surgery, “I’ll sleep on the floor tonight.”

The poor girl was scared. Well—not scared, not anymore.

Vengeful, for certain, though it seemed to dwindle with every minute she watched you interact.

Definitely wary of the two of you.

Which was appropriate, given that Ezra had killed her father and left her alone on an uninhabitable moon, only to be scooped up by his partner and deceived into thinking she was safe, and then forced to perform impromptu surgery to hack off an arm. But she appeared more wary to accept help from you than wary of you.

And honestly, if Ezra hadn’t just lost a limb and you didn’t want to hover beside him after not seeing him for a month to make sure he didn’t slip the veil in his sleep or disappear beneath your fingertips—and if you weren’t trying to earn her trust, you’d have made her take the floor.

But things were different now, they might always be. She had saved his life. You owed her your cot to sleep on.

“Wait,” Ezra said, swallowing thickly as he blinked, seeming to just process the words you had spoken, “You think so little of me that I’d let you sleep on the dirt after the day you’ve had? Now, I agree that our guest should find comfort in a cot of her own, but I will not deny you the simple respite of sleep. That would prove me an unworthy companion.”

“Ezra,” you said, giving him a look of incredulity that seeped into your tone, “You can’t be serious.”

He eyed you and clenched his jaw, still stomaching the fact that he had one less limb to worry about, and a bunch more problems to deal with. It was a look that told you he was not arguing with you, you were going to sleep on the cot. He would not be coddled like a child just because he lost an arm.

Which was, in itself, ridiculous. You didn’t plan to coddle him—you weren’t the type, not really. But. He’d lost a fucking arm. But he was also still delirious from the anesthetic, so that didn’t help his desire to prove something to the universe.

“You’re taking the cot, I’m not having this conversation,” you said, wiping his sweaty brow with your sleeve, “Tap into the ruthless outlaw inside of you and take it without regret. You know I hardly sleep anyways, I’ll live without a bed for the night.”

“Then I must insist you share it with me, precious angel,” he sighed, and you could almost see the cogs in his head turning as his distant gaze darkened into something hungry, “I’ve longed to feel your body pressed against mine since I left with Number Two. The divinity of your skin.” He hummed, eyes fluttering shut, “More…more precious than the ore we risk our lives for. Sweeter than fruit. Fresher than a rainstorm.”

“Ez,” you warned, snapping a glare at him.

“Your body…so tender, warm,” he continued, entranced in his own fantasy, not even hearing you when you warned him yet again, “All soft and pliant beneath my touch. It has been far too long since we partook in a pleasure as indulgent as one another—before our partnership with Two, if I can recall. Grant me heaven tonight. I deserve the satisfaction of watching you drip honey for me—”

“Hey! None of that,” you snapped, cocking an eyebrow—and fighting the flutter in your chest and the heat tingling down your core, “There are young ears present, Shakespeare Erotica. Not to mention young eyes.”

You would do no such thing with him as long as this teenager remained in close quarters and under your care. He turned to look at Cee, as if he’d forgotten all about her for a moment. Or maybe it was that he didn’t care. Bastard.

“I’m okay as long as you guys don’t fuck in front of me,” Cee sighed, resigned to have dealt with too much in her past to be worried about flirting—no, verbal-fucking.

“We won’t be doing any of that,” you assured her, giving Ezra another pointed look before slinging his arm around your shoulders and helping him to the cot. He grumbled incoherently, moaning and groaning the few steps it took to ease him down into the squeaky frame.

When you finally got him down—forced him to lay down—he let out another soft whimper of pain, followed by your name. “Don’t go.”

Brushing the hair off his sweaty forehead, you bent down to press a kiss there, “M’right here, Ez. Rest. I’m gonna clean you up, okay?”

It was the least you could do—and that way you could take inventory of every inch of him to ensure he didn’t have any other wounds hiding and festering and threatening his life. Just as this wouldn’t be your first time tending to him while he laid incapacitated, he’d done the same for you plenty of times. There was very little, if anything at all, the two of you hadn’t seen of each other. Vulnerability had another name here: normalcy.

“After—” he rasped up at you, coughing and then righting himself, “After we find our way off this Kevva-damned moon—which we will—I understand if you no longer deem me…worthy of your affections. It’s the only explanation I can find for your denial of my offer to dote on you. I only pray you make good on your long-standing promise to drop me where I stand should I ever disappoint you, dear heart of mine.”

Okay, you didn’t know where all the insecurity and sentiment was coming from, especially hearing it from the mouth of your dear old confident mean-streak Ezra, but he couldn’t possibly be serious. It made you ache to think that he didn’t trust you to stay with him, that he viewed himself as lesser because he lost his arm. Well, he was lesser, but only by mass.

Also, really? The only explanation he could find for you not wanting to sleep with him was that you hated him and didn’t want him because of his injury? He couldn’t think of any more glaringly obvious reasons, those of which had just been pointed out to him?

With a sigh, you brushed your thumb across the silvery scar on his cheek, “Rest now, chatterbox. I’ll be here when you wake up—and every morning after, for as long as I can. Only death could pry you from me, and me from you. You’ve got me, forever….I still see you as you are—a hundred percent you, a hundred percent mine.”

The words felt foreign on your lips, but he was bound to forget them the moment he fell asleep, so you didn’t feel as weird waxing poetic right back at him. The man had rubbed off on you in more ways than one. You normally didn’t speak to one another so frankly—at least, you didn’t, given the nature of what it meant to care out here and how you’d already unofficially established that you two were something more—but tonight you couldn’t fucking help it.

Ezra leaned into your touch, pawing at it with his hand, grabbing onto your fingers and kissing into your palm. A dull smile poked at his mouth and he let it engulf him. “Quite the charmer you are, siren.”

You didn’t respond, only half-smiled and wriggled—reluctantly—from his grasp to grab a few clean cloths and fill a bucket with water. After squirting the sanitizing solution in the water, you simmered the lights down to the lowest setting, to where your eyes had to adjust for a moment before you could make your way across the tent. His gaze bore into you—no, both Ezra and Cee watched every move you made; one in lazy admiration and the other in curiosity.

“Do you need me to put a drape over the post? I’m strippin’ him,” you asked Cee as you slung Ezra’s clean shirt from off the drying line onto your shoulder—you smiled at the floor, thanking yourself from hours ago for deciding not to burn it. You grabbed the bucket and tottered over to him, nodding at him to scoot. He obliged, giving you room to sit by his hip so you could ease his clothes off.

Cee shook her head when you looked to her for a response, opting to sit on your cot facing away from you with her nose in her book, so you shrugged and tugged the fabric off of Ezra in slow, deliberate motions, wincing every time he grunted.

As you took the time to clean off the grime and dirt and sweat of the Green, he told you about running into Cee and her father Damon; how he tried to take his entire harvest from the few cycles he’d spent with Two; about Two’s untimely, irrational outburst that cost them their life. About the Queen’s Lair and the mercs, and the plan to ravage and plunder and take it all for themselves. You thought the Queen’s Lair was a rumor. Not even a rumor—a myth, a legend, something fabricated by desperate fools with hazy minds of dust and their eyes set on fortune. But Ezra told you he’d seen part of it marked on Cee’s map, that her father was contracted to help extract the deposit. Cee even pulled her map out to point to the marked areas, albeit with clinical movements and short words.

So you made a plan to head out at first light, with the trip taking most of the daylight, and they’d be cutting it close but there was no way you’d let Ezra hike so many klicks in his state—not without a few hours’ rest first.

After you’d managed to clean his legs, his hips, his feet and get him into something more comfortable than compression pants, you moved to his torso and traced over each scar marring his skin, each jagged edge where something hadn’t healed right or wasn’t stitched properly. He’d lost some weight under the harsh conditions of the Green—you both had. But he still held onto muscle from the toil that came with survival on such harsh terrain; and he was naturally broad, he always would be, which made him sturdy.

Your fingers ghosted over a few microtattoos he’d gotten; one beneath his ribcage, one on his hipbone, and the one you’d given him yourself on his lower sternum. That one, as you brushed over it with a wet cloth, never failed to make you smile. A sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

A tiny, unfilled heart, a mere outline, barely a centimeter in size. It was messy, simple, done in minutes. But it meant something, meant exactly what you’d never quite been able to voice.

My heart is yours. Take it.

You’d done it one night when the two of you had gone on a two spin bender, which happened more towards the end of your glory days, when the drugs came easy and heavy and the illusion of time slipped by like sand on the wind.

Any time someone hired your services as cleaners, it took a toll. They didn’t do it often because of that, but the payout was worth the work. No matter how many times you swore you would never do it again, you went back. Because it was hard to ignore the way it felt to flood a deserving someone’s mouth with the taste of their own blood, or to slip a knife in between their ribs and let it slide like butter and watch the light die. It was hard to ignore that you liked it, especially when it was so violent—one of the worst sins to commit, and you enjoyed it.

The act of killing had become cathartic for you. It made you feel more alive, reminded you that you had a beating, bloody heart, and a brain, and veins that pumped blood, and muscles that tore apart and rebuilt themselves stronger. Killing came easy when you didn’t know the target. It felt like a game.

Ezra didn’t enjoy it as much as you did—not to say he didn’t enjoy it at all, for he most certainly did. But he didn’t process it the same way you did. He saw killing as a means to survive and a means to get where he needed to go. He enjoyed turning it into a game, making fun out of whatever circumstance presented itself.

But that one—the last one—it had gone wrong. Messy, slow, noisy, choppy. There was only supposed to be one person in the house: typical target, a man who owed the wrong people a whole lot of money and refused to pay up.

One man.

One man was all you’d expected.

One man was all you’d been instructed would be in the condo.

He went down easy enough, quiet enough—Ezra snuffed him and stuffed him and you’d made to transfer his points into the right pockets.

And that was that.

They had tossed the bodybag over the high-rise balcony and into the pits of the bottomless highway next to the building, with a blinker-bomb inside just in case.

That was that.

Except it wasn’t, it was so fucking far from it.

Ezra, being himself, had wanted so bad to sneak in a quickie before heading back—an unholy, immoral ritual you two had initiated, to fuck where you killed—and who were you to protest? Who were you to say no to pretty words and soft eyes glittering with an untamed wild? To say no to the hands that already ripped at gear and pushed beneath underwear just to get a taste—you couldn’t, it was impossible.

Fresh off a high of adrenaline, pulsing with nervous energy—he was always so good, he always got you right where you needed and then that much further.

And Ezra—being himself—could not keep his fucking mouth shut. The stereotype about men holding in their moans, about them never whimpering or whining or groaning or grunting—yeah, that was a load of Bearkie-shit.

Maybe it held true for some men, but.

Not your Ezra. Not even a little bit.

He talked like heaven’s mouthpiece—or maybe the devil, given all the sinful things he’d whisper to you in the crux of any given night. He let loose whatever noise he deemed necessary to make.

They’d only just made it to the dried, bloody stain on the carpet (a bed on which to copulate), knocking over a floating hilolamp and pulling a chuckle from your paramour, when a shout rang through the apartment and shattered your moment into a thousand pieces.

It was only supposed to be one. One man.

Instead, you were met with another man who you’d later learn to be his brother, the target’s mother, and his pregnant wife.

The man held onto some type of curved sports bat, keeping it up threateningly as if warning you of something imposing. Ezra didn’t hesitate to shoot him in the head, not even bothering to get up from where he’d pressed his hips between your legs. But then you’d had to go and check the other rooms, effectively killing any mood the two of you had shared.

Because fuck, where the men had no fight in them, the women wouldn’t go down without a struggle. Or maybe it was that you pitied them, and it distracted you. They’d already peeked their heads out from behind the door of the master bedroom, worried and doe-eyed and determined.

Maybe if they hadn’t seen your faces—if they’d still been asleep while you swept for warm bodies after the first assailant—maybe they’d have gotten out with their lives. But who were you kidding? You killed without thought. You’d likely have put a pillow over their heads before aiming your thrower and firing twice for good measure, had you been sharp and not distracted by a tongue in your mouth.

Instead, Ezra had the audacity to try to bargain with them. Something about having a soft spot for mothers—his own having been a beacon in his life until she left him orphaned as a young boy. He made it a point not to kill women and children. It was one thing in which he remained unwavering. (He’d kill a grown woman if she gave him reason to, like he had on Exon-5, but that was another story for another time, and a different circumstance which called for such measures, namely that of protecting you.) But he should have known better, he should have known not to try something like that. He should’ve known that he’d have to let go of the final shred of morality he held onto.

So Ezra took down the old woman in a way you still have yet to ask about and don’t care to know; and you’d ended with the pregnant woman choking on her own blood when you twisted your knife into the dip of her throat—and you felt awful about it after watching her crumble beneath you, but she’d hit you upside the head with a thick textbook of outdated skimmer-craft modules and it made you see red among pinpricks of stars.

And that night, after all was said and done they’d spent a fortune on getting high—just to forget, just to be okay.

That night they’d locked themselves in a self-imposed prison of satin sheets and destructive tendencies. Two days buzzing with no food, little water, just him and you and needles and spoons and eyedroppers and blades and pills. Like you couldn’t breathe if he didn’t fill you with all of him, you wouldn’t be able to stand upright if he took his hands off you and stopped letting you flood your veins with a chemical glow. Heavy eyelids, messy sex, raw arms and red eyes.

It felt fucking awful, coping that way, but it felt too fucking good and it made you forget about the lives you’d taken in (somewhat) cold blood.

So after sprawling beside him on the gigantic plush bed with his hand ghosting over your spine, you’d found a part of yourself snagged at the corner of this wild-eyed man’s tar-black soul, and you had thought about what could have happened in an alternate universe.

A moment when he was the target, you were (somehow) the pregnant wife, and you watched him die before succumbing to the dark of your own soul escaping you. And it made you desperate to cling to him as he was in the moment, desperate to know that he was yours and you were his. It was then that you’d asked him if you could mark him. Claim him, to know that he wouldn’t leave you like that, and if he did, he’d have a piece of you everywhere. He’d go down with a piece of you.

Ezra had been delighted, of course, as he was always one for symbolism and deeper meaning even if he didn’t quite understand the rhetoric. And it wasn’t the first time you’d marked each other, just a different time with a different meaning. So he let you dip a sterile needle in ink and plunge it into the tender skin of his chest.

You had one too, a heart on your sternum. Nestled between your breasts, just close enough to your heart to feel like it mattered, like it meant that he felt the same. But you didn’t even let yourself go that far—you two were doped up and delirious and he enjoyed marking you in any way he could, so an opportunity to stick and poke his way further into your skin than he already had was an opportunity he could not pass up. At least, that was how you saw it. Nevertheless, it made you happy to see it there on his chest, and to have one that matched.

Ezra’s soft voice snapped you from the memory.

“What’s crossed your mind to make you so delicate in your touch, so solemn in your stare?”

You realized you had stopped your ministrations and had planted your palm on his chest, staring just over his shoulder and onto the canvas beside him. With a careful hand, you resumed gentle motion over his pecs, up his clavicle, his throat.

“Thinking about Beta-Mobilia,” you whispered, unable to meet his eye, “And after.”

“Mm,” he grunted in recognition, the vibration tickling your fingertips, “Regrettable night. Unavoidable, necessary. But I dwell in shame identical to yours.”

“I don’t deserve to be here after that. I didn’t deserve to live after the Exons, The Grime. Why am I still alive?”

“We’ve discussed this in great length by now, siren. Don’t doubt your existence. It’s beyond sense, beyond comprehension.”

You nodded, still unable to look at him. But then he latched onto your wrist, brushing his calloused thumb over the delicate skin there, and this time you couldn’t keep your gaze away from the soft smile that begged to form on his lips.

“And I appreciate your tender care, wildfire,” he hummed, eyes glittering up at you like two dark pools of amber, “Where would I be without it? Mmm…mhm. Dead, likely. Or bitter. Wicked with taciturn rage. No meaning could come from that.”

“You, bitter and unspeaking? Unthinkable, I’d sooner pronounce you dead,” you drawled, thankful for his kindness to grant distraction, and he granted you an eye-roll. But his expression softened when you sat him upright and maneuvered behind him, wiping down his back in gentle strokes. You folded the cloth over once the side turned brown with grime, and moved up to his neck, scrubbing over his shoulders and giving short strokes down his nape and behind his ears.

“So you planned to go ravage the Queen without me, huh?” you asked quietly, irked that he hadn’t even come to find you before setting out on that venture, “Planned to leave me to rot on the Green, take the money for yourself and steal away with the girl.”

Ezra sighed, and you could see from behind his shoulder how he worked his jaw, formulating what to say.

“Understand that I do nothing without you willingly. Birdie over there’s about as fleeting as a real one. But trust that I planned to come get you—I’d never leave you stranded. I just couldn’t introduce another person into the threadbare alliance I had forged until the time was right.”

“She likes me,” you countered, smiling over at Cee, who now laid with her back facing you as her ribs contracted with the first breaths of sleep. A sign of trust. You didn’t know when exactly you’d earned it, but you’d accept it nonetheless. She had also taken both of your throwers (something you protested and Ezra waved off), so maybe that helped.

“No doubt—there’s plenty to like about you.”

Ever the flatterer, even when delirious with pain.

With a coy smile, you scrubbed over his head and then his face, careful to avoid his snapping mouth that reached out ever so often to nip at your hand—there was that playfulness, the natural effervescence of his presence. When you decided your work was done, you eased him back down on the cot and he allowed it with no protest.

You fluffed his pillow and moved the book you’d stashed beside it. He turned his head and pressed his nose to the pillow, grunting in mild appreciation.

“Smells like you down here,” he remarked with a half-smile, eyes drooping, “You sleep on my cot while I was away?”

“I missed you,” you whispered, nodding, just now aware of how much his presence affected you. To think that you had resolved to try to move on without him—it seemed ridiculous now.

“I missed you,” he returned, “You haven’t the slightest idea how much I wanted you beside me. Number Two was a fond ally but not a companion. Nothing like the banter we exchange, nor the secrets we share.”

“They never talked. I imagine your time away was just as lonely as mine.”

“Absolutely. I regret agreeing to leave with Two. But you know we couldn’t have trusted them to stay at camp while we went off—not absolutely. Not when they’d never spoken a word,” he chuckled and then coughed, a quiet rumble you felt against your leg as it zigzagged through his chest.

Thank Kevva you had a plan to leave now. The spent filter had taken a toll on Ezra—and it wasn’t even his to begin with. He insisted on giving you his when the one your new suit came with was almost completely used up.

Fuck the man for caring about you; he’d gone soft during your time on the Green, and you hated how much you loved it. Hated it because he needed to focus on himself, needed to stop putting you before him. Hated it because every day it made you feel like somehow, he loved you back. That somehow, he thought of you as more than just a constant in his life, more than a body to fuck and a brain to pick.

You’d grown used to each other. But his unpredictability oozed into every aspect of himself, every nook and cranny of his life, and you were too worried about fucking up a good thing over a simple conversation. All it took was one sensitive topic breached and you’d surely find yourself shit out of luck. He was all you had left of the scraps of a fucked up life. Without him, you’d make do but not without a struggle and not without reluctance. Some part of you knew he’d be the same even if he initiated a split.

The thought had you hurrying to tug his shirt on before gathering the cloths and scurrying to place the bucket near the front of the tent.

And you shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with him—the two of you rarely kept things to yourselves. But to love someone so fully within your heart, to never want to be away from them, to never grow tired of their presence no matter how tedious they may be or frustrating they could get, it scared you.

“A kiss for the wounded?” Ezra asked, brown eyes wide and mouth pouty enough to break you from your racing mind. You softened then, padding back over to him on tiptoe and settling back at his side for a brief moment.

With a gentle smile, you leaned down to grant him a kiss to his lips—the first one you’d shared with him in fuck knows how long. Too long, that was for sure, because when your lips notched with his chapped ones you melted, every worry and every qualm simply washed away in a swirl of pink pleasure.

You couldn’t help yourself—an indulgent, quiet moan pooled in your chest and slipped from your throat before you could stop it, and he hummed right back when his tongue pushed between your lips and you let him devour you. Always the ravager, ever a greedy bastard when it came to his pleasure, he licked up into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours. It took very little for you to melt right into his chest, pressing your own against him and whimpering when he sneaked his hand up the hem of your shirt to rub circles over the skin of your back. You remained sloppy and almost lazy but intentional as you held either side of his nape and toyed with the strands of his still-damp hair, pouring yourself into this kiss like you’d never kiss him again.

Fuck. Fuck, you wanted him so bad. You missed this man with every vibrating inch of you. You missed his body, you missed his voice calling to you from the very depths of himself, you missed everything about him, and you needed him as close as possible. Closer than close, you needed him.

But fuck. You couldn’t. When you pulled back for air, it didn’t surprise you when he pressed his palm flat on your back to keep you from moving too far.

“Mm, baby—you’re divine. I ache for you,” he all but whimpered into your mouth, breath brutally hot and heavy as he fed you his soul, “Come sit down on me—come take what’s yours. I want to feel you strangle me, show me just how much you—”

“No, Ez,” you cut him off in a biting whisper, lips kiss-swollen, hating how, if there had been literally any other person in the tent beside you, you might’ve taken him up on the offer, “I want to, I promise you that. But she’s a kid and I have limits—one of those limits is fucking in the same room as one.” You glared at him with half a heart, then leaned down to run the tip of your nose along the curve of his ear, smiling when he shivered, “I swear, once we get out of here I’ll make it up to you so many times you’ll forget your own name. You get first choice—however you want me, I’m yours to take.”

“Fuck—alright, I apologize for my eagerness,” he smiled, tilting his head to kiss your forehead.

“But,” you whispered, your heart racing as you glanced over to be sure Cee had fallen asleep before inching up to look back into his eyes. Fuck it, he deserved it. “If you stay quiet, I’ll take care of you right now.”

His eyebrows raised in deft interest at your offer.

“Will you let me take care of you, Sailor?”

Ezra would never admit it, and you’d never tease him about it because it made you feel some kind of way—but he fucking adored when you used his callsign. You were his siren, after all. Only made sense for him to draw to you like a dying man at sea when you called for him. You used it rarely aside from in the field, opting for your preferred chatterbox—because he was more that than anything else—so it came as a treat when you decided to pull it from your bag of tricks.

“I can hardly refuse such a tempting offer.”

“Quiet, though,” you reminded him, tiptoeing your fingers across his chest and tugging the waistband of his pants and his underwear down. Just enough to spring his cock free, which was already hard and leaking for you.

Fuck, he was such a gorgeous sight, and you couldn’t help the urge to cup his balls and nudge them free too, to admire every glorious inch of him.

Spreading your fingers out over his groin through the coarse curls gone wild with mistreatment, you paid extra attention to the white patch of hair ghosting over the base of his cock and spreading out near his abdomen before stopping abruptly on the left and diverging back down into dark brown. You remember when you’d first noticed it and had all but squealed in delight.

Every bit of him was a pleasant surprise, just as you’d found yourself more than eager to let him ruin you for anybody else with the sheer size of him.

Nobody fucked you like they were dying and you were salvation; nobody but him. And shit, did he tear you open. As if he’d carved a space inside of you just for him, each time he’d leave you with a hollow ache that only he could sate.

“Baby,” you purred in a whisper, kissing his hipbone and then leaning up to wrap your hand around the girth of him, rubbing your thumb over the weeping red of the head, “You’re so pretty for me like this.” Forever a glutton for compliments, he whimpered his soft appreciation and you hushed him accordingly. He was so thick, so big that you struggled to touch the tip of your middle finger to your thumb, so long that if you had planned to swallow him down tonight, you would’ve been needing your hand to help. But tonight you could not risk the absolutely filthy noise of you gagging on him; he’d likely cum faster and in less time to worry about waking up a certain tentmate, but you wanted to watch every muscle in his face twitch, wanted to see him take his pleasure unobstructed by your tears. This way was quieter.

So with that thought in mind, you shifted to straddle one of his thighs so you could watch him without tiring your hand in an awkward position. Then you let a string of spit drool down and over him and you gave him a twist and then more, sharp and sudden and fast in your movements as opposed to the slow, appreciative way you’d unsheathed him.

Ezra hissed out a curse, bucking up into your hand, “Shit, darlin’—“

Arching an eyebrow, you halted your work on him immediately. His pulse beat through the throbbing vein jutting out

“What did I tell you?” you snapped. With your free hand you reached up and wrapped your fingers around his neck, feeling the column of his throat contracting as he swallowed. Wide brown eyes looked up at you, a tinge of amusement in their stare.

“Are you gonna be good for me?” you asked in a low rasp, tightening your grip on his neck and giving him a little shake before going slack again, “I don’t wanna hear a single word come outta that pretty-boy mouth. If I do, I’m blue-balling you. Fair?”

Ezra nodded, his gorgeous fat mouth blessedly shut for once.

“Good boy,” you cooed, kissing him before forcing his jaw open and spitting in his mouth. It would’ve been cruel but you meant it so affectionately, and his gentle moan told you he was more than willing to accept it.

You felt his cock twitch beneath your fingers and you simpered, giving a little shimmy of your shoulders in appreciation.

Controlling this stubborn man, resorting him to silence made you feel powerful. It made you feel respected, worshipped; if the man who never shut up and always called the shots would gladly take the backseat and grant you the power to take charge, that meant more than you could wish for.

So you resumed pumping his cock, working him with both hands and then switching to hold onto his throat again before going back to two hands. The act still made quite some noise—filthy and wet and sloppy—but at this point you were less concerned about it than you had been prior. When you decided, despite his tip dripping precum, to spit down onto him again for the fun of it and twist him with a gentle tug, he couldn’t stop the whine that left him even with his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. It had you darting to clamp over his mouth, shooting daggers down at him as he stared up with a silent apology in his eyes, one you might have taken as genuine if not for the way the brown of his irises had disappeared into black, blown out with lust and glassy with pleasure.

“If you’re gonna cum, let me know so you can do it in my mouth. I just cleaned you up and I’m not doing it again.”

The last bit came out harsher than you meant but he took it all the same, biting back a grunt in the form of a sharp exhale as he twitched violently in your hand. Yeah, he didn’t really need to let you know when he was about to blow; you knew him too well. At that, you took it upon yourself to remove your hand from his mouth in favor of scooting to lean down and put your mouth over his angry, swollen tip, flinching at the way the frame creaked but ignoring it and opting to swirl your tongue over him instead.

“There it is,” you whispered with an arguably evil smile—quickly, before pulling him back into the heat of your mouth, resuming your work and grunting when he bucked up into your mouth, chasing the high you were drawing out of him.

Ezra came with a muffled, broken sob, his face buried in his arm as he bit down on his bicep, flexing and squeezing his fingers. A thick stream of his cum hit the roof of your mouth and you indulged him, taking him in further so you could swallow everything he gave you. Ropes and ropes and ropes of cum, like he hadn’t let himself get off in so long, like he’d been saving all of it for you. The thought made you whine around him, and you pulled off when he finished, flashing him your dripping tongue with his spend still on it and drawing it back in before any of it could spill.

“Holy fuck, baby,” he sighed, letting out a quiet, breathy laugh as he tugged on the front of your shirt to kiss you, tasting himself on your tongue.

This time when you pulled back and smiled, you granted him a toothy grin, goofy and knowing. It took you a minute not to giggle like a little kid as you carded your fingers through his hair. He grinned right back, still catching his breath. To you, he was gorgeous, inside and out, flaws and all. You wanted to fuck him right then. You wanted to make love to him, to let him fill you entirely and to sob into his mouth, showing him everything you couldn’t tell him.

“Get some sleep,” you settled on instead, slipping off the cot with little grace after replacing the waistband of his pants, “We head out early tomorrow.”

“Hey now, what about you?” Ezra asked, brows drawn together in concern that you wouldn’t find the same enjoyment he did.

“You’ll just owe me.” You winked then, and gave him one last kiss, which he hummed into with a great appreciative rumble.

Then you pressed your forehead into his, “Mine—you’re mine. Never leave me again or I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself. You’re everything.”

Because he was.

“Nothing without you.”

That was his response, always always always. To hear it again pricked tears in your eyes, so much so you squeezed them shut.

And once again, you caught yourself wanting to say it. This time it had ghosted in your throat, almost making it into the curve of your mouth for you to hold its shape and give voice to a thought. But you stopped it before it could get far. Those three words, the same ones that now haunted you since you’d decided to indulge in every reminiscence involving them. Somehow he had come back to you, a feat which could not be commended enough, but now you ached for him—yearned for him even stronger than if he had well and truly died.

As you settled down onto the floor beside him, those three torturous words surfaced into a memory. The one that, among other fears, made you ever so hesitant to admit just how much you loved him.

————————————

“—In that vein, I don’t find myself in particular need of a great, star-shattering love story. If love is all-encompassing, I can do without the obstacle. Romanticizing my life and its quarrels is satisfaction enough.”

You didn’t know why you were still listening. You just knew that if Ezra kept it up, you’d find a way out of this cell just to break into his and strangle him. Anything to get him to shut the hell up. Banging your head methodically against the wall that separated the two of you, you didn’t even try to hold back your groan of displeasure as he rambled on.

“Now, don’t doubt my skill in worship. I have plenty of practice in the art of copulation”—you could hear the shit-eating grin on his face—“To say I haven’t affixed my interests on one soul or another at some point in time would ordain me a liar. I simply prefer to remain lovers in action…and not in name nor feeling. Companionship…yes, it’s something we all yearn for. It can’t be helped. A warm body, a brain to pick. All wonderful facets to enjoy for the sake of one’s own baser desiderata. But—“

“Shut up,” you bit out through gritted teeth, tugging at the roots of your hair when he kept going and you had to repeat yourself, “Shut up, you goddamned chatterbox. I don’t give a fuck about your love life. Why are you even talking about this?”

A brief silence occupied the space, as if he was thoroughly perplexed by your outburst. Then he let out a huffed laugh, amused.

“You inquired about the specifics of my occupation, little thorn.”

Every time he used that nickname for you—the thorn in my side—it made you bristle. Especially when he used it almost affectionately, soothingly, full of calm and charm that had you balling your fists and pricking the skin of your palms with your fingernails. You despised him, and he treated your existence as a joke, or as a little pet he would grab from its cage and admire before tossing it back and neglecting it until he deemed its presence acceptable again. Everything was funny. Everything could be laughed at. Sometimes you didn’t mind when the guards came to beat him bloody; it made him shut up, whether from pain or because he had passed out.

“Prospecting has nothing to do with love,” you snapped, shoulders tense despite the ache in your body. If these fuckers holding you captive didn’t kill you, the stress of surviving next to this fucker surely would.

“No, it doesn’t,” he agreed, suddenly serious, “Love for others, at least. Love for the dig, love for the hunt and the adventure—that’s a different narrative altogether. Which is why I deemed it appropriate to explain such measures. The lifestyle I settled for is no small undertaking. It comes with sacrifice.”

His condescension was unintentional but still stabbed and poked at you like keepers at a circus.

————————————

It comes with sacrifice. That it did.

That long-ago night haunted you to this day.

But Ezra had his mind focused on softer dreams as he broke you from your self-destruction once more.

“Nights like these make me keen to hear you sing for me again,” he lilted out through the dark, a reminiscent simper pulling at his mouth and crinkling his eyes as he shifted to look down at you, “The melody of your voice haunts the halls of my midnight reveries. But it is such a sweet possession—as though I willed a ghost to enchant me with her gift. A siren indeed. Lure me into the sea of your deception, try to pull me under like the rest of them. But not me. No…not me—I float like driftwood in the breeze…follow the tides of your affection. Somehow I remain unscathed, and you lap at me in gentle waves.”

“Such powerful words from a man who should be asleep,” you chuckled quietly, pressing your lips to the back of his hand where you held onto it now, fingers laced.

“I am but a vendor of poetry. And you, a weaver of melody. Sing for me, siren,” he murmured, his voice thick with the drowsy pull of lassitude. He hadn’t asked that of you in so long you had almost forgotten what it felt like to hear it. Almost. And you would have agreed to it, but—

“No, the girl, she—“

“I don’t mind,” Cee interrupted, quiet and soft. It surprised you; you thought she had fallen asleep—you didn’t want to wake her with your singing. And then you were—

Shit. You sincerely hoped she had just woken up due to Ezra’s long-winded soliloquy about your singing, and hadn’t heard anything else beyond that. Mm, no. You think she would’ve said something about how fucking gross it was. Or pulled a thrower on you.

“As well you shouldn’t,” Ezra chuckled, turning his head to grin at the girl where she had turned to face him on the opposite cot, “She sings like Kevva strung her throat with gold. Or the very strings of a harp.”

You blushed and ducked your head into your shoulder, embarrassed by his flattery. Looked to him and found his honey-dark eyes drinking you in from above, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he flattened his palm over your chest and rubbed it affectionately. “What would you like to hear?” you asked, running a hand over your hair and shifting on the floor to calm your nerves.

It was just Ez.

…and a girl who harbored a teen angst bigger than ten moons; fuck if you wanted her to judge you.

“Whatever tickles your fancy,” he replied, his grin wider now that you’d agreed, “You know I’m not particular to any one hymn—I find myself enraptured by it all.”

“Okay.” You pondered for a moment before settling on one of your favorites.

Then you sang.

Quietly, nervously at first in an unpracticed rasp, then growing more steady and mellow and soft.

Some swirling folk melody from your childhood in your native tongue, one you’d never forget even if someday you lost your memory. A lullaby for village children; a lilting work song for the women to hum when laundering clothes at the stream, soothing the babies strapped to their backs or their chests or both.

It told the story of a curious young girl who loved the stillness of the ocean, found peace in its silky depths. She liked the silence so much that she would spend hours beneath the water, training to hold her breath and exploring the creatures of the reef and listening to the wavering silence.

Until one humming summer night she swam so deep the water turned black. She was scared she wouldn’t be able find her way back home but she reveled in the quiet—the quiet that not even the nighttime forest could provide, nor the village when the hunters and scavengers left for work. It was then that she saw a light shining from the deep, and decided to chase it.

Down, down, down.

And down. Until the light became so bright it surrounded her, seeped into her until she did not know where she began and it ended. No pain, no fear surrounded her. Just a sense of calm, and peace.

And she became the moon, the biggest one in the sky. The silence up there was incomparable.

The song was meant as a warning to the village children not to wander too far from the town and somehow find themselves in the cove breaching the outer mountain range. A warning to stay away, else you’d become one of the many moons in the sky, never to return to your family and the life you loved.

But you’d always found it more compelling than that, more meaningful, because the story originated from a similar legend of the moon goddess your village worshipped, the deity of the biggest satellite in your skies. The minor difference came in the detail that she chose to become the Great Moon after divine conversation instead of chasing a light down into the deep on a whim. And there was a ceremony held to initiate her transition into a celestial body.

When you’d wrapped up the lullaby you found yourself more at peace than you’d felt in a long time. You didn’t like to think about your planet, nor your village, nor the tragedies that occurred there. But this memory was a happy one, filled with sleepy eyes and chubby fingers grabbing onto mothers’ cloaks, and getting tucked into warm soft blankets by a fireplace.

“Sweet siren,” Ezra whispered in a drowsy slur, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as he turned to rest on his back, “Never fail to soothe me even when ’m in utmost anguish.”

And with that, he left you in silence, and you knew he wasn’t far from sleep.

By the time his breath evened out, you felt your eyes drooping.

Fuck, you were exhausted.

This spin had been arguably more eventful than any you’d had in a long while, and it didn’t occur to you that you could be tired when you’d hardly done much until the action rolled in.

The floor was actually not half bad, given that you laid on the tarp that absorbed heat but quickly cooled when you moved. The nights here got cold, surprisingly. But Ezra’s hand hanging down and resting across your chest felt so good. The weight of him, the heat of him, it grounded you. You circled patterns into his upturned palm until you became too sleepy for that, settling on threading your fingers with his and feeling his pulse beneath your fingertips.

How dare he think you’d care for him less with only one arm? If anything, it showed his perseverance, his will to move forward and make hard decisions. Only something a man with determination could do.

He felt so warm and sure—steady. He was safe now that he had come back. You felt the inky black of sleep begin to wash over you as organized thought became jumbled feeling.

You didn’t have to worry anymore, not about his whereabouts. Everything was alright. It was as good as it had been in quite a while.

Everything would be alright, you could just…

Just…

“I wish my parents had loved each other like that,” Cee murmured in the quiet dark of the tent, rendering you wide awake with a jolt, as if someone had plunged a shot of adrenaline into your chest.

“They separate?” you managed, knowing it came out strange but not wanting to confirm or deny anything about you and Ezra. The silence that greeted you implied that she had had no intention of you hearing it. But she spoke regardless.

“No,” she scoffed, then went quiet for a moment, “My mom died when I was little. And I can’t remember what they were like together. We were always working so there wasn’t a lot of time for love between them.”

Oh. An orphan. It softened you a little more for her, made you more sympathetic to the fact that Ezra had killed her last living parent. You were an orphan too. So was he.

“We’re all missing parts of our family in some way or another. People with worldly attachments don’t usually sign up for this level of intensity. Not the strays, anyhow.”

“But you have each other,” she insisted.

“By chance alone. We didn’t start off liking each other. And we’re not…married, or anything.”

The last bit came out strangled—you’d never…said something like that aloud.

You and Ezra, married? It was odd, to say the least. You never thought of yourself as one to desire marriage in any respect—ceremonial, legal, the like. It just didn’t sit well with you. Too many complications, a lot of governing body involvement that you didn’t care for.

And Ezra…he wasn’t too fond of it either. But not because he didn’t want it, that much he’d admitted to you one night after admitting the complications of his feelings on his love life, ones that somewhat contradicted the first time he told you about it all; he couldn’t have it, he’d never let himself believe even a fraction of him deserved it. The life of a floater—and sure, just as Cee’s parents had prospected and been married (you assumed) and had a kid, many others did the same. But then you supposed it ended with kids like Cee, and she was lucky to not lay dead next to her idiot father, or trapped and sold as a body in the Dark-Spawn Trades. Lucky Ezra wasn’t filthy and depraved, lucky you were once young and scared like her and so took it upon yourself to keep her in your sights for now.

“How’d you meet?”

A chuckle bubbled out of you as you sat up and ran your fingers through Ezra’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall in even strokes, thinking back on that night so long ago.

“Stealing supplies from the same drop company. Two feral dogs fighting over who deserved it more. We bickered and threatened so much we lost track of time and made a mess and a ruckus and got caught.” A smile threatened to break your features and you let it, for just a moment. It faded as you recalled your awful encounter, “Captured, tortured for information because they thought we worked for a rival mining company. They wanted the locations of dig-sites we didn’t have, mining techniques we didn’t know. When he brought up the Wastes earlier…that’s what he meant. Surprised we didn’t die, but they really thought we were valuable or something.”

You gave yourself a minute before continuing. In a panic, you rubbed circles over the tattoo on the web of Ezra’s hand between his thumb and forefinger, trying to ground yourself as wicked, blood-specked memories flooded your head.

Deep breath. You’re safe, he’s here. This will be good to get off your chest. You’ve never spelled it out to anyone before. Nobody’s ever asked. Maybe this girl is a gift from the universe, maybe she was sent here to give you space to heal. Deep breath. You’re safe. He’s here.

You eventually pressed the back of his limp hand to your cheek, and found your voice once more. You didn’t need to worry about waking him; once he conked out into REM sleep it took a freight train to wake him up. At least, when he was with you he always slept deeper. He’d told you one night; how it helped to have you there, like you dragged all the bad memories and nightmares away, pulling them so far out of reach he only found thoughtless, worry-free sleep.

“Hearing someone’s screams from the other side of a cell wall makes you more susceptible to care about them. A bonding experience, so to speak. He’d talk to me for hours on the nights they made us sit and anticipate another session. Recited poetry, recalled stories from his time as a prospector as an escape from our reality. I would sing for him, when we knew the guards had left. It was how we got to know each other. It’s—that’s why he calls me his siren. The reason I call him a chatterbox, among other obvious explanation.”

“How’d you get out?” Cee asked, resting her cheek on her hands as she laid on her side, watching you with keen interest.

“Killed them,” you rasped, not wanting to go into the gory details, “Every single one.”

For nights you had laid awake, haunted by memories of blood staining your only pair of clothes, blood splattering into your mouth, chunks of brain matter on Ezra’s gloves as he dragged you through a maze of tents and established buildings, viscera on your recovered suit, the way you’d had to swallow bile back down your esophagus at the sight of all the lives you’d taken. But you had to do it; it’s what you told yourself when the images would replay every time you closed your eyes.

Vengeance, necessity, paired with Ezra’s seemingly insatiable bloodlust—and your own. Your own shameful desire to incite violence, one you bred in the early years of your youth and had stuffed away until needed.

But you hadn’t been able to deny that, when Ezra shot a man who’d pinned you to the ground and then finished him off with a knife spurting blood out his neck, it stirred your blood something wild. Hearing him panting through the transmitter, grunts and curses as he tore through humans and humanoids and alien creatures alike right beside you. Hearing him call out targets, watching your six, taking single-word direction from you when you did the same.

They worked like a well-oiled machine, like you two had never not known the other. And he was sloppy in his technique, grounded more in brute force than strategy—but you made up for that in quick, evasive maneuvers and stealth. Both of you had near-perfect aim and could work around the clunky gear of your suits.

Messy—pools of blood, the sickening crunch of bone and cartilage crushed beneath your hands and your feet and your knife and whatever other weapon you scavenged along the way.

It felt like a ritual. A baptism of carnage that ensured neither one of you could live without the other.

So of course, when it all was over and the last vertebra snapped—

—there had been filthy, unhinged, surely unsanitary, bio-hazardous fucking in a tent surrounded by carnage.

Fucking in way you could only describe as feral.

Unrestrained.

Hot, Kevva’s saints was it brutally hot and so needy—but also so, so tender.

Full of soft emotion. Unspoken, even for Ezra’s standards. Almost loving.

Your aching bodies, exhausted and weak and battered, dragged lazily against one another once both of you had ceased the initial writhing pace of passion and the adrenaline ebbed. It tasted tinny like blood and musky like spit and salty with sweat and tears, and if nothing more, it was real. Whispering about how fuck, they’d made it and god, they were on the same level, we made it, baby—can’t live without you, I need you I need you I need you—

That day was quite possibly your favorite memory as well as one of your darkest. The day that you knew, in the charred, most twisted part of you, that you’d follow this man to the ends of every planet, to the far reaches of the universe—and he’d very well do the same.

Of course, you shared none of that with Cee.

“We took down the main base of the entire company. They were small but well-endowed. Got to transfer points into our accounts and sort through the mining equipment and the food,” you offered instead after a long bout of silence, “And the spoils of their labor. We were rich, could have retired early.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You debated whether to lie or tell her the truth, deciding on the latter. This girl wasn’t a threat, she genuinely wanted to know. “Ezra and I have—had a certain…interest in finding thrill wherever we can.”

Cee quirked an eyebrow, and you elaborated, “It’s not something to romanticize, we certainly weren’t smart about our spending. Gambling, drugs, slingshot scooter racing, smuggled creature ring-fights. The risk makes winning worth it. It was addicting. We earned a lot. Uncountable amounts of money. But we spent it all and then spent more. Pulled stunts that not even the most daring would try. Heists, intel-theft for enemies of certain people. We got caught up in it. Eventually drowned in a swamp of debt and unrequited favors. Got put on watchlists by the head crime syndicate and peace officers alike in the Core Worlds because we got cocky. Sloppy. So many people want our heads on a stake that we’d be better off dying out here. It’d be ironic, given the executions we deserve.”

You shuddered at the thought of Karolclan and their unusual procedures for punishment. They wanted you the most—you owed them the most. Them and Omni-Five. But Karolclan was decidedly worse.

“Why are you still mining? Wouldn’t it be easier to hide somewhere less dangerous?”

“We have debts to pay, bird,” you sighed, fond of the nickname Ezra gave her as it fit her well, “It’s the only honest work we can get without a biotracker recognizing our scans or someone realizing that the burner names and scouting codes we give them are bullshit. We work alone—no drop company, no mining corps. Until we can get our names cleared and our bio-scans off the watchlist, we can’t do shit else.”

If nothing more, Karolclan did allow debt payoff. But only if you could evade their capture, and only if you had the means to satisfy compounded interest. They were brutal, ruthless.

“He said you had a crew…and a ship…before you ended up stranded.”

“We did. A group of people like us. But you can imagine that a group of outlaws don’t always see eye to eye—buncha hotheaded criminals. Fought over aurelac, argued over fair shares, resources, everything.”

That wasn’t the whole story.

It started as a dispute over aurelac, but had quickly turned into a spat against Ezra, why he had so many successful harvests and surely he was stealing or cheating, how it wasn’t fair that you two were attached at the hip and didn’t section off when you split into groups to cover more land. In the heat of argument and the desperation of man, that had morphed into threats against you—Why don’t you fucking share her, Ezra? We all have needs and she’s barely good at the dig-sites. Put her to use somewhere else or we’ll find a use for her, and that devolved into Might take her right from under you if you don’t watch yourself, don’t be surprised if you hear her struggle tonight.

You had gotten used to the crude commentary, the snickers and wolf-whistles when you bent over, and if they had tried to somehow steal you away in the night, they’d have been reminded that you slept fully armed and showed no mercy to anyone who touched you unless they knew just where to start—and only one person did.

But that…that had not gone over well with him. It ended before you even knew what he did, and pretty soon you had a dead crewmate spilling blood over your boots while the familiar sound of throwers charging up rang in your ears, all of them pointed at the man panting beside you. The only one from the group to live and remain on the Green had been Two, and honestly you were never fond of them but weren’t surprised when they helped you and Ezra take the heat off your backs—they always teamed up with you two and they were good at what they did. It was a shame they were gone—despite their silence and threatening demeanor and sometimes uncalculated moves in a plan, they never made a move to harm either of you; they just wanted to harvest and get out like you did. Better them than Ezra, though. You’d have genuinely lost your mind if they had shown up in his stead.

“Did you kill the crew too?”

“Only a few,” you said honestly, “The others left us stranded when they realized we’d kill them next. Number Two was our only ally. Now they’re dead.”

You laid back down and put Ezra’s hand across your chest again, “Get some rest now. We’ve got a long day ahead of us. And if you choose to kill him while we sleep—kill both of us.”

You didn’t know why you’d felt compelled to say that, but revealing such a dark part of yourself to her convinced you that she’d plant a bolt in you or Ezra’s head and run. Ezra was the more likely target, given his history with the girl. It was irrational, for the most part; if she truly wanted him dead she would have let his wound kill him. Or she would have shot him sooner. But you couldn’t be too sure.

And you’d sooner die than wake up to him cold next to you.

#ezra (prospect)#ezra x reader #ezra x f!reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #anya writes #ohhhh boy! a second installment #pedrostories #ezra smut #cacoethes

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potter-imagines · 3 years

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Being Thor and Loki's Little Sister and Dating Peter Parker Would Include...

Notes: wow I haven't written a marvel one in a long time pls don't read too much into the timeline lol I know things overlap but just go with it (:

Warnings: none... I think ??

Word Count: 3.6k (sorry its a bit long for a write like this but I couldn't help myself)

You managed to do a decent job at keeping your relationship under wraps from your brothers for quite some time

Of course every other member on the team knew before the two of you even begun officially dating

Peter had spent three months ranting and raving to Tony Stark about how cute he thought you were and how much he liked you

Tony insisted time and time again he should tell you but Peter’s fear of rejection was much too large for him to find the courage for that

Unbeknownst to him,

You had spilled about your crush on Peter to Wanda and Nat almost a week after living in the compound

Being the only other girls there besides Pepper, it was easy to confide in them

Day after day you would wander to Wanda’s room and lay on her bed and gush about how handsome Peter was and how kind of a heart he had

Wanda found it adorable

And Bucky, Steve and Sam had placed the pieces together after days on end of watching Peter and yourself flirt like school kids in the gym during training

Even after being frozen for years, Steve recognized the look of smitten on Peter’s face when he talked to you

Bruce on the other hand had to sit through most of the kids talks with Tony in the lab so he figured it out fast

So when the two of you finally confessed your feelings for one another and Peter asked you out, there was only one road block holding the moment back from perfection

Your brothers

You and Peter shared the news with all the other team members expect the two, possibly most important in your case, members

You’ve been close to your brothers since you were brought into this world so it wasn’t like you didn’t want to tell them

It was more or less how overprotective they could be that made you bite your tongue

And as nervous as you are, Peter is 1,000% more worried about your brother’s finding out

Like honestly can you imagine how petrified Peter would be to tell Thor and Loki you two were dating

He’d purposely walk in the opposite direction every time he saw either of the two for the first week

Couldn’t stop fumbling with his words when he spoke to either of them

Like he was terrified

It’s sort of a cliché to have protective older brothers but older brothers who were also both Gods ????

Peter felt like a deadman walking

When the day finally came that you did tell your brothers about your relationship with Peter, it was absolutely cringe worthy

Peter had been coming home to the tower after a long day at Midtown High School when he spotted you the second he stepped foot out of the elevator

His excitement had clouded his judgement as he failed to check and see if the coast was clear

“Y/n! Hey!”

He nearly tumbled over his own feet as he rushed over to you

His face was gleaming with happiness and for a brief moment you felt a smile creep to your face until you were pulled back to reality by his hand reaching out to grasp yours

Your eyes widened in shock as you stared at Peter and before you could warn him to stop, he had planted a soft kiss on your cheek

That adorable smile was glowing from his face as he reached down for your hand only to fall once you pulled your hand away

He gave you a look of confusion, clearly surprised by your lack of response

But when an awkward cough sounded from behind him, he suddenly knew why

Peter didn’t have enough time to make any sort of a move when a husky, all too familiar voice spoke up,

“Hello, man of spiders. May I ask why you just kissed our little sister?” “Oh shit- I uh, well you see I…um...she had something on her face so I uh…”

Loki would snicker in amusement at seeing the boy squirm and prolong his torture “So you kissed her?” “Yeah…” “Hm, there something you’d like to share, little one?”

It wasn’t exactly the way you were hoping to break the news to your brothers

But it was certainly one way of doing it

The rest of the night was filled with awkward tension as you and Peter had to confess the truth to your brothers, who then made you share the news with the rest of the team

Thankfully, the rest of the team pretended they were just hearing about your new relationship for the first time, seeing as no one wanted to deal with an angry Thor

Now let’s get into your relationship with Peter

Peter Parker is the most caring person in the universe

Honestly

And dating him certainly came with it’s perks

You can expect to wake up every morning with a fresh coffee and a pastry on your nightstand, courtesy of Peter

He’ll also write you a sweet little ‘good morning’ note with a sketch of spider-man hanging from a web

(( he’s actually pretty talented in the doodling department ))

Makes cute sketches of him as spiderman and you as a princess ( vv fitting)

But also draws you as a total badass saving the galaxy bc… well you are

Count on him to be the first person to greet you when the sunrises and the last person to wish you a goodnight when it falls

Gets Mr. Stark to buy you an iphone so he can teach you how to use it

Has your name as “goddess” in his phone

The first thing he does is teach you about texting so he can pay you in imessage games

Refuses to play you in battleship since you somehow have crushed him every single time

Gets slightly annoyed with the overwhelming amount of random photos you snap of him

But he knows its all new to you and finds it irritatingly adorable

Loves it when you walk home with him from school

Will also keep reminding you that you shouldn’t have walked alone all the way to Midtown High School alone

Peter often forgets that you’re Asgardian and can protect yourself just fine

But it’s so cute how protective he is

He’s very observant and notices nearly everything

Like when you’re feeling a bit homesick

He picks up on it right away and will ask Thor and/or Loki for advice

Or when you start to become bored and tired at one of Star’s parties

Peter made his way over you before you even had the chance to turn and search for him

He’d escort you back to your room and lay with you until he was positive you had fallen asleep

Kisses to the top of your head

Is the boyfriend that will take your makeup off for you if you wear any

(( and sets yours lashes on the nightstand so neatly and labels which eye they were on cause the poor boy doesn’t understand ))

Spends weeks learning how to master the intricate braids that adorn your head

It’s so cute cause he’ll sit and look up Youtube videos and try to learn how to make the different braids and is just so confused but so determined

Taking Peter to visit Asgard

“Woah- this place looks like something from Lord of the Rings! It’s awesome!” “Lord of the Rings? I’ve never met that God.” “Uh, no, it’s a movie from Earth. We can watch it when we go back.” “To Midgard?” “Midgard? No, to New York.”

Loves it when your people refer to you as “Princess Y/n”

For some reason it makes him blush

Will tell everyone back on Earth that he’s dating a princess

I could def see Peter getting annoyed and frustrated with the Asgardian men trying to flirt and win your heart

Although that’s something that already belong to Peter

And even though Peter trusts you entirely

He’s still insecure from time to time

Especially when he sees how much taller and stronger Asgardian men look in comparison to him

But he finds reassurance in the feeling of your hand in his and the gleeful smile adorning your face as you show him around your homeland

Attempting to help Peter study

Although you’re not much help to Midgardian school work “Peter, darling, I don’t have a clue what a watergate is and I haven’t an idea how that could be scandalous.”

Maths however you excelled in

And Peter was thoroughly surprised to find you had the sequence of PI memorized to the one hundredth number- and in song form

Holding your hand 24/7

Endless cuddles on the couch

And when you’re walking around together, he does that thing where he swings your hands and back forth

Movie theater dates… at the tower b/c your brothers feel the need to be in close proximity the you guys at all times

Trying ice cream for the first time with Peter at two in the morning

One of Peter’s favorite things to do with you is take you through a walk in his world

At least three times a week Peter and you will walk around the city and find new things your Asgardian self has yet to experience

Like pizza

New York pizza to be exact

And hot chocolate

Ice skating at Rockefeller Center once the weather got cold

Loves to take you for drives in the more woodsy land of New York once fall set in and the leaves began to change

But by far his favorite thing is showing you Midgardian films and movies of all sorts

He loves that you don’t judge him for nerding out over his love for films

Not to mention you actually sit and watch Star Wars with him

(( maybe it was the whole space element but Peter was just thrilled you liked it ))

But then he shows you ‘Alien’

And it was an instant regret

It took him the rest of the night to convince you that the movie was fake

You made him sleep in your room just for reassurance

Your favorite out of the films Peter played was called ‘Toy Story’

Buzz Lightyear reminded you of Thor

In terms of TV shows

F.R.I.E.N.D.S. which quickly became your guys comfort show

Parks & Rec too “That Andy fellow looks an awful lot like Starlord, don’t you think?”

Peter refuses to let you watch Black Mirror

After the whole incident with Alien

Black Mirror didn’t seem like a good idea

Constantly teasing from the rest of the Avengers

Tony just can’t help it

He loves tormenting the two of you

Especially when Thor and/or Loki are around

“Hey Peter, I thought I saw you go into Y/n’s room last night but I didn’t see you leave until the morning. Heard a lot of noise too- thought Y/n was getting attacked. What was that about?”

“Kid, I got you those condoms you asked for. How’d you manage to run out of that last box so quick? I just bought it for you a week ago!” “Messing with you, they’re just sugar packets- Thor put Peter down right now!”

Aunt May absolutely adores you

Always tells Peter how sweet you are and is constantly inviting you over for dinner

Lets you two have sleepovers in his room at her place

As long as the door stays open

Peter can’t stop laughing when you compliment May on her ability to make an amazing bowl of cereal

She thought it was a joke seeing as she burned dinner the night before to a crisp and laughs until she’s in tears

And you’re literally sitting there so confused, clearly not understanding the joke

Peter then takes you on a trip to a grocery store for the first time to show you a whole aisle full of cereal

It is then that you realize Aunt May didn’t hand make the fruity pebbles

She still laughs about it to this day

Befriending Ned and listening enthusiastically while he gives you a full speech on the franchise Star Wars

And his rant on how terrible Star Trek is in comparison

Is shocked when you ask questions out of genuine interest

Ned immediately takes a liking to you after that and asks Peter daily to invite you to hangout

Whenever Stark adds an upgrade to his suit, you’re the first person Peter shows it to

He shares quite literally everything with you

As do you to him

The rest of the Avengers love gossiping about you guys

Nat and Wanda have already started planning the wedding and Pepper has the perfect venue in mind, much to your brothers dismay

For some reason

Thor and Loki are always within reasonable distance, enough so they can keep an eye on you but also give some sense of privancy

Thor is def always the first one to step in

“Peter, please remove your hand from my sister’s behind.” “Oh uh, ye-yeah… sorry, Mr.Thor.”

Loki would find Peter amusing

He loves to mess with him whenever given the chance

“Ah, Peter. Good to see you. I’m sure Y/n informed you of our task today. Very impressed that you offered yourself as the sacrifice to the aliens-” “Wait, what? Y/n?!” “He’s kidding, Peter.”

Everyone in the Avenger’s tower knew Peter was lactose intolerant and knew the repercussions of the boy consuming any sort of dairy

(( he physically cannot leave the bathroom for a full day ))

Yet Loki regularly will swap Peter’s specially labeled almond milk with a jug of skim milk just for the hell of it

There’s something so hilarious to him about the look of panic and alarm that smacks abruptly across Peter’s face as he quickly stumbles out of the kitchen to his room

It keeps him laughing for days

You’ll just shoot your brother a look of disapproval, clearly certain it was his doing

“Loki, why did Peter run off?” “Not sure, darling sister, maybe he’s got one of those stomach bugs. I’ve heard Midgardians are prone to them…weak bodies and such.” "You switched out his milk again didn’t you.” “I haven’t the slightest clue what you’re accusing me of, little one.”

Thor is a bit more hesitant on accepting your relationship with his fellow Avenger

He trusts that Peter would never harm you

Although he did not trust that you would never be harmed because of Peter

It was risky enough that both your brothers were big names in space, as well on Earth, however

Thor knew Loki and himself were capable of protecting you but Peter?

He was just a kid, in Thor’s eyes

However the one thing that kept him from telling you this was seeing how happy Peter made you

As your older brother, Thor trusted your judgement and tried his best to be accepting of his little sister dating

And as much as he wanted to deny it, he saw crystal clear the care and love Peter gave to you and he wasn’t willing to break that for you

Still

Thor is the type of brother to barge into a room and shove himself between Peter and yourself without warning

This man does not care at all

At least Loki has the decency to give you two space as a couple

Thor does not

He is constantly third wheeling on your dates and will ‘accidentally’ walk into rooms he knows you two are in claiming he forgot something

Not that he ever grabs anything,

He’ll usually just stand and stare at the two of you until you either leave the room or ask him to leave

To which he always answers,

“No.”

But with a smile

A smug smile

PDA is something he will never be okay with

Thor will yank Peter back by the collar every time he sees his lips on yours and glare at him, “Man of spiders, I know you’re in love with my little sister but kissing her infront of me is too far.”

And Loki will physically gag just to piss you off

For the most part, your relationship with Peter is nearly perfect

It would be entirely perfect if you weren’t constantly worrying about him dying on a mission or getting hurt

But still, just like any couple, you had your moments

And when you did fight, it was typically over Peter’s safety or him not wanting you to tag along for a mission

Your common way of dealing with conflict was the silent treatment

Which is pure torture for Peter

Not only does he miss the sound of your voice

He misses having you around

Seeing your smile

Hearing you laugh from something he said

He felt terrible everytime

He’d go to Tony for advice and spend hours rambling on to him about how sorry he was for yelling at you and for adding to the fight

Tony would half listen while he worked away on a new system and suit, offering a ‘yeah’ and ‘hmm’ every few seconds which pleased Peter who thought his mentor was fully listening

And after almost two hours of his non-stop talking, Tony Stark had reached his limit

Setting his wrench down on the metal table with a thud he turned around to face the young boy

“Kid, why’re you saying all this to me and not her? I mean, I’m all ears but I’m also not Y/n. I know we’re both good looking so I can see why you mixed us up, but you should be talking to her right now.”

Similar to Peter you also had someone to confide in when the road got rocky

Loki had always been the one you shared all your secrets with

As children you were attached at the hip to both your brothers but Loki a smidgen more than Thor

Your father, Odin, had Thor at his side 24/7 growing up

While he was busy learning the ropes to ruling Asgard, Loki and yourself run amuck causing trouble left and right through the royal palace

Through the years of bonding Loki become your best friend, and you his

So when trouble struck in paradise, your older brother was the one you ran to

He’d welcome you with open arms and a questioning gaze

Loki is by far the best listener in your family

Instead of telling you what to do, he asks what you want, which is a refreshing change

After a long talk with Loki you’d search the tower high and low for Peter while ironically Peter was doing the same thing

When you did finally make-up, it felt like coming home

The apologies were so sincere and genuine

You’d end up having a sleepover in your room watching 80’s films that Peter claimed were ‘iconic’ and laying in his arms

And that’s where you felt complete

Fights never occurred often but bickering ???

DAILY

You two bickered playfully over everything under the sun

Like who’s the better superhero; Ironman or Captain American

Debates between living in New York and living in Asgard

Loves to pull up Midgardian inventions and ask you to guess what it is “Princess, what do you think this is?” “Oh! Oh! I’ve seen this one! Tony has one in his kitchen!” “Okay, so what is it?” “Yes, it’s a chicken nugget maker!” “It’s actually an air fryer but we only ever make chicken nuggets in them so I’ll give you a half point.”

Peter sneaking out of your room at the crack of dawn and sprinting to his

As much as Thor and Loki liked him and supported the relationship

He was sure they’d both team up to murder him if they caught him sleeping in your bed

Steve and Tony, who seem to be incapable of sleep, have watched him tiptoe out of your room numerous times but they only share a look of amusement then go back to their previous discussion

Playing hide-n-go-seek and tag on rainy days at the tower

Cuddling in Peter’s bed while he asks you to tell him stories about Asgard

Loves hearing about your childhood and what it’s like to grow up with siblings

Is fascinated when you tell him about Heimdall

Stealing Peter’s hoodies

Especially his Midtown High School ones

They’re insanely soft

Sweet little kisses throughout the day

He's just so sweet and gentle

Loves getting to hold you and snuggle in his bed

Most weekends you spend lounging on the couch with Peter’s head in your lap while you play with his hair

Other times you’re sitting next to Peter on his bed watching him play some video game and asking a million questions “Who is that man, Peter?” “That’s me, he’s the main character of the game. That’s Mario, babe.” “You’re not Mario- you’re Peter.” “No, the main character of this game is Mario, I’m just playing him.” “Oh… and what is that green dinosaur creature?” “That’s Yoshi!” “Adorable.”

Making out between games

In terms of... y'know... sex

Neither of you were keen on rushing the process

You had tip toed on the line multiple times yet never fully crossed it

Until you had decided to make the first real move after being together for about five months

You trusted him with all your heart so it wasn't exactly scary, but rather exciting

He had a way of making you feel safe, comfortable, and loved all at once

Lets be honest, Peter nearly fainted the first time he saw you naked

And still, no matter how many times the two of you have sex,

He worships every inch of you like it was your first time all over again

You couldn't have asked for a better lover

Dating Peter means a new adventure everyday

You’re constantly learning new things about each other and from each other

Despite coming from two very different worlds

You’ve never felt more connected to a soul until Peter came along

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starglow-xx · 3 years

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retrouvaille

nakajima atsushi x f!reader

fandom: bungou stray dogs

content: hurt comfort, fluff

warning! : mentions of abuse

type of work: one-shot

synopsis: he left the orphanage, and that meant he had to leave you too; fortunately, this time, it seems like the universe was on your side

a/n: this is kinda self indulgent bc ive been feeling kinda down lately...?? and this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now and i havent posted in a while so killing three birds w/ one stone ig

the word retrouvaille is a french noun...

The moment you stepped foot into the armed detective agency, heterochromia eyes met your (e/c) ones.

You notice several agents talking and walking over to assist you, but you drown them out only having focus on the gray haired male ten feet away from you.

Said male takes a small step forward with uncertainty and disbelief laced in his voice.

“(y-y/n)...?”

At the sound of your name, your eyes immediately begin to water and with pure relief in your voice, you softly sob his name; the name of the boy who comforted you when you were both still in that wretched place.

“Atsushi...”

With all hesitation gone, Atsushi runs over to you shoving through his surprised and confused coworkers and wraps his arms tightly around you.

The force of the hug causes the both of you to stumble and harshly crash to the ground beneath you.

But the two of you didn’t care.

In his arms was a person Atsushi thought he’d never be able to see again.

In his arms was the same girl who snuck him food from the kitchens, the girl who stole medical supplies from the infirmary to treat his wounds, to take care of him when he was sick, and the girl who received punishment after punishment for insisting on staying with him inside his damn cell.

You gave him happiness in place where he should’ve never been able to receive it.

As if he ever felt like he deserved it in the first place.

You’re too good for him, but yet you still chose him.

You, his sweet and kind, his so very kind, and so very beautiful girlfriend, chose him, the cursed, good for nothing orphan.

The orphanage staff treated you considerably better before the two of you were acquainted, so Atsushi knew he was the problem. That he was the reason why tears would fall onto your beautiful face, why bruises and scars would litter your arms and legs, and why the staff would call you awful, degrading nicknames about you and or your virtue.

He had always thought that he wasn’t good for you, that he didn’t deserve you, that you could do better, but you stayed by his side regardless of his fears and insecurities, and provided him the strength and comfort he had always been deprived of.

And to his very surprise, he found that you found your own strength and comfort in him.

So he knew that you must of cried for weeks after he was kicked out, that you must’ve been devastated to wake up one morning only to learn that he was gone without a trace.

There wasn’t a single day that he never thought of you.

Atsushi wanted to go back for you, he really did; he wanted to storm into the orphanage with members of the armed detective agency, his new family, right at his tail before eventually reuniting with you.

But he didn’t do that.

Ultimately, he chose to leave you out of the mess that came with his job knowing that you would be eventually targeted and used against him if anyone found out about what he had with you.

So he kept quiet.

No mafioso, government agent, foreign organization, nor agency member had a clue about your connection with him, much less your existence.

He told himself that when things have calmed down by a considerable amount, he would go back and get you, with or without the agency backing him up.

Unfortunately, he knew that time of peace was far from the present.

But to see you, in your beautiful glory, standing at the threshold of the agency?

His original plan to keep you away from Yokohoma flew out the damn window.

At the sight of you, his heart did backflips and his legs almost gave out.

Ignoring the jelly feeling in his legs and the loud pounding of his heart, he raced around the desks and his coworkers—nearly fully crashing into Dazai in the process—to once more engulf you into his arms.

As for you?

When you saw him, you felt like you were going to pass out.

Your legs grew weak, your entire body was shaking, and tears started to fall down your face.

He was here.

He was safe and he was alive.

You mourned his abrupt disappearance from the orphanage and spent most of your time worrying about his well being.

The staff thought you were pathetic, that you sulked and cried over someone who they thought should disappear off the face of the earth.

They could insult and beat you all you want, but you drew the line when it came to Atsushi.

Finally having enough of everything, you planned your escape.

You were patient; you never jumped the gun nor gave anything away. You planned everything to the very last, minute detail, and after a few more months of abuse and waiting, you put your plan into action and left in the dead of night.

Thankfully, a kind old couple took you after you had collapsed in the streets. You worked job after job after job to return everything they had spent on your behalf even after they had told you not to worry about it.

And after another few weeks, you finally caught wind of your lost boyfriend tracking him down to Yokohoma through an old newspaper article.

Knowing your boyfriend, and yourself, you knew that tears would easily escape both of your eyes due to the long duration of your separation, but you weren’t expecting to find yourself crashing onto the floors of the armed detective agency curtesy of Atsushi.

But, you wouldn’t have it any other way because in your arms was the boy who gave you comfort during the most darkest days in the orphanage, the boy who laid you in his lap or on his stomach stroking your hair so you would fall asleep, and the boy who often threw himself in front of you so you would remain unharmed.

You choked on your sobs as you tightened your own hold on him and they gradually grew louder as you buried your face into the shoulder of his white button up.

Through his own choked sobs and teary eyes, Atsushi gently maneuvered the two of you so that you would be lying on his stomach—a familiar position the two of you would lay in back in the orphanage.

He gently stroked his fingers through your hair and softly rubbed your back as he whispered the familiar sweet nothings into your ears.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay...”

“I’m here, just let it all out..”

Overwhelmed with your emotions, his sweet words only started to make you cry more.

You’ve missed him so much.

Your tears easily soaked his both his shirt and his neck, and you tried to speak only for you to choke up. Atsushi simply just started to shush you—as you would to a baby—and placed a kiss to your forehead as he continued to comfortingly stroke your hair and rub your back.

With the both of you off into your own little world, a world consisting only of the two of you, reactions and looks from the Armed Detective Agency went unnoticed.

It didn’t take long for them to realize the kind of relationship you and Atsushi had.

But what surprised them was Atsushi’s behavior.

The young adult they knew tended to be unsure of everything, including himself, and stammered whenever he was nervous.

But the young adult currently in front of them had this new aura of maturity; he didn’t hesitate to touch you or to comfort you, and for the first time they’ve seen in a while, he was sure of himself; he wasn’t nervous at all.

With the amount of comfortability Atsushi had around you, and the tender, loving care he showered you in, it was clear that you certainly were someone special to their tiger.

Your sobs slowly turned to small hiccups, and Atsushi’s face turned to one of pure tranquility and content, having his lover back in his arms.

Although having calmed down, what Atsushi said to you next made you want to start bawling all over again.

“I’m sorry I left you, and I promise I didn’t forget about you,” he whispered softly, “I thought of you every day. I still do. The thought of being able to see you again is what kept me going.”

You buried yourself further into his shoulder as you gripped his white button up in your hands.

“And thanks to the armed detective agency, I’m stronger now. I won’t let anybody hurt you, not anymore. That, I promise you.”

Actually taking a look up from you, Atsushi ended up locking eyes with Dazai, who had a gentle look on his face.

His senior only closed his eyes, tilted his head down softly, and lightly chuckled before opening his brown eyes once more, giving Atsushi a look of approval.

The gray haired teen’s eyes widened slightly as he looked around the room only to be met with similar looks of approval and gentleness from his seniors and coworkers.

He felt his eyes tear up again, but instead let out a relieved sigh as he tightened his hold on you slightly.

“Hey Atsushi...” you softly murmured.

Equally as soft, he answered, “Yes (y/n)?”

“...I love you...”

Your lover smiled before placing another kiss onto your forehead.

“I love you too (y/n)”

At last, the girl he loved was back in his arms, and the boy you loved was back within your reach.

And neither of you were ever going to let each other go again.

and it means, the joy of meeting or finding someone again after a long separation, a rediscovery

as always, reblogs and shares are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe! and just in case nobody told you they loved you today, i love you! you are enough! <3

writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is there for a reason

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pascalpanic · 3 years

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Burning The Midnight Oil (Javier Peña x gn!Reader)

Summary: Javier has been burning the candle at both ends. He just needs some rest. Luckily, you’ve got your husband covered.

W/C: 3.4K

Warnings: oh boy um. language, non sexual nudity, brief sexual jokes/innuendo, lots of talk of sleep deprivation bc that’s a plot point here, brief mentions of alcohol and guns (maybe once each), mostly talk of food/eating, eating meat/pork (Javier does, not reader) otherwise I’d say it’s fluffy for the most part

A/N: ☄️ anon, god bless your soul for this idea!! I really love it so I banged it out in one night and here we are!!

You haven’t seen your husband in days. You know he’s exhausted, only ever showing up at home when you’re off at work. It’s a terrible situation, the only contact you’ve had with him being at odd hours over the phone.

The DEA has been all hands on deck this week, requiring their men to be there at all times unless they’re at home and sleeping; even then, they only get about six hours off at a time, many of them too wired to sleep. Javier only gets to come home every other day, usually during the middle of the day. He’s been staying up for a dangerous amount of time, in your opinion, leaving you just about ready to find the heads of the cartel and beat their asses yourself.

During the work week, you can’t complain. You have no right to. You knew when you and Javier had eloped and married that the man’s job was a baggage you’d be forced to carry as a couple. You normally didn’t mind, but when it goes into the weekend, that’s when you get mad. Not just that you don’t get your husband at home with you, but that he doesn’t get to be home. He deserves it. Javier hardly relaxes during the weekends, and essentially does not relax on weeknights until he’s fallen asleep with his head on your chest.

Saturday found you running errands, expecting Javier home by midday at the very latest. Returning home with a pep in your step and finding no Javier there, your mood and smile fell instantly. It’s Saturday; your husband should be home. They should be letting them go home, you thought angrily as you took your anger out by chopping the vegetables to go into your dinner. Surely Javier will be home by dinnertime.

Nothing. 6 P.M., 7 P.M., no Javier, just a dinner growing cold and your heart sinking. You knew Javier had got his break yesterday, and had been in the apartment while you worked, but a slightly rumpled bed was the only evidence he was even there.

At 8, you walk to the phone and dial the DEA office, specifically Javier’s extension.

Your husband picks up and his voice wrecks your heart. “Peña,” he mumbles, his voice crackly. It sounds like his morning grumble after a long night of sleep next to you.

“Javi,” you coo, heart breaking. “Baby, when are you coming home?”

Javier perches on the edge of his desk, phone tucked between his cheek and shoulder. “Fuck, cariño, I don’t know,” he admits, rubbing his face. “I just woke up, I got an hour nap in the break room office. We have to keep going. We’re so close, I can tell.”

You understand his desperation, but you know exactly what he looks like now, a stubble growing thanks to his time away from home, his eyes bloodshot and drooping. His hair is probably messy and his shirt is probably all wrinkly; you’re absolutely certain he’s holding a mug of the sludgy black coffee the office brews. He’s most definitely the picture of exhaustion, and even though you can’t see him, you know your husband. He is a wreck. “I can let Saturday slide, but you’re coming home tomorrow, I don’t care how long. I need to see you and you need to be taken care of.” “I’m doing just fine,” Javier shakes his head and you can hear a flick of a lighter as he’s most likely lighting a cigarette.

“You’re not, and don’t try to pull that card with me. I know you. You’re a disaster; I can tell from your voice. You haven’t eaten and you haven’t slept and you can’t deny it. I want you home as soon as you can tomorrow, you got it? Don’t you even fucking dare try it, Javier Fernando Peña.”

The full name: ouch. He sighs and exhales the cigarette smoke, then takes a sip of his coffee before answering you. “God, I fucking love you,” he chuckles softly. “Okay.”

Another sign of Javier’s exhaustion: how easily he gives in. Javier is a stubborn man, but over your years together he’s learned that you’re just as hard to budge. When both of you are set, neither of you can be moved. Your sarcasm and wit and willpower was what drew him to you in the first place; Javier could never have a compliant, submitting partner. He’d be a mess. He needs you to ground him, he knew and still knows it. It’s why you’re married now.

“I love you too, handsome. Call me before you come home, okay baby? I want to be awake for you,” you say, a soft smile on your face. Your voice is much warmer, less jagged and rough.

It’s the way you always get Javi, the thing that makes him melt the most: when you’re snapping one second and gentle the next. God, he fucking loves you. You understand him, you don’t question him when he comes home and doesn’t speak. You read him and then you hold him, and all of his fears dissipate with his calming breath. “Okay. I love you,” he repeats again, more earnest and purposeful. He wants you to know it; he worries you haven’t felt it in the past week. It’s also another sign of his exhaustion.

“I love you too, Javi,” you remind him as you chuckle and stand. “Don’t fall asleep on the job. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Javier groans and cracks his neck after hanging up, sliding the typewriter back to the beginning. Just a little longer, he tells himself, then he gets to come home to you.

The phone rings around 5 in the morning, waking you from a restless slumber. The sun is just starting to rise, making the sky lighter and colorful from its previous midnight blue. Knowing Javier would be calling, it was impossible for you to sleep fully, leaving you in a dozing state more similar to a daydream than to any form of REM.

“Hello?” You answer with a groggy voice, hoping it’s Javier. Who else could it be, at this hour on a Sunday morning?

“Hey, dulzura,” Javier sighs into the phone. “I’m packing up my shit now. We didn’t get Escobar, but we got one of his big guys late last night. They’re bringing in some Search Bloc guys and giving us tomorrow off.”

You nearly cry in relief at his words, making a noise between a sigh and a squeal, heavy and happy. Javier laughs softly at your noise of relief, allowing himself to smile. His vision is hazy from the lack of sleep, but he’ll be cognizant enough after this last cup of coffee kicks in. “Get your ass home, Javi,” you tell him with a voice just as sleepy as his own. “You got an ETA for me?”

There’s a moment of silence as he looks at his watch. “5:45.”

Your eyes haven’t even opened yet, and you finally let them as you look at the clock. That’s soon, really soon, and it makes your heart speed up a little as your body forces you awake. “Great. I’ll see you then. Drive safe. If you’re too tired-”

“Steve will not be driving,” he cuts you off with a grumble. It makes you giggle a little, his adamance that Steve could never possibly do something better than him, more competently.

“Just reminding you. I’ll see you,” you tell him and hang up before he can make another sarcastic comment.

He’s glad you hang up so fast. He doesn’t have the brain power for a classic witty retort.

Javier goes to unlock the apartment door about half an hour later, but finds that his keys aren’t necessary: you’ve left the door unlocked for him.

He’d be ashamed to admit it to anyone but you, but it really does happen: Javier’s eyes water as he walks inside to the smell of cooking, the stream of soft light through the kitchen window, the sound of soft Sunday morning music drifting from the radio.

You’re at the oven, cooking, and turn when you hear a noise, grinning to see Javier. “Hey, handsome,” you squeal and rush over, wrapping your arms around him.

Javier buries his face in your hair, throwing his arms back around you. You smell fresh and clean, so soft in the fluffy robe he bought you for your birthday a few months ago now. You’re surprised to feel warm water drip from his eyes to your neck, and you pull away with a frown, cupping his face. “Are you okay, love?” You ask, wiping the tears from his eyes.

He nods. “So tired,” he admits and swallows hard. “So glad I’m home. So lucky I have you.”

You have a feeling he doesn’t have the energy to kiss you. Instead, you press your forehead to his and squeeze him tight in your arms. “Okay. I cooked breakfast. You need it. Why don’t you go take a shower?” You ask, breaking away and rubbing his arms.

He shakes his head. “My arms feel like lead. I don’t know if I can even wash my hair,” he admits, his voice a low rumble from his chest. “Just let me sleep, baby.”

“I’ll come with you, then,” you offer, already unbuttoning his shirt and working it off of him purely for comfort. You know your way around your husband’s body by now. You could unbutton his shirts blind; in fact, you have. “Come on, cariño,” you murmur and pull him along to the bathroom by the side of an unbuttoned shirt.

Once in the bathroom, Javier blinks and squints at the bright vanity lights, overwhelmed. You turn on the shower, the bathroom filling with warmth as the water heats and steam fills the air. Even in his tired state, Javier loves to undress you. He tugs the belt from your fuzzy robe, sliding it off your shoulders and tossing it on the counter. You then strip off your respective clothes, and you’re the first to step into the stream of the warm water.

Javi doesn’t have to say anything; you can tell his thoughts from your gaze. His eyes rake your body, taking in the sight of his most beloved person on the planet in all of your naked glory. He climbs in after you, and you grab a bar of soap and get to scrubbing, covering all of Javier’s body with the cucumber-scented suds. He leans his head back against the shower wall, loving your warm hands and the hot water. If he wasn’t standing, if his back wasn’t aching so hard, he’d fall asleep here and now. He’s never been more blissful.

You rinse his body then work his shampoo into his thick hair, your fingers scratching his scalp and massaging his head. “You’re the fucking best,” Javi mumbles sleepily. You just chuckle and work the soap into his hair, stripping it of the grime and cigarette smoke of the office, until he’s wiped clean, ready to start anew.

Later, you wash yourself and let Javier enjoy the hot stream of the water. He’s so zoned out you can’t even tell if he’s awake. You have to actually check. “Javi, baby?”

“Hm?” He mumbles

“Did you fall asleep on me?” You chuckle as you turn off the shower, which makes Javier frown at the loss of warmth.

“‘Course not,” he grumbles, taking the fluffy towel from you and wiping his face.

After the two of you have dressed in fresh clothes, you sit on the edge of your bed and wait for Javier to finish. He pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, then comes and sits next to you, kissing the side of your head. “You’re so good to me,” he mumbles into your temple.

He goes to flop back but you put an arm around him, catching him. “Excuse me, Agent. I made breakfast,” you chuckle and sneak a kiss from his lips, chuckling at the way his mustache is still a little damp. “When was the last time you ate?”

Javier stares off as he considers it. It takes a while for him to respond. You nod at that. “Exactly. Come on, I made breakfast just the way you like it.”

The food is still somewhat warm when you find your way to the kitchen. Javier loves the local cuisine, always has, but something about an American breakfast makes him weak at the knees. He sits at the kitchen counter and sighs as you hand him a plate of buttered toast. “There’s your appetizer,” you chuckle and head back to the stove. Half-cooked bacon, which you turned off when he came in, sits in a pan, and you turn it back on to finish. You crack a couple of eggs into another pan, making sure they sit just right so they’re the way Javi likes them: fried. You sprinkle them with salt and pepper, humming to the radio as you cook.

The sizzling bacon makes Javier’s stomach grumble. The toast isn’t even that warm anymore, but the carby goodness fills Javi’s mouth and suddenly he’s never felt so ravenous. The two pieces of buttered toast are devoured in a heartbeat.

Bringing him a mug, you pour some coffee and his favorite creamer in. “You’d better tip me later,” you tease him with a wink as you return to the stove, flipping the bacon and putting some onto a plate.

“I will tip you anything you want, I swear,” he murmurs before sipping at the ceramic mug, the warm coffee going down like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, warming him from the inside out. The A/C blasts in the apartment, making his dripping hair feel even colder.

In yet another pan, you start pouring the premade pancake mix you’d prepared before he got home. “All of this and the sun is barely up,” He muses, wandering to the other side of the counter and stealing a strip of bacon.

“Quit,” you whine and smack his hand, making the bacon fall back onto the plate. “Your order isn’t ready yet, sir. Stop harassing the cook.” When his arms wrap around you, your defenses fall. “Go sit down,” you say weakly as he kisses your neck.

At least he obeys. Javier sits in his chair and watches you intently, downing his coffee in a short amount of time.

Finally, the feast all comes together, and you present it to Javier on a large plate: bacon, fried eggs, fruit (which you know he won’t eat, but it’s worth a shot), and heart-shaped pancakes. “I wanted to make a pistol, but I’m not super artistic,” you chuckle as you refer to the fluffy cakes on the plate.

Javier shakes his head but smiles. “Thank you, dulzura,” he manages out before he digs in, devouring the plate at a breakneck speed. You’re content to watch, standing across from him. You go to refill his coffee and come back to find the pancakes completely gone.

It doesn’t take much time at all before the plate is wiped clean, the entire thing in Javier’s stomach. Food has never been the biggest concern for him; he skips meals often for work, and you suspect he hasn’t done much more than snack here or there over the past week. His eyes droop even further now that he has a full stomach, and it warms your heart. You’ve got your husband cleaned and fed; now all you need is one last step before you have your beloved Javi back.

“Alright, handsome,” you smile as you drape your arms across his shoulders. “Nap time.”

He can’t deny that. He stands, letting your arms fall off his shoulders. He pulls you around to his front and wraps his arms around you; you know what comes next in this routine. Your feet slide on top of his and Javier walks the two of you to the bedroom, you backwards and being led by him. Javier is not an overly affectionate man: kisses and sex, primarily, hugs if one of you really needs it. This is his one little act he insists on, since you don’t let him carry you.

As you waddle along, you kiss along Javier’s jaw, giving him all of the affection he missed out on in the past week. When you finally enter your bedroom, you stop as you feel the backs of your calves against the bed. You know this routine all too well. It’s usually reserved for when Javier can’t get his hands off of you, when you desperately need him on top of you, surrounding you, kissing your neck. “Wait,” you murmur and step off of his feet, going to pull back the covers.

You return to the end of the bed, standing on top of his feet again. “There,” you say with a grin, and Javi has no choice but to grin back then kiss you. “Okay, continue.”

Then your routine resumes: you fall backwards onto the bed and Javier falls on top of you. You both grunt with the impact but you smile, wrapping one arm around Javi while the other grabs the sheets and blankets and pulls them over the both of you.

Javi’s cheek is nestled against your chest, listening to your heartbeat, his eyes already shut. “Real cute. Get off of me now,” you tease and nudge his side.

His body beneath yours is all he’s needed, all he’s dreamt about while half-consciously dreaming on the apartment couch. He can feel your chest rise and fall, his head going with it. “No,” he simply mutters, his face squished against the skin encasing your beating heart. “M’comftrble.”

You can’t deny him that, you chuckle, your hands reaching down to entangle your fingers in his dark brown hair, nearly black from the dampness it holds. “Fine,” you sigh, whispering the word to him. “I love you so much, Javi. Missed you. Missed my man.”

“Missed you too, dulzura,” Javi mumbles back, but it’s clear he’s almost already out.

“How long were you up, minus that nap, Javi?” You ask.

He thinks on it for a minute, and you think he might’ve fallen asleep until he responds. “36.”

“Hours?” you exclaim quietly, massaging his scalp. “Baby.”

“I know. Had’ta.”

“Well, you can sleep as long as you need to now, love,” you murmur and kiss his forehead. He makes a soft noise of disapproval. “Just a nap. Wake me in like an hour.”

“Okay,” you lie, knowing you’ll let him sleep as long as his body needs it. “Rest now, baby.”

Javier nods and you exhale deeply, holding his head to your chest. He’s back now, your husband, and you know he’s safe, know he’s healthy and well taken-care of: you did it yourself. His breathing slows. You can feel it against your chest, the way the steady rise and fall becomes slower and slower and you know you’ve won when you hear a soft snore, his parted lips smashed against your chest.

You stay like that for a while, Javier lying on top of you and resting. It’s a comfort to have him pressed against you, to feel your husband’s body and know that he’s here. It’s even better to know he’s resting well, deeply, from the way he slumbers against your body. You intermittently kiss his head, continuing to rub his head in hopes it’ll loosen the tension he’ll surely have when he wakes.

About an hour passes, and you find yourself drowsier and drowsier as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky. Scooting out from beneath Javier, you replace your chest with a pillow to support his face. Rolling him slightly to the side, you cuddle in behind him and spoon him, your arms around him.

The quiet Sunday morning is all too perfect. You drift off too, then wake up an hour or two later and proceed about your household chores. You burn some pretty candles, clean, listen to the radio.

Javier doesn’t wake until 10 P.M. that night, 15 hours after he fell asleep.

Some nap.

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos fanfic #narcos

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darktimesdarkvibes · 3 years

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Yandere!Taecyeon (2PM) Headcanons

July 11, 2021 | 1,561 words

Series masterlist

Assumes reader is an adult, but includes for if you have an age gap

Taec's is the darkest post in this series (but there's still far darker yandere posts out there, so just take the tws into account)

Gender-neutral reader I think

tw: age gap, toxic behavior, mention of non-con kiss, short depiction of non-con cuddling, intimidation, restraint, manhandling, gaslighting mention, manipulation, kidnapping, murder, yandere (which is basically thinking you are "in love" with someone but actually you should see a psychiatrist and that's really not a joke. This character trope can become very sick and violent and abusive at their worst, though I tend to go for the softer variety. They are often possessive, over-protective, delusional, etc.)

I don’t believe Taecyeon is actually like this nor do I condone the unhealthy behaviour in this post

Taecyeon is a pretty traditional yandere

Doesn't care a whole lot about an age gap. He likes who he likes at the end of the day

It will give him pause if you are around ten years apart but he gets over it quickly

Protective but also very possessive in certain situations

Gaslighter and manipulator as well

Feels like he's the only one who really "gets" you and vice-versa, and tells you so repeatedly

He’d like you see his strength as something he’ll use to protect you, and he doesn’t want to hurt you

But in a pinch he’ll use it to intimidate you if necessary

Overall he just wants you to remain aware that he’s just a much larger and stronger individual than average, especially as odds are you are not built like him

(Although on the off-chance you are, my reader, that’ll just make him try even harder with you to achieve a similar effect)

He likes that you remember his strength and size, because he hopes it will make you realize that you are safer with him than without him

It gives him a bit of a thrill that you know he's bigger than you

And even if he denies to himself that part of the reason he wants you to recognize it is it might intimidate you, and therefore make you “stay in line”, that is a potential benefit and he knows it

However whenever you acknowledge it he loves it

Especially if you mention how he could probably beat another guy in a fight or protect you, he gets feels warm in his chest and gets excited all at once

He knows he's hot and uses it from day one

Going off of that point and the points about safety and intimidation and all that from above, he’s going to make sure you see him shirtless. Like, live and in-person

He’s going to try to make it happen when you are alone together as well

This is both to amplify the effects mentioned above, and to push more intimacy into your relationship, even if you are not officially romantically involved yet

He won't limit it to one time either

He wants you to see him

Overall tries really hard to make you laugh though too

Acts very sweet/cute until he's not (more on that later)

A very touchy boyfriend, he always wants to be holding hands or standing/sitting as close to you as possible

Actually he automatically puts an arm around you, unless you demote him to hand-holding for some reason

Even if it seems like a situation where that would be inappropriate

He especially does this in public, so even though he’s confident he’s not immune to territoriality

Even if you do have an age gap, he doesn't have that "parental" vibe that Minjun and Nickhun sometimes have

It feels more like you two are on a similar level bc he's so goofy

But if he just so happens to have helpful experience then he will offer some guidance, so if you have an age gap it may happen occasionally

It just has a less parental vibe and more of the typical “senior-in-life” or “friend’s older brother” kind of vibe

Flirts quite physically even before dating, and comes off as kind of cocky

Quite forward and persistent, and likes to fluster you a bit if possible

Which is another reason why he'll make sure you see him shirtless

But he also wants you to happily reciprocate his attention

He also just touchy with you in general though, even before you are dating and when he’s not really flirting

Doesn’t stalk you so much, but when you are in the same room (which he makes sure happens as often as possible) he is always watching you, to the extent that you might well pick up on it

He will stalk you though if he has gone a long time without seeing you (it's got to be a couple times a week at the very very least)

He also will if he is having a rough day and you're firm that you can't hang out with him (otherwise he's been known to tag along while you are just running errands because he is so attached to you)

If he hasn't seen you for a while he gets sulky

Gets visibly angry and more impulsive if someone messes with you

If they intend to harm you or if they actually do harm you then they’re totally fucked

He’s going to kill them, but first he’ll scare them and make them suffer

But because he’s pissed he ends up killing them pretty quickly

He just can't stand the sight of them and he wants them gone

He won't go that far with just anyone, because he's pretty confident that he should be your first choice in a mate, but when he's pushed he'll do it

Like if someone just flirts with you a little then he’ll just step in and get rid of them, then he’ll forget about them

But if they make you actually uncomfortable or worse, then they’re dead

Overall his thinking regarding you can get kind of primal

Hence why I used the word "mate" before

It’s his own word choice

That’s really another core reason he wants you to see his strength

He wants to show off that he should be your first pick

He’s also more likely to kidnap you

Will use force to restrain you if necessary and possible, and again it’s not a bad deal for him if he can be physically very close to you while simultaneously reminding you that he’s stronger than you

It's not even so much overpowering you itself that he likes, because he wants you to be happy

He's just got a weird fixation

He's also a weird kidnapper though because he’ll be trying to keep the atmosphere really light and fun as if you aren’t being held captive

He’ll make jokes and suggest games to play

He also doesn’t feel super guilty about it because he probably feels justified

Perhaps you found out he killed one or more people for you, so he didn't see another option

Or you were going to leave him

Even if he's not very guilty, he’ll still be upset that you’re upset though, and will be wanting Stockholm Syndrome or something to kick in, both for his benefit and so you're happier

He’s a bit impatient and frustrated by the wait, but he doesn’t really take it out on you

Might force a kiss or two over the course of your early relationship, but no more than that

Especially if you clearly don't want it, he'll back off on that and may switch to forehead kisses

He may also force some cuddles. For example, some spooning as you’re tied to a bed

He’s totally calm and blissfully asleep with his arm around you, and all you can hear is his even breathing and perhaps some light snoring

Meanwhile you are in a fight-flight-freeze response, until you are finally so exhausted that you fall asleep

But then you wake up and he really hasn't done anything to you

He really did just want to cuddle

So it is pretty confusing for you, which will probably work in his favor

If you are off your guard and confused, then it’s easier for him to manipulate you

He may also put on a movie and cuddle with you while you are restrained, and act like nothing is amiss. He'll be all laughter and smiles and will act very innocent and soft with you in his arms

Which is again confusing

If you give him attitude or struggle, then he'll either try to soothe you or he'll be firm with you to restrain you

"Hey! Hey... It's okay, I won't hurt you..."

Or,

"Stop that. You know it won't get you anywhere."

He forces cuddles because first of all, he wants to. But also because he thinks it might help you get used to him and your new situation

Because there’s no way he’s just letting you out of it

When you express that you want to leave, he may well belittle you a bit by treating what you want as a joke

Because really in his point of view it's laughable that you would leave

"Come on, you know you're not allowed!" he says with a smile

But if you keep it up he'll get firmer

"You know that's not gonna happen."

So he’s a little bit delusional and unstable

First time together:

For your first time together he's gentle but he's firm

So somehow you simultaneously feel safe, but it goes without saying that he's the one in control

He's leading you where you need to go, and he may well even place your hands for you on his body

Or pin them down

He will never do anything you don't want, but he likes to take the lead and show some physical power and have his weight over you

Pretty much anything wild you wanna do in the future he's probably up for

Very open to suggestions

But he wants to remain in-control

That’s non-negotiable

Good dirty talk

“Yeah just like that baby”

“I make you feel good, right?”

Overall the man is fucked up but in a hot way

#kpop yandere #yandere kpop #yandere 2pm #yandere taecyeon #yandere #tw: murder #tw: age gap #tw: age difference #tw: intimidation #tw: noncon #tw: gaslighting #tw: manipulation #tw: manhandling #tw: toxic behavior #tw: kidnapping #what have i done?#what have i done to myself?#i think his role as hanseok really influenced me here #it's just that him acting so bad but then so cute and then scary and hot was such a wild and enthralling experience

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non-stop-imagines · 3 years

Text

The Man with the Metal Arm (Part 13)

Here’s Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Black!Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Cute, slightly suggestive, mention of ex, plot thickens

A/N: Heeyyyy, how y'all doin?? 😎 I know it’s been more than a while since I have written, and I apolagize for that. School, as always, got me all the way fucked up, luckily summer courses have started which are shorter and (for me) all online soooo. Also my 21st b-day is coming 🥳 so you know I’m excited for that. Anyway, I started writing this like half way through TFATWS bc Bucky with personality was good inspiration. Anyway, hope y’all enjoy. Love you all!💛❤️💛❤️💛

Man with the Metal Arm TAGS LIST: @storibambino @cutiepiemimi13 @this-chan @elaindeereads @letsshamelessqueen-m @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @shakzer00 @lahjatheblackbrat

UNIVERSAL TAGS LIST: @beautifulwisdom2001 @thottio @jetaimeamore @mixedfandxms @here-for-your-bullshit

Requests are Closed, if you want to be added to the tags list for this series or wrting with Bucky in general, just ask.

Masterlist

A couple weeks later you find yourself moving around your place, picking up dishes here, wiping off a surface there, moving to the music of your 60s Playlist that played to the lone earphone in your right ear. Louise was taking a nap in her room and has been since 4 that afternoon. It was now 6 pm. Were you gonna regret it later when all she'll want to do is play or watch a movie or dance to music at 11 pm? Possibly. But right now all you know is that the house was quiet, everyone you know and love are safe, and tomorrow was one of the few Saturdays you had off and all you were planning to do was watch TV in either the comfy pajamas you own or in your underwear. You still had to choose, and maybe you could just have Peter watch Lou. If so you should text him now. Your thoughts began to drift, wondering if May would be there to help Peter, wondering if you could plan some sort of day out with her and Imani soon, but the thoughts were brought to an abrupt halt when you hear a knock at the door. You quickly move over to look out the peephole, swiftly pulling back to open the door when you see that it's Bucky.

"Hey, how are you doing today?" Bucky chuckles as you jump into his arms, squeezing his neck in a tight hug. "Woah there, we just talked last night."

"Yeah, but I haven't had affectionate contact, or any physical contact for that matter, from the man that I love for 3 weeks. I'm touch starved, you can’t blame me.” You speak into his neck, taking hefty sniffs of the cologne you love so much and rubbing your face on his few day old stubble. Bucky continues to hold onto your clinging body as he takes a few steps inside your place to close the door.

“Fine, I guess. Where’s Louise?” Bucky sets you down and lightly pulls at a few coils that stuck out of your pulled back puff as you continue to rub at the stubble that adorned his face and study his tired eyes. He always looked tired, even if he had a full night's sleep.

“Taking a nap.” He cocks an eyebrow at your word with unsaid concern. “I know she’ll be up all night, but I’ve gotten so much done.” You whine, gesturing to the kitchen. That doesn’t stop Bucky from looking around the entrance and the living room, which is currently slightly cluttered with Lou’s toys and coloring apparatuses. “I know, I’m not working as fast as I should be, I may have taken a couple short naps here and there.” Bucky just sighs and gives you a lingering peck on the forehead before moving around you to start picking up toys.

“What are you doing for dinner?” Bucky stands and turns to look at you, stretching and groaning as he does.

“I ordered pizza.” You smile, rubbing his jaw as you head back to the kitchen.

Right as Bucky closed the door after accepting the pizza from the delivery person, almost as if it was staged, a small voice came from the door of Lou’s room.

“Do we get pi- BUCKY!” The little girl with her hair still askew, sprints to Bucky and clings onto his right leg.

“Woah there, Puff. Let me set this down first.” You watch through the pass-through from the kitchen as Bucky limps over to the living room table. “What is it with you and your mom and clinging to me today.” A squealing giggle is earned from his comment before he finally sets the pizza down, swiftly picking up Lou in return and swinging her around.

“Is Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam coming, too?” Lou runs her little hands through Bucky’s hair as Bucky’s eyes met yours before he made a choice decision.

“Uh, no. I thought it could just be you, me and your mom.” Lou’s hands stop what they’re doing and Bucky watches as tears well up in her eyes. The next moment consisted of a hard toddler yank to Bucky’s hair, that had you running in to pull her off of him and setting her on the ground.

“What in the world, was that?” Your voice was stern, but it wasn’t a yell, and it definitely held your four year old’s attention.

“I want to see Uncle Sam and Uncle Steve.” Lou inexpertly crosses her arms and scrunches her face. The attitude doesn’t go fully unchecked when you change your stance to match hers, shifting your weight to one side and crossing your arms, but instead your face sported a cocked eyebrow.

“Fix your tone, little girl.” Silence rests between the two of you, with Bucky standing off to the side, not knowing what to do. “Now,” you squat down at first to meet your daughter's eyeline, but when your knees begin to fail on you, you go for a straight kneel before you continue. “I know you like when Steve and Sam come around. They are a lot of fun aren’t they?” Your question receives a small head nod which allows you to continue. “Your Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam love you very much, but they can’t always be here. I will see if they can come over soon, but you cannot do this again. When you want something, you ask nicely, and if you can’t have what you want right now, what you just did is a no-no. Now apologize to Bucky for pulling his hair.”

“Sorry Bucky.” Lou’s voice trembles as she walks over to Bucky. He picks her up onto his hip and hugs her close after using his unoccupied hand to help you up off the ground.

“Hey, kiddo. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Bucky’s calm voice soothes her before the crying even starts.

“Hey, let me take her. Can you go get some plates?” Bucky nods and hands Louise off, but fluffs her hair once before he goes to get the plates. “I love you, babygirl. So much.” You bring her close to kiss and take a whiff of her scent that honestly hasn’t changed since she was born. “You want some pizza?” Lou nods lightly so you set her down on the couch and head back the kitchen to get everyone something to drink, right as Bucky comes back with the plates. “Show Bucky what piece you want.”

A couple hours later, two empty pizza boxes laid empty on the table and a tired four year old layed asleep with her head on Bucky’s thigh and her feet occasionally kicking you. “Thirteen hours of labor and this is the thanks I get.” You grumble under your breath after receiving one last kick before standing up to clean the dinner dishes. You take one last look at Bucky and his loving gaze on your daughter before heading back to the kitchen. As you put the cups in the sink you laugh at the devious thankfulness you have for your daughter's temper tantrum and crying earlier because that never fails to knock her out and hopefully her circadian rhythm will take over.

“I’m gonna go put her down.” You jump out of your thoughts when you hear Bucky’s voice behind you at the entrance of the kitchen. “Oh, sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I was just, in my head.” You shake the water off your hands and turn around. “Uh, yeah. Go ahead and put her down, if you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. Uh, do you want me to wrap her hair?” He gently adjusts her on his hip, freezing when she shifted in her sleep.

“Nah, not necessary. It might wake her up, and I don’t want her to wake up. I might regret this choice later but right now, I don’t care.” You finish your spiel with your lightly bubble covered hand against the counter behind you. Bucky just slowly nods and heads back to your daughter’s bedroom.

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself in your room, quietly making out with your boyfriend. He sat on the foot of your bed, hands gripping your ass as your tongues fervently danced together. Once the moment to come up for air came, you took that opportunity to push Bucky back onto the bed, and then sent a welcomed attack on his lips that had him pulling you closer than what would be considered humanly possible. After some time, his lips moved down to your neck, the scratch of his facial hair sending goosebumps all over your body.

“Ah, James…” The words quietly drip from your mouth, and the vibration from his chuckled response causes you to moan quietly.

“Oh, it’s James now. Okay.” His right hand begin to trail up and down your torso, gently lifting your shirt until its finally up over your head. He flips the two of you over and sits back on his heels to get a look at you. “Say my name again. Please.” His voice is deep, sultry, and you watch as he slowly gets up from the bed and move to the foot of the bed, lightly griping your leggings.

“James.” Your words start Bucky’s removal of you pants, hooded eyes keeping your gaze on his, but after a few seconds the removal stops.

“Again.” You do as told and he continues, slowly pulling at leggings with help from you shimmying. This repeating continued until your pants are finally off, but a small detail that Bucky didn't pay attention to was how your words began to slur together and fade off, and how your shimmies became less vigorous, so by the time Bucky had removed his own shirt and pants, all he saw when he looked up was you asleep, head fallen to the side and a small amount of drool already escaping from your mouth. “She did seem pretty tired.” Bucky goes into the top right drawer of dresser to get one of your big night shirts then reaching into the adjacent drawer filled with his own items that he brings over whenever he stays the night for a pair of pajama pants. He pulls on your night shirt for you and tries his best to tie on your scarf before finally climbing into bed next to you, pulling you into his body before finally falling asleep.

Lou’s little feet pad along the wooden floor, first to your side of the bed to attempt to wake you up, but when the effort led to a fruitless reward, she moves over to where Bucky was laying.

"Bucky." Lou begins to shake at his back which was currently facing her direction, and once she sees him stir slightly she continues. "Bucky, wake up Bucky." She climbs into the bed and sits on her tucked under legs and starts to play with his hair again. He got a rather drastic hair cut a week ago, and she's just been trying to familiarize herself with the style. The light touch of her fingers and the sing-songy way say repeated his name eventually had him awake enough to flip over and look at her.

"What's up, Puff?" He wraps an arm around her as she pushes the Rouge hairs on his forehead out of his face.

"I'm hungry." Her focus still on Bucky’s forehead.

"What time is it?" Bucky tries his hardest to stall fully getting out of bed, but deep down he knew it was a frivolous effort.

"Time for breakfast." She now begins to lightly tap out a beat on Bucky's head, so he answers quickly to get it to stop.

"Okay, okay. Go turn on something for us to watch. I'll be out there in a second." The child immediately leaped of the bed and ran to the living room, giving Bucky room to look at his phone on his night stand for the time. 6:00 am. He slowly makes his way out of the bed, pulling on his shirt that was still sprawled out on the floor and heads out to the kitchen to start breakfast, but not before giving you a light peck on the forehead.

Your internal alarm clock had you stretching and reaching for your phone at 8:45 am. It just so happened that as you scrolled through your notifications, eyeing texts from Imani and Sherry about their dates with Steve and Sam respectively, you nose catches a whiff a heavenly smelling breakfast, and the equally heavenly sound of both Louise’s and Bucky’s laughter from outside your bedroom door. So after going through and responding to said texts, you get up and pull some shorts on under your nightshirt and head out to the kitchen.

"Hi, mommy! Me and Bucky are making breakfast." Lou's little head pops out from around Bucky’s torso. “He let me pour the waffle dough.”

“It’s called batter, Puff.” Bucky turns his head to smile at you. “Morning.”

“Morning.” You walk over and lightly kiss his lips then look over his shoulder to see the waffle iron closed and steaming. “Be careful, baby.” You feel your child’s, now daunting, curls, and watch them bounce as she nods to display that she was listening.

“Hey, we should go on a date tonight.” You blink from behind the refrigerator door, watching as Bucky unknowingly lifts Lou off of the step stool and moves the waffle iron next to the sink but back toward the backsplash.

“Uh… okay. Where did this come from?” You grab orange juice from the fridge and close the door, reaching in the upper cabinets to grab cups.

“It would be a redo of our first date.” You totally forgot the night was cut short due to Louise being sick. The part of the date that had occurred was nice, and having him there to help you was also great, but it did suck that a whole portion of the night had to be cut.

“Oh yeah. Well, uhh, if you have something in mind, I just have to see if I can get someone to babysit at such short notice.” You finally sit down at the table with your plate filled with a waffle, a couple pieces of bacon and some eggs.

“Well, I can tell you that Imani and your other friend, uh-ah-Sherry, yeah, they won’t be available.” You look up from scrolling through you phone with a playfully cocked eyebrow.

“And you know this how?” You take a bite of waffle, eagerly awaiting his answer.

“Well, Sam is still trying to woo Sherry, and apparently,” He raises his hands in defense before continuing. “Apparently, Imani has been keeping Steve very busy.” You nearly choke on the waffle your were chewing on trying to stifle your laugh, but the noise and the subject at hand earned your daughters attention from the living room.

"Do I get to see Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam today?!" Her question came out as an excited squealing as she whipped her head back to look at you two.

"Uh, no, babygirl. Not today, but you might be able to hang out with Peter. How does that sound?” You watch as a bright smile spreads across your daughters face and her curls begin to bounce as she hops up from her spot at the coffee table.

“Peter! Yay Peter! My boyfriend!” You and Bucky both stop and look at each other, stifling your laughs.

“You like Peter, huh?” You finish your text asking Peter of he’s free to babysit tonight, and take another bite of waffle.

“Yeah, he’s my bestfriend!” You nod, still holding in a chuckle as Louise smiles brightly.

At that moment you receive a text back from Peter:

Peter Parker (Babysitter):

I would love to watch Louise tonight! I just have some homework to do that I can do while I watch her. But is it ok if I come over there to watch her? May has a date tonight.

Perfect, now you don't have to take Lou there then come back and you can just leave from your place instead. You answered Peter confirming plans and then look back up at Bucky. "Wait, where exactly are we going? I haven't seen you make any reservations recently." You finally place your phone down to finish your breakfast.

"We won't need them." He just give you a toothy grin as he gets up from his seat to clean up his spot. Then you watch him with your signature cocked eyebrow as he comes around to give you a kiss on your scarved hair. "Always so skeptical."

"Fine then Mr. 'I Got This', what should I wear to this date that you got all planned out?" You get up from your spot to clean your dishes and Bucky heads to the living room to say bye to Louise. He thinks for a second before answering.

"Remember the outfit you wore when we took Louise to the giant Toys R Us? The outfit with the cardigan and the jeans?" You nod from your spot as you continue cleaning dishes. "Something like that, kinda casual."

"Well, thank you for being so specific." He nods and finally gets to Louise, whose focus was being held by Saturday morning cartoons, in this case it was Looney Toons.

"Hey, Puff. I'm heading out but I'll be back tonight to take your Mommy out, okay?" He picks her up so she could be at eyeline with him.

"Okay. Where are you taking her?" Lou's hands wander back to Bucky's hair, the little hands rubbing at the short hair bringing Bucky a sort of peace.

"It's a surprise. But I'll tell you all about it right after, promise." Lou nods at Bucky's words then gives him a kiss on the cheek goodbye, that being Bucky's cue to set her back down. "Alright, I'll be back to pick you up around 7, alright?" Bucky's keys jingle as he pulls his shoes back on.

"Okie dokie, love you." You speak to him from the sink thought the pass through.

"Love you too. Both of you." And with these words he leaves, leaving a hopeful feeling for tonight's festivities.

It was now 6:30, and you were still stationed in the bathroom, a bit past starting your make up.

"Ms. Y/L/N, can Louise have some ice cream? She keeps asking and I just wanted to check." Peter pops his head into the bathroom. "You look very nice by the way."

"Thank you, Peter. Um, has she eaten all of her dinner yet?" You go back to dusting some shimmery maroon eyeshadow along your eyelid.

"Well, it looks like it, but I have an odd suspicion that she hid her broccoli." Peter responds, still only having his head poked into the bathroom, holding onto the door frame.

"She would do that." You sigh, giving your eyes and hand a break. "Lightly grill her to make sure she did eat her broccoli. If she did actually eat her broccoli, then yeah she can have ice cream. 2 scoops."

"And if she didn't eat the broccoli?" Peter's face contorted to a questioning expression.

"Hold out on he a bit. She'll crack and eat the vegetables. Then you can give her some. Have you had anything to eat? Dinner or anything?" You go back to swiping on eyeshadow, now a deeper brown color.

"I got a small pack of powdered donuts before I got here, but I really haven't had anything since lunch." You stop again watch look at him, chuckling as he begins to cower under your gaze.

"Peter, go eat some food. Fridge is open to you, okay? I don't want you starving while you're over here." You take glances back at him using the mirror, smirking at the smile growing on his face.

"Okay, I will. Thank you Ms. Y/L/N." Peter's head finally disappears from the door frame and you hear the boy questioning your four year old, knowing either way he will most likely just give her ice cream.

Eventually 6:30 became 6:55 and you found yourself fixing little bits of your appearance in your full length mirror, checking out your outfit, which comprised of a dark brown cardigan, a basic flowy white t-shirt, leggings and black calf high boots. "This is gonna have to be casual enough." Just as you speak to yourself in the mirror, you faintly here the knock at the door and Peter letting Bucky in.

"Hey, Peter. Thanks for watching Louise tonight." Bucky keeps his attention on Peter as he limps over to the couch with a squealing four year old clung to his leg.

"Oh, it's no problem at all. I love watching her." They both look towards your room when you ask for a couple more minutes then go back to their conversation. "Um, I actually have a question for you, if you don't mind?"

"Kid, I am not helping you with your history homework again. Don't you have the inter-" Bucky begins to rant before being cutoff by a now more nervous Peter.

"No, I actually was wondering if you could help me with this girl at school. You know getting her to notice me." Bucky just cocks a curious eyebrow at him and he continues. "Well, when you and Ms. Y/L/N started dating you weren't t-the most approachable, ya know,"

"Thin ice, kid." Bucky has now put some of his attention into helping Louise color a page in her coloring book.

"S-sorry, it's just, I was wondering, well, hoping you had some pointers to help me talk to her." Bucky hadn't noticed until now that Peter has moved to the other end of the couch which wasn't far from where he sat but the increased distance was noticeable, so be took a breath and gave his advice.

"Don't overthink it, and stay relaxed. That's really all the advice I can give because Louise is the only reason I got the opportunity to talk to Y/N. So, yeah…" Bucky's eyebrows furrow when he sees Peter frantically typing into his phone, about to ask what it was, that was until you exclaim your emergence from your room.

"Ta-da! This casual enough?" You hold out your arms and quickly step to turned around, displaying not only your outfit, but your dangly "diamond" earrings, and your hair, currently in its natural form but done up a bit.

"Perfect. Absolutely perfect." Bucky walks over to you with his arms open and give you a light kiss while gently pulling you towards him by your upper arms. While he was coming towards you, you got a glance of his outfit, dark jeans, burgundy quarter sleeve henley, and leather jacket, a common combination for him that he wore so we'll.

"Well you look great too. Shall we get going?" You go over to the pass though to grab your purse and then the living room to give Louise one last kiss. "Be good for Peter. Love you, babydoll."

"Yes ma'am, love you too mommy." She grabs your face with her little hands to pull you in for another kiss, and then goes back to coloring. "Thank you again Peter. We should be back around 11:30."

"Okay. Bye Ms. Y/L/N. Bye uh- Mr- B- uh…" Peter frantically looks back and forth between the two of you, and you just stifle a laugh and look towards Bucky.

"It's just Bucky kid. We've been over this." He leads you out the door by the small of your back. "Have fun you two." Finally, you and Bucky were out the door and off to the mystery date location.

"So you having fun?" Bucky asks as you two sway back and forth, slow dancing to the music of an acoustic guitar being played on the stage of a small amphitheater-like area decorated for a date night event.

"Who knew eating a box of pizza in the car and then slow dancing in Central Park would be so romantic.?" You lift your head from Bucky's chest to scan his face, admiring how soft he looks in the light glow of the twinkle lights above. "I like your hair like this." You run your finger up and though his short hair, scratching his scalp and eliciting a deep groan from him.

"You did that on purpose." A mischievous grin grows on his face as his grip tightens slightly around your waist, one hand beings to slip down to grip your butt. "I will not hesitate to bring you back to the car. You owe me from last night anyway." You playfully hit his arms, making him laugh then go to kiss your nose.

"I was tired. You can't blame me, blame my severely messed up circadian rhythm." You giggle your last few words due to the tickle of Bucky's stubble on your neck as he begins to sprinkle kisses up and down.

"You smell good. You always smell good." His kissed being to move along your jaw.

"You have never smelled me after a 12 hour shift, huh?" Bucky's lips finally reach yours, starting with light pecks and ending with deep passionate kisses boarding on inappropriate frenching.

"Woah there, I'm sure you could take this party somewhere more private. Thinking about it, you weren't one to be very modest were you?" That voice. You know that voice. You hate that voice. No, it can't be.

"Trevor." Is all you say, not looking to the man standing a few feet from you and Bucky, seeming to be with someone.

"You know this guy?" You can tell by his voice that Bucky was on edge, hugging you close to him and turning you away.

"Unfortunately. Bucky, this is my uh- ex-husband."

#black reader #marvel imagine #marvel #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x black!reader #bucky imagine #peter parker #james barnes x black!reader #james barnes imagine

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