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darkthallas · 2 years

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Are You Afraid?

Summary: Steve uses the “Avenger’s Slut” for the first time and makes sure to exploit her fears.

Warnings: non-con, kidnapping, torture-ish, manipulation

“Ah- fuck," Bucky grunted as he came in your mouth. He gripped your hair, making you deep-throat him. The tip of his cock reaching the back of your throat, his cum sliding down it.

Lack of air made your eyes water, tears sliding down your cheeks. He pulled out of your mouth, breathing heavily. You swallowed the thick, salty liquid. You were out of breath, collapsing back further on your knees. The man released your hair, letting out a satisfied groan. You wiped your eyes.

He pet your hair, "You did so fucking good. God, no wonder we keep your pretty face around, huh?"

He caressed the side of your face, gently assisting you to stand up by tugging on your hair. The cold cement floor hurt your knees, which were now scratched up and irritated. Bucky stared at you as you began to redress. Wearing only a short, simple, red nightgown and a pair of lacy black panties. It revealed a lot because it was too small of a size for you. What else would you expect though? You're the Avenger’s slut, everything you wear would be revealing.

You faced the man now. He didn't put his clothes back on. You knew what he wanted, but you always liked to wait for an order.

He gestured downward, "Well, slut? I'm not going to redress myself."

You took the hint, grimacing by the name-calling. He noticed this.

“What?" The large, yet lithe man chuckled, "It's been two weeks of breaking you in and you still aren't used to being called a whore?"

You pulled up his pants and boxers, re-buckling his belt. "Two weeks from you. A month from everyone else. And yeah: It's not all that enjoyable."

The man hummed in amusement and understanding. He'd felt the same way once in his life. Trapped and being forced to do something you don't want to do. Alone. Captivated. And you hated feeling trapped. It was one thing you just couldn't handle. You simply watched as the muscled man walked up the basement stairs and slammed the door shut. Not everyone was as nice as Bucky when it came to asking for sex. Some would just come downstairs and say one simple word. "Strip."

After all, they were “heroes” who felt they deserved you for everything they do. Yet, then again, they brought you here against your free-will. If only that stupid girl hadn't lured you here. You were walking home when you saw her. Of course, you were going to help a girl who was in distress. You shouldn't trust everyone so easily though. Because once you knelt down to help her, an arm was around your neck in a snap. A hand covered your mouth as you had fought back. Kicking, scratching, yelling, you tried it all. None of which had dissuaded your abductor.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch." A deep voice resounded by your ear, which only further panicked you. You started to tear up as you tried anything and everything to get away from this man. You had felt your heels connect with his shins many times already, but that didn't even make him loosen his grip.

"Stop struggling." The arm around your neck grew tighter and your vision started to speckle with dots as the man dragged you backwards. "Natasha, grab her legs and force them down."

You felt the woman’s surprisingly strong hands grab you at the ankles and force your legs to be still against the person behind you.

"Isn’t she pretty, Natasha?" He spoke against your ear, though you were barely listening. You were far more concerned about the air that was refusing to get to your lungs.

"Yeah, but I’m sure she'd look prettier in a dress." A ringing voice tainted your ears, it sounded far more derogatory and hostile coming out of her mouth.

"I think we needed a new toy at home anyways, right? Should we keep her?" His voice was teasing. "The boys would have fun with this one."

That was the last thing you had heard before you had blacked out. And when you woke up, you were tied up in a basement. A man with dark hair, Bucky, explained your situation, and that you were going to follow every order given by anyone, or they were going to kill you. And sure, people were rude and derogatory, but none had actually built pleasure upon using any of your fears.

You sighed as you looked back upon that memory. That was a month ago. Granted it sucked at first, you were now taking enjoyment by being wanted by so many people. It felt good when they praised you and of course you got enjoyment out of the pleasure as well. You couldn't really blame them or take offense to them calling you a slut. Because that's exactly what you are. The basement door opened, and there was a light pattern of footsteps.

A voice rang out, "We made something to eat. Come upstairs now."

At least they had allowed you that freedom. Getting up and getting something to eat. You were allowed to do that as long as someone was with you. You sauntered up the stairs somberly. You were easily worn out after a few hours of sexual activity. Shit wears you down. You walked up the wooden stairs onto the main floor. You stumbled a little bit on your last step, looking down as you continued walking on. Then your shoulder met with someone else's.

"Oh- I'm sorry." You were quick to lose balance and catch yourself in the midst of an apology. The other person didn't even stumble.

"Watch it." Those two simple words and the eerily familiar voice that was using them were enough to make you panic.

You were about to continue walking but froze. You were absolutely terrified. You would recognize that mocking voice anywhere. That was the guy who kidnapped you. You felt cold. "I-I'm sorry."

The person turned to give you a once-over. Then his dark emotionless eyes made contact with yours.

"You know what? She was right. You do look prettier in a dress."

He laughed mockingly as he walked away, while you were frozen to your spot.

Your head spun with questions about this man. What was his name? Why did he look familiar? Why did he bring you here? And you were going to figure those answers out.

You rarely talked with any of the woman here, seeing as you were mostly a slut for the guys. But it probably wouldn't take long for a girl to come and ask you to do anything sexual. Unless... What if you slept with one to get the answers you wanted? Someone oughta know everything about him.

"Um," you cleared your throat. It wasn't usual that you would speak during dinner. "Sam, can I ask a question?”

The annoyed male glanced at you, then looked back down at his soup, "What?"

"Do you know anyone who knows the person who brought me here? Like, really well know him?" Your voice almost quivered, fearing you'd be in trouble for asking about him.

"The shitface with the shield?" He asked, to clarify who you were talking about. You nodded. He thought for a minute before he spoke again, "Yeah, I know someone. Her name's Natasha. You'll find her on the third floor. Door number 131. She has red hair, and you won't miss her because first of all, she’s the biggest woman image we have, and second of all, everybody knows Black Widow."

You took in this information, slowly nodding your head. "Thanks... Do you think I can go talk to her?"

"Do whatever the fuck you want." The man shrugged. "I don't give a shit. If you get caught, it's your hide, not mine."

You quickly and quietly finished your dinner, walking out of the kitchen to get to the third floor. You walked through the brightly lit hallway, looking for a specific number on a specific door. It took a while, but after a lit bit you turned down a little separate hallway, reading a door with “131” in bold, metal numbers. You mustered up the courage, bringing your fist up to the door.

You waited for a few seconds until you heard light footsteps. The handle turned harshly, and the door whipped open.

"Yeah?" The girl asked before she even looked out. She glanced up. "Oh."

Her face only showed confusion, before a spark of recognition sparked.

"Ohh, you're the little plaything, aren't you?" She smirked, leaning her hip against the door frame. "Are you here to offer me a little something?"

Your confidence wavered, "Uh, no, I was actually going to ask you-"

She was quick to cut you off, scoffing playfully. "Oh? You came to ask me something? You don't think you're going to get anything without a price, do you babe?"

You flushed a little at the nickname, "What would you want in return?"

"Ever done oral with a woman before?"

You shook your head, "No."

Natasha laughed, pulling you into the room. "Well, now's your chance to try. What do you need to know?”

You had gotten all the information you had thought you would need. Enough to know to stay away from this guy. Natasha had told you everything. Steve Rogers is someone who will exploit you, especially by using your fears.

Unfortunately for you, you just weren't quick enough to get away from him.

"So." He stood at the end of the hallway with his hands in his brown leather jacket’s pockets.

You tried walking faster after hearing his voice, acting as if you hadn't heard him.

“Hey, little bitch, I’m talking to you!" You heard him call. As much as you wanted to pretend you didn't hear him again, you decided that it would be against your best judgement. You stopped walking, but regardless, the man grabbed your arm.

"You know, there’s something I have wanted to do since I first brought you here," Steve said, he sounded haughty, and you saw his cheek tweak up in the slightest. You took that as a sign that he was smirking.

"It's only fair that I get my share."

Steve pushed you against the wall, encasing his arms next to you. You took a deep breath in, and the man tilted his head, "What? Are you not a fan of being this close to someone? Or is it deeper than that, hmm?"

His hand came up, wrapping itself in your hair.

"Are you scared yet? Scared of what I'm going to do?"

He tried to work a reaction out of you, but you closed your eyes. That was enough confirmation for him. He knew you were scared; you knew you were scared. He had you stuck against the wall, which made you nervous enough as is. You didn't like being like that.

He pulled you by your hair down the hallway, leading to a deep brown wooden door. He swung the door open, shoving you in. You fell to your knees on the hard cement, only able to watch as he dug into his jeans, pulling out a key. That's when you really started to panic. He locked the door, slipping the key back into his pocket, not before taunting you with it though.

"No, no, no!" You cried, "Let me out! Please, don't keep me trapped in here!"

Steve chuckled, stalking towards you now, the vein in his neck twitching. You looked around the small room frantically; looking for a way out, some way to reassure yourself you couldn't truly be trapped in there with him. But, other than for the door he'd thrown you in here from, there was nothing. No other doors, no windows, no trapdoors. Nothing. You scooted back into the corner, trying to put distance between you and him.

“I think I know what you're afraid of," Steve came closer then stopped moving, speaking to you in a sing-song voice. "I used to study fears. I know a lot about them. Went through a lot of them even. I saw so many people, with such different fears.”

You shook your head, as much as he was distracting you, you were still panicking. You knew eventually he was going to stop his spiel of words and do whatever he wanted to you.

"What do you want from me?" You cried out, helplessly.

His lips curved up. "I want to exploit your fears."

He bent down in front of you, caressing your face roughly. "You don't like to feel trapped, do you?"

The male chuckled darkly, "Do you know what that's called? Cleithrophobia."

His hand jerked from your face to your hair, grabbing it roughly. You winced as he pulled you up, pushing you by thrusting your head forward. He shoved you down onto a bed. It was dark, hard to see with such little light. He turned you onto your back, grabbing your throat. His grip was tight, but not tight enough to cut off your oxygen. His other hand slid up your nightgown, roughly grabbing your breasts.

"Ah, stop! Please, just leave me alone!" You begged for him to stop.

His hand slipped lower, caressing your stomach before sliding down to the trim of your panties. You struggled, his grip on your neck growing tighter the worse you struggled. He slowly and teasingly pulled them down in the slightest, then allowed them to fold back into place.

He pushed your panties to the side again, rubbing a finger up your slit. You brought your knee up, hitting him in the stomach. He showed no sign of pain, only a flash of amusement running through his eyes. He removed his hand from your lower half, allowing it to join his other hand, squeezing tightly.

You started kicking wildly, feeling lightheaded, you swung your arms, pushing against him. Losing your breath made you start to feel dizzy and tired.

Steve laughed mockingly, "I didn't know you were into choking!"

You closed your eyes, feeling more tears slip down the side of your face. He finally released you, allowing you to breathe. You gasped in air, coughing. Your throat felt swollen and raw. Your body refused to move as you felt his body move off of yours across the room. You had a hard time focusing your vision, trying to look at one thing.

Steve came back, he roughly grabbed your wrist, squeezing as he tied rope around your wrist. He grabbed your other arm, watching as you tried with all your might to find it in you to stop him, to struggle, to do something to keep him from restraining you. He tied it off onto the bedframe, stepping back to admire how helpless you looked.

"Please," you rasped, "P-please!"

Steve stared at you disapprovingly, "If I wanted to hear anything from you, I'd ask. But I didn't, so, shut the fuck up."

He crawled back in between your legs, pushing them apart. You thrashed your feet, trying to land any kind of kick on him. He growled and forced both of your legs down. "If you want to keep these, I suggest you fucking stop."

Since all of the commotion allowed your clothes to shift, Steve had to push your panties to the side again. He rubbed your clit up and down roughly, "For someone so against me fucking them, you sure are wet."

Steve unbuckled his belt, pushing down his jeans and boxers. He grabbed your hip, lining his cock up, then roughly pushing himself into you.

"N-No! Get out of me! No!" You sobbed, shaking your head in disgust.

He groaned as he pulled out and pushed back inside of you, encasing himself in your tight warmth. He found a satisfying rhythm, keeping a pace that only wrought noises from him. He threw his head back, reaching over you and grabbing a hold of the bedframe with one hand, while steadily thrusting into you.

"You’re still so fucking tight!" He exclaimed, "I'm surprised, after so much of whoring around, you think you'd be loose!"

You closed your eyes, turning your head away from him. Trying to ignore what was happening, trying to just not feel it.

Steve leaned down, placing chaste kisses against your jawline and neck. He took his hand off of the bedframe, letting it yank your hair, throwing your head back. His warmth breath ghosted your neck, his teeth grazing your neck. He thrusted into your sob-wracked body once more, biting down on your neck.

"Ow! No! Let me go!" You found your voice again.

Steve let out another groan, pounding into your body roughly. "You think you'd be resisting against me more. Is this what you wanted, you disgusting bitch? Huh?"

He shifted, hitting a place that was more pain than pleasure. You let out a moan of pain, weeping into the bed sheets. "P-p-please..."

You felt his heavy breath next to your ear, and he forced his hand down to your front, teasing at your slit.

"You're so wet, and I feel you contracting around me. You're still going to pretend you aren't enjoying this?"

His breath heaved into your ear, and he grazed his teeth against it. The fabric of his lowered jeans chafed against you.

You felt him roughly pound inside of you, forcing out your liquids onto the sheets. You didn't want to admit the fact that he even was remotely pleasuring you.

Steve chuckled darkly, biting your ear, "Did you just cum?"

You whined in protest, and you tried vocalizing yourself. "N-No! Get away from me!"

Steve pulled out of you, jerking himself off. He groaned audibly and forced the ropes to slacken from the headboard. He grabbed you by the hips as you thrashed, pulling you to be at the edge of the bed.

“Stay." He muttered. He guided himself back into your tight entrance, moaning out as your wetness covered him. You felt his fingers dig into your delicate hips, forcefully thrusting into your aching opening.

"You feel so good." He groaned.

His continuous pounding slowed down, getting sloppier. He grunted, making more punctuated thrusts. You felt his burning liquid taint your insides as his cock twitched. He leaned over you, pulling out. Everything felt numb.

You felt manipulated; he'd played with you. He had played with your biggest fear. Steve chuckled to himself as he used your panties to wipe himself off on. He got up, pulling his pants and boxers up fully, and buckling his belt again.

"Have fun here, sweetheart." He teased. "I hope someone finds you before you run out of time."

"No! Y-You can't leave me here! No, no, no, no!" You sobbed, feeling fear creep into your chest as the air grew heavy.

Steve unlocked the door, giving a smirk goodbye as he left.

#dark! steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #dark! steve rogers x reader #dark! steve #dark marvel

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luxeavenger · 3 years

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I Spit Diamonds

Backstage Pass Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-fi

Pairings: rockstar!Bucky Barnes x rockstar!Steve Rogers x female!reader

Words: 4023

Summary: Nights with the Howlies can get wild. It's lucky you fit right in.

Warnings: Homophobic slurs, drug use, alcohol use, canon-typical violence, fist fight, semi-public sex, blow job, vaginal fingering, piv sex, anal sex, rough sex, come play/swallowing, spit kink, poly relationship, derogatory language (slut-affectionate), pet names (kitten/princess/pretty girl)

18+ ONLY PLEASE! MINORS DNI. If you hit Keep Reading you agree that you're 18 or older. I do not consent to any part of this work being read by anyone under 18 years of age.

I do not consent to having my work copied, translated, or posted on any other site. The ONLY places my work should appear are@luxeavenger on Tumblr and Ao3

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Please reblog if you enjoy!

“Strike!” Natasha shouts triumphantly.

“Nat, that’s the fourth turn you’ve taken in a row. It was Clint’s turn after the first two balls you threw,” you sigh. “That wasn’t a strike. It was a shitshow.”

“That’s right. A fucking shitshow,” Clint scowls. He’d been winning until Natasha decided she wasn’t okay with losing and started cheating.

You were beginning to think that eating a shitload of edibles and going bowling with Clint and Nat had been a terrible idea. You suspect Scott knew what you were getting yourself into because he disappeared the second he shut the RV’s engine off.

Steve and Bucky asked for some quiet time because they were working on a few new songs Bucky had written lyrics for recently. It’s not exactly something they can do with everyone underfoot.

The bowling alley was gross, it smelled like feet and unwashed ass, and everything had a scummy yellow layer of nicotine all over it. To make matters worse, there was a man a few lanes down from yours that had way too much to drink. He was acting like an asshole, talking too loudly, trying to pick a fight with everyone around him, feeling up the lane server, and just being a prick in general. Even his friends seemed fed up with him.

“Can we just start a new game?” Clint grumbles, pointing at Nat, who is still tossing her bright red ball down the alley, having taken the last three or four turns from you and Clint.

“Yeah honey. We’ll start a new game. I just need to figure out how to get Nat to quit throwing the fucking ball.”

The sound of glass breaking, a scream, and a slap comes from the right, “You ASSHOLE.” It’s the lane server who the drunk dirtbag had been harrassing all night. From the sound of things he’d grabbed her ass one too many times and she’d spilled a whole tray of beer because of it, so she’d slapped him.

“You bitch! You can’t touch me! I’ll have you fired, you fucking cunt!” To no one’s surprise the babyman didn’t take kindly to being called on his bullshit.

Clint has an extremely low tolerance for men who treat women like shit, so he’s on his feet as soon as the dude starts yelling. You aren’t sure what he plans on doing—he’s too stoned to tie his fucking shoes right now—but you have to admit, you’d like to beat this dude’s ass too.

“GODDAMNIT, RUMLOW,” the manager shouts, “I’m sick of doing this with you every weekend. Get the fuck out of here. You’re banned, Brock. Permanently. If I see your ugly face here again I’ll call the cops. I kinda hope I get to call the cops—aren’t you still on probation?”

You figure this guy must have one hell of a reputation because the bowling alley erupts in applause as the manager escorts the man—Rumlow—out of the building.

“Wow. What a trainwreck. Awesome!” Nat hoots. “And you wanted to find a bar, Barton.”

“Yeah. At least I’d be drunk now if we’d gone to a bar. This watered-down beer is weak as piss,” he complains, “except piss tastes a hell of a lot better.”

“Oh god, grumpy,” you grumble, “it’s called a flask, Clint. Invest in one.” You pull your flask out of your back pocket and hand it to him. It’s a gift from Steve, a beautiful swirly rainbow, that matches the gorgeous butterfly knife Bucky had given you after you’d taken a shine to one of his with the same prismatic colors.

“Ooo, pretty,” Clint coos over your flask before taking a long pull. He groans as the liquor burns its way down his esophagus, “Oh yeah, that hits the fuckin’ spot.”

“Scott’s friend Thor dropped by with some moonshine the other day,” you take a swig from the flask, humming at taste, “he flavors it with apples.”

“Gimmie gimmie! Me too!” sing-songs Nat, making a grabby hands gesture until Clint passes her the flask after taking another long pull from it.

“Okay, Clint. I’ll give it to ya. You were right, this place sucks,” you finally concede. You pull your phone out and shoot off a text to Steve and Bucky to find out how much longer they needed.

“I’m always right,” Clint grumbles petulantly.

“Like hell you are, Barton,” Nat pulls a face.

“You know I am, Romanoff,” he tosses back, sarcastically, “even if you can’t admit my brilliance out loud, I know you know,” he taps his temple and points at her. Nat sticks her finger in her open mouth and pretends to throw up.

Your phone dings, and it’s a text from Steve letting you know they’re done for the night, and you can come home. Wrangling Clint and Natasha is like trying to shovel water upstairs, but eventually all three of you are out of your bowling shoes and back into your own, and walking the four blocks back to the RV, the three of you draining your flask as you go.

There’s a 7-11 across the street from where the RV is parked, and you follow Nat and Clint into the convenience store to grab snacks and a slurpee, when you spot Bucky and Steve at the counter. You squeal, slurpee forgotten, and hop into Steve’s arms, giggling as he peppers your neck with kisses.

“Hi, kitten,” Bucky grins and kisses you when Steve passes you over so he can pay for their sodas and red vines. The cashier looks at the three of you with a strange look on his face, until Steve sneers at him.

Outside of the store Steve crouches down so you can climb onto his shoulders for a piggy-back ride. He gallops across the parking lot, making you squeal with laughter. Then Clint jogs by with Nat perched on his shoulders. He shouts, “Welcome to the horse race! Get your bets in, ladies and gents, the counter closes in five!”

Bucky shouts, “I’ll bet you a bag of red vines she falls off your shoulders before you get to the RV!”

“You’re on, punk!” Clint flips him the bird over his shoulder and takes off.

A moment later you hear a triumphant cheer and Clint shouts, “We’re the winners!” Which is immediately followed by a shriek from Nat. Then, “She did NOT fall! I did!”

Bucky snorts a laugh and smacks your ass as he trots ahead.

“Stevie? Did you and Bucky get a lot of work done?”

“We sure did, sweetheart. Did you have fun with Clint and Nat?”

“It was okay. But Clint was right, we should have gone to a bar instead.”

“Over the years, I’ve learned to always trust Clint and Nat when it comes to recreational activities. Bucky and I have superpowers because of the super soldier serum. For Clint and Nat, partying is their superpower. They can find a good time like those dogs in the airports find drugs. Actually, finding drugs is another one of their superpowers.”

The RV is just ahead, and Clint and Nat are sitting on the dashboard talking to Scott, and passing a joint around. Bucky is outside, leaning against the brick wall.

Steve hoists you off his shoulders and deposits you gently on the ground. Bucky grabs the front of Steve’s t-shirt and yanks him over for a kiss. Bucky’s arms go around Steve’s neck, while Steve’s big hands go to Bucky’s waist. Their bodies press together from chest to thigh, Steve’s hands squeezing Bucky’s hips, his chunky rings sparkling in the light from the convenience store across the street.

“You taste like apples,” Bucky hums. He slides a hand over Steve’s cock and makes a pleased noise when he finds him hard and straining against his zipper. “Wonder what else you taste like,” he says, sinking to his knees on the pavement between Steve and the wall.

He gets his mouth around Steve’s cock as soon as he frees it from his pants. Steve rumbles ‘Oh fuuuuck,” and props his arm against the wall so he can rest his forehead against it.

Bucky licks and sucks at the tip of Steve’s cock. He grabs Steve’s hefty PA piercing between his teeth and tugs at it before swirling his tongue around the head. Little kitten licks to the underside of the glans where the steel ring of his piercing intersects his skin, makes Steve groan loudly, and his hips jump forward. Bucky hums around the jewelry and Steve lets out a strangled noise of pleasure.

Watching Bucky noisily and enthusiastically work over Steve’s cock has you wet and squeezing your thighs together, but when Bucky slides his mouth from the tip all the way to the base in one smooth movement like he’s trying to suck Steve’s soul out through his dick, and Steve’s knees buckle, you can’t help the groan that escapes your mouth. Steve turns his face towards you, a grin curling over his lips. He slips a big hand around your throat and drags you to his mouth for a kiss.

Humming against your lips, Steve asks, “You like watching me get my dick sucked, pretty girl?” You nod. “Bet you’re wet right now. Bet your panties are fucking drenched.”

“‘M not wearing any,” you whisper against his lips.

“Fuck, you’re such a slut for us, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He snakes a hand down the front of your shorts and swipes two fingers through your folds, hissing when he finds you soaked. He drives his fingers into your pussy, and catches your mewl with his tongue when he devours your mouth in a kiss.

Bucky’s using one hand to jerk Steve’s cock when he has to come up for air, but the metal one is wrapped around your leg, slowly stroking the inside of your thigh, keeping you close to them and occasionally slipping up the leg of your shorts to slide around your wet pussy. His cool digits circle your opening as Steve’s fingers work you over hard. Steve’s rings grind against your clit with every pump into your sopping cunt. Your whole body is hot, except for all the places Bucky’s vibranium touches. The heavy limb drags cool trails up and down your thigh, while his fingertips continually dance in and out of your shorts.

“Well, well, well look at what I found,” a rough voice interrupts from the mouth of the alley. “Must be my lucky night. Hello, sugar.”

All three of you turn to see the speaker, who you instantly recognize as the asshole from the bowling alley. “Not this dipshit,” you groan quietly. Then louder, “Rumlow, right?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” he grins, “but a sweet little piece of ass like yourself can call me by my first name. It’s Brock.”

Steve immediately tenses, and you put a hand on his arm to stop him from doing anything extreme. Bucky just snorts a laugh and tucks Steve back into his pants. You already know this isn’t going to end well for this dickhead. “Okay, Brock. I’m doing you a huge favor right now, and telling you to mind your own business, and get the fuck out of here.”

“A favor? That’s awful nice of you, sugar.” He palms his dick over his jeans, and unwisely digs his grave a little deeper with the gesture, “How ‘bout I do you a huge favor and take you home with me? I can take better care of you than either of these faggots.”

Okay, so he was digging that grave a lot deeper.

Bucky’s on his feet now. “The fuck did you just call us?”

“I said,” Brock takes a step toward them, “I’m gonna take this pretty little cunt home with me, and give her a real dick to ride, because neither of you faggots can take care of this little bitch’s pussy like I fuckin’ can.”

Steve chuckles darkly, and Bucky nods. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. I just wanted to make sure.”

He and Steve are on the guy so fast you’d almost believe they teleported the twelve feet that separated them. Steve’s fist makes contact with Rumlow’s cheek, snapping his head back hard. As soon as Brock recovers, he takes a swing at Bucky—a surprisingly disciplined swing for a drunk ass dipshit, but one Bucky could dodge in his sleep—and meets Steve’s fist again. The blow knocks him off his feet and back into Bucky’s solid chest. Bucky gets his vibranium hand under the guy’s arm before he can fall and pulls him upright just in time for Steve’s fist to make contact with his stomach, driving the breath out of him with an audible woof.

Rumlow tries to hit Steve with a haymaker, but Steve easily side steps his fist, Bucky uses the opening to hit him with a right cross, knocking Rumlow to the ground. Your mind flashes back to the poor server from earlier, how much she must have put up with because of this douchebag. You pull your butterfly knife out of your boot, flip it open, and straddle Rumlow’s back. He’s still struggling to breathe, and he makes a high-pitched whining noise when you plop down on him. Grabbing a handful of his hair, you wrench his head up and press the blade under his jaw.

Rumlow wheezes, and spits a mouthful of blood on the ground in front of him. There’s at least two teeth in the crimson puddle. “Quit movin’ before you make me slip, asshole,” you growl. You press the knife edge against him until he hisses, and a thin red rivulet spills down his Adam’s apple. It matches the red oozing from the lacerations on his cheek where Steve’s rings cut him.

“Shit, darling, chill,” he says, trying to placate you.

Bucky smacks his cheek and growls, “Stop fucking talking to her if you know what’s good for you.”

Steve casually squats in front of Brock with his hands hanging from his knees, knuckles red and raw and splattered with blood from Rumlow’s face. Bucky gets on his hands and knees on the pavement in front of the bleeding man.

“We’re out here minding our own goddamned business,” Bucky muses. “Meanwhile you wander along and decide to insult us and our girl.”

Rumlow doesn’t respond, just breathes heavily through a nose that whistles like it’s broken.

“Tell me something, asshole,” a malicious grin curls over Bucky’s lips, “You ever seen a faggot’s cock up close and personal?”

His throat bobs against your blade when he swallows. He shakes his head, wincing when you tighten your grip on his hair.

“Well, Brock, do you want to?” Bucky goes up to his knees, and his hand goes to the fly of his jeans.

“No,” Rumlow answers quickly, then whimpers, “please don’t.”

Bucky and Steve both bounce to their feet, and you stand, situating yourself between the two of them, their arms going around you protectively. “Then I strongly suggest,” Bucky says in a flat voice, “you get the fuck out of here before we give you an extra close look at two of them.”

He scrambles to his feet and takes off down the road without looking back.

“Christ, princess,” Bucky cups your face in his hands, “are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you soothe, “I’m sorry I got involved, but he was at the bowling alley earlier, groping the poor servers, who were just trying to do their jobs. I just-I really wanted to scare him.”

“I think it’s safe to say you did, sweetheart. You were a badass,” Steve hugs you from behind. “Man, what he said to you... I just snapped,” he says anxiously, spinning you around to face him. Worry creasing his brow. “I don’t like bullies, and what he said to us was bad enough, but I won’t have anyone talking to you like that. I can’t. Not you, I’m sorry, I fucking can’t,” he stammers.

Bucky’s arms wrap around your waist. His voice is like honey, rich and sweet and soothing, when he purrs in your ear, “Stevie’s trying to tell you we wanna keep you safe because we love you.”

“What?” you ask, not sure if you heard him right.

Steve huffs out a relieved breath. “Yeah. We love you. And we can’t let anything happen to you.” His eyes are full of worry when he wraps you in a hug, filling in all the space on your body that Bucky doesn’t occupy. Once you’re perfectly wrapped up in super soldier, Steve whispers into your hair, “We love you.”

A well of joy builds in your chest and bursts like a dam, it has to go somewhere, so you giggle. “Guys,” you squirm so they’ll give you some room to breathe. When they loosen their grip you chirp, “I love you too!”

Steve’s smile is incandescent, “Really, doll?”

“Yeah. Really,” you grin. “I love you both.”

Steve picks you up in a bear hug and kisses you like he’s worshiping you. When Steve is done kissing you, Bucky comes up beside Steve to kiss you too, and you push yourself into his arms, bridal style.

Bucky rests his forehead against yours, “Kitten, I just have to say. Watching you pull a knife on that shitbag was so fucking sexy.” He grinds his cock against your hip so you can feel just how sexy he thought it was. “You feel that? ‘M so fucking hard it hurts. You did that to me, pretty girl,” he groans.

Clint’s head pokes out of the RV’s door. “Hey, I won the bet, you guys have to pay me my red vines. Bucky, can I have your red vines?”

Nat’s head pops out too. “Are you going to be ready to go soon? We wanna find strippers,” she whines.

“Dudes, read the fucking room,” Steve squeezes the bridge of his nose.

Sounding confused, Clint replies, “But, Steve, you’re outside. There is no room…?”

Bucky growls, “Nat. Clint. If you don’t want to watch us fuck, I suggest you get back on the bus. Now.”

Natasha retreats hastily, while Clint winks at Steve and blows him a kiss before Nat grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him back inside.

Bucky plops you down on the ground with a wolfish grin, and smacks your ass. “Shorts off, legs spread. Up against the wall, kitten. You have until I get my cock out, or I tear them off you. So you better move fast.” Thankfully, he’s wearing a belt, which gives you the tiniest bit of extra time, so you hastily pull one side of your shorts off over your boot. You love these shorts, and Bucky won’t hesitate to shred them to get at your cunt.

He’s on you before you get the other leg off, they’re still wrapped around one ankle when Bucky shoves you against the RV and pushes his cock into you hard enough that your feet leave the ground. His metal hand is planted between your shoulder blades holding you against the RV, while his other hand grips your thigh tight, hiking your leg up and spreading you open so he can dick you down hard. You know you’ll be sporting hand-shaped sore spots in both places later, and you’ll spend hours pressing your fingers into the bruises while they heal.

Bucky noses against your neck while he ruts into you, his teeth nipping and biting along the column of your throat. A particularly brutal thrust has you groaning his name. He huffs a laugh against the shell of your ear. “Such a slut for this cock, aren’t you?” All you can do is nod and whine for for him to fuck you harder.

Suddenly his body is heavy against yours, his movement stilled by Steve’s hand on his lower back. Steve hawks a wad of spit into his palm and slicks the hand over his dick. He thumbs the head of his cock into Bucky’s hole and grinds into him until he bottoms out.

Bucky grunts, “Fuck” when Steve’s hips press against his ass, at the same time your pussy flutters around him, spilling slick over his cock and balls.

Steve leans against Bucky, a smile on his lips when he parrots Bucky's words back at him, “Fuck, you're such a slut for this cock. Hmm?”

Bucky groans, “Fuck, I am, Stevie. Love your cock,” when he pushes back against him, working Steve's dick deeper into his guts.

“Well you better fuckin’ hold onto somethin’ then,” Steve rumbles before he pulls back and slams into Bucky.

Bucky braces a forearm above him, and wraps his other arm around you to keep you from being squished between the RV and the weight of two super soldiers. Steve’s fucking him at a punishing pace, and each slap of his hips drives Bucky’s cock into you. It lights a fire in your belly, which only burns hotter when Bucky’s fingers find your clit. A few quick circles around the little nub has your cunt squeezing his cock when you come with a wail.

“Oh fuck,” groans Steve. “Sound so pretty when you come, sweetheart. Make her do it again, Buck.”

You’re sensitive, overstimulated, but Bucky is relentless, and he knows your body almost as well as you do. So you barely have time to catch your breath after your first orgasm before a second one rips through you. It bows your back and buckles your knees, and if it weren’t for Bucky’s strong arm around you, you would have definitely hit the pavement.

Steve’s rhythm stutters, and he comes with a breathless fuckfuckfuck.

Bucky spins you around and pushes you onto your knees. “Open,” he barks at you, jacking his cock hard and fast. As soon as your chin falls open the first splash of come hits your cheek. The rest ends up on your tongue or dripping down your chin.

“Hold it,” he tells you, swiping a thumb through the come on your cheek. He smears it over your lips like chapstick, and slips his thumb into your mouth. “Wider, kitten,” he tugs on your chin. He hawks a wad of spit onto your tongue to mingle with the milky puddle of come. “You're mine. Don't forget it. MIne."

“Mine,” Steve says possessively. Then he leans in and drops a string of spit into your open mouth too.

Bucky’s thumb withdraws, and he pops it into his mouth to suck it clean. “Look at our perfect little slut, Stevie.”

“Fucking love our dirty girl,” Steve smirks, and Bucky hums his agreement.

“Swallow that, and get your tight little ass into the bunk, because I’m not done with you yet. You're gonna be sore tomorrow, princess,” Bucky’s voice is low and gravelly.

Steve helps you up and you bend to put your shorts back on. “No. You heard him. Bunk. Now,” Steve growls.

“But, my-”

“Your shorts?” Bucky chuckles. “You’re half naked? Well I guess you better run then.” He swats you in the ass as you dart up the RV steps and make a b-line to your bunk and dive in, but not before Clint and Nat whoop at your bare ass.

Bucky stomps up the RV steps and grumbles, “Alright. We gotta go, just in case Rumlow called the cops on us.”

“Oh, so NOW we’re in a hurry all of a sudden,” Nat complains.

743 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Seeing Red | bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x actress!reader (part 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

series summary: bucky used to brag that he didn’t have a celebrity crush, or really care about famous people at all, which is what made him the perfect person to start working for a celebrity like yourself. except, of course, it’s just his luck that he’d fall for you.

word count: 3k

warnings: smut (semi-public sex), possessiveness (some sexual, some not), jealousy, some fluff and some angst, also some violence (including a very small amount against the reader, proceed with caution), mentions of infidelity in a previous relationship

a/n: oh y’all thought it was gonna be smooth sailing from here on out? lol

You didn’t want to abandon Bucky to do carpetside interviews, but he refused to get anywhere near a hot mic so you let him go while you walked over to a reporter you recognized; she’d been nice before, probably would be again this time, so you were a little relieved to see her tonight.

She introduced you to the camera and you were slightly spaced out until she turned to you and got your attention again. “So, you’ve been making a lot of headlines lately for your new relationship— what’s the scoop? How’s it going?” she asked playfully, pushing the microphone into your face.

“Uh, great,” you breamed, “he’s my date tonight and he seems to have disappeared to…” you turned around to look for him. “Oh, he’s talking to... is that... Laurence Fishburne?”

“James, is that his name?” she prompted, making you focus your attention back on the interview.

“Um, yeah,” you nodded, the name sounding a bit foreign, “legally, but he goes mostly by his nickname Bucky.”

“Aw, that’s cute,” she smiled. “He’s, uh…” her eyes widened a bit and you laughed.

“Yeah, he is,” you smirked. “I assume by that facial expression you mean ‘crazy hot.’”

“I mean, in the politest way possible… yeah,” she giggled.

“Yeah, no, don’t pretend not to notice for my sake, cause, yeah, it’s… apparent.”

“Apparently he was your driver first?” she pressed.

“Yes!” you beamed, and then heard the way it sounded and backpedaled slightly. “I promise that’s not why I hired him. I actually didn’t meet him before he was on my team, but, I mean, I wasn’t mad to have some eye candy in the front seat.”

“Eye candy, huh?”

“But he’s so much more than that, that’s the thing,” you explained. “We became good friends first, because he’s so smart and funny and kind and… I mean, I know he looks tough, and he is, but he’s really very sensitive underneath the slightly intimidating exterior.”

“Hard shell, soft center, sweet— he really does sound like candy!”

“Indeed,” you nodded. “Gotta run but it was nice to chat!”

You dashed over to Bucky and clung onto his arm. “Oh, hey, we were just talking about you,” he beamed.

“Loved you in After Midnight,” Mr. Fishburne smiled and even you were totally starstruck.

“Oh, wow, thanks, I loved you in… everything…” you trailed off, internally scolding yourself for the vague and useless compliment. He was about to respond but was pulled away by some member of his team, giving you and Bucky a quick wave as he began a carpet-side interview.

“That was Laurence Fishburne, wasn’t it.” Bucky mumbled to you in a stunned monotone.

“Yes, what were you doing talking to him?” you asked, amazed at his bravery to approach such a huge star.

“He came up to me, to congratulate me on… on dating you, I guess…”

“Or he mixed you up with Brad Pitt,” you shrugged.

“Yeah, if Brad Pitt lost all his money, spent a decade in the desert, went loco and buzzed all his hair off,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Oh come on, you look great,” you soothed him, straightening his tie. “Wanna go take some pictures?”

“I’m a little scared,” he admitted with a shy smile.

“It’s easy, just give them that sexy brooding look you do so well.”

Bucky smirked pridefully. “You think so?”

“Totally. You’re a natural,” you assured.

You tugged his arm and guided him to the carpet, letting him lead the way (or look like he was leading the way) as you found a clear spot and noticed how the cameras instantly flashed faster and brighter. Photographers called your name to get your attention, and you waved and smiled and pulled Bucky closer. The feeling of his arm around your waist was warm and comforting, and you hoped holding you had the same effect for him.

“Where are you looking?” you asked.

“At you,” he answered.

“Bucky,” you giggled, “you’re supposed to look at the cameras!”

“I honestly can’t, it’s blinding,” he frowned.

“Here,” you sighed, pointing out into the darkness just above the sea of flashing lights. “Look out there.”

“I can’t see anything!”

“I know, but, look as if there was something there to look at, trust me, it helps.”

You adjusted slightly a few times, turning a little to show off the low back of your dress. You almost gasped when Bucky held your face and kissed you suddenly, but you were happy to melt into it even as you heard the cameras flash even more aggressively, some whoops and hollers coming from the crowd on and off the carpet.

He pulled back and you wanted to chase him for more but you realized it wasn’t the right time.

“Let’s go inside,” you offered, guiding him the rest of the way down the carpet— mainly because you were afraid you’d end up jumping his bones right here in front of everyone.

He nodded and followed close by, arm resting on your shoulder the whole time, and just as you saw one of your friends and thought you might want to go over and introduce her to Bucky, you saw who she was talking to.

Sam.

Seeing him always made your heart stop. At first, it was because you were starstruck by him, in awe of his talent, amazed that you were going to be working with someone you admired so much. Then it was because you had fallen for him and he had gladly swept you off your feet, bringing you into a whirlwind romance that at the time had felt like the only thing that mattered. But since the break-up, and now, it was something else. Fear wasn’t the word, it’s not like you were afraid of him in a literal sense, but there was this anxiety, this tenseness to seeing him. It always brought back memories— the best and the worst, all at once. Nights laughing together, sharing secrets, stealing glances and touches and kisses; nights spent alone staring at a phone that never rang. Limbs tangled together between the sheets, that warm brown skin encompassing and surrounding yours; laying side by side in a bed that isn’t empty but is still plenty cold, seeing the way he angles his phone away from you and wishing you had the strength to just leave because you already knew what he was doing. The first time you said ‘I love you.’ The first time he said ‘it won’t happen again.’

“You alright?” Bucky asked, tearing you from your thoughts. You looked away and met Bucky’s gaze, hoping he either hadn’t seen your ex or at least hadn’t recognized him.

“Yeah, I’m great,” you answered quickly, “let’s go get some drinks maybe? And then I need to show you off to some people.”

“Show me off?” he scoffed.

“Yeah, why did you think I brought you here, really?” you winked.

“Hey, if we’re showing each other off, does that mean you’ll come to my next high school reunion?”

You’d been antsy ever since the two of you had come inside; it was obvious from the way you were clinging so much closer to him, and yet it was clear that your mind was a million miles away.

“Hey, it’s starting to wrap up, wanna head out soon?” you asked, trying to act casual, but he saw the way your eyes were darting up to where Sam Wilson was mingling and he knew it wasn’t about getting home early. Did you really think he wouldn’t notice that you’d seen him?

“Whatever you wanna do,” he shrugged.

“Okay, could you bring the car around for me then? And I’ll meet you outside?” you offered. “I should say hi and bye to a few people.”

“Sure,” he agreed, starting to walk away after giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

And he really did try to do what he said he was going to, but the further away he walked, the more he glanced back to watch you walk across the room, the harder it was to just let it go. He knew you were going to talk to him, and before he really even decided to do anything about it he found himself circling back around the room, following you.

He thought he’d lost you when he turned a corner and you were gone, but then he heard voices from a doorway and cracked it open slightly to see you inside with a few other people, nobody he recognized although one of them he’d definitely seen in something before.

He sighed with relief, about to turn and go get the car like he said he would, but then Sam Wilson just had to magically materialize out of thin air as he stepped up behind you and tapped your shoulder.

“Sam!” you blurted out, spinning to face him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” he greeted, acting all suave and shit, making Bucky’s blood boil. “You look great.”

“Oh, thanks,” you mumbled, “you too.”

“You’ve been all over the internet lately, making quite the splash,” he recalled with a contemplative nod. “You and this new boytoy you’ve got.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is boyfriend,” you corrected sternly.

“Honey,” he scoffed as he rolled his eyes. Bucky couldn’t decide if it was worse to hear him call you a pet name in earnest or with the derogatory tone that he currently had. “Everybody knows you go through these guys like potato chips. Especially when they’re not famous— how many PAs did you hook up with on your last set, huh?”

“I don’t roll like that anymore,” you denied.

“That’s not what Jake Friedman says,” Sam smirked. It actually took Bucky a moment to remember that that was the guy you’d… entertained in the backseat of your car, or maybe it was more that he had entertained you; you seemed to tense up when Sam mentioned him, as did Bucky. “I mean, sure, he’s not crew, but he’s not famous the way you are. The way we are. And neither is your new guy. He doesn’t ‘get it’, does he? He doesn’t get what it’s like. Has he already started freaking out about all the hate online?”

Bucky regretted that he’d ever said anything about that; if he’d known it would come around to prove Sam Wilson right about something, he wouldn’t have done it. “No,” you lied.

“Well, he will,” Sam assured you, stepping a little closer to you and letting his fingers languidly brush over your arm. “I made a mistake before, letting you go.”

“Damn right,” you hissed as you pulled away from him.

“But I realized that, and now I’m wondering why we aren’t giving the people what they want.”

“That’s what I never understood about you,” you frowned. “It’s always about other people with you. It’s never about you, and it was never about me.”

“But it is about you,” he explained, “and me: us. You’re forgetting how good we were together.”

You shook your head. “I was single for years and you never called. Now you’re all over me with all these regrets about ending it? Get a grip, Sam. This is about you wanting what you can’t have.”

“Can’t have?” he repeated incredulously. “Baby,” he purred— and Bucky decided it was definitely worse to hear him call you that in earnest. “You know you’re always gonna be mine.”

As you started to shiver, Sam��s arms slipping around your back and grabbing your waist, Bucky felt like he had lost control of his body. He was watching himself from far away as he stormed across the room, nearly knocking a few people over on the way, and shoved Sam off of you and onto the ground.

“Bucky!” you yelped. “Bucky, stop!”

“You’d better watch your hands, Wilson, before they get somewhere they’re not supposed to be,” Bucky growled, ignoring you completely even as you helplessly tugged at his suit.

“Jesus,” Sam spat, “the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What are you doing?” you asked Bucky, irate and confused as you stared up at him with a furrowed brow. He grabbed your hand and guided you out of the room and down the hall, barely managing to drag you into a random bathroom before he started tearing at your dress, leaving rough bites and kisses down your neck as you gasped and moaned softly.

“Mine,” he mumbled against your skin, “all mine. Did you forget?”

“No,” you sighed, “I could never…”

“That’s not what it looked like,” he sneered, hiking up your long skirt to run his fingers over your skin and expose the delicate, lacy panties you were wearing.

“Bucky, please,” you sighed, rubbing your hips up against his leg, riding his thigh shamelessly.

“What’s got you so worked up, baby? Is it me, or him?” he asked darkly.

“You, baby, just you, nobody else— I’m yours,” you assured him feverishly, “I’m all yours, please, I need you.”

“Yeah?” he breathed, fumbling with his belt and fly as he pulled his growing cock from his suit pants. “You need it that bad?”

“Please,” you sobbed, “fuck me.”

He pulled your underwear aside and quickly shoved into you, groaning at the feeling of your walls stretching to welcome him. “Fuck, angel, so tight,” he sighed, knowing how much little praises drove you crazy.

“Bucky,” you sighed, “oh my god… harder, please— n-need you deeper…”

His hips moved back only to slam back against yours, making you whimper; he smiled when he felt your leg wrap around his waist and try to hold him inside, but he couldn’t slow down now, not when he needed this so bad.

He sucked on your neck as he kept thrusting into you, your wetness coating his cock so thoroughly that he slid right home every time. It was clear that he was hitting your g-spot from how you moaned with each thrust, your spongy channel pulsing and tightening in rhythmic patterns.

Overcome with the need to assert his, for lack of a better word, ownership over you, he found himself reaching up to hold your throat— not quite in the way to choke you, just to remind you that he could, if he wanted to.

“Did he ever make you come like this?” he asked with a gravelly whisper, lips right against your ear as he tightened his hand around your neck slightly.

“No,” you shook your head, “nobody has.”

“Nobody’s ever loved you this good but me, is that it? Nobody else has ever fucked you like this?”

“Just you, Bucky, please don’t stop— I’m so close…”

“Do you think they can hear you out in the hallway? Say my name when you come, princess, just in case they can— I want them to know who’s making you feel this good.”

“Bucky,” you whined, chanting it over and over with a few ‘yes’s and ‘fuck’s interspersed occasionally. He thrusted faster and harder as he felt his own orgasm building; he needed to come inside you and claim you again, mark you as his one more time, and the flexing of your walls was only egging him on.

“I know you’re close, baby, just let go,” he whispered against your ear, “come for me, just like that, you’re doing so good— fuck, so good for me…”

You whimpered and clutched at his shoulders, a gush of wetness and a final, strong tightening of your inner muscles signaling that you’d reached your peak. He couldn’t hold back any longer when he saw (and felt) that, groaning as he began to release thick streams of come into you.

The absolute second your afterglow began to fade, you pushed him off of you and grimaced as you adjusted your panties and dress. "The fuck is wrong with you?"

"Wh— what?" he stammered, breathless and confused. "What did I do? Was I not supposed to come inside?"

You gaped at him in shock. "Do you really not realize what you did? Bucky, you assaulted my ex-boyfriend."

"I— he'll be fine," he dismissed, "he was putting his hands on you, what was I supposed to do, just let him do it?"

"You were supposed to let me handle it," you hissed. "You were supposed to be pulling the car around and not spying on me!"

"Spying?! I was protecting you."

"You shoved him hard enough to knock him over, Bucky, that's not okay."

"Hold on," he shook his head in disbelief, "so you're mad at me, when we just had sex?! Why didn't you say something before?"

"Just cause it's hot doesn't mean it's okay," you explained, a little embarrassed.

"Tell me something," he frowned, "what is this—" he motioned to the space between the two of you— "to you? Cause it kinda seems like I think we're boyfriend and girlfriend, and you think—"

"What? What do I think?" you challenged. "Go ahead, tell me."

"You think it's just a sex thing."

"Oh my god," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, what am I supposed to think when you get off on me dealing with your ex, and then tell me it's this big terrible thing?"

A sick idea clawed its way out of the back of Bucky's mind: was Sam right about her? Was Sam right about us?

You crossed your arms and huffed, but didn't respond.

"Was everything that just happened just a fuckin' kink for you or something? Cause I meant every goddamn word," he growled.

You sighed, like you weren't taking it seriously— like you weren't taking him seriously. His fist tightened at his side involuntarily. He'd never felt so used, so ignored; or, at least, he never expected it from you. "We'll talk about this later," you dismissed quickly. "Let's just go back there and put on a happy face, okay?"

"Oh, so you can let another guy feel you up? Sounds like a fucking blast," he hissed.

"Fuck you," you snarled as you pushed him aside to leave the bathroom.

He didn't remember grabbing you, he didn't remember twisting your arm as he pulled you back. He didn't remember you crying out, trying to wrench yourself away, clawing at his grip on you. All he remembered was you looking up at him with watery eyes, expression twisted in fear.

"Bucky, you're hurting me," you whimpered weakly, and only then did he notice his metal hand was holding your wrist. When he let go, he already saw a mark forming in the shape of his hand as you grabbed your freed wrist to rub the damaged flesh.

"I'm sorry—" he began to whisper, but you were already gone.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader series #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes smut

691 notes · View notes

empressnarria · 3 years

Text

"Pet Names."

___________________________________________________________

Summary: Edge always wondered why Stacey, his significant other, disliked pet names. Either derogatory or too sappy, she refrained from using or being given any nicknames other than “love.” These forbidden names included “babe/baby,” “cute,” “princess,” as well as anything food related.

He decides to test his “pet name” theory the one-, and solely-way Edge knows how: by teasing.

But what happens when his teasing goes too far?

___________________________________________________________

Warnings: None, Monsters surfaced, Established relationship, SFW, slightly suggestive, Edge teases his badass and adorable partner, fluff, fluffy fluff, most fluffy fluff to ever fluff.

Pairing: Edge (UF Papyrus) x Stacey (female OC)

Wordcount: 1280

Notes: An original work I've been building up the confidence to write and post for months! Criticism is encouraged and welcomed. Enjoy the first addition to my Undertale (multi-au) Drabble Series!

Read it on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33980626 Or Here!

Edge always wondered why Stacey disliked pet names.

Either derogatory or too sappy, she refrained from using or being given any nicknames other than “love.” These forbidden names included “babe/baby,” “cute,” “princess,” as well as anything food related.

He learned this the hard way when she snapped at him for such disgusting naming during one of their cuddle-readings. Edge failed to see how it was his fault.

They were in the home library; their different sizes somehow comfortably situated on a small, Victorian chaise, while reading their preference.

Wrapped up under his arm, Stacey held her novella in close, flipping through the tattered pages. Edge watched her from his peripheral. He took note of how she thumbed her chin as she scanned each sentence, her eyebrows narrowed in puzzlingly. Exhaling a content breath, he smiled.

Never a dull moment with Stacey’s analytic stare.

His attention was stolen away, however, when she suddenly perked up—ears shooting high. Before Edge had the chance to question her or catch the falling blanket, Stacey whispered, likely for only herself to hear, “Jesus fucking christ, please, please kiss already!”

Edge froze mid-leaning over, letting the blanket slip from his gloved grasp. His whole body swiveled towards her as he eyed his normally reserved partner. As if he weren’t scrunched up beside her, Stacey, completely unphased, stayed curled up in her book.

From the attentive glisten in her slit pupils, Edge assumed she’d been waiting for this exact moment to happen, but was prolonged by the author, (much to Stacey’s apparent outrage) and could no longer contain her excitement.

Another smile crept up his pointy cheekbones. Without further thought, Edge muttered out “cute.”

Stacey’s head snapped up.

What came after a seemingly harmless comment blew up into an intense tangent about how pet names are demeaning and all-around stupid.

Noted.

But as Edge thought back on the learning experience, he found she never elaborated why. He called her “cute.” And yet, she reacted as if he pulled the baby-talk card (of which would’ve rewarded him a crinkled nose and a glare as sharp as cutting knives…).

Whatever the reason, a sadistic side of him wanted to see the limitations of this naming. In a teasing manner, of course. A constant factor in their brutal, yet loving banter.

Perhaps her dislike came from embarrassment?

Joy swelled inside him at the thought. In excruciatingly rare moments did Edge have a leg up on what could embarrass Stacey. Certainly, humming darkly against the crook of Stacey’s neck made her melt into his hands, but Stacey is a woman of many tricks; and one of those tricks being her ability to retaliate.

Flirtatious gestures? She strikes back with a phrase even nastier. Mistreating others? She’ll put you in your place before humiliating you publicly. Challenge her or question her abilities? She struts up to the plate without hesitation.

The whole house witnessed her intensity once—and suffered from torn eardrums—when a vicious dispute broke out between Stacey and Crimson. As expected, the argument escalated into a brawl, and ended with Crimson driven up a wall by his throat.

So to have an upper hand as small as a nickname gave Edge a strange air of power. And he wanted to wield it, oh, so unfairly.

Standing up from the round kitchen table, Edge took one last sip of his chamomile tea, rinsed his cup, then exited to test his theory. Thankfully, Stacey was working from home today, and likely in her office sorting out another mountain of paperwork a Psy.D. owner, such as herself, could only understand.

Edge examined a paper out of curiosity once. He barely got passed two sentences of medical terminology before his head started to hurt.

Climbing the stairs—while Money and Stretch wrestled by, cackling about something idiotic—he approached her office door. Clearing his throat for added confidence, Edge knocked gently.

“Enter,” promptly commanded his request, and he did.

As assumed, Stacey sat behind her grand black desk, filing and organizing her client’s records into their respective folders. Although a crammed space, the fireplace nestled off by the door and the knitted blankets thrown over leather furniture gave resemblance to a cozy, Victorian study. Stretched bookcases stood behind the desk, overloaded with Psychology books and numerous studies from other great psychologist such as Jean Piaget, Sigmund Freud, and Ivan Pavlov.

One of her furred ears twitched at the click of the door. Peering up from her paperwork, Stacey’s face softened the second he entered.

“Good afternoon, Papyrus dear,” she hummed.

Edge came forward as he eyed a crooked pillow, taking a moment to adjust and fluff it to perfection. “GOOD AFTERNOON, LOV—" he paused.

Hearing his actual name spill from her lips brought a sudden warmth to his chest. After that machine in the basement spat them out not too long ago, Sans advised against using our real names, as to avoid confusion or unwanted attention. However, as her rebellious reputation proceeds her, Stacey instantly broke this rule. In respect of the others, she kept it strictly in their private moments, but the mere thoughtfulness behind it…

Her voice, her words…they always carried an endearing weight that made his soul hum.

Yes, he may share the same name. Yes, he’s fully aware why he cannot go by his birth name. And yes, he gets rather perturbed when Stacey addresses his cheery counterpart, or “cousin,” as his name. But, deep down, he knew he would always be her Papyrus.

His plan struck his memory again, and her sweetness convinced him to abort this mission entirely. But, alike her paperwork, curiosity consumed him.

“LOVE,” Edge stalked closer, slowly, carelessly, gliding his clawed phalanges up her shoulder, “DO YOU REMEMBER WHEN YOU TOOK ONE OF MY SHIRTS?”

“Hmm, maybe,” she cooed, eagerly leaning into his palm while the other stroked her ear. “But you’ll have to be a little more specific on when I haven’ttaken one of your shirts.”

He bent forward—closer than before, his warmth looming over her. His teeth were inches from her neck, grazing her skin. Stacey knew he wanted something, and would be quick enough to accept…or have her clothes ripped off in the process. Her hold on her pen tightened, the ink inside threatening to burst. She bit her lip.

Edge brushed his teeth along the crook of her neck, earning a surprised gasp from Stacey, and kissed his way up, stopping at her ear. She waited for the gentle pinch, the rush of his electric magic, the moaning, the adoration behind his aggression as he tore into her neck!—but nothing happened.

“…Papyrus? You…can continue, you know,” she huffed, impatient. “You don’t have to ask. I’m not as adverse today.”

“I KNOW,” Edge whispered, teasing the gap of air between his teeth and her neck as he spoke. “BUT I WASN’T INFORMED ABOUT MY STOLEN SHIRT. PERHAPS…A PUNISHMENT IS IN ORDER, KITTEN.”

Edge was skipping across glass, and that one word shattered everything beneath his feet.

Stacey whipped around. Fire fumed behind her eyes; not an ounce of amusement shown. Oh no, she’s pissed.

Stacey shot up, the leather chair propelling back, bashing against the desk, and marched Edge into a corner.

“Don’t you ever”—she rammed her finger into his sternum—"ever fucking talk to me like that again, unless you want all your possession thrown out on the front lawn, while the cats and I watch your pathetic ass stumble about like a headless chicken. I’m a fucking queen,” she boomed, “treat me as such. Understood?”

Edge, pushed up against the wall, eye sockets wide, scared shitless and yet oddly aroused, quickly nodded, “Y-YES MA’AM.”

#undertale #underfell #underfell papyrus #papyrus #uf papyrus #suggestive #damn edge is smooth as fuuuck #love that teasing bastard #girl boss girlfriend puts 7ft skeleton in his place and he likes it #Stacey: mad Edge: sexy

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Text

I’m Here

CW: Negative stimming including stimming resulting in self-injury, pet whump, death of parents, grief, ableism, past noncon references, r*pe survivor having severe PTSD flashbacks, memory of shock collars, derogatory language, dehumanization, meltdown/panic attack, whump of a minor referenced repeatedly.

This is Chris in a very dark place - stay safe.

Directly follows Found Out, Akio, and Chris Sees.

Come on, 223499-

I'm Tristan! My, my, my name is Tristan, Tristan H-Higgs and I l, I, I live at-... but, um, no, no, at my, my my aunt's ap, apartment now-

Tristan Higgs is a fucking corpse, kid. You don't have a name anymore.

No, I'm, my, my name is, is, is-is-

Your name is for your prospective to choose. Now let me show you how we shut you up.

The boy is screaming, twisting, writhing in pain on the floor, clawing at the black collar around his neck, desperate to somehow escape it, but there isn’t any way out. He digs his fingernails down his skin but it’s still there, the collar never leaves, you’re only safe with your collar on, no wait that hadn’t happened yet-

Oh, that’s nice. Time for the Drip for you.

N-no, no-

Welcome home, 223499.

M-my name is, is, is Tristan-

Chris slams the door on his way into the bathroom, locks it behind him, sweeps everything off the counter with a crash, plastic bottles of soap bouncing, a toothpaste container clicking against the tile, the toothbrush holder shattering and sending shards of ceramic pale on one side and rainbow-painted on the other everywhere. He stares at them clicking over the floor before they stop, some of them skimming the tile all the way to the wall.

Inside his head, there is a cry, bubbling up behind the wall that his life has been hidden behind, deep inside the cold pale light that all the worst things drown in.

Beneath the Drip, the needle in his arm, beneath the pain, the fear, the hands that moved over him and the bodies that moved inside him and the voice in his ear whispering, pet, pet, pet until he was one, until he wasn’t anything else any longer, until he was ready to be overwritten.

My, my, my name is Tristan Higgs, my name is, is, is Tristan, my name is-

Didn’t I tell you Tristan Higgs is dead, trainee? All that’s left of you is my pretty little whore. You wanted it so bad you signed up for this. Now get on your knees and show your handler some respect.

No, pl-please, please I don’t-, I, I, I don’t want to, I-

What you want doesn’t matter anymore, 223499.

Please-

What you want is irrelevant, trainee. Now let me show you what I want.

Inside his head there is a boy, screaming, his wrists forced down by larger hands, body rocked in a rhythm of terrible pain while a stranger who will be his entire world whispers in his ear, I paid extra for this and you did not disappoint, darlin’.

There’s a boy alone in a white room, painting with his own blood on pristine white walls, just to see color, just to see something, anything, that isn’t nothing at all. There’s a boy, alone, whispering apologies to the parents he is losing, their memories slip-sliding under the surface until they are gone.

There is a boy, screaming.

Chris screams with him, their voices in tandem, in echo, but it's the same voice, and the scream was always him, always Tristan Higgs inside him, buried beneath it all.

Chris screams until his throat is raw, bashes his hands into the mirror until it rattles under his fists, rocks forward to knock his head into it. Again, and again, and again, rattling it inside the frame, trying to force a break. The chaos inside him is too much, too strong, and at the center of the train tracks is her face, always her face, her hands, her lips moving and fighting to speak, her face.

I love you, baby, I l-love you, it's okay, it's okay-

Mom, please, pl-... please, no, no no no, I’m, I’m s-sorry, I’m so so sorry, I’m, I’m sorry-

Sssshhh, baby, it’s-... it’s okay, it’ll b-be okay, Tris, Mommy loves you, h-honey, Mommy-... loves you s-so much-... Her eyes shining like marbles, her blood on the wall, burbling from her chest as she fought and fought to breathe and then she stopped and her eyes, her eyes stayed open…

He laid with her and she was so cold and no one came to help him and no one came and they were both so cold and he stayed with them all night, wailing into her shirt soaked in blood, into his side, laid down between them and tried to keep them warm with blankets but they were gone and it didn’t matter and it was-

If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive.

His aunt looks at him with hate or stares through him and there’s no routine and there’s no therapy and Aki is gone and his phone is gone and he hurts himself desperately just to feel something other than the chaos and the noise and the cracking, shrieking angry pain inside him, the guilt the blame the hate and oh, how he hates himself for not staying still the one time it counted and no one is coming and no one loves him anymore because they’re gone and his aunt doesn’t love him because he should never have been born-

If he weren’t born she’d still be alive-

"It's not okay!" He screams again, tearing at his hair, clawing at his arms, dragging deep red welts down on each side, trying to dig the pain out from inside of him. “It’s not okay, it’s, it’s, it’s not, it’s, it’s not, not, not, not-not-not, not okay, not-”

Please, pl-please, let, let, let me go-

Told you to stop rocking, didn’t I? You did this to yourself. Be still, statue boy.

Pl-please, I, I don’t know how-

You’ll learn.

His head snaps to the side with the imagined memory of a slap to the face, his breath catches with the pale shade of the shock collar lighting him up, nerves sparking shrieking agony, the needle in his arm, it's in his arm again this isn’t freedom he’s just gone crazy from drugs again and he’s on the Drip again and he was never not on the Drip he was, was never free no one saved him no one is coming-

He rocks forward, again and again, banging his head into the mirror until there's blood, until it cracks, bad luck for seven years, Tris, sucks to be us, and they laughed, the two of them, carefully picking the shards up to put in the wastebin and Aki grinned at him, unbothered, because his mom would probably forgive them and it wasn’t a big deal-

Let’s, let’s, let’s make up a, a routine, Aki, yeah?

Yeah, sure, but can we like… be normal teenagers for a half-hour first?

Um, how, how do we-

I thought we might start by watching TV and not doing our homework. You know, get crazy with it. Maybe even go super crazy and eat leftover pizza.

Chris's lips curl back from his teeth and he stares at himself in the mirror, his wide green eyes and pale eyebrows that darkened a little with age, blue hair that hangs around his face, frames the lines of his cheekbones. The gash along his forehead where he hit the mirror hard enough to open it, bright red blood welling up and slowly seeping out.

He lifts one hand, pressing his fingertips to the crack in the mirror that matches the cut in his forehead. There’s a little bit of blood there, and it smears under his fingers. For a second, he’s fascinated by it, the liquid that slips along, ripples his reflection.

It doesn’t feel like part of him. It’s just something he can control, when he can’t control anything else.

Behind him, the doorknob rattles, but Chris barely notices. “Chris?” It’s Jake’s voice, and Chris swallows, ignores the push, the urge, to let him in. Instead he keeps looking at himself, tries to see the boy inside his head, the boy in the room, under the men, the boy screaming in his head while his mouth learned to say all the words they wanted..

Come here, pretty-... oh, look at you, so full of tears for me, hm?

On your back, gorgeous boy.

On your knees, pretty pet.

What you want doesn’t matter anymore.

No isn’t an option for you any longer.

Don’t I always give you options, pretty thing? You can choose to be good, my good little slut, or…

“You, you, you can choose pain,” Chris whispers, finishing the sentence that started in his handler’s voice, in his mind. “Too, too, too… pretty to, to be for anything else. Too pretty… too, too pretty for, for, for…”

He nails the dismount for the first time on the the bars, his body does exactly what he wants, and he looks up to see his mom cheering for him, and he jumps up and down, hands moving, rocking with his happiness, and his team cheers for him, and his scores are really good so he can go to state and he’s so happy-

He’s so happy-

She’s so proud of him-

There’s a hand in his hair, jerking his head back to look up at his Sir, who smiles down at him, and Tristan can barely see him through his tears. He’s tied down and he can’t escape and he doesn’t know it’s his Sir, yet, he was still Tristan then but his Sir’s hand is in his hair and he whispers, God, I love that you came already flexible for me, sweetheart…

Please, n-no, please, I don’t want, want this, please, I-I-I don’t, I, I-... I need h-help, I didn’t… sign, yet, please call, call, call the the the-the cops-

Sssshhh. Sir’s finger to his lips, and he didn’t dare bite, even then. Hands on his wrists, forcing them down against the table. His back arches, trying to get away, and his Sir laughs at him, low soft chuckle, and boy weeps, turning his head to the side. You’re going to be perfect, sweet boy, I can already tell.

No, no, no no no, no, pl-please don’t, please, please, no, no, g-god, oh oh oh god, oh god, no-

I paid extra for this, and you did not disappoint.

The pain, when it comes, is blinding and never-ending and Tristan Higgs is screaming.

No one cares.

No one will come to save him.

Chris groans, pulling at his hair, trying to rip it out by the roots to settle his jangling shrieking nerves, scratching his fingernails down his cheeks as deep sa he can, smacking his hands again and again into the broken mirror, shrieking at the pretty face split apart by the cracks. A piece of the mirror falls out into the sink, and Jake is still talking, trying to open the door, but Chris isn’t listening.

He can’t hear Jake over the sound of his own mind turning against him, spitting memories he’d thought were gone, but no, dead things don’t always decay, sometimes they just wait to come back and tear out your throat and show you how it’s all your fault.

What about you, Tris? Mrs. Nakamura’s voice is gently teasing, soft and unassuming. She’s sitting with a book in a soft cozy chair somewhere with nice warm lights, and everyone watches Tristan’s hands move to tap on himself without judgement, without shame. We all know Aki can’t take his eyes off of that pretty Nicole girl-

Mom. No. Please, please do not talk about this. Oh my god. She’s just my teammate!

I’m just being silly, Aki.

It’s, um, it’s okay, Mrs. Na, na, Nakamura. I’m just-... nobody for, for, for me, right now. Tristan’s face is red, he’s blushing, and he hasn’t really thought about it much, beyond just thinking everyone is pretty, but he hasn’t told his mom yet, and-

Oh, well, maybe later. You two are so busy getting ready for state, anyway.

He can hear Jake back on the stairs, now, thumping down them and away, and Chris’s hands move rapidly over the sink and counter, avoiding the bits of shattered mirror. He’s standing in ceramic but he doesn’t notice, he doesn’t care. His body doesn’t belong to him, anyway, his body belongs to his handler his owner his rescuer his anyone but him it’s not his it’s not his body, they took his body and he doesn’t get it back…

He wants his body back.

He yanks open the drawer, shoving through the disposable shaving razors that Jake buys, the nail-clipping kit he keeps in here, a stupid little comb that he can’t see any use for, rolls of gauze and bandages, tossing them to the floor, until he finds what he’s looking for.

A pair of scissors, used mostly for gauze and bandages, big shining metal scissors that weigh heavy in his hands.

Chris stares up at himself in the remaining mirror, pulls a hank of his hair out straight with one hand, and clips right through it with the scissors. He lets out an exhale, and grabs another bit of hair, and does it again.

Blue drifts down to gather with the broken glass in the sink and on the floor, piling higher and higher as Chris keeps cutting, staring into his eyes and not looking at how even the cut is. He looks at the bloody mess on his forehead-

Mom, please, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I, I, I moved, I’m so so sorry, I’m sorry…

It’s okay, baby-

Blood on the wall, he stayed there all night and no one came. She was cold, he couldn’t keep her warm all by himself.

“It’s, it’s not okay,” Chris whispers, and Sir’s hand is heavy on his neck, look at how you ruined yourself since you left me, darlin’, but his Sir can’t stop him because his Sir is dead, too. Everyone who cares for him dies but Jake and Antoni and Laken and maybe they’ll die, too, because of him, because he’s too pretty to be for anything else-

There’s blood on the featureless white wall and he pulls it through his fingers and it’s something that’s not white, he barely recognizes it as his blood, it’s just bright red and feels good under his fingers, the blood cools and dries so he hits his head and makes more, and more, and more-

He keeps cutting, until what’s left is a shaggy, unkempt mess, different lengths all over, and all his hard-won long hair is gone. He has wisps that hang over his forehead, little bits that tickle the tops of his ears. He cuts until it’s just little scruffs, barely blue at all.

He drops the scissors into the sink on top of the pile of blue hair, runs his hands back through his hair, watches more loose bits drift slowly downward.

He lifts his hands and takes out his piercings, one by one, dropping them into the sink with the hair, until his ears are bare, too, and his eyebrow. Nothing but a thin narrow face, nothing but freckles that stand out too much, nothing but big eyes and chin.

He pulls his shirt off over his head, and then his compression shirt. Takes off his pants and his boxers and then straightens to stare at himself naked in the bit of mirror still left.

“I, I’m good for you,” He whispers, tilts his head just right, looks up at himself through his eyelashes. His look is warm and liquid and well-trained, a show of desire he’s never once felt. He bites down on his lower lip, just so, hand moving as if to brush a bit of hair back - but the hair he might have touched is gone, it’s in the pile in the sink.

The look is ruined by what he’s done.

Good.

Wide green eyes, yeah, let’s see those eyes nice and empty for me, trainee, but they’re red-rimmed and shadowed, full of pain. His eyelashes - inhuman, unearthly, pretty boy - are barely visible. Freckles that stand out too much, I’m going to kiss every single one until you understand how beautiful you are, Chris, okay? scattered over his nose and the angled cheekbones. Narrow chin, perfect for gripping and moving his head around, smeared with drying blood. Bleeding from the slash across his forehead, running slowly down to stain his pale eyebrow darker, to run into his left eye, what the fuck did you do to yourself, trainee?

“Not, not a trainee,” Chris whispers. “Not a, a pet. Not Tristan. Not, not, not. I’m, I’m Chris, I made myself, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m, I’m... I’m I’m Chris, I’m, I’m Christopher fucking Stanton, I’m-... I’m Chris.”

Big scratches down his cheeks, his neck, bright red welts that might turn to bruises, that he could open into bleeding, he could make himself so ugly no one ever wants him again. “Not, not, not so pretty anymore,” He whispers, and his throat closes up against the words, but it feels good, it feels important. “Not, not, not pretty, now.”

Not worth dying over, not worth breaking, not worth noticing, not worth taking, not worth buying, not worth rescuing, not worth being arrested for, not worth saving, not pretty enough to hurt, not pretty enough to love.

You fucking freak, I don’t know how Ronnie managed to think you were so great, you can barely brush your own teeth.

How the hell did she love you? You ruined her life.

If it weren’t for you...

The door suddenly jolts open, and Chris doesn’t flinch - he doesn’t look back - only stares at himself, rocking slowly forward and back on his toes and heels until his head bumps the cracks in the glass like the cracks inside of him, his hands twisting at the ends of his wrists to smack rhythmically into his sides, his hips, harder and harder, fighting to find the same soothing rush that motions like this normally bring.

It’s too loud, inside of him. It’s too much. He can’t stop the trains roaring up out of the light, bringing everything into the darkness where he only wants to hide.

“Holy shit, Chris,” Jake whispers, standing behind him, eyes wide with shock. “Wh-... why did you… Oh, Chris, no. Oh, no, oh fuck, Chris, you hurt yourself, you haven’t done that since-”

Chris turns, ceramic crackling underfoot, sharp little spikes of pain in his feet, and looks up into Jake’s eyes. “Tris, Tristan Higgs was pretty,” He says, weakly. “I don’t want to, to, to be pretty anymore.”

Oh, darlin’, aren’t you just pretty as a picture.

Open up, 499.

He’s such a sweet, handsome boy, Ronnie, you’d never know he had, you know...

You can just say it, you know. It’s not a dirty word.

You’re too pretty for anything else, 499, you were always going to be somebody’s slut.

You want it-

I, I don’t want to-

No one gives a fuck what you want.

I don’t, don’t, don’t want to, please-, pl-please, please stop, please please stop touching me-

What do you say, trainee?

I want this. I want you.

Good boy.

A shudder ripples through him, a memory of pain, long gone but still written over every inch of his body. Broken, and dirty, and used until he forgot how to be anything else. He feels suddenly exhausted, weighed down, too heavy to move. There’s a weight on his chest and every breath takes an effort, takes determination, and he is losing the battle.

His lip wobbles, and he feels infinitely young, like all the years didn’t happen, and he’s still just Tristan Higgs in the end, ready to be broken, bent, and twisted.

He looks at Jake, and his brother blurs with tears. “He was, was, was too pretty for an, anything else, I d-don’t want to, to-to-to be pr-pretty like him anymore-... s-so I made, made, made myself uh-ugly-”

Jake sweeps him up and Chris lets himself be swept. The cry is bubbling up again and he wails into Jake’s shirt, gripping into the fabric and twisting his hands, tears rolling down his cheeks and stinging into the places he scratched himself. He’s pulling, tapping, rocking his bloodied head into Jake’s shoulder, fighting the trains in his mind that aren’t thoughts but memories, each one fighting to be the first to hurt him by coming back to the surface.

They crash into each other, into the wall of cold white light. They break through.

Inside him the boy in the black collar is screaming, the boy in the collar is crying, the boy is laid back on silk sheets and cries tears he has to keep inside his head while his face is smiling and his voice makes all the right sounds, the boy has his wrists and ankles locked down to keep him still, the boy is curled up between his parents waiting for someone to come and nobody is coming, the boy wears a suit in court that itches and he can’t stop shaking his hands and the judge doesn’t like him and the social worker doesn’t like him and the boy is curled up on a bed in a windowless room missing his friends, the boy hits his head and hits himself and the words are gone and the boy is screaming the boy is screaming the boy is screaming-

Mom, can Tris sleep over tonight?

Again, Aki? Well, I guess I don’t see any harm. You’ve got half your closet in Aki’s room by now, anyway. Call you mom and ask her, Tris, okay?

You fucking freak, I wish you had died with your bastard father instead of her.

I hate you, I, I hate you so, so, so-so much-

You should hate your fucking self, Tristan.

I love you, kiddo. It’s you and me, right?

Right, Mom. You, you, you and, and me.

Til your dad comes home, anyway. Can’t wait ‘til he’s working days and we’re not alone at night, huh?

Your prospective will choose your name.

I, I’m a… number. My name is… 223499, Romantic designation, Facility 001. I am a pet and… and… a toy. I am an active par, participant in fulfilling m-my, my, my owner’s desires-

I paid extra and you did not disappoint.

On your knees, gorgeous boy.

I think we’ll play a game, sweetheart.

Show some respect, 223499.

Come here, darlin’.

Good boy

I love you, Tris

Good pet

It’s, it’s okay, it’s-... okay, I l-love you, it’ll be okay-

Good boy

The boy is screaming for help and nobody is coming to save him-

“I’ve got you,” Jake whispers, holding him tightly, and Chris buries himself into the warmth, the familiar scent, the feeling of Jake’s arms is branded deeper than anything else in the world. I will rescue you, I’ll come back to you, Chris, I promise, I’m here.

I want you I love you I’m here.

“You made Chris, and you’re still Chris. This is just all the shit they took from you, that’s all. It’s okay, you can cry, Chris, go ahead and cry. It’s okay, it’s hard when it comes back, and Kauri and Ant and Laken and I, we’re all here with you.”

Chris sobs in Jake’s arms, bleeding all over his shirt, but Jake doesn’t care. He holds him anyway. There’s a throbbing pain inside his head, but it’s not stronger than the memories, and the cold white light isn’t holding them back like it used to, anymore.

Her face, her hands, the blood coming out of her, the silent house around them.

Her face.

Her eyes.

She loved him.

Oh, no, did you fall down? Oh, it’s okay, honey, I’m right here, I’ve got you - it’s hard the first time, but we get back up and try again. Here, let Mommy give it a kiss - there, all better, right?

Therapy is rough sometimes, sweetie, but listen - we can do this, together, Tris. We can do the hard stuff if we do it together. D’you want a hug? Yeah, hugs can help make it better, right? That’s what moms do.

I heard the thunder, baby. Go ahead, climb in, I’ve got you, c’mere, I’ll hold you.

I want you I love you I’m here.

I l-love you, it’s okay, it’s okay, I love you, Tris...

“I, I, I don’t want to, to be Tristan Higgs,” Chris cries against Jake’s neck, shoulders shaking, rocking, rocking, rocking in his arms. Jake’s hands are up in what’s left of his hair, feeling the short, chopped strands, rubbing over the nape of his neck, soothing the twisting hurt and fear inside him. “I don’t, I don’t, he, he, he, it was his fault, for, for, for for for moving when he had to, to be still, and I wasn’t, I didn’t do it right, and they, they d-died because of me… I l-loved, I was, they, they, they shot them and-and left me and, and, and no one came, nobody came to help, no, no, no, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry-”

“I know,” Jake murmurs. “I know. It wasn’t your fault, you were just a kid. It wasn’t your fault, Chris, whatever happened, it-... it wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault. You’re whoever you want to be, Chris, but Tristan is still a part of you, okay? We have to work on making everything integrate, work together, or it’s going to keep hurting. You have to get past the conditioning to forget, or it’s going to… get worse.”

Chris whimpers at the idea that he could feel any worse than this. “I don’t, don’t… don’t want to, to, to to to lose her again,” Chris whispers, shaking his head. “Don’t want to, to lose y-you-”

“Never. You can’t ever lose me, you’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s clean up this mess, Laken is probably dying to talk to you-”

“No,” Chris whispers, begs without a voice. “No, not, not them, not… not yet.”

The scream is bubbling up again, the boy in the cold white room is rocking, rocking, rocking with his hands tied behind his back, can’t touch can’t hurt can’t feel can’t think someone help me but nobody is coming except the handler with his smile and his pain and his hands-

“Okay. No problem. Cleaning first. I’m going to bandage you up, and I’ll clean up the mess while you sit and maybe drink some water. But… can we… can we do one thing? Will you let me do one thing?”

“Wh, what?”

“Will you let me fix your hair?”

Chris pulls back a little to look up at Jake, and he smiles faintly back down, sympathetic and loving, and it’s not okay, but Jake is here, so it’s… it’s better than it would be if he were alone. “Um… y, yes, you, you you you, you can fix it.”

“Okay. I love you, little man. You weren’t supposed to see it so soon, we were going to get you ready, and it’s going to hurt coming back, but I promise… I promise it’s good for you to have it. Okay? Do you trust me, when I say that?”

Chris meets the sincere love in those blue eyes. “I, I trust you.”

He does. But he doesn’t believe him.

It’s okay, baby, it’s, it’s okay…

It’s not, and it never was, but… he remembers her face, at least. He remembers her voice.

He remembers her.

I love you, Tris, I’m so proud of you for doing the hard things, and I’m right here with you. I’ve got you, sweetheart. You and me, right? We can do all the hard shit as long as we do it together.

His fingers twitch, and he buries himself against Jake and sees her eyes full of tears and dying and her chest covered in blood and the blood on the wall and she tells him she loves him and then she doesn’t tell him anything anymore and her body is cold and Tristan curls up between them, blood drying on the wall and no one comes until the sun is shining and the blood is dry but Tristan is still crying-

Chris begins, again, to scream, but this time Jake is holding him, this time someone’s here, this time there’s someone who isn’t leaving, this time he can wail with arms around him and this time he’s not alone.

The boy is Christopher Stanton and he is Tristan Higgs and the boy is screaming and his brother came to help him and his brother is holding him tight.

I love you, Tris. I’m so proud of you.

I’m here, Chris. I’m not going anywhere.

I want you

I love you

I’ve got you

I’m here.

---

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary @orchidscript

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imagineclaireandjamie · 4 years

Text

Shielded. Chapter SEVEN. Catastrophe.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie: Prompt: Young at heart.

Morning/afternoon/evening all - sorry there wasn’t an update on Sunday, I’ve been moving house so it’s all a little messy at the moment. After next week, though, Shielded should return to normal <3 (for those who’ve asked, this isn’t posted on AO3, it may be at some point but at the moment I don't have enough time to post in both places, so sorry) MBD.

There should have been something endearing about being butted daily by a bouncing cloud, but the ewe Claire had taken care of for Jamie seemed to be having more fun than it should. For the third time that week she found herself chasing the bleating thing around the house as it continued to knock pictures, magazines, books, remotes and anything else not glued down over and off every single surface. Nothing was safe.

“OI!” She yelled, hoping her ‘mum voice’ would subdue the raging beast (it didn’t). “Watch the…”

Too late, she thought, as it went careering into the side of the wall. Luckily the house was made of stronger stuff, and her erstwhile companion simply shook herself and trotted off down the hallway.

‘Headstrong’ was the word she’d used in her earlier call to Jamie. He had laughed, covering his mouth so that she couldn’t hear him, as she’d relayed the story of her morning but had made a mental note that perhaps having a lamb in the house had not been the smartest move. Usually timid, sheep could pose bigger issues the more...content...they became with human contact though he hadn’t thought her large enough to pose as much of an issue as she did.

By the end of the week she (the ewe) had fully established herself as head of the house and Claire had succumbed to allowing her free rein.

Peace had been restored for which everyone was grateful.

“Clearly she feels more secure in the house wi’out the other sheep to boss her about.” Jamie said over dinner on Friday - a night he had, thankfully, managed to get home at a reasonable hour.

“Yes, so it seems.” Claire added, without humour.

Keeping his eye on her, he tried to playfully nudge her under the table and it wasn’t long before a slight pink blush coloured her cheeks and she began laughing too.

“Nothing that’s worth having in this life comes easy,” he quipped, winking as best as he was able, “including the raising of sheep, sassenach…”

There was a moment of silence as Claire cocked her head to the side. “Nope,” she said, a glint of humour behind her eyes, “you’re going to have to explain that one.”

“One what?”

“Sass-a-what now?”

“OH!” For a moment he seemed abashed, his eyes glancing away from hers as he tried to find an effective (and non-insulting) way to explain his comment. He had been thinking of how to address her. It was clear she was finding it difficult to adapt to her new name (more so than her surroundings, though, he was pleased to note). “Well, it’s a bit of a...slur...really. But I didna mean it that way. Only I didna want to keep calling ye ‘lass’ all the time, and it seemed to suit you.”

“...so, what does it mean, technically speaking?”

“Literally it means ‘foreigner’, but it’s usually only used to describe the English.”

“Fitting then?” The sweet smile on her face betrayed her and he knew she wasn’t angry at the assessment.

There was a certain automatic understanding; he was right, she was struggling to connect with her new identity and he’d clearly picked up on the hesitation she had in answering to her new name. She felt like a foreigner in her own body so it seemed natural that her nickname should be linked with such a phrase. And, even though it was meant to be derogatory, she had immediately felt a kinship with it.

“Do you have any Scottish slurs for a cantankerous lamb?”

Having been ill-prepared for the immediacy of her humour, Jamie choked on his drink as he tried to contain his shocked laughter. “Being a notorious farming community, I’m sure there must be something but usually when the animals are misbehaving we just use Gaelic curse words.”

“Maybe you should be the first to coin one - it can be your legacy.”

Raising his eyebrows, he took a sip of his tea and made an indistinct low noise in the back of his throat. Settling back into a comfortable silence, he watched her take a bite of a biscuit, his interest piqued as she dunked it carelessly into her hot drink. Although she was mostly still an enigma, he was starting to get a sense of her. Certainly she’d been raised well, in a middle class household. From her dress to her manner and the way she spoke and carried herself, he guessed she’d been privately educated.

But there was also something incredibly earthy about her, an aura of something more down-to-earth than that and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The dreams hadn’t stopped, he’d had one free night but he was niggled persistently by something just beyond his reach and he would wake (usually before his alarm) breathless and needy, sweat often rolling down his back. The cold showers had become a regular occurrence and he felt a little embarrassed when he looked at her - even though, hopefully, she had no knowledge of the inner workings of his mind.

He’d been told on a number of occasions that his face gave nothing away and he couldn’t have been more grateful for that now.

“If you think much harder, Jamie, your brain might fall out of your ears.” She joked, pushing the plate of biscuits across to him as the orphaned ewe bleated loudly in the background. She found that the noise made her giggle and she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she watched him dismantle the jammy dodger. “Though that may be preferable to dealing with that furry bully.”

“She’s just a lass with spirit, that’s all.” He returned, watching as she dipped her head, the shorter parts of her hair falling from the bobble she had it tied loosely in to hide away her face.

“Lord knows we need a few more of those in our lives.”

“It can’t hurt, can it?”

As the atmosphere in the room changed, Jamie pushed the half empty plate back across the table, his little finger sliding ever so softly against hers before pulling back. He saw the second her confidence dipped and wanted to calmly reassure her without openly baring her insecurities.

“So,” she said, shaking off her downturned mood relatively quickly, “she probably needs more skilled hands than mine to continue raising her?”

“After the weekend my pal Rupert will come and take her, he has an older ewe he thinks might be able to take her on. But dinna think too much of it, she likes you, she feels comfortable wi’ you that she’s able to-”

“Run me ragged?”

“Aye.”

“It does feel like one of those high school experiments made to put you off becoming parents.” She was stood now, looking into the back utility room at her newest friend, who’d given up making noise to, instead, lie sleepily on the small smattering of hay Claire had placed down for her to munch on.

“She’s probably a wee bit more intense than an egg?”

That image made her snort. “Did you have to take care of an *egg* like a baby?”

“Oh aye, I drew a face on it.”

“It!? No wonder they only gave you poultry produce with that attitude.”

With contentment settling between them once more, Jamie allowed the weight of the last few minutes to fall from his shoulders. He felt proud that he’d been able to turn it around with a humorous quip borne from his own experiences. At the same time, he could see that she too felt relieved.

As the lamb stood sleepily and began to suckle gently on Claire’s outstretched fingers, a delicate moment passed between her and the little ewe.

“See, I told you she liked you.”

As he got into bed that evening, Jamie tried to recall the look of pure pleasure on her face as she’d noticed the bond that she had cultivated. Having been a city dweller for most of her life, she’d spoken to him over dinner about the pet cat her uncle had owned when she was very young but she’d hardly had much chance to engage with animals before or after that point. He’d suggested that he didn’t have to send the ewe away with Rupert but that’d both agreed it would still be better in the long run and he sensed she wanted to keep hold of the good memories she’d made (albeit few and far between) before she grew any bigger and caused anymore damage.

“Sleep well, sassenach,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as the image of her nursing the ewe was replaced by Claire with a small red-haired child - the vision appearing unbidden as he fell softly to sleep.

#Anon #ask #;mod mbd #shielded #jamie x claire

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pvremichigan · 3 years

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“SHIP!” IJ/CM ?

(You're taking advantage of the fact that she's in hell, aren't you? She would've hated you for this. How DARE you. Dishonor.)

send in “SHIP!” and I’ll tell you…

Who is more likely to do some shady stuff for the other?

Mich would. She's not afraid.

Which one playfully calls the other a bitch and which one sarcastically calls the other an asshole?

Mich would call him both. IJ would probably call her some dumb name like... Dingus or something. Or pet names in a derogatory fashion like "Whatever you say, dear"

Which one is more likely to purposefully act in a way that will make their partner jealous?

Mich when she's being petty. Not jealous in a romantic sense, she would never. But jealous in any other sense... Yes. She wants to feel superior.

Who is more petty / passive aggressive when they’re upset?

This is a tough one. It's almost a tie... I feel like with small arguments, it would just be a contest. Like if she were to threaten him by saying "you're barking up the wrong tree" he would turn into a dog just to be petty as hell. I would say IJ on this one, since it's specifically petty and passive aggressive. Mich comes in close though.

Which one is most likely to get into a fight on the other’s behalf

Mich. Unless someone REALLY pissed off IJ and was REALLY threatening Mich, I don't think he'd fight so easily. Especially since she gets into a lot of trouble that would cause a fight. But Mich would fight. Not that she'd need to, IJ would probably take care of the issue with his badass abilities but she hopes he saves her room to just go feral on the person instead.

Which one is the most likely to bail the other out of jail?

IJ will. It's not a choice, he has no choice. She will get arrested so much.

Who is more likely to initiate mischief of any kind? And does the other stand back and watch or try to stop them?

Mich. IJ would probably suggest she stops, but ultimately I see him watching and even joining if he's really bored.

Which one purposefully annoys the other one to see how long it takes for them to snap?

Mich. She's a pain in the ass, it's obvious. She's been doing this exact thing to him since day one. More... Aggressively but still.

Which ones gets protective because ‘only I’m allowed to bully you!’

Mich. Nobody shit talks the people she loves but her.

Who is the one to apologize first when things are pushed too far

IJ. Mich has... A hard time apologizing sometimes. I think IJ would know this and probably help her out by taking the first step to make it easier on her to step up as well.

Who one ups the other when they proclaim their love? (”no I love you more” “No I love you more.”)

IJ. Mich would just stare at him exhaustedly. Internally she'd be flattered. Externally... Don't start. Because she knows he won't stop.

#[[in the history books]];; headcanons #[[inaccuracy from a trembling hand]];; IJ and Mich #[[gun powder]];; Mich

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kandyrezi · 4 years

Text

anonymous asked: How would Reficul react to her darling becoming interested in Sin? Or the reverse, Sin becoming interested in her darling? A lovers squabble, the two of them sharing, or something else entirely?

– Yandere!Sin & Yandere!Reficul sharing a darling HCs;

(i deviated from your request a little bit uuu i hope it isn’t too troubling... ; n ; )

- : - : - : - : - : - : -

» Sin is likely the one who ends up finding you first, alone and lost someplace you weren’t meant to be, by which, you won’t have much of a choice when she claims you as her own. The garden of Eden is her domain and that’s where she holds you in her possession. The pentagram world is no place for a fragile human such as yourself and the garden is the most optimal place to keep you safely tucked away. Despite the dread of an unfamiliar, barren place void of life aside from non-sapient animals and plants, Sin isn’t cruel towards you – coming to visit often and talking to you in a soft tone of voice, cooing like a motherly pigeon would over its baby squab.

» Reficul and Sin keep no (crucial) secrets from eachother, so the former knows you exist. After a little while, she would become curious about what you look like, she offers to let her wife’s ‘human lover’ (or a mere pet was more likely) inside their mansion.

» Sin doesn’t want for her human to be frightened, but it might do them good to have some company, or at least tell them a little about herself, since they were so keen on wanting to know of the world she inhabits. You’ve been on good behavior as of lately, so she agrees to it.

» You were certainly an interesting little thing Sin had taken a liking towards; you were headstrong and didn’t quiver before Reficul. She hadn’t really come into contact with humans before. She knew they existed, but didn’t have much of an opinion nor interest in them (beyond the jokesters who attempt to summon her from time to time by drawing the symbol of the pentagram on the ground in red paint and lighting candles around the circle. not that she’d ever bothered actually showing up, but she’s tempted to just to give them a bit of a fright).

» After spending several weeks inside the mansion with only one way to see how it looked like on the outside as tree branches hit against the window of your room due to never-ending atrocious wind and rain, the backyard was surrounded by tall metal gates. You were beginning to grow a little antsy; if you wanted to escape at all, you needed to know more about the world you were trapped in.

» You put on your best performance and politely approach Reficul one day to inquire if you can accompany her on her stroll to examine if everything is in order – anything to get away from the ‘naga wife’s’ constant overbearing doting on you. Reficul thinks it over, then looks to Sin with a silent glance, as if to ask for permission, to which the serpent nods.

» “Of course, but keep them safe for me.” she tells Reficul, “I have a bit of business to attend to with an otherworldly visitor anyhow.”

“An otherworldly visitor? Something of importance?”

“You could say that. Just going to have a bit of chat with her from where we left off yesterday.”

» Sin bids both of her lovers goodbye as they leave the mansion. Before you can take in your surroundings more clearly, Reficul snaps a collar with a tag around your neck that reads, ‘if lost, return to Reficul’ attached to a leash.

» “Can’t have a helpless little thing such as yourself running into any possible dangers. Darling wife would most certainly be upset with me if I didn’t bring her pet back in one piece.” she tells you, yanking along the leash, silently urging you to get a move on, and you compliantly do so.

» It was still drizzling slightly even after it’d rained heavily nonstop, the demon queen brought an umbrella with her to hold it over her head with one of her shadow hands sprouting from her wings. You tried to huddle a little closer underneath to shield yourself from the rain as well, but her steely gaze on you once you accidentally bumped your shoulder against her arm made you halt and keep a respectful distance.

» As you pass by several buildings through the streets reminiscent of Romanesque architecture, you would use the opportunity to timidly ask questions about the world’s history, its inhabitants, precise location, so on and so forth. Some to which Reficul graciously gives answers to at first, though she quickly becomes bored and opts to ignore you instead.

» You were certainly given a few funny and some… rather ravenous looks from some of the demons (the pink-haired girl with spider legs eyeing you making a shiver run down your spine), but you didn’t feel afraid when the devil herself - ironically enough - was at your side.

» “I would certainly pity a creature like you should you somehow have accidentally stumbled in here all on your own. The lot here can be quite a vicious, mean bunch to anyone they deem easy targets; you might as well have a dartboard glued to your forehead.” she tells you, and you can tell she isn’t the type to sugarcoat her words.

» You stand by Reficul’s side as she converses with some of the residents about potential interlopers and how they had already caught two of them. You didn’t pay much attention as you tried to look through the stained glass window of a town hall.

» It goes on a little longer than expected, but eventually Reficul’s dragging you to where you were staying before. Sin hasn’t yet returned once you’re back at the castle and the devil orders you to sit on the sofa and not move an inch until then.

» Hours must have passed by then, you feel yourself beginning to nod off, until you feel fingers gently combing through your hair. Startled, you look behind you to see the serpent had slithered her way over to you without a sound. Her hands are covered in something red, with a few spots at the base of her lower serpent half and there are white feathers stuck at the tips of her hair. Her sclera is fully crimson-colored alongside her irises, yet she’s smiling sweetly as ever, unbothered by the mess covering her, opting to instead ask how you’re liking it here so far.

» It would definitely take longer for Reficul to take interest in someone, years even. You would need characteristics or skills that would impress her in some way – your strong will and perceptiveness to the devil’s own character without coming off as nosy or intrusive might be a good starting point. She thinks you would look cute sitting on her lap as decorative pet while she herself sits on the throne, redirecting all denizens coming to her with a problem over to Lzet. Sin might’ve been correct in her assumption of you being unfit for this world, but the serpent was insistent on not allowing you back to your original world either, almost to a possessive extend. She would end up telling Sin how much you interest her and wouldn’t mind getting to know something – someone rather unconventional.

» Sin would never otherwise share her precious human lover with anyone, but she knows her wife would take good care of her human. Although not the kind of care Sin enlisted. Reficul’s means of showing care were more along the lines of ‘tough love’ kind of concern, where she controls your every movement.

» It’s unlikely the two of them would squabble over sharing a lover, when a solution can easily be reached through compromise. They have always worked as a team and supported eachother through thick and thin. Even if you favor spending time with one of them over the other, the ‘left out’ party still treats you with gentility in hopes you’ll have an equal amount of love to share in the future. How can you not, when the two most powerful creatures in the pentagram world worship you like you’re one of them?

» If you are on good behavior, then Reficul is always content spending time with her lovers and strolling the various worlds. You’ll still have to wear the collar, but she’ll rid of the leash if you promise not to wander off too far out of her or Sin’s line of sight.

» The demon world is so different from the human one and as much as you despise being trapped here, you relish when they bring you along for sightseeing. Your favorite ones so far have been the Star Isle and the Rainbow Isle in the great sea world.

» Mors doesn’t think much of you – so you don’t have to worry too much about him bullying you as he only sees you as the family pet. Though you should probably avoid being too affectionate with either of his parents when he’s nearby. He already has his hands full with one other certain buzzing homewrecker.

» Reficul will teach you basic skills in self-defense and grants you a weapon you can handle, so she won’t need to hover over you all the time, although she’s already made it abundantly clear by marking you so everyone will know the devil’s wrath will befall on them should they harm you in any way.

» If the constant reminder keeps dawning on you and weighing you down about basically being kidnapped and held in confinement far away from your homeland keeps nagging you at the back of your head – it’s nothing Sin can’t fix. Maybe make you ‘hallucinate’ that you no longer have a place to even call home other than with her and Reficul in the castle, manipulate your mind in such a way you’ll be convinced there is no one waiting for you out there.

» Should you misbehave or act out, Sin uses it as an excuse to to dish out the appropriate punishment. Maybe a little similar to Reficul in terms of isolation. The serpent will tie you down with vines in the garden in a little time out, where she leaves you with plenty of fruits to eat when she’s gone. Fruits containing hallucinogenics unbeknownst to you – faces of your relatives and friends back home telling you how glad they are you’re finally gone, insulting you and calling you all sorts of derogatory names.

» Once you’re forgiven of your mishaps, Sin takes you back to the castle. Reficul is the one who notices your reddened eyes and blotchy cheeks and asks, “Have you been crying, little one?” a small nod from you, then “Oh, and why is that?” You don’t notice from the corner of your eye how Sin has been smiling the entire time through your explanation, but Reficul certainly has, but whether or not she knows anything, chooses not to comment on it for the time being.

» Sin tells her wife you already unknowingly accepted the apple from her from the very beginning the first night you found yourself in her garden, the forbidden fruit which will grant you immortality, neither of them will no longer have to fear you withering away from old age.

» Time will tell if you’ll end up being grateful for this blessing (or curse) you’ve been granted.

» Now you were even more trapped than ever before. When one of them would be too busy to keep an eye on you, then the other would take over.

- : - : - : - : - : - : -

(if you want me to make another version of this with darling being reficul’s s/o first with sin becoming apart of the relationship, feel free to shoot me another request.)

#mogeko #funamusea #yandere x reader #reficul (mogeko)#sin (mogeko)#tgg #okegom #deep-sea prisoner #dsp #the gray garden #refisin #reficul #sin #yandere #female yandere #ficlets

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ocsandallthatjazz · 3 years

Note

ALL THE SHIP ASKS FOR SANRUS 👁👄👁

Under the cut for length! Congrats to them on listing out so much information in one go aljfdlkajfd

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

They technically meet in the throne room in King’s Landing, as Sansa’s engagement is cancelled. But they don’t actually talk until she’s invited to his grandmother’s garden party.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

Cyrus distinctly focused on how sad she looked and he desperately wanted to know what was going on in her head. Sansa thought he seemed too playful and relaxed for their age, questioned why he wasn’t more composed like his siblings.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Arya is like “this is dumb you’re dancing around each other and i will be sick.” Jon just wanted his sister to feel safe, so he’s Whatever about the idea. Margaery thought they’d be an interesting couple, but she didn’t think they would have the chance to get together.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Cyrus got threw a couple of her walls and promptly realized he was starting a losing battle for himself.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Both! Actively. For awhile! Because plot and the world at large was firm in finding things to keep them apart. Responsibilities and yknow a giant war gets in the way.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Sansa doesn’t believe in those anymore, she’d dismiss it. Cyrus would look at their story and say all of that was way too hard to just be Fate, so he would too.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Cyrus, given that he was the one who originally pushed for them to get to know each other at all. Took some time but worth it.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

An “official” date would be when they’re no longer hiding any flirting and he’s like for real courting her - he’d just steal Sansa away for a walk around the grounds, most likely, want her to show him Winterfell without the rush of war prep.

3. What was their first kiss like?

Currently planned as the sweet relief of, y’know, not dying.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

Cyrus’s first serious relationship!

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Cyrus is 6′2″ so like 5 inches? And he’s like a year older than her.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Sansa spent a lot of time around the Tyrells for a hot minute, and got close with Margaery. Cyrus adores Arya and he got along fine enough with Jon, not close with Bran but that’s more on Bran aldjfa

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Cyrus is like “foot in mouth disease - activated” even when he tries to sit back and be quiet, so it’s better off to just let him go say hi to everybody. But if it’s anything Official he’ll absolutely step aside for Sansa he’d never step over her.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Kinda depends on the situation tbh

LOVE

1. Who said “I love you” first?

Cyrus, but he chickened out, so it came out in the “can be brushed off as just a friend bond” thing. Catch Sansa calling him out on it down the line.

2. What are their primary love languages?

Verbal affirmation and quality time.

3. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Cuddling at least every night and every morning, Cyrus is a deadweight in bed. PDA is pretty chill, Sansa doesn’t want to do anything too high-key noticeable. Cyrus goes over the top though and if you see him entering a room with her to dramatically go say hi and kiss her hand or something, yes you did.

4. What are their favorite things to do together?

They like their routine quiet evenings, where Cyrus is fiddling with his lute and Sansa is reading or embroidering, if she’s feeling nostalgic towards one of her childhood hobbies. Sansa makes sure they’re schedules line up so they always can have at least one meal together. Cyrus is in charge of most spontaneous activities, one of his favorites being dragging Sansa out to play in the snow with him (she claims eventually he’ll get used to snow and it’ll be dull - he never does).

5. Who’s better at comforting the other?

I made Cyrus with the idea of being a comforting personality, so he was quite literally born for this.

6. Who’s more protective?

Sansa becomes extremely protective of her inner circles as she grows up. Meanwhile, Cyrus is watching her become a badass, so as long as there’s no physical danger, he’s confident for her.

7. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Verbal all the way! Showering someone in compliments, reading romantic poetry and song lyrics, Cyrus literally serenading her, I could go on, they have an old-fashioned flirting style.

8. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

None in-universe, but some of my favorites on their playlist are “King of My Heart” by Taylor Swift, “Could You Ever Find Another Word for Love” by Nathan Colberg, and “Leave a Tender Moment Alone” by Billy Joel.

9. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

Cyrus gets so giddy and proud about her, so he calls Sansa “My Queen” all the time. Sometimes when he’s songwriting he’ll refer to her as the “Northern Star.” Sansa goes for a lot of the classic lovey names, she goes for “My Love” a lot, or she’ll just endearingly call him a fool (honorific). Before they got together, if they were poking at each others’ nerves, Sansa was “she-wolf” and Cyrus was “the thorn in her side” or just “Bard” (derogatory).

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes?

Yes, they do! Sansa brings up the topic first and Cyrus tears up.

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

For the most part, a traditional Northern wedding, with all the important nobles necessary to be invited. Bran would definitely come up for it, and I know Arya would try to make it if she could. I know Cyrus would hop up on stage to join the musicians and serenade her during the feast after.

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

What a dangerous question that I currently don’t have details about, but yeah they’ll have a few someday.

4. Do they have any pets?

I feel like they’d take some dogs later on.

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

Sansa, Cyrus was born to be a fun chill dad.

6. Who kills the bugs in the house?

The way that’s neither of their jobs, but also Cyrus would just be like “boom, done <3″

7. How do they celebrate holidays?

Throwing big feasts for everyone in the castle.

8. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Cyrus makes it his duty to delay their workdays as much as possible, so him.

9. Who’s the better cook?

Cyrus has a few recipes he can pull out of his sleeves from sneaking down to the kitchens as a kid, and stuff he’s picked up over all their travels.

ship questions

#asks #oc: cyrus tyrell #ship: cyrus x sansa #fandom: game of thrones #farklelucas

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arthurmorganthings · 5 years

Text

VOODOO

Pairing: Dutch x Anna (My OC, a WOC)

Warnings: Mentions of racial discrimination

Rating: M

Summary: A story of Dutch’s encounter with a black woman.

The truth is obsolete.

Days of the Wild West were numbered, and soon enough civilization would’ve claim victor in an outlaw’s struggle to survive. That, or working at trashy saloons in the city of Saint Denis.

Anna was merely a person that sat down and observed her surroundings. Mother was a prositute and runaway slave from the south that sought out redemption in the West. From there, she worked the saloons until her body grew numb to susceptibility of ever finding love—love was an idyllic notion meant for people that was deserving.

The poor woman never once told herself that love was not a rich man’s right, but one with four chambers—love was accessible to all. She never learned to read, or write for that matter, and found that she was pregnant by an infamous outlaw that appreciated her company. She knew the kind of man he was, white trash was one of many pet names she grew fond of calling him, but opted for his real name nonetheless.

His nickname for her was Cleopatra of the Nile. Before talk of Marriage came about, Anna’s mother grew ill and passed away from cholera just as Anna turned four. It hardened her father short after, but kept with raising Anna the best he knew how.

He settled in a small home near Bay you Nwa, of Lemoyne. For the brief moment living there Anna recalled the humid air and horrible stench that arised from the marsh. There, he taught her to read, and write in cursive. As she grew older, her father taught her to handle a gun.

In his defense, he told her soon enough she would need to learn how to defend against ruthless people she was bound to encounter. Anna simply smiled all smug, she says,

“Just don’t go all soft on me old man.”

He chuckled before nudging her side, aiming his silver revolver with beautiful carvings and a clean finish. His body in perfect form of the empty moonshine bottles.

He fired. Perfectly hitting both bottles at the end.

Just like his death that followed when she turned eighteen.

It happened so suddenly but it was bound to happen, he was a man with a price on his head. It was only a matter of time until word of him got out. And It did, oh so savagely.

His body laying out in front of her as notorious bounty hunters laughed mockingly at her, calling her a “darkie” and “mulatto” alongside other racial derogatory terms. It sickened her, but knew there was so much she could’ve done.

Currently working as a barkeep, Anna plans to save enough to move to New York. Hopefully by next year.

Anna was so caught in her own head that she didn’t realize a group of men came in ordering food, and drinks. One man with a particular sense of style snapped his fingers in front of her eyes aggressively, causing her eyes to focus on his face. His appearance was neat, and his style was smart as he began to speak.

“Excuse me madam, but we’d like a table for five please.” He comments as you stare pointedly. His entourage resembled that of a notorious gang. Knowing your boss he wouldn’t even serve men of his visage, and kept a revolver underneath the counter.

Anna’s smile was tight lipped, “this way, sir.”

Upon the walk up the wooden garnish, Anne felt his eyes burn down her spine as she kept her composure. He wore a leather holster with a gold embellish, much like her father’s years ago.

“So what, is a fine woman like you doing in a dump like this?” He spoke as the others awkwardly followed suit. It took Anna seating them to realize he’d been talking to her, though opting to take their orders and provide refreshments.

“Can I start you fellers out with something to drink?” She inquired, moving a pen from the coils of her curls, and a piece of paper from the pocket of her apron.

“We’ll all take a whiskey ma’dam.” A gruff feller with blonde hair says as she jot down the order. Her boots pivoted down the steps, excusing herself as she moved past wealthy beings from various countries. The saloon was now in full effect, men with enough riches that money can buy, flaunt their latest coattails, the working girls were too on the prowl in hopes to making money on a busy Friday night.

Anne mended the tables, bar, and kitchen. Articulate with orders, bills, and tips given to graciously by the men that were honorable enough to do so.

Oddly enough, no time at all had he left her mind. His presence exudes power in a pleasurable way Anne would soon find herself thinking about deeply.

As the demand for waiters came to a standstill, Anne went back to barkeeping. Her skillful hands, pouring drinks to glasses before serving them to empty souls none the wiser.

She was going through the motions of life. Not a goddamn plan as to what was next.

Sure she’d planned to go to New York, but what of it? Would she marry off to some rich man? How life had been treating her, it would be an amazing fantasy and a vigorous start at life.

At the tender age of twenty-four.

Though the idea of running away from her problems West, she’d need money. A lot of money.

Upon pondering her place, a shot glass filled with overbearing whiskey slide its underneath her chin. Her eyes locked onto the same man she’d served all night—now here he was, inches away from her with only a counter to separate them.

He began, quirking an eyebrow, “Penny for your thoughts?” His whole voice was enough to open conversation. He was a charming man with what could be mistakened for manipulation. His fingers grabbing onto his drink, gold rings gracing each limb.

“I ain’t got a penny to spare, not no more,” Anne spoke quietly, taking his shot she’d assume was for her to the head. Wincing at the pungent taste of whiskey on her tongue.

“Of course. The mind is an expensive thing to simply expose. Even to a stranger.”

“Or to anyone.” You mumble, the stranger lighting a cigarette while listening intently.

“You look like a good kid. You in school?”

“No. And I ain’t a kid, I’m a lady, mister.” Anna growled while cleaning some of the glasses.

He chuckles once more before inquiring, “My apologies, young lady. I don’t believe I’ve acquainted myself with you yet.”

Her hands never leaving the rag used to varnish, her eyes however, met his but only briefly. She was afraid what she’d find in them. A beat of silence followed before she replied.

“Anna. That’s all you need to know.”

Another beat of silence ensued as chatter amongst other people grew lively as the night progressed. His mouth twitched as a coin made its way to Anna.

“Dutch.” His mouth followed.

In attempts to being funny, Anna replies, “The drink or-“

“Oh, don’t you start.” He chuckles dryly as her cheekbones creased in glee.

“I’m only pokin’ fun darlin.” Her smile enough to carry Dutch to Lemonye and back. Anna placed her drink across to him gingerly as she clasped her fingers together.

“So. Dutch, a unique name.”

He scoffed, taking from the almond bowl, “Bullshit. The amount of Europeans you’ve accustomed yourself to seeing and you mean to tell me my name’s unique?”

“A lot of the Europeans think I spit in their food. No white man wants to be served by a darkie.” The conversation taking a social shift as Dutch frowned upon realization.

“You should, spit in their food.”

Your face lit up in happiness at the statement, but suddenly turning to a stoic look.

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”

He winked at her, warmly. They chat so much until Anna’s shift at the bar was over as she saunters from behind the bar.

Dutch offering her his arm respectibly, “m’lady?”

She smiles in tandem to his gesture before taking his arm with her as they exit the mahogany wooden double-doors.

“You know, people are going to raise hell. Seein’ a white man with a colored girl.”

“Let them raise hell sweetheart.” His hand dropping to her side as he drew her closer so his lips found her ear, “They could spawn the devil for all I care. It shouldn’t be a crime to enjoy the company of a beautiful girl.”

Anna’s heart swelled with happiness as she looked him in the eyes. Once fearful for what she’d find, her thoughts became clear as day as to what she’d see—lust.

Of course, how could she be so naive? A stranger sits with her the whole shift she works, creating wholesome conversations, in exchange for nothing in return? What a silly concept to uphold.

He suddenly became off-putting, but not by much. She did fancy his company after all.

Dutch walked with pride, as if he were some head honcho ready to show his Lady Luck to the world; He felt like a lucky man.

Anne gave his biceps a soft squeeze upon arrival to a tiny cabin near the slums outside of Saint Denis. The wood grew old and the roof occasionally allowed water to leak through.

It was her home nonetheless, a home no one could take away other than pesky loan sharks.

“Well, princess Anna. I believe this is your stop.”

Her smile widened as she felt his soft palms against her hands, they were surprisingly soft and well cared for.

Princess

Brought a warm sensation between her thighs. She’d imagine the same lips he used to charm his women would be used to make a mess of things between the sheets.

“I shall leave you to it th-“

“Would you like to come inside for some coffee Dutch?” Her question soon followed a subtle lip bite.

Enabling him

Like some predator being given the green light to devour his prey. There was a glint of mischief in his eyes, feigning ignorance, “If you’re offering, how could I say no, Miss Anna?”

“Please. Anna is just fine.” Anne says, side-stepping, giving Dutch ample room to enter.

The night was still young, and reckless.

As were they.

—

SMUT IN THE SECOND PART I PROMISE :) I KNOW THIS IS A LOT I LOVE MY OC ANNA SO MUCH, TRULY A HEART OF GOLD.

#arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #charles smith #john marston #sadie adler #saint denis #aesthetic #dutch van der linde x oc #black oc #wild west #javier escuella #arthur morgan x female oc #hosea matthews x reader #love #redemption #red dead redemption #smut in next part

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coleymari-blog · 7 years

Text

A War Fought at Home : Chapter 6

Corporal Natsu Dragneel has been through Hell, and unfortunately for him, the ride isn’t quite over. How will a new Rehab program at the local VA help? And will a certain blonde help make matters better?

Modern Military AU. Warnings for mentions of depression and adult language/situations. Other warnings to come as the story progresses. Cross post on AO3 and FF.net.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“--THE FUCK?! So you just offered up our house?!”

In all honesty, Gray had every right to be upset. It wasn't like Natsu had given away the last of their beer or something, he'd offered their spare bedroom to a seemingly random college girl! The two Marines had at one time discussed the possibility of renting out that room sometime in the future, but that plan had always been dependent on Natsu and his progress.

“If I didn't, she'd have to drop out and move back to Acalypha, Ice Dick,” Natsu replied as he wheeled himself over to the sink to drop his dishes in the sink, his voice taking on a somewhat whiny tone against his will. At least he had waited until they were home to drop the bomb. He had brought it up over dinner, initially causing the Sergeant to choke on his pasta, but eventually Gray had gathered enough rage to just let Natsu have it.

“And this is our problem how…?” Gray snapped, immediately beginning to wash the dishes, handing the dripping ones down to Natsu for drying.

“Because she's nice and deserves help?” What else was he supposed to say? Oh, she needs to move in with us so I don't have to say goodbye to the one female that doesn't look at me like a puppy in a cone collar? Natsu shook his head and sighed. “Come on. It's only for a year until she graduates.” He racked his brain for any other argument he could muster. A thought came to mind but it was the cheapest move in the book. “Maybe she has cute friends that like guys in uniform?”

Gray huffed grumpily as he continued to wash the same plate he’d be working on for the past couple minutes. Natsu could tell that his best friend was more upset by Natsu’s single minded decision making than he was by the prospect of Lucy moving in. All Natsu had to do was find the right switch to flip and Lucy would have the green light. When Gray finally handed off his plate, he looked down at Natsu and cocked his head to the side slightly, as if trying to read the other Marine like a book. A moment passed before Gray spoke again, his gaze falling in defeat. “You know we’ll have to actually keep this place clean then, right?”

YES! Natsu thanked his roommate rapidly before speeding off for his room to grab his phone. He happily shot a text off to Lucy before he heaved himself out of his chair and flopped onto his bed. Folding his sculpted arms underneath his head, the salmon-haired Marine breathed in deeply before allowing himself to sink further into his mattress, but not before his face lit up with the biggest shit eating grin he had ever donned. Lucy moving in meant that he’d get to see her every day, eat meals with her, watch movies together, everything he craved to do with her but couldn't in the capacity he really desired. But if he didn't stand a chance to be her boyfriend, at least he could be her favorite roommate. With the fantasy of Lucy running through his mind, of her hips swaying down his hallway, casting the sweetest smile over her shoulder as she shut her door for the night, Natsu let sleep overcome him.

The next morning, he woke up surprisingly refreshed. No nightmares, no cold sweats, nothing. All that awaited him were a million grateful texts from Lucy and the sounds of Gray already hard at work fixing up the spare room. Natsu could hear his best friend shuffling boxes down the hall, stopping in the living room, and back again for the next load. Maybe they could use him and his chair like a dolly. At least they’d get done quicker.

The Marine hoisted himself into his wheelchair, not bothering to change out of his standard-issue sweatpants and tanktop. He immediately rolled out into the hall and over to the doorframe in order to watch Gray work. Surprisingly there wasn’t much left to do. The furniture from when they moved in was again visible instead of being buried under duty bags and old boxes. There was a metal bookcase in the back corner that Natsu knew Lucy would appreciate, a full bed situated in the middle of the back wall beneath a large uncovered window that opened up to their spacious (and rarely occupied) backyard. The matching dresser was covered in an inch-thick layer of dust but was beautiful nonetheless. Gunny had made them himself but they’d never really been used by the boys. Gray had his own furniture from before he moved in and Natsu had to replace all his with medical grade equipment after his accident. The only time the pinket remembered the room being used at all was when his sister Wendy had come to visit shortly after he had returned home.

“Nice of you to join me, Asshole,” Gray muttered as he stripped away his t-shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his brow. He threw a semi-empty box over by the door right next to Natsu’s feet. “We gotta start going through this bullshit. She has to move in before the First, right?”

Natsu grinned devilishly as he leaned over, grabbed the box, and dropped it in his lap. He didn’t even want to fight Gray about the teasing, reveling in the normalcy of it all. Most people would have taken offense to being called something derogatory but to Natsu and Gray, it was nothing more than pet names between brothers. Over the past couple months, as Natsu grew stronger, Gray acted more normal by the day. At first, it started off with small things like not doing every little thing for him and eventually grew to include the hurling of casual insults. If he was being honest, Natsu had to admit that it raised his spirits a bit, but not nearly as much as the prospect of Lucy moving in with them.

Looking down into his lap, he noticed the cardboard box contained the remnants of his Service days. Pictures of his teams, medals and commendations, the works. Before he knew it, another box was being added on top of the first, almost completely obstructing his sight in all directions. “Yup, she’ll have to start moving in here in about two weeks,” he replied as he carefully rolled back to his room and dropped the mementos in the corner. Natsu brushed off the dust off his sweats before heading back to the other room. “You sure you’re okay shacking up with a girl?”

Gray hopped up and sat on top of the dresser, leaning back against the wall. “Nah, it’s just a year right?” he scoffed while staring up at the white popcorn ceiling. “And having a chick around might not be such a bad thing. This place could use a serious ‘feminine touch’.” Both Marines laughed at the slight truth in Gray’s statement before he jumped down and made his way to his bedroom next door. He quickly headed for the shower, managing to lose his basketball shorts somewhere between the two, and left Natsu alone to take in the sight of the now empty room. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to imagine what Lucy’s room might look like. The empty beige walls were suddenly covered in all sorts of photos, the bed draped with her favorite starry quilt. She would probably need some kind of desk for her writing, but he still had his that was hardly ever used. The twinkling sounds of his cell phone ringing dragged the veteran out of his daydreaming and forced him back into the real world.

Wheeling into his room, Natsu groaned when he found his former teammate calling. A picture of the orange-maned, playboy wiggled over the screen before Natsu actually forced himself to pick up, mainly just to make it stop. “Yo, Leo, what’s up Brother?” he murmured, trying to sound asleep. One could only hope he’d be spared if Loke thought he’d interrupted something.

“Salamander, tonight the boys and I are going out since the Dragon Twins are back from their last Tour,” the other Marine slurred as if he’d already started ‘celebrating’. “Grab the Ice Princess and meet us at this bar downtown called Fairy Tail. No one has seen your ugly ass in ages.”

Natsu feigned amusement. “I’ll relay the message, but you guys can make complete fools of yourselves without me thanks.” While he knew he probably should go, mostly because of Gildarts’ relentless nagging in the back of his mind, that didn’t mean he necessarily wanted to go. Seeing the boys would be great if they didn’t want to go somewhere like a downtown hotspot. It’s not like they were the most handicapable places in the world.

Loke’s whining made Natsu yank the phone off his ear. “Come on man, I’m being serious.” A small huff came through the line after silence had fallen between the two brothers-in-arms. “At least think about it? Everyone would really like to see you, Boss.”

Eventually Natsu conceded to the augmented request. “I make no promises.” And that was that. Rushed goodbyes left the pinket alone once more to wallow in his thoughts.

Could it really be so bad?

Hours later, once night had fallen over Magnolia, Gray and Natsu trudged their way up to the line waiting outside the newest hub for local nightlife. After some heated debates and multiple decision changes, the two ultimately dressed and headed out to meet their Squad mates. The group of Marines wasn’t exactly difficult to spot, the four of them sticking out like well-postured thumbs. Natsu immediately made out Loke and the ‘twins’ better known as Sting and Rogue. The two riflemen had grown up together, enlisted together, and served together, earning them the familial title. Gajeel held up the rear, grinning menacingly as the two joined the group. They all shared their raucous pleasantries before they were finally admitted to the club.

At least the monstrosity had one benefit. Due to Natsu’s wheelchair, the staff of Fairy Tail bumped them up to first class so that the group could have access to the booths. There was a ramp up onto the raised platform hidden on the side of the main room and the six of them quickly found their way to their table.

“First round is on me, boys!” Loke exclaimed, trying to be heard clearly over the booming music. And before anyone could stop him, the redhead was weaving through the crowds to get to the bar. The rest of them settled down and began catching up, sharing the highlights of what had happened in the past year and a half. When Loke returned, not only was he carrying a tray full of glasses and a bottle of firewhiskey, he was also smirking in his trademark fashion.

“Check out the pack of babes by the bar,” he instructed as he directed their attention to the bar. Each of them craned their necks in order to get a glance at whoever Loke was talking about. It didn’t take their trained eyes long to find their targets and Natsu felt as if his heart was going to beat out of his chest. Luckily he didn’t have to say anything. Gray did that for him.

“Hey Natsu! Isn’t that Lucy?!” he mocked, wryly sipping his whiskey. She was surrounded by other girls, a couple he recognized from photos she had shown him. Queue the casual ribbing.

Sting, the blonder half of the Twins, soon broke up the teasing as he announced his intentions. “Well, if you guys wanna circle jerk all night, be my guest. I’m going to get to know those girls over there.” His sights turned on Natsu before he downed the rest of his drink. “Wanna introduce me to the hot one?”

Natsu’s world turned red. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the chance to react before Sting was already cutting through the crowd. He sat faithfully and watched as his comrade infiltrated the group, never once gesturing back to the other Marines. However, the longer he made himself watch, the sicker he became. The last thing he saw before finishing off his own drink and excusing himself from his brothers was Sting closing the gap and running his fingers through the very strands of gold that had been haunting Natsu’s dreams for weeks.

Hey y'all! Hope you enjoyed this one. It's a bit of a filler chapter but trust me, you're going to like where this is going. Thank you all for wishing me well these past couple weeks. Thankfully I'm feeling better (mostly) but the stress from normal life is no bueno. I'm thankful I get to come and write here, and that y'all are coming along on the ride with me. :)

#nalu fanfic #nalu fic #ftfanfics #a war fought at home #;awfah

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