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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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CTRL+ALT+DECEIT

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape; oral, fucking, stalking, hacking, threats, implied violence.

This is dark!Jake Jensen x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: You find your pictures on someone else’s Insta but that’s not the only thing he’s stolen.

Note: Yay, another Jensen fic at last. I’m probably gonna try to work in more one shots between my series. I’m looking at Andy Barber, Ransom Drysdale, or Lee Bodecker right now for next week but we’ll see.

Thanks to everyone for sticking around and putting up with me and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

The chirp of the chat pierced your eardrum once more as you ignored it for the spreadsheet of dates on your other monitor. Working from home could be both peaceful and distracting but the third bing had you muting and pushing your headset to your neck with a grumble. You switched windows as the chat box blinked.

‘So why didn’t u tell me u had a bf?’ Zia’s bubble blipped up followed by impatient emojis.

“Wat r u talking bout?’ you typed back and clicked back to the spreadsheet to update the status of each course. That noise came again and you flipped back.

‘I’m not stupid! Come on. He’s far away but he’s cute.’

You frowned and tapped the space bar lightly. You were utterly confused. The only activity in your daily life were the general notifications from Tindr. You repeated the question and she sent an emoji rolling its eyes.

‘I’m serious.’ you replied.

She sent a link and then a laughing GIF attached to another bubbled response, ‘I’m not buyin it.’

You clicked on the hyperlink and a new tab opened. You scrolled down on the Insta as the air was knocked out of you at the sight of your own face. Not only were their pics taken from your public profile but several you’d never even posted. Your skin crawled and the bing sounded again.

‘So… an online thing huh.’ Zia pressed on.

‘I gotta work.’ you closed out of the window entirely but stayed on the Insta.

You scrolled through about a dozen or so selfies of you, each labeled as ‘missing my lady’ or ‘she’s so sweet, sending me pics to keep me company’. Your stomached roiled with mortification and the unsettling sensation of intrusion. It was easy enough to guess you’d been hacked but to think this was what the creep did with it was even more startling.

You changed the password on your Insta and went through the process of doing so with all of your accounts and ran a scan on your PC. You would likely have to file a ticket for a proper inspection with a specialist. You couldn’t help but shake as you went back to the profile after checking your bank account and PayPal to make sure it wasn’t worse than just pics.

You went back to the profile and found photos of the culprit. His spiky blond hair and glasses were unsurprising and his comic book tee shirt was even less. Your disgust was quickly replaced with anger as you hit the chat icon above his info.

‘Hey, jackass, care to tell me how you have my photos on your profile?!’

The read icon appeared almost and you saw him typing. It stopped and then started again.

‘You’re so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.’

You scoffed at the message and cringed at the screen. ‘Are you nuts? Like actually. You stole my photos! You hacked me. Creep.’

You blocked him immediately after hitting send and logged out. You opened Excel again and tried to focus on the coloured cells. You could hardly process what you were doing as your phone began to vibe on the corner of your desk. It didn’t let up and you couldn’t focus past the incessant buzzing.

You snatched it up and several messages covered the screen as you unlocked it. ‘You really think that’s gonna work’; ‘You can’t block me’... several in a similar vein that you deleted before blocking the number. You silenced your phone and turned back to your monitor.

Suddenly the screen went black and you blinked. You hit the keyboard and clicked, assuming it fell asleep. It lit up again but all you saw was yourself staring back. Your mouth fell open and you ripped the clip-on cam from atop your monitor. You disconnected it as the notepad opened and typing flicked up across the white space.

‘I didn’t want it to be like this.’

You could move the mouse or backspace. All control was lost and you sat there helplessly watching the scrawl.

‘I think we’d be really good together if you only gave me a chance. Can’t you see I worship you?’

Your phone began to shake constantly and a private number flashed. You picked it up and hollered into the speaker, “leave me alone”. You hung up but it kept on and your screen turned to black once more. Your PC was still on but there was no reaction from the machine.

Fuck, you sat back and looked at your phone. You couldn’t even call work to tell them because the damn thing wouldn’t stop ringing. You put your head in your hands and grunted in frustration. How the fuck did all this happen?

🖱️

After your initial panic died down, you disconnected your tower and shut off your phone. You left your cell behind as it was just as useless. You hauled the PC down to IT at your work and filled out the ticket without giving intricate details on everything the weirdo had taken.

You left with a borrowed laptop. You wouldn’t sign into your personal accounts and stick to the company portal. You were embarrassed but happy to have a temporary solution. You got home and set up the new computer and reconfigured your wi-fi. You finished the last of the day’s work and ended the day with a glass of wine.

When you dared to turn your phone on again the next morning, it was filled with notifications from all platforms but each one you clicked on errored and prompted you to sign-in. All your new passwords were wrong and you knew it was him.

You checked the Insta and found a screenshot on his profile from the day before, your mouth agape in horror that could easily mistaken for surprise.

‘Her face when you pop the question on the call’. The caption made your stomach curdle and you nearly flung the phone away. You couldn’t comment without logging in or message. So you created a shell account with a throwaway email you used on Reddit.

‘Why won’t you stop?’ you sent the message through as you waited for your coffee to brew.

‘Stop what?’ he added a winky face with his reply and you growled.

‘You know who this is! Why are you doing this?’

‘Hmmm…’ he let the message hang there and you sat down with your mug and listened to the birds outside. ‘Imagine what someone else would do with everything I have.’

‘Look at what you’re doing. You’re ruining my life.’

‘Ruining? Sweetie, I’m watching over you. Protecting you.’

Your nostrils flared and you burnt your tongue on the coffee and planted it on the table so it sloshed over the sides.

‘Love you, sweetie. See ya soon.’

The chat box turned grey as you realised he blocked you. That pissed you off more than anything and you lobbed your phone away with a shout of anguish. This guy was fucked!

You were shaking so much you couldn’t even drink your coffee. You got up and paced until you could think straight. You dialed into work and told them you were taking the day off for a personal emergency and shut down your phone. You were too afraid he would find a way onto your work laptop and you didn’t want to have to explain that to IT too.

🖱️

Zia showed up on Saturday and she wasn’t happy. She buzzed up and banged on your door impatiently. You let her in and she crossed her arms over the strap of her purse as she crooked her hip.

“I know I shouldn’t have snooped but if you’re mad at me, you should’ve just said so. I would’ve backed off,” she scowled.

“I’m not mad,” you said as you backed into the front room and dragged your feet over the rug.

“Sure, you’re just ignoring all my messages by accident,” she stayed at the other side of the room.

“Not exactly, no,” you shrugged, “it’s a long story.”

“And you couldn’t shoot me a message to say that at least?”

“Look, I’m stressed the fuck out. I’m sorry but the only reason I didn’t answer you is because I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t even turn my phone on anymore.”

“What--”

“Just--” you touched your temples, “I don’t even know how to explain--”

“Jesus, are you okay?” her anger slaked away as her voice softened.

“No, I’m not,” you sniffed, “I’ve been trapped in this apartment and I can’t think straight and I can’t even talk to anyone because my phone and my life is totally fucked.”

“How about we get a coffee and you can tell me once you’ve calmed down,” she said, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up.”

“You don’t know how bad it is. I really fucked up,” you whined, “I don’t even know how it happened.”

“Is this about the boyfriend?”

You huffed and shook your head, “I told you, he’s not my boyfriend-- Let me get dressed.”

After you felt presentable enough to leave the apartment, the thought of getting away ushered you down the winding stairwell and onto the sidewalk. You and Zia walked down to the cafe on the corner where you always overspent on their specialty drink and caught up.

You ordered but when you tried to use your card, the machine beeped in rejection. You tried again but still no luck. Zia offered to pay and you promised you’d pay her back. Anxiety pitted deep in your stomach as you sat. You’d have to call the bank and figure out why eight dollars would bounce.

“So,” Zia said as she shaded her eyes against the sunlight streaming onto the open patio, “he’s not your boyfriend?”

“I don’t even know the dude,” you hissed as you almost overturned your cup, “Zee, those pictures, they were all on my phone. I never sent them to anyone. I don’t even know his real name and when I confronted him, he crashed my whole system and blew up my phone. I haven’t been able to log into anything because of him.”

“You’re shitting me,” she chuckled.

“Zee, I’m not fucking kidding,” you blinked, “don’t you think if I was dating some dude out in who knows where, you’d be the first to know? You think I’m wasting my time with the idiots on Tindr for fun?”

“No way,” she scoffed.

“Zia, look me in the eye,” you said as you gave her a stern look, “I’m freaking the fuck out.”

“Did you call the police?” she asked.

You sat back and closed your eyes. You were so swept up in the panic, you hadn’t even thought. You could report it to the police, just get a record of it even if they didn’t do anything else. You heard horror stories of hackers and how little could be done but you had to at least try.

“I guess I should go down to the station today,” you ran your fingertips along your chin, “I don’t know, I felt so alone, I thought--”

“And call your bank right now,” she slid her phone over, “figure out what’s going on with your accounts.”

You took her cell and dialed the number on the back of the card. You dragged your finger down the side of your cup as you listened to the automated message and hit the buttons to direct you to customer service. The hold song bubbled in your head and finally picked up as you finished the last of your mocha.

You explained the issue after giving your information as Zia sat patiently across from you. She watched the other patrons and looked out across the street as you waited on the representative on the other end.

“Looks like your account has been locked. Your savings and checking have been placed on hold citing possible fraud,” the woman explained.

“Well, can’t you unlock them? Why would they be flagged?”

“Hmm, well I see no suspicious spending so possibly… it could be due to an external lock, not us.”

“What does that mean?”

“I can’t speak to that. Have you received any communications from the Revenue service?”

“Revenue service? I don’t--no,” you gulped.

“I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can tell you,” she said, “you should consider contacting federal services.”

You hung up and handed Zia her phone back. “Apparently, I’m under investigation for fraud? I don’t know.”

“Shit,” she took her cell, “are you sure?”

“It sounded like it but-- I gotta check my credit card,” you stood and grabbed your empty cup and your purse.

You stormed down the street to the ATM at the corner and inserted your card. LOCKED the machine made a hideous noise and you pulled out your card in irritation. You put your wallet and touched the sides of your neck as the heat swelled through you.

“I don’t understand--”

“Um, you should see this,” Zia said.

Zia turned her screen towards you and your heart dropped to your toes. There was a picture softened by a blush Insta filter and the caption read, ‘just got into town, surprising bae with flowers’. Over the cluster of petals at the bottom of the image were you and Zia sitting at the cafe patio.

You spun and searched around for any sign of the man and the bouquet. You could hardly breath as it felt like you were being squished between invisible walls. You clapped your hand against the wall and steadied yourself as Zia gently rubbed your arm.

“Let’s go to the station,” you croaked as tears welled in your eyes, “please.”

🖱️

The police told you everything you expected. Even as you showed them the photos and explained how you never met that man in your life, they only offered you words on a piece of paper. They’d file the report and follow-up in case of any further escalation. It was a non-answer, a cold shrug.

Zia went home with you as she offered to stay the night. You gladly accepted and the two of you cozied up on your bed and spent the night watching early 00s rom coms. You found it hard to relax even with her there. You couldn’t stop thinking about how close he’d been without you even knowing.

You at last began to doze off as Reese Witherspoon triumphed and exhausted by the endless maelstrom of dread, you slipped into a deep but perilous sleep. You were locked in limbo between waking and slumber, almost as if you could hear everything around you but remained blind and unknowing all the same.

You woke with a start as you felt like you were falling. You sat up and reached to the other side of the bed. Zia was gone. She must have got up to get water or use the bathroom. You took a breath and turned your legs over the edge. You got up groggily and lumbered across the room, your mouth dry and head aching. Some tylenol and water would do you well.

You hesitated as you noticed the bloom of light just around the corner from your doorway. Zia must be having trouble sleeping, you guessed as you kept on. As you came in sight of the front room, you heard a whimper and you backed up against the wall as tall figure stood before the coffee table. The flowers laid across the wood, slightly crumpled from a struggle.

As Zia whined, he jabbed her with his foot and she grunted around the rag tied around her mouth. Her arms and legs were bound behind her as the man loomed over her. You recognized his blond hair and glasses, the menacing blue eyes as he raised his chin and crossed his arms.

“Been waiting on you,” he stepped over her, “I was disappointed when I realised it was her. Good friend though, hanging around…”

“Don’t hurt her, please. What do you want?”

“You can’t figure that out?” he taunted, “huh, I’m sure you can guess what it will take for me to leave her in one piece.��

Zia wiggled and received another boot. You pushed yourself forward and he stepped closer, predatory as he dropped his arms and clenched then unclenched his fists. He chuckled as you stopped short and gaped up at him.

“She’s cute,” he said, “she can join us if that makes it easier for you.”

“You’re disgusting,” you snarled and winced as he reached out to touch your cheek. You fought not to shove him away, your eyes on Zia’s bound figure.

“Play nice and I will,” he warned, “every time I hurt her, that’s on you. I wish I didn’t have to do this to show you how much I love you.”

You shook your head as your lip trembled. He pressed his palms to your cheek and ran his thumb along your lips. He leaned in and you cowered as you realised how big he was. You didn’t expect that looking at him from the other side of a screen.

“Do we put on a show for her or did you want a little privacy?”

“You won’t get away with this,” you hissed.

“Oh yeah? I locked you out of your social media, your pc, your bank… do you really want to see how far I can take this?”

He smothered your murmured answer with his mouth and kissed you gruffly. He pulled away and looked you in the eye. He bit his lip and hummed.

“So, do we do this here?”

“You’re sick,” you grabbed his hand and wrenched it away from your face. You yanked him and directed him to the bedroom, “you monster.”

“Now come on,” he twisted his wrist around and grabbed your elbow, “I could’ve killed her. Don’t think I won’t.”

You quivered as he forced you back into your bedroom, the street lights casting shadows between your curtains. He flung you ahead of him, as strong as his thick arms would suggest. You stumbled and caught yourself on the side of the bed. You turned as the door slammed and he prowled towards you like a wild cat.

“Well,” he threw his hands up and you caught a glint of light against the lens of his glasses, “you want me to undress you or you think you can handle that, sweetie?”

You puffed in repulsion and looked away from him. Even in the dark, you could feel his eyes on you. You jittered as you reached to the neck of your loose tee and slowly raised it over your head. You dropped it to crumple on the floor and you touched the top of your shorts. You heard him moving around and shied away as he flipped the switch and light shone across the room.

You pushed down your shorts as you heard a thump from the next room. His jaw twitched as his eyes lingered on you and he reluctantly glanced away. He swung the door open and stormed out into the front room. You went to the door and heard his snarl.

“Stop fucking moving,” he rasped, “every time I have to tell you, I’ll pop another out.”

Zia gave a muffled sob as you heard a sickly crack and you hurried to look around the wall into the room. He blocked your sight with his broad chest and pointed you back to the room.

“I didn’t say you could leave the room,” he spun you and slapped your bare ass, “fast, fast, fast… before I lose my patience.”

Your skin stung from the strike and you tripped through the doorway as he followed quickly. Another slam and he poked you further into the room with his knuckle. You stepped away from him and tried to cover yourself as you faced him in horror.

He quickly swooped his shirt over his head and revealed a buff chest thick with blond hair. He kicked off his shoes and fumbled to undo his fly. He tilted his head as he looked you over and groped himself through his jeans.

“You know what to do,” he said, “I’ve seen the way you touch yourself… cyber security 101, cover your webcam.”

You shuddered as he beckoned you closer. He stopped you and put your hands on the waist of his jeans. He leaned in and nuzzled your temple as his hot breath seeped into your goosebumped skin.

“My turn,” he pushed on your hands until you pulled down the denim on your own strength.

He stepped out of his jeans and snapped the elastic of his boxers. You stood and latched onto those shakily. He ran his fingers along your arms as you pulled them past his erection and they fell to the floor with a whisper. You didn’t look down, instead staring past him as his hand swept up to cup your tits.

His fingers crawled up your chest and his hands wrapped around your neck. He squeezed and turned you so that your back was to the bed. He marched you backwards as you felt his dick bobbing between your bodies. You gasped as he pushed you down onto your mattress, your legs dangling over the edge as he came up to straddle you.

“Such a good girl,” he taunted, “look at you… I bet you’re wet already.”

He pulled a hand away and stroked his length as he raised himself on his knees. He clung to your neck as he leaned over you and planted his hand on the bed above you. He hovered his dick over your head and you closed your eyes.

“Put it in your mouth,” he ordered, “now, or I’m putting it in your ass.”

You reached up blindly and angled his tip against your lips. He dipped his hips down and you choked as he prodded at your throat. Your legs twitched as he forced his cock past your gag reflex and your whole body tensed at the intrusion.

He balanced on the hand above your head and the one on your neck. He thrust harder and harder as sloppy sucking reverberated around the room between his dark groans.

“That’s it,” he purred, “look at you taking my cock. I can only imagine how tight that cunt of yours is.”

Your eyes welled and you flicked your lashes as you tried to bat them away. You kept your hand at the base of his dick as you tried to ease his motion. He ignored your reluctance and only delved deeper as he brought himself to his limit, your lips touching the fuzz along his pelvis.

When you couldn’t breath, you slapped his hard stomach and he reared out of you abruptly. You coughed up spit as he sat back on his heels and released you. He huffed as he looked down at his glistening dick and climbed off of you.

“Stand up, turn around,” he snarled as his eyes flashed.

His glasses were low on his nose and he slipped them off entirely and folded them up on your night table. He squinted as he watched you stand and turn stiffly. He smacked his hand in the middle of your back and pushed you over impatiently. He stepped closer and tapped his tip against your cunt as you were exposed to him.

He bent his legs and poked along your slick folds. You were wet enough for him to glide in and fill you up completely. He was so big it was painful and you arched your back as you tried to take it. He pulled back and slammed into you harshly. You let out a garble and he repeated the motion, taking you off your feet.

He leaned over you and grabbed your knees, lifting them on the bed as he urged you forward. His hand brushed up over your ass and he pressed between your shoulder blades until your face was flush to the mattress, your arms bent around you like a broken doll.

He thrust again and the loud slap made you wince. He jerked his hips roughly until he found his motion, rutting into you with hissy breaths as his other hand groped your ass. He hummed as your body shook before him, ruled by his touch as your walls clenched him.

He pushed his thumb down between your cheeks and circled your asshole. You strained and lifted your head in alarm. His other hand quickly stretched over your crown and pinned your face to the bed. He felt along your cunt and slickened his thumb before trailing back to your puckered ring.

He pushed lightly at first and as he broke through you gasped and whined. You gripped the blankets as he moved his thumb in and out of you, his hips still rocking steadily into you. He slid his thumb out entirely and prodded with two fingers instead. Before you could react, he forced them inside and you cried out in surprise and pain.

“I know you want it, sweetheart,” he groaned, “I can feel…” he kept fucking you, “I can fucking hear it.”

Your holes tightened around you as he carried the pace. A new pressure began to bloom inside of you, unlike anything you’d felt before. The burning in your ass and the stretching of your cunt mingled to an agonized bliss. You sobbed into the blankets as you came uncontrollably around him, shamed by the unwanted release.

“Fuck,” he drew out the word as both his hand and his hips sped up, “look at you cumming for me. Cumming for this creep.”

You moaned and curled your fingers around the duvet tighter. You felt the same knotting deep inside and you came again as he reached a tantamount. This time, you gushed around his cock and felt the deluge down your thighs as the noise grew wetter and louder.

“Look at you, sweetheart, you can’t handle it, can you?” He snorted as he sucked in a breath suddenly and his hips staggered.

He pushed his fingers deeper and kept them there as he fucked you as hard as he could. He slammed into your cunt over and over. Your hips throbbed with each tilt of his pelvis and you smothered your cries as you felt him coat your walls in his release.

He stopped just as suddenly and dragged his fingers out of your ass. He leaned against you until your legs collapsed and fell onto you with a sigh. He covered your body with his as his shallow breaths hazed around you.

Your own heart raced as you stretched your arms out stiffly and quivered. You tried to pull yourself from beneath him. He kept you pinned under his weight and jolted you with a cruel thrust.

“Oh, we’re not done, sweetheart,” he muttered along the shell of your ear, “not even close.”

#jake jensen #dark jake jensen #dark!jake jensen #jake jensen x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #one shot #the losers #dc

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goldenraeofsun · 3 years

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Day 16: Delightful D-Bags

“Oh my god,” Dean mutters as Naomi strides into Crowley’s office. Half horrified, half entranced, he strains to eavesdrop on their conversation through the glass door.

“What’s happening?” Cas asks, his impatient voice coming from the earbud jammed in Dean’s right ear. “Naomi got into the elevator five minutes ago. Is she there yet?”

“Shut up,” Dean whispers. “I’m trying to listen to them!”

“Listen harder! What kind of an assistant are you?”

“One who’s gonna get fired if I don’t get all my work done,” Dean hisses as he keeps one ear on Crowley and Naomi, one ear on Cas, and one ear on the hotel clerk currently yammering to him about their spa amenities through his work phone.

Christ, he needs more ears.

Dean ducks behind his computer screen as Crowley grabs his jacket. Right in front of Dean’s stunned face, Crowley pushes open the door for Naomi to walk through first.

Dean had no idea Crowley knew that was something you could do for someone.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dean says faintly as they don’t stop on their way down the hallway to the elevators.

“Dean?”

“Sir, if you are dissatisfied with room service options-”

“No, the food’s fine. It’s the room,” Dean says quickly, craning around his chest-height cubicle wall to watch Crowley and Naomi leave the office. Before nine pm. “My boss needs a room in the top five floors of your hotel. It can’t face the parking lot. You got that?”

Cas growls, “DEAN!” obnoxiously loudly in his ear.

Dean mutes Cas as the hotel guy replies, “We have a room available on the twelfth floor. However, it does have a half-view of the car park-”

“Nope,” Dean cuts him off. “No parking lots. What else you got?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but due to the last-minute nature of your request, most of our rooms are full-”

“You have over seven hundred rooms!”

“Our five highest floors do not.”

Dean groans. “I don’t appreciate the sass, Jeeves. But fine. Hold that room for Fergus Crowley, and I’ll be calling back every day to see if someone other guest had to pull out or died or something.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Great. Sorry for being such a hardass, but honestly my boss is so much worse. You don’t want to be talking to him instead of me.” As Dean speaks, he taps his cell and winces at the long, long trail of texts Cas has apparently been sending nonstop since being muted.

“If you say so, sir. Do you require anything else?”

“Nope, hopefully you get off soon so you can have a stiff drink.”

“That is certainly the plan. Goodnight.”

Dean hangs up the phone with a sigh. He scans the hallway in case Crowley is about to pop out from behind the plastic ficus and rip him a new one for taking a non-work call during work, but the coast remains clear.

“Hey,” Dean says, “It’s me.”

“What the hell is happening?” Cas demands. “Naomi still hasn’t returned.”

“They left,” Dean says, not bothering to keep the manic glee out of his voice.

“Do you have eyes on them?”

“What am I, James Bond? No, I don’t have eyes on them. It’s bad enough I have to watch Crowley constantly during my twelve-hour workday.”

“So you have no idea where they are?” Cas asks, his voice despairing.

Dean’s phone buzzes.

“Hold on,” he tells Cas as he taps the screen to read the rest of Crowley’s text.

Reservations for 2 at 9pm tonight at Crossroads

“They’re going to dinner,” Dean tells Cas, unashamedly punching the air with his free hand. He reads his watch. Crap. “Gotta go. Crowley wants reservations for nine.”

“Isn’t it five past?”

Dean snorts. “I see why Naomi hired a Harvard grad as her assistant. You have such a knack for spotting things other people don’t, Sherlock. Has anyone told you that before?”

Dean can practically hear Cas roll his eyes through the phone call. “Come down to Naomi’s office when you’re done. I’ll order burgers just in case they come back to work after dinner.”

“God, I hope not.”

“I’d give my first born to ensure that isn’t the case,” Cas says gravely. “But you know how unpredictable they can be.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Deans says fervently, internally groaning as Crowley texts again, just a very judgmental question mark. “Okay, I really gotta go. See you in five or fifteen, depending on how much pity Crossroads’ hostess takes on me.”

“Good luck.”

Dean hangs up.

They did it.

When he proposed the objectionably insane (and suicidal, if you asked Cas) plan to set up their jackass bosses to get them off Dean and Cas’s respective backs, Cas had laughed him out of their shared elevator.

Dean thought he’d made a compelling case: as their executive assistants, Dean and Cas knew their schedules down to the minute. They knew everything from their food allergies to their sleep apnea (Crowley) to their late-night Amazon impulse purchases (Naomi). Most importantly, they set up their schedules.

Once he got Cas on board, it was almost comically easy to get Crowley and Naomi to bump into each other multiple times a week, culminating in a shared elevator ride that not-so accidentally stalled for twenty minutes.

With a broad grin, Dean dials Crossroads, Crowley’s go-to place for impressing his business contacts. He talks with the hostess, Casey, pretty frequently, but he still has to fake a panic attack to get her to find a table for Crowley within the next two minutes.

Finally, Dean shuts off his desk lamp, grabs his laptop just in case, and heads up to Naomi’s floor.

“We did it!” Dean calls victoriously as he jogs down the hall to the corner office, where Cas is apparently working diligently at his desk directly outside the door.

Cas stops typing and beams up at him. “I honestly don’t think she’s returning tonight. I sent her a text ten minutes ago asking about the Percival article, and she hasn’t texted back.”

Dean parks his ass on Cas’s desk and raises his hand for a high five.

Cas obliges.

“Is food here yet?” Dean asks eagerly. “I’m starving.”

“It arrived a minute before you did.” Cas pulls the bag of takeout from under his desk and starts divvying up the food.

Dean groans as he sinks his teeth into his burger. He only keeps a bag of rabbit-food trail mix at his desk and a month-old packet of jerky in his bag. He hasn’t eaten since noon, and Crowley even cut that short by sending Dean on an emergency trip to his tailor.

Cas hands Dean his coke and holds up his own sparkling water. “To us,” he says solemnly. “And your stupid plan, which actually worked.”

“Hang on,” Dean says, grinning, as he taps their plastic bottles together, “Are you actually saying I was right about something?”

Cas smiles wryly. “I’m sure you will never hold this over me in the weeks to come.”

“Never.” He throws his head back and laughs.

Cas watches, an inexplicably fond look on his face.

“What?” Dean asks as Cas just continues to stare, saying nothing.

“Is this a date?”

Dean chokes. Beating his sternum with his clenched fist, he squints down at Cas’s cautious face. “What makes you say that?” he gasps as his airways clear up.

Cas sets down his own burger. “It looks like we might be pulling this off after all, which made me think about my own dating life.” He exhales a slow breath. “I haven’t had the time to date since I took this job.” He eyes Dean carefully “I don’t think you have either?”

Dean slowly shakes his head. “A couple one night stands, but that’s about it.”

“And I have come to the conclusion that there is nobody I would rather spend all my new free time with but you,” Cas says, plain and honest as anything.

Dean swallows. “You’re serious?”

“Are you not?”

Dean snags one of Cas’s curly fries, ignoring his look of mild offense. Silently, he offers a sip of his own coke since sparkling water is for sad people who spice up their life with a different type of water. Plus, Cas always makes this funny little face when the bubbles hit his tongue, like it's a surprise every time.

As Cas hands Dean's drink back to him, he repeats, “So, is this a date?”

“No,” Dean says, and before Cas’s face can fall too far, “our first date is going to be dinner and Legally Blonde at my place so you’ll finally get my hilarious Harvard jokes.”

“I’m sure they’re not that funny.”

“Wait ’til you’ve seen the damn movie.”

Cas dips his head, hiding his smile.

“You know, maybe Crowley and Naomi aren’t that bad,” Dean muses as he rips open a ketchup packet with his teeth. “I wouldn’t have met you if not for them, I guess.”

“Yes, they are truly delightful people,” Cas deadpans.

#suptober21 #destiel fanfic #fanfic #destiel #human au #office au #businessman dean #businessman castiel #getting together #friends to lovers #rae writes fic

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thatmultifandomhoe · 3 years

Text

It’s You

Pairing: Changkyun and Reader

Group: Monsta X

Word Count: 7,433

Genre/Rating: Valentine’s Day AU - Quarantine AU - Friends to Lovers AU - Fluff - Angst - PG-13

Overview: The last thing you planned to do was celebrate Valentine’s Day. Being single on a holiday that glorified love, especially during a pandemic, was the perfect sign to stay at home to guarantee avoiding having a broken heart. Especially when Changkyun, the one who held it, seemed to have plans of his own.

Warning: Mention of past unrequited love and having a broken heart - swearing -

A/N: Happy - early - Valentine’s Day sweet peas! And yes, Changkyun from Monsta X was the winner of the “Who Do You Want to Spend Valentine’s day With,” and I had so much fun working on this piece. I’m personally not a fan of the holiday - for reasons you’ll read below - but I hope that those of y’all who do celebrate have a happy Valentine’s day, and I hope that y’all enjoy this piece and get all the chocolate that you want this year!

Tagging: @srvdyv @skyys-universe @kpophoneybunny @wheein-whanders @ezralia-writes

Music Playlist:

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The First Installment of the Hoe Catalog.

©thatmultifandomhoe 2021. Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without permission.

“Are you okay?”

Glancing over at the cell phone that was propped up on the dresser, you raised an eyebrow at the black screen. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You do know what day it is, right?”

Fingers pausing, you pressed your lips together, staring down at the button of the black jeans you had been in the middle of putting on. You had known what day it was when you went to turn off the alarm that had set for that morning. It had been painfully obvious, and as the pre-recorded song of birds chirping increased in volume, you had stared at the date for longer than you normally do.

February fourteenth.

Valentine’s Day.

“I’ve only been awake for an hour,” you said, stepping towards the closet for a shirt. It had been a miracle that Changkyun had called instead of his preferred method of randomly video calling. While it was true, you had been up for an hour, you had only started moving about to get on with the day about five minutes ago. And currently you were only wearing pants and a black lacy bra. Although, knowing him, he wouldn’t have complained.

There was rustling on his end and the clinking of a spoon hitting a glass. “I know, but I just wanted to make sure. You seemed pretty upset the other day.”

“It’s not that I’m upset…” You slipped your head through the hole of a black smocked square blouse with red flowers printed on it, adjusting the top so it sat properly. “I just...don’t like the holiday.”

Which was putting it mildly. It was more than a dislike, but as you went to look in the mirror to make sure there weren’t any tags sticking out, you silently thanked him for calling. You never hated Valentine’s Day. At its core, it was rather a sweet concept, one that year after year, a part of you hoped that maybe you’d be able to have someone to enjoy the holiday with. But after years of being single on the most romantic day, and having it ruined by dates turned sour, more often than not a dark cloud hovered overhead while you tried to simply get through the day.

You tried to find some spin on it to turn it around. Starting tomorrow and for the next week, chocolate was going to be anywhere from fifty to seventy-percent off. Sales were always fantastic no matter what the reason was. There were only so many chocolate hearts that you were capable of eating though.

“Why are you calling so early?” You said, turning the conversation back to him. It made sense why you were up – even on a Sunday there was always work to be done – for him to be awake before noon, that caused a bit of worry.

“Ah,” there was a thump that echoed on the call like he had dropped his phone, his voice sounding distant. “I have some things to get done today.”

“Yeah, but it’s nine in the morning. I thought you weren’t even coherent before noon.”

Changkyun forced out a laugh and you lightly smiled, gathering your hair into a bun before carrying him into the kitchen. Even though it was a simple phone call and was a bit distorted, it did nothing to dull the fluttering going on by the butterflies in your stomach. His lazy grin came to mind, and only ten minutes into the hour and you were smiling like a fool while stirring your coffee.

That was another reason why you weren’t entirely fond of the holiday. The entire day was dedicated to love, to telling someone that you love them, and here you were, having fallen for your friend and yet you refused to tell him. It was hard to pinpoint when these feelings began, but it was possible that they had been growing since the day you two met.

There was no doubt that you were a workaholic, always feeling weird if you bummed around for more than a few hours, so it made sense that on the rare day off that you took, something had to crash it. You had been indulging in some binge watching of your precious Inuyasha when your phone lit up with an incoming video call from Messenger. Immediately you had been hesitant. None of your friends ever video messaged you since unlike them, your cell was an android.

You hadn’t planned to answer him. Not only did you not recognize the name, or his picture - despite how attractive he appeared - but you didn’t normally answer requests from strangers. With that in mind and mildly annoyed in having to pause the episode, you were ready to hit decline and be on with the day. Except, you were a dumb ass, and hit accept by accident.

Turns out he had meant to call someone else and had been equally shocked when you answered. In fact, he had been less than classy upon seeing you in instead of his friend, the words, ‘oh, fuck me,’ slipping out before he could stop himself.

In normal circumstances, you might have rolled your eyes, or told him to go fuck himself, but it had been six months into the pandemic and he was the first new person that you had met in a while.

“I don’t usually fuck strangers,” you had said instead, not missing the way his eyebrow rose and how his mouth curled upwards in a smile. “But if you wanna buy me a grinder and have it delivered to my place; I might eventually be persuaded.”

There had been a tense moment, but when he let out a breathless chuckle, somehow you knew that you were in the safe zone. Turns out, the two of you had a friend in common who he had meant to call, but he hadn’t been paying attention to what he was doing and accidentally clicked on your profile. The call only lasted for a few more minutes before Changkyun apologized and with an awkward wave, ended it. You stared at his profile picture and next thing you knew, you were scrolling through his pictures, oohing upon finding an old one of him with silver hair and an eyebrow piercing.

A couple hours later, there was a knock at your door and after slipping on a mask, you were greeted with a delivery man that looked no older than sixteen, announcing that he had a grinder for you. Before you could say that you hadn’t ordered anything, he promised that it had already been paid for, tip included. Not one to turn down free food, you accepted it, and saw the note that was taped to the paper bag.

I’m not a weirdo I promise. Jooheon passed along your address, and I’m not about to let someone go hungry. From, a friendly stranger who hit the wrong button.

There was no second guessing on your part. You pulled his profile back up and hit the video button, only having to wait a few seconds before his face filled the screen, locks of black hair falling across his forehead as he ruffled it up.

“Did you seriously send me a grinder?”

“You sounded hungry.”

There was a brief pause, and suddenly you were giggling, shoulders shaking as you sat down on a chair, his own deep chuckles joining in not long after. It was odd, but after that – and after confirming with Jooheon to make sure he wasn’t a creep, which you were assured he wasn’t – the two of you fell into the habit of video chatting. Some days there was nothing to say. With the pandemic raging on and everything closed, it was nice to have someone simply be there after all this time.

Fast forward five months later, the pandemic had only grown worse, and not only had Changkyun proven to be a good friend, but he managed to worm his way into your heart.

“What about you,” Changkyun suddenly asked. “You’re not actually working today, are you? Forget the holiday, it’s Sunday.”

Rolling your eyes, you went back to the bedroom with the black coffee in one hand, and him in the other. “Not all day. I have a few graphics that I want to finish up or it’ll bug me. Should only take a few hours to do.”

“Only a few hours,” he teased. “I’m willing to bet you’ll still be working tonight.”

“Will not.”

“Will too.”

“Not.”

His end grew silent, and he suddenly cleared his throat. “We’ll see about that.”

There was something about that sentence that stopped you from entering the password to your computer. Glancing away from the screen, you stared at Changkyun’s picture, wondering why his voice had softened when he had said that, as if he knew something that you didn’t.

“What is it that you have to do?” You found yourself asking him again, not looking at the keys as you logged into your laptop, the bleeding hearts screensaver appearing as the icons loaded one by one.

“Just some…stuff. I’ll probably be off my phone most of the day.”

“Oh.”

With the amount of phone calls and video chats the two of you had, it had become normal to hear from him a couple times throughout the day. The text chat was filled with various memes, emojis, and conversations that ranged from how much is too much fabric softener? - all the way to late night conversations involving stories about crazy exes, to insecurities, dreams you’ve always wanted to do, and whether or not the world would ever go back to the normal that you both had known prior to March 2020.

Wetting your lips, you leaned back against the desk chair and cradled the mug in both hands. “Well, have fun with whatever you’re doing,” you said, keeping your voice light so he wouldn’t notice the shift in your mood.

It was suddenly so obvious why he wasn’t saying what he had to do. With the holiday approaching, Changkyun had asked if you had any plans for how to spend the day, and with that came your explanation for why you weren’t overly fond of this particular day. The blind dates that ended terribly and being single had been part of the reason why, but there was one particular instance from the past that was determined to ruin Valentines every year for you.

In all the years, there was one person that you had confessed to on Valentines. Jungkook was someone you considered a friend, but you had only told him the truth to get him to shut up about his girlfriend. Up until that afternoon she had been the ex that, from your understanding, despised being in the same room as him anymore. According to him, she showed up at his place with the usual, ‘I miss you,’ and ‘let’s try again,’ and somehow that all managed to lead to wild and hot passionate sex that was, ‘insanely good.’

If only that had been it.

Whether Jungkook got caught up in reliving the moment and forgot who he was talking to, he gave you a play by play of their reunion. From the way she arrived at his door, to the way she felt around him, he told every detail all while you were on the other end of the phone, fingers twisted and tugging at your hair as you sat on the floor of your childhood bedroom. On all the days, the last thing you wanted to hear was your crush talking about having to move to the living room because his bedroom reeked from all their fucking.

The conversation didn’t last much longer, thank god, but you hadn’t been able to grieve because in the other room mom’s voice could be heard as she talked about her day at work. Instead, you forced back the tears and it took everything to not break down when she smiled and handed you an orange teddy bear holding a red heart that said I love you, along with a bag of Lindt chocolates. She was unaware, and while everyone slept, you buried your face into a couple pillows to muffle the sounds of your crying. You were only eighteen and yet you swore your heart collapsed in on itself before exploding into a million glass shards.

“That fucking dick,” Changkyun had said when you told him.

The screen had been bright as the two of you video chatted, and you rubbed your eyes, tired but not ready to go to sleep. He had been doing the rounds of locking up and shutting off the lights while you spoke, only wearing a thin pair black and blue flannel pants. At least he held the phone pretty leveled so you weren’t forced to stare at his torso, but there had been several times where you found your gaze lingering on his muscular body.

“I mean,” you ran a hand through your hair, shrugging as he looked back at you. “It happens to everyone.”

Changkyun frowned though. “No,” he said, his voice gentle but firm at the same time. “No, it doesn’t. And that shouldn’t have happened to you.”

Blinking, you forced the memory away, shifting in your seat to get comfortable once again. Just because you didn’t enjoy the holiday, or didn’t have anyone to spend it with, didn’t mean that was the case with Changkyun. Why else would he be reluctant to say what his plans were? He was probably just being nice and didn’t want to appear like he was rubbing salt into an old wound that refused to heal.

“Hey,” Changkyun’s voice softened again, and as much as you knew you shouldn’t, you wished that he was here, in the apartment with you for him to hold you. “It’s still early in the morning. For all you know, there’s a Mr. Right, who’s going to stumble into your path today.”

You scoffed, the clicking of your mouse echoing in the bedroom. “I mean, I don’t have plans to go out.”

“Surprises can happen you know.”

“Alright Changkyun,” now that the internet was up, you glanced back at the phone. “I gotta get to work. Stay safe out there.”

“Always am. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

There was a pause, and when you looked back over, the call was still going. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for either of you to leave it going while doing work, the silence was never awkward, it was more comforting than anything, but this time there was a sense of something being left un–

“You look pretty today,” Changkyun said suddenly.

Blinking, your fingers tightened around the mouse as your heart raced. “What? You can’t even see me Changkyun.”

“So?”

“I could be wearing my pajamas for all you know,” your voice faltered, and despite the constriction of wearing jeans, you pulled your legs up on to the chair to hug them to your chest.

“I’ve already seen you in your pajamas,” he joked. “You’re still pretty though.”

He was smiling. You knew for certain that he was, and that made your palms turn clammy, forcing you to wipe them against the pant leg.

“Maybe I’m not, wearing clothes?” Internally you slapped yourself, instantly regretting those words, and perhaps your entire existence at this point. It was still early. Instead of work, maybe you could possibly bury yourself under all the blankets and never answer his phone calls again.

Hearing shuffling coming from the phone, you pressed your lips together, not entirely sure if you wanted to hear what he had to say.

“Are you trying to keep me from my plans today?” His voice deepened and if it weren’t for the fact that you were already sitting down, you were certain that you’d be on the floor.

“No, I’m just stupid,” you blurted out, slamming your hand over your mouth.

Changkyun chuckled, and suddenly the phone seemed closer to him because his voice became clearer. “I think you’re trying to seduce me.”

Oh god. No. It was absolutely the other way around. He was the one who had the advantage on his side, between the lip bites and the selfies he sent that captured his jawline that was perfect to cut glass with. Whether it was his godly features, or when the two of you were video chatting and he rolled onto his stomach and face planted himself into the pillow, you fell for him every time.

“Know what?” You rushed to say, ignoring his laughter. “I have work and you have things to do. Stay safe, and I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”

There was no hesitation. This time you slammed your finger on the end call button and for extra measure, tossed it away and on the bed, letting it disappear among the sea of messy blankets.

Shakily sighing, you slid further down in the chair as the edge of the desk pinned your legs to your chest to keep from falling to the ground. He had never said anything like that before. Sure, there were times where he’d see you do something or when you’d ramble on about a show or work, he’d might say cute, but that always felt like an afterthought.

“Damn it Changkyun,” you said, glaring at where you had thrown the phone and hating the fact that his words kept circling around your mind, making you feel incredibly warmer than you had been ten minutes earlier. Hating that while he was probably going to be on a date with some pretty girl who was worth his time, you were at home, working on a Sunday, wishing that the guy you hadn’t even met in person was here and telling you that in-between kisses.

You ran a hand over your face with a groan, fingers of course getting caught in the bun briefly as you sat up. There was work to be done, and with a click of the mouse, the programs you needed quickly opened up. It was fairly easy, and if you focused, would only take an hour, maybe even less to get done. But with Changkyun on the brain, all you wanted to do was curl back up under the messy blankets and daydream about him. About what it would be like to hug him, to hear his voice in person, and perhaps, spend a Valentine’s day with someone who wouldn’t let you down.

That wasn’t going to happen though. It was a daydream and nothing more.

Lacing your fingers together, you quickly turned them inward, groaning in satisfaction at the loud crack that emitted from the joints. Outside the window that the desk was placed in front of, the sun had already begun its descent for the night. The sky was painted in splashes of orange with lazy clouds slipping in, the remaining bits of blue falling steadily behind.

Despite what Changkyun had predicted, he was only partially correct. With him swimming freely in your mind, you had been distracted, lost in a hazy daydream that made it impossible to focus on the graphics that you were trying to finish up. More often than not you stepped away from the desk, feet guiding you to the other room or in small twirls with the faintest lovesick smile. It was impossible to get anything done. So, you said fuck it. It was Sunday after all, and you weren’t expected to have those scheduled to be posted for a few days. Where was the harm in having one day to yourself? One with no work whatsoever to stress you out?

With work out of the way and having no other plans, another cup of coffee had been made and in the spirit of the holiday, your gaze had lingered on the makeup that sat on the dresser. Most of it had gone unused as the weeks melted into months. Tubes of lipstick and eye shadow palettes once loved had been forgotten about, and as you recalled, the brushes that you typically forgot to clean had been washed out of pure boredom. It was with new motivation that you grabbed a majority of the collection and hopped onto the counter in the bathroom, music playing from a playlist filled with songs from your younger years that held nostalgia, and simply played around with the colors.

By the time you were done, an hour had gone by, and you gained two cut creases with glitter, contoured cheeks, painted your lips, and looked like you were ready to go out for a date out in the city to be wined and dined. Instead, you slipped on a pair of fuzzy socks and slid into the kitchen with plans to see what frozen meal the freezer had to offer. If anything, it had the bare bones of a date. The location? Your couch. The hot leading man? Most likely the main character from whatever show you finally decided on after you gave a good scroll through Netflix. All you needed was utter disappointment and it could be considered a success.

You were torn between making the decision for frozen lasagna or chicken Alfredo, but a sudden and loud knock at the door stopped you. Eyebrows pulling in confusion, you carefully set the food on the counter, taking a moment to slip on the mask that you left hanging on the doorknob for situations like this. Not that they occurred often. With the exception of having food delivered, once the world realized that this pandemic wasn’t just a simple flu and doctors encouraged people to stay home, you hadn’t invited anyone over. It was lonely, and you missed your friends and family greatly, but this wasn’t a situation to take lightly.

“I’m sorry,” you said, opening the door once the fabric mask was securely on. “I think you might have the wrong…”

And you stopped. Stopped talking and stared. Stared at the man leaning against your door frame, wearing a black as ink suit jacket, a pristine white button up shirt was tucked into matching black pants, with the top several buttons undone to reveal a tanned and toned chest that you knew he took pride in considering all the gym selfies he sent. The black fabric mask he wore hid most of his face, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled together.

“I think I’m right where I’m supposed to be,” Changkyun said, his deep voice sounding better in real life than you had expected, and dreamed of.

He pushed off of the frame and it was then that you noticed the things in his hands. In the left, was a plastic bag stuffed with packaged containers, and in the right…in his right wrapped in pink tissue paper was a bouquet of red and pink carnations with babies’ breath mixed in. There had to be at least a dozen, perhaps a baker’s dozen, if not a few extra.

There were no words. After all the books you consumed to pass the time, articles you searched for work, and even countless texts sent to friends, everything escaped you at that very moment because he was here. He was actually here and standing in front of you.

“I know you said you haven’t had anyone over since this started. But I got tested a couple days ago, came back negative, and we’ve both been working from home this entire time so if you want…” Changkyun lifted the bag he held into view and this time, you could see that even though it was triple bagged, you were able to make a red dragon printed on the cartons. “I have Chinese food, and I’m willing to bet that Netflix has something for us to watch. If you’re not comfortable though that’s fine. I have plenty of food that we can—”

Except he didn’t get to finish what he was saying before you tugged him into the apartment by his arm. Immediately, your arms wound their way around his waist and you pressed your face into his chest, tightly hugging him.

“It’s you,” you said, feeling his right arm carefully rest on your back to hold you close, all while being mindful of the flowers that he was carrying.

There was a soft chuckle from above as he laid his head on top of yours. “It’s good to finally see you too.”

Smiling, your arms tightened around him once more before you stepped backwards, letting him enter the apartment completely. “You didn’t have to bring flowers you know.”

“And show up empty handed?”

You gestured towards the table for him to set the food down, taking the flowers and going to the sink. “You bought Chinese food. That more than would have made up for no flowers.” But while the vase filled with water and you trimmed the stems, gently adding them in one by one, there was a warmth spreading within your chest that came right from the heart, even more so when he chuckled. The only people to ever buy you flowers on Valentine’s day were your parents.

Like always, the silence that followed felt natural. The only difference was that you were aware that Changkyun was moving around in the kitchen with you, getting plates and silverware out without having to ask where things were because he had seen you do the same thing countless times before while video chatting. You just never thought he was actually paying attention.

When they were all in the vase, you tossed the ends in the trash and turned around, only to see that once again, he was watching you.

“Why are you staring?”

Changkyun shrugged, running a hand through his hair as the black locks fell right back into his eyes. “I was right.”

Tilting your head, you walked over to the table and set the vase in the center. You were already so close to him, but he leaned his head down, the black fabric of his mask brushing against the top of your ear.

“That you look pretty,” he said softly. “And it’s not because of the makeup. I had a feeling you might dress up today; you look beautiful.”

The air that you had been breathing was instantly stolen, and when you made the mistake of looking up at him, you realized just how close the two of you were. If it weren’t for the masks you both wore…

“You don’t look half bad yourself,” you teased, trying to not glance at where his lips would be. “You’re a lot taller than messenger video makes you out to be.”

He rolled his eyes and scoffed. Straightening up, Changkyun slipped his suit jacket off and set it on the back of a chair to undo the buttons on his cuffs, taking the time to roll each sleeve up to his elbows. “You’re meaner in person.”

Good god. You knew that he worked out, but damn. Maybe not for the first couple weeks, eventually Changkyun fell into the habit of sending selfies while he was working out at the gym. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but seeing his tanned arms and the white sleeve making its way up to his elbow, it sparked the butterflies and gave them a newfound fluttering energy.

“Do you wanna eat or not?” Not thinking of it, you reached up to unhook the elastic from around your ears, removing the mask and setting it back on the counter. With a glance up at him, you saw him raise an eyebrow before he mimicked your movements to take off his own mask, revealing the jaw that tempted your daydreams in more ways than you wished.

He smiled, and you handed him his plate and together, the two of you fixed up heaping plates of Chinese food, using the concept of needing to eat to distract yourself. Everything was still hot and as you settled on the couch, steam curled its way up into the air.

“Were you able to get your secret plans done today?” You asked, glancing over at him while Netflix loaded up on the TV screen.

“Why are you so interested in what I had to do?” He was focused on the dumpling that he held with the chopsticks, not meeting your gaze at all.

It wasn’t that you meant to be focused on that. But he had acted so suspicious on the phone earlier, and now he was here, having dinner in your apartment with enough Chinese food to cost a small fortune, along with sixteen carnations – yes, you counted while cutting them – on Valentine’s Day. There had been no warning, and as much as you wanted to believe that he was here for more than a friendly drop in, the idea of him having been on a date earlier in the day and was here to talk about it, about the possible other girl, killed the butterflies. You had already been through this once, you didn’t want to go through it again. Not with him.

Scrolling through the list of suggestions, you didn’t notice Changkyun looking over at you, or the way his face softened. His fingers tightened around the chopsticks and he leaned back against the cushion.

“What’s that one about?” He nodded towards one of the movies that was in the watch again section.

You raised an eyebrow, scrolling over to it. “Please don’t tell me that you’ve never seen Love Actually?”

“If I did, would I have asked what it’s about?”

Unable to stop yourself, an undignified sound escaped you as you wildly gestured with the remote. “How? It’s like the sweetest romance, Christmas movie ever. They play it every year. It even has Liam Neeson, the man promising to find and kill everyone, as a sweet dad who doesn’t kill anyone! That alone is a true Christmas miracle by itself.”

The thought of him being with someone else dissipated at the sound of his laughter. Even caught up in the excitement of this particular movie, you couldn’t stop the smile that grew. No matter what, even in real life or over video, you always found yourself grinning the second he laughed or smiled. He was without a doubt contagious, in the best way possible.

“What are you waiting for?” He said, gesturing towards the screen with the chopsticks, shoulders relaxing at the sight of your smile and apparent joy for the film. One that he had in fact, seen a few times over the years. “Press play.”

There was no hesitation. You were determined to culture him in what you deemed to be a classic in romance films. So, as you comfortably settled in, belly growing full of warm and delicious food, you once again missed Changkyun’s wide smile. It was the kind of grin that no matter what he did, or how serious he tried to be, simply wouldn’t go away.

The empty dinner plates sat long forgotten about on the coffee table as another movie played, this one involving an action pack fight scene with aliens in New York City. Hours had passed since Changkyun arrived at your door, and despite it growing late and Valentine’s Day was nearing its end, his polished shoes were unlaced and tossed on the floor. A wine bottle had been opened up, and you sat much closer to him to share a blanket with him. You were blaming it on the wine for being so bold because when he stretched an arm on the back of the couch, you didn’t think twice about gently leaning your head against it.

You couldn’t even really blame it on the wine. It was the first glass for both of you, and you were a slow drinker, so you were as sober as a newborn lamb at the moment.

It was just like when the two of you would video chat with the same movie on, but so much better. Having him here, you were noticing the smallest things that you’d miss when on the phone. At the base of his neck was a small mole that you never realized he had, or that he was wearing two thin silver chains – a pair that, now that you thought about it, he never went without. Behind you, he’d occasionally rub his fingers together and the metal of his bracelet would lightly clink against itself. With the few glances that you stole, his attention was solely on the movie and his jaw appeared to be pressed together.

Feeling a sudden weight, you turned to see him settling his arm around your shoulders. His wrist was now hanging over your arm, and it took all your willpower to not reach up with a free hand to lace your fingers loosely with his. When you glanced back up at him, he was in mid sip of his wine, throat bobbing with each swallow.

Shit. This was not helping the butterflies that seemed to have multiplied since his arrival.

Changkyun raised an eyebrow when he lowered his glass, softly humming in question, but you only shook your head and focused back on the movie. Except, now you were hyper aware that he was looking at you this time.

“What’s wrong?” He murmured, his thumb and fingers lightly rubbing against your arm.

That was another thing. His voice was deep. In the calls, the phone occasionally cracked and had made it seem lighter, but it appeared to be just the opposite. He was blessed with a voice that was able to drop lower than a bass, sending your insides to mush when he spoke. It was the type of voice that was destined to recite poetry and old sonnets, to hold three in the morning conversations that went wherever and everywhere. When he called your name, it never failed to send tingles running the length of your body. It was his voice, and you knew that you’d never grow tired of hearing him talk.

“Nothing. I was just thinking,” you said, leaning your head back, his arm comfortable and warm as you looked up at the ceiling, trying to avoid his gaze for a few seconds.

His fingers didn’t stop. The gentle caress, a small reassurance that he was in fact here and this wasn’t your imagination, made it harder to stay where you sat instead of curling into his side like you wanted.

“Thinking about what?”

Letting out a breathless scoff, you tilted your head towards him. Changkyun was a sight to see and you knew that if this was the only time you got to spend with him in person, you were never going to forget this moment.

Your smile softened. “That you’re actually here, after all these months of texts and video calls. You actually came here, and you’re real.”

“Did you think I was a robot or something?” Changkyun teased, but his fingers stopped moving, and that lock of hair fell back into his eyes again.

“Well, you did accidentally call me instead of Jooheon and last time I checked, we look nothing alike.” There was no thinking as you reached up and mimicked his movements to push that damn lock back, feeling how soft his hair was. It brought you a little bit closer to him and in that second, the world suddenly felt like it was no longer moving when you glanced down at his lips. Those pink lips that you wondered and dreamt about night after night, too curious for your own good on what it would be like to kiss him. Now was your chance to find out, especially when he didn’t lean back and appeared to be getting closer.

“Cookies?” You suddenly asked, leaning back to see his eyebrows start to pull together in confusion. Heart racing, you set your wine glass on the coffee table and walked around the couch to step into the kitchen. With only your back to him, you quietly let out a shaky breath. “I know I have some for us to munch on…”

Opening up a cabinet, you stretched on to your toes to search for the package of cookies that you knew were in there, mentally slapping yourself at having done that. He hadn’t backed away, hadn’t tried to stop you, in fact, if you allowed yourself to believe it, you would have recalled that he had started to lean in when you randomly brought up cookies. As much as you wanted to, the last thing you wanted was to lose your friendship.

You were pushing aside a box of crackers when his hand captured your wrist, halting your search. It felt like your heart was about to leap out of its cage when his fingers gently wrapped around your hand, and when his palm settled on a hip, it was equally as comforting as it lit a spark inside you. There was nothing you wanted to do more than to melt into his embrace.

“Sweetheart, do you really think I’m here to just hang out?” He asked, his voice low as he spoke into your ear, his body stepping closer to yours.

“You’re…you’re not?” You weakly asked, nervous because you didn’t want this all to be a joke.

The idea of this being a one night only thing thanks to the holiday left an ache in your bones. You wanted more nights like this with him, wanted to hear him call out your name with that gentle smile of his over and over again. Dammit, you wanted to wake up and have the blankets be stifling hot but not care as you crawled over to his side of the bed, searching for morning cuddles because fuck the person who decided that the workday would start at eight in the morning. The only person you wanted to spend this quarantine with, to be able to touch, to be worried and even scared about all this with, was Changkyun.

Changkyun’s breath hit the back of your neck as he softly chuckled, sending a shiver down your spine. “God, I thought I was being obvious. Let me try this differently.”

Still holding on to your wrist, he turned you around and once you were facing him, let go of your hand to step closer until your back was against the counter. With each breath your chest brushed against his, and when he pushed the hair that had fallen in your face behind your ear, fingers brushing against your cheek, you almost forgot to breathe.

“I know you’ve always had a pretty crappy Valentine’s day,” Changkyun softly spoke. His gaze was steady with yours, and even though he was being serious, there was a softness to his features that had the corner of his mouth curling upwards. “And I thought that the best way to keep that from repeating this year, would be if you spent it with someone, who loves you.”

Who loves…oh.

It suddenly all made sense. Why he didn’t want to say what he was doing to celebrate, him calling you pretty, the food and flowers, the coaxing touches, he could have rented a billboard and put up a neon flashing sign and you probably still would have been blind.

“Changkyun,” you whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek.

He softly smiled as he closed the remaining space between you to rest his forehead against yours, his palms sliding along your body until he had you wrapped in a hug. “There you go, now you get it.”

Giggling, you rolled your eyes out of habit. It was like him to be a smart ass during a moment like this. With that being said, the butterflies fluttered their way up to your heart, and all the daydreams that you entertained and thought nothing would come of them, now had the possibility of becoming reality.

“I love you too,” you said, running your thumb along his cheek as you watched his smile widen.

There was no hesitation, or smart ass comments this time. Instead, when his lips met yours in a kiss, your heart stopped racing. The butterflies finally calmed down and the world around you went out of focus as your fingers slid through his hair. His lips were soft, and thanks to the red wine, there was a lingering tangy sweetness that reminded you of raspberries. You found yourself becoming addicted to his taste, the kisses melting together until you lost track of how long the two of you stood there, content with doing nothing but being wrapped up in each other’s embrace.

A clock chimed out in the apartment, breaking the kiss which only served to make you pout at the loss of his lips. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed by Changkyun, who smirked before leaning down to give one more kiss, which quickly turned into two, then three.

“Don’t you have work in the morning?” He murmured, resting his forehead once more against yours.

“You trying to kiss and dash?”

His fingers gently pressed into your sides and you squirmed at his touch, giggling at his antics. However, he leaned his head back and sighed. “Like hell I’d do that. But you usually wake up earlier for work, and trust me, I’ll end up keeping you awake if I stay the night.”

There was no doubt about that, and to be truthful, you’d have no issue if that was the case. He was right, but as ideas turned in your mind, you shrugged. “You can’t go out driving though,” you said softly. “You were drinking.”

Changkyun frowned, head tilting as he removed a hand from your back to run through his hair. “Not even a whole glass.”

You raised an eyebrow. It took him having to say he loved you for you to understand how he felt about you despite his dine and wine attempt, and here he was, completely missing what you were suggesting. Either you were absolutely perfect for each other, or equally dense.

“Well, we also broke quarantine,” you said slowly, slipping a finger through his belt loop at the same time to bring him closer. “Isn’t the recommendation to stay at home for what, at least three days?”

He started to tilt his head, mouth opening to question what you were saying until he saw the smile growing on your face. Closing his eyes, he pressed his lips together before looking back at you.

“That was horrible,” Changkyun said. He slipped his arms back around you, pulling you away from the counter. His grin said otherwise. “At least I tried being romantic.”

“Well, I mean, if you really want to go back to your place by yourself…”

He didn’t let you say another word, his lips reclaiming yours again, because there was absolutely nothing that felt better than kissing you after months of dreaming what it would be like.

“Don’t go,” you softly murmured against his lips. “Not when you just got here.”

Maybe it was selfish. But you didn’t want to be alone again. Not when he had gone through so much trouble to make this night special, not when you finally knew that he felt the same way about you. After almost a year of staying inside the apartment whenever you could, of going without hugs or get togethers, being able to touch and kiss Changkyun felt like you were relearning what those were all over again. All you wanted was a few days with him.

Changkyun hummed, his arms tightening around you. “Sweetheart, I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” he said, gazing down at you as if he had considered the same thing.

The clock that had rang out to announce the hour of a new day and that Valentine’s day was over, continued to quietly tick in the other room. The Earth continued to spin, and outside, the world was exactly how it had been this morning, full of fear, what ifs, and the unknown of a pandemic that didn’t seem to be going anywhere any time soon.

But inside that small apartment, wrapped in Changkyun’s arms, giggles and laughter filled the walls when he pulled you to the middle of the kitchen and spun you around for a late-night dance. It might not be the thing that changes the world, but for the first time, in a long time, hope began to blossom alongside the butterflies in your stomach. The memories of past Valentine’s days melted away at his kiss, until only the memory of him at your door remained.

Even when it hadn’t felt like it, love and hope had always been there. And now it was here promising lovelier days to come.

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buckybarnesdollface · 3 years

Text

Mountainside: Chapter 2

Summary: Will sharing a bed change things?

Warnings: Female reader, SMUT, lots of smut, fluff, mentions of cancer and infertility

I awoke the next morning feeling as if I was wrapped in a warm cocoon. Bucky’s body was curled almost protectively around me, arm still secure around my waist. I could feel his warm, slow breaths on the back of my neck, and his Henley had ridden up my body so that his large, warm hand was pressed directly to the exposed flesh of my belly. My cheeks flushed and I tried to move, but his grasp tightened and pulled me even closer to him. He let out a soft groan, that had my entire body heated.

“Where are you going?” he mumbled, voice hoarse and low with sleep, and I bit my lip.

“I was gonna get up.”

“Listen.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What?”

“Listen,” he repeated, and I did. Outside the cabin the wind was howling, whipping through the trees and rattling the windowpanes. Once he was satisfied I’d heard what he wanted me to hear, he continued. “The storm started three hours ago; the snow’s likely to be heavy by now, and the power went out over an hour ago. Why rush to get out of bed? It’s not like there’s anything for us to do but sit and wait for the snow to stop so the team can come get us.”

“The power went out?” Sure enough, a glance at the black screen of the digital clock on the nightstand told me as much. I frowned, rolling onto my back. Bucky made no move to lift his arm, his hand still pleasantly warm on my stomach. When I turned my head to the side to look at him, he was also frowning, but his eyes were soft.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked, and I nodded.

“Very well,” I admitted, and a small smile touched his lips.

“Me too.”

My heart fluttered in spite of myself, and I tilted my head back to stare at the ceiling, focusing on keeping my breaths calm and even. Things were silent for a moment, and then Bucky spoke again.

“Last night, on the phone with Steve…” he started. “Are you really that upset about being stuck here? Because at dinner you seemed to agree that it was kind of nice.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, feeling my face redden. I hesitated before answering. “I’m not upset,” I finally said. “It is kind of nice being here. It’s just…”

“Just what?” Bucky prodded. I could feel his blue eyes watching me intensely, but I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. I was sure my face was as red as a tomato at this point. I took a deep breath, figuring it was better to be honest than try and come up with a story.

“When you said Natasha knows about this place – Have you…have you been here together?”

I felt stupid and pathetic as soon as the words came out of my mouth, but I had to know. It had been nagging me since yesterday evening. I peeked over at Bucky; his brow furrowed.

“No. This place used to belong to her sister, Yelena,” he explained. “I was on mission here in Austria last year and needed a place to lay low. Natasha suggested I stay at the cabin.” Bucky looked over to me, one dark eyebrow cocked. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” I mumbled. His words had eased the storm in me, and now I just wanted to drop it. Bucky, however, had other plans.

“Seriously, (Y/N), why do you ask?” he repeated, and then a slow grin spread over his face. “You were jealous!”

My face went white. “I was not!” I cried, my answer both too quick and too defensive to pass as the truth. Bucky’s grin was wicked as he sat up to lean on his elbow, the hand he still had on me pinching my side playfully. I squeaked and rolled away from him, and I would have rolled right off the bed had Bucky not caught me and pulled me back to him so that we were face-to-face. He was still grinning but it was warmer, eyes soft.

“You have nothing to be jealous of,” he chuckled. “Nothing has ever happened between Natasha and I, and nothing ever will.”

“I’m not jealous,” I grumbled, and Bucky smirked.

“Of course you’re not, doll,” he replied, and then he rolled away from me to stretch his arms above his head with a tired groan. “Well, since we’re awake, how about some coffee?”

“The power’s out,” I reminded him, and he snorted.

“You never heat a kettle over a fire, doll?” he asked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were such a princess.”

With a mischievous grin, he rolled off the bed out of my reach before I could hit him. I threw a pillow at him, but he caught it one-handed and laughed.

“Easy, doll,” he chuckled. “You’re gonna pull your stitches if you get too wound up.”

Now that I was awake and sitting up, the aches and pains in my body were starting to resurface. My muscles were stiff and my arm was stinging, and I scrunched my nose. Seeing the change in my demeanour, Bucky slid open the drawer of the nightstand and dropped a bottle of Advil into my hand.

“Here, this’ll help,” he said. “I’ll go get the coffee started.”

I shook a couple of pills from the bottle and tipped my head back to swallow them. I leaned back against the headboard with a sigh, and then forced myself out of bed to follow Bucky to the kitchen.

Bucky was stoking the fire when I walked in. I went right to the window to assess how bad the storm was. The snow had already drifted against the side of the cabin, almost reaching the bottom of the window. The wind was relentless, swaying trees and whipping snow in every direction so it was hard to see anything but white. I pulled away from the window, just as Bucky set a couple of mugs on the counter and spooned some instant coffee into each of them.

“Steve wasn’t kidding about it being a bad storm,” I mused, and Bucky shook his head.

“This is just the beginning, too. It’s going to get much worse.”

The kettle started boiling, and Bucky grabbed it and brought it back to the counter, filling the mugs with the steaming water. He stirred two spoonfuls of sugar into mine, just the way I liked it, and then slid it across the counter to me.

“Thanks,” I murmured, letting the heated ceramic warm my hands. We sipped our coffee in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the howling wind outside. It really was peaceful here, and I admitted as much.

“Yeah, it’s the kind of place you go when you want to get away,” he murmured, eyes fixed on the window over my shoulder. He met my gaze, a sad smile on his face. “Sometimes it’s too much, y’know? I mean, I know I’ve been living in the twenty-first century long enough now that I should be used to it, but I grew up in the thirties – We didn’t have cell phones, or computers, or the internet, or even a fraction of today’s technology. We didn’t feel the need to constantly know what’s happening in everyone’s lives, and we weren’t able to be reached by the single press of a button. Things were simpler…quieter. Being here reminds me of that.”

A smile tugged at my lips, and Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I like it when you talk about yourself,” I told him. “Especially when you talk about your life before the war.”

Bucky snorted, but his cheeks were tinted pink. “Most people hate listening to old men ramble,” he pointed out, and I shook my head with a chuckle.

“You aren’t a typical old man,” I said. “And besides, it’s very rare to get any stories out of you. So when you do open up, it’s nice. It’s like getting to see a glimpse into the elusive mind of Bucky Barnes.”

Suddenly Bucky frowned, eyes casting down to stare at the mug in his hands. “You wouldn’t think it was so nice if you got more than a glimpse,” he mumbled. “I don’t open up because no one wants to see what’s underneath. The surface is safe, but anything deeper and you’re approaching dangerous territory.”

I pursed my lips; he looked so sullen. I reached across the counter to slip my hand over top of his, and he looked startled but he didn’t pull away. “The right person won’t be scared,” I murmured, and he shook his head.

“They should be. Most people are.”

“But not everyone.” I bit my lip, and Bucky swallowed hard as he held my eyes. The air was suddenly heavy, but the sound of a giant crack outside had us jumping. Bucky had rounded the island in a second, placing himself between the door and me. “What was that?” I asked warily.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I should go outside and check it out, though.”

My eyes widened. “Are you insane? It’s snowmageddon out there!” I cried. “Buck, you can’t go out there.”

“If there’s something out there, I have to take care of it,” he said, having made up his mind. He was already pulling on his boots. “Stay here. Lock the door behind me, and keep your gun close just in case. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He zipped up his jacket and grabbed his pistol, and I frowned.

“Buck…? Be careful,” I said softly, and an unexpected grin flashed across his face.

“I’m always careful, doll,” he said, and then he pulled open the door. The wind blew flurries into the cabin, and Bucky turned to wink at me before he disappeared out into the blizzard.

I did as he said, locking the door behind him before grabbing my pistol from the shelf by the door. I tapped the grip with my fingertips restlessly, pacing the kitchen, my coffee forgotten. I couldn’t imagine anyone being out in this blizzard, but what if they were? What if HYDRA had found us, and Bucky was out in that storm trying to fight them off? Surely I would have heard gunfire by now if that were the case, though…

Minutes passed that felt like hours, and then there was someone pounding on the wooden door. I held my pistol, ready to aim just in case, and cautiously walked over to the door.

“(Y/N), it’s me!” Bucky shouted, pounding again. I could barely hear him over the roaring of the wind, but I quickly unlocked the door and wrenched it open, to reveal a very cold-looking Bucky. I stepped aside so he could come in, and then I was dusting the snow off his shoulders.

“So what was the noise?” I asked, and he frowned.

“The wind snapped a bough off one of the pine trees,” he replied as he shrugged out of his jacket. I took it and hung it off a hook.

“We aren’t going to have any trees coming down on the cabin, are we?” I asked. Bucky shook his head, snow falling to the floor.

“No, we’re safe in here.” He toed off his boots. “It’s wild out there. I haven’t seen a storm like this since my time in Siberia.”

His cheeks were ruddy from the cold, and ice crystals had accumulated on his eyelashes like tiny diamonds. His jacket had done little to protect him from the snow, as his shirt was as soaked as his pants.

“You’re covered in snow,” I griped. “Go change into some dry clothes. I’ll make some fresh coffee to warm you up.”

Bucky shot me a grateful look before heading to the bedroom. I heated the kettle back up over the fire and then poured two fresh cups of coffee. I handed Bucky his as he came back out to the kitchen.

“Thanks, doll,” he murmured. “At this rate, the snow’s gonna be halfway up the cabin before nightfall.”

“I’m just glad winters in New York aren’t like this,” I breathed. “God, can you imagine having to dig your way out every time it snows?”

Bucky nodded in agreement. “I don’t mind a little snow here and there, but I’ve spent enough time in Austria and Russia during the winter to last me a hundred lifetimes.”

I grinned. “Who’d have thought that the Winter Soldier would hate winter.” I teased, and he shrugged.

“You spend enough time living in the snow and ice and cold, with very little sunshine, and you’d hate it too.”

“That must be why you liked Wakanda so much.”

Bucky took a sip of his coffee. “I liked Wakanda mostly for the same reason I like it here – Things were simpler,” he said. “The city may be the most technologically-advanced in the world, but it’s surrounded by miles of farmland and plains. T’Challa let me live just outside the city, in my own little hut, and I farmed the land. I may have grown up in New York City, but farming in Wakanda and having no cares in the world was an absolute blessing.”

“It sounds perfect,” I admitted. “I’ve always wanted to see Wakanda; I’ve never been.”

“I’ll tell you what; I’ll take you with me the next time I go,” Bucky told me. “How’s that sound?”

“You’d do that?” I breathed, and Bucky nodded.

“Sure. You’ll love it. And I know you and Shuri would get along great.”

I grinned into my mug, cheeks pink. I couldn’t believe Bucky and I were making plans to travel together.

As the day wore on, the blizzard only got worse. The snow was already partly covering the windows, and I was thankful that I wasn’t claustrophobic. A quick search of the cabin revealed there wasn’t much to do here; Bucky redressed my arm with a new bandage, and then we heated some canned soup over the fire for lunch. I had found an old copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula and had laid back on the couch to read it despite having already read it twice before, just to give me something to do. Bucky had sat on the floor, leaning against the armchair, with a piece of firewood and one of his knives. He had been whittling at the piece of wood for half an hour now, and I looked up from my book with a scrunched nose.

“What is it you’re making, anyway?” I asked. “Other than a mess of wood shavings, that is.”

Bucky looked up from what he was doing to give me a disparaging look. “You’ll see when it’s finished,” he replied, and I rolled my eyes dramatically.

“Fine,” I sighed, dragging out the word. “Where did you learn to do that, anyway?”

“My grandfather,” he replied. “He taught me when I was a kid. He used to make beautiful carvings, some as tall as me.” He grinned ruefully. “My knife skills have improved over the years – I was certainly no professional when I was younger.”

Seeing Bucky reminisce had quickly become one of my favourite things. I smiled. “Well I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ve made.”

It was another hour before Bucky finally set down his knife on the coffee table. I looked up from my book, curiosity winning over as I set the book on the table, and sat up straight. Almost hesitantly, Bucky set the little wooden figure in my hand. It was a little wolf, head raised in a howl. The details were intricate, right down to the fur patterns and the tiny teeth. My eyes widened in awe, and I shook my head as I met Bucky’s gaze.

“Bucky…” I breathed. “This is…this is beautiful. You’re so talented! How did I not know you were so talented?”

“It’s not something I go around advertising,” he mumbled, cheeks pink and expression bashful.

“Jesus, you and Steve never cease to amaze,” I said. “Steve with his drawing, and you with this. Wow. Shit. And here I thought Steve was the artistic one.”

“Steve is the artistic one,” Bucky told me. “He’s the one who took art classes in school. I focused more on baseball and boxing. This was just more of a hobby that I kept to myself.”

“Well you’re clearly more than meets the eye, Bucky Barnes,” I murmured, turning the wolf over in my hands in wonder. “This is amazing.”

“Keep it,” he said, and my eyes rounded.

“What?”

“Keep it,” he repeated with a shrug. “I want you to have it.”

“Thank you,” I breathed sincerely as I ran my fingertips over the surface. I looked up at Bucky with one eyebrow arched. “Just out of curiosity, why a wolf?”

Bucky’s lips quirked up, and his eyes glittered. “Back in Wakanda, the kids used to call me ‘Ingcuka Emhlophe’,” he explained, a fond expression on his face. “It means ‘White Wolf.’ I liked it a lot better than being referred to as ‘The Soldier’ or ‘The White Boy,’ so I never stopped the Wakandans from calling me White Wolf.”

“White Wolf?” I chuckled. “Because you were the only white guy in Wakanda?”

“Something like that,” he admitted with a small smile.

I grinned. “I like it. It suits you.” I looked down at the carved figurine again. “I really do love this, too. It’s like I’ll always have a little part of the White Wolf with me.”

A childlike grin took over Bucky’s face at my words, and he nodded. “Exactly,” he murmured, and in that moment, a bond was created between Bucky and I.

The temperature dropped when the sun went down, and the wind and snow hadn’t let up. We’d lit candles all over the cabin, both as a source of light and extra heat, and despite the storm raging outside it made the cabin feel pleasantly cozy.

“It feels like we should have a Christmas tree,” I murmured. “With the candles and the fire, it would be completely cozy.”

Bucky chuckled. “I could go out there and cut a tree down for you, doll, but we’d have nothing to decorate it with.”

“I love how you aren’t questioning why I’d want a Christmas tree in February.”

“Who wouldn’t want a Christmas tree in February?” Bucky replied. “Hell, Christmas year ‘round is something I could get behind.”

“So, Bucky Barnes loves Christmas,” I mused. “Add that to the mental file of things I’ve learned about you since getting stranded here.”

“We stay here any longer and you’ll officially know more about me than anyone but Steve,” he snorted, and I laughed.

“I think I already have that in the bag. For instance, how many people can say they know you’re a cuddler?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “The hell I am –”

“You were snuggled right up to me all night, Barnes; don’t try to deny it.”

“I was keeping you warm,” he protested, and I smirked.

“And after I’d woken up and you held me tighter like you didn’t want me to get up?”

Bucky flushed crimson. “Tell anyone and I will make sure you get put on all the bullshit missions,” he mumbled, and I giggled.

“It was cute,” I assured him. “I wish more people knew that Bucky, instead of the tough and stoic Bucky you show the world.” My face softened. “I wish I knew that Bucky better. He might just be one of my new favourite people.”

“That Bucky doesn’t come out very often,” Bucky said, ducking his head. “Besides, he’s too soft. You can’t be soft in this line of business.”

I shook my head. “You’re always in a work frame of mind,” I accused. “Doesn’t it get exhausting?”

“Why do you think I was okay with being stranded here?”

We were silent for a minute, and then I bumped his arm playfully with mine. “Enough serious talk,” I said. “Come sit by the fire with me. I’m starting to get chilled.”

Bucky grinned and followed me to the living room. I took the fur blanket from the back of the couch and spread it over the hardwood floor in front of the hearth and settled onto it, my back leaning against the coffee table. Bucky settled down next to me, pulling a brown bottle from under the table.

“Look what I found earlier,” he said, holding it out to me. It was whiskey. I took the bottle from him with an eyebrow arched.

“You can’t even get drunk,” I pointed out, and he shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it. It’s single-barrel and aged twelve years. This is top-shelf whiskey,” Bucky replied. “Open it and tell me it’s not smooth as hell.”

Tentatively, I unscrewed the cap and took a mouthful. It was strong but smooth, warming my belly almost immediately. I grinned as I handed the bottle back to Bucky. “It is pretty good,” I admitted. He took a swig and nodded.

We each downed another mouthful, and then Bucky turned his head to look at me with his head slightly cocked to the side. “You’ve gotten to learn a bunch about me,” he said, “but I want to hear about you. Tell me something about (Y/N) (Y/L/N) that no one knows.”

I wrinkled my nose. “I’m an open book.”

“Then you’ll have no trouble with this. C’mon, (Y/N), there must be something no one knows about you. Let’s hear it.”

Biting my lip, I gazed at the fire. I wasn’t sure if it was the whiskey buzzing in my veins or just how at-ease I felt right now, but when I opened my mouth the words came spilling out.

“I got married, when I was seventeen,” I admitted quietly, and Bucky’s eyes rounded. “When…when I was sixteen, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. They caught it early enough that they could treat it with chemo, and we thought it had worked. But then it came back, and I got really sick really fast. My boyfriend at the time – Adam – was scared I wasn’t going to make it through the second round of chemo. We had made plans to go to Columbia together to study law.” I shook my head, sad smile on my face. “We were young and we thought we were in love, so we wanted to be married before…well, before I died.”

Bucky was looking at me with a mixture of shock, horror and respect. He shook his head, jaw agape. “(Y/N), I didn’t…I had no idea,” he breathed, and I chuckled.

“No one on the team knows,” I replied. “The only people that know are my family, and Adam and his family.”

“But you’re healthy now?” he asked, worry creasing his brow. I nodded.

“They ended up having to remove my ovaries because the chemo wasn’t working the second time, and they took out my uterus too, just to be safe. I still have check-ups every year to be safe, but I’ve been cancer-free ever since.”

“And…your marriage…” Bucky shifted uncomfortably. “Are you still…?”

“God, no,” I snorted. “As soon as it was clear that I was going to make a full recovery, Adam realized that seventeen was way too young to be married. He wanted to be able to explore his options at Columbia – That’s what he told me. ‘And besides,’ he’d said, ‘I eventually want to have kids someday, and you can’t give me that.’”

Even now, saying it left a bitter taste in my mouth. I scowled, taking a large swig of the whiskey. Bucky frowned.

“What is he doing now?”

The question caught me off-guard. “He’s a divorce lawyer in Manhattan, ironically enough,” I replied, and Bucky snorted.

“So he’ll be easy to find, then,” he said, and I eyed him skeptically.

“Why would that matter?”

“Because the Winter Soldier just might pay him a visit when we get back to New York.”

My eyes widened, and I leapt up onto my knees and shook my head vigorously. “Bucky, no,” I said. “Don’t you dare.”

“Relax, I was only gonna threaten him. Maybe rough him up a bit, y’know, scare him –”

“No. It was fourteen years ago, it’s in the past.” I grinned. “Besides, that asshole actually did me a favour – imagine if we were still married. I’d be absolutely miserable, in a loveless marriage and likely working as an underpaid lawyer. I would have never met Tony, or become an Avenger. And I wouldn’t be sitting here with you right now. So even though at the time Adam broke my heart, now I’m grateful for what he did.”

“I still think he deserves to have his ass kicked,” Bucky grumbled. He met my eyes, his gaze fierce but soft. “I underestimated you, (Y/N),” he murmured apologetically. “I knew you were tough, but…To go through what you did at such a young age, and then to have the one person you thought had your back abandon you like that, for selfish reasons…”

He shook his head, disgusted, and I chuckled. “Everything happens for a reason,” I said. “Honestly, the hardest thing to move on from out of the whole situation wasn’t the cancer or the divorce from Adam; it’s the knowledge that I will never be able to have children of my own.”

I glanced down at my hands, suddenly sad. Bucky had urged me to open up, and now that I had started, I couldn’t stop. I bit my lip to keep it from quivering.

“(Y/N), hey,” Bucky murmured, and then he was kneeling in front of me and taking a gentle hold of my chin to lift my gaze to his. He was frowning, but his eyes were soft. “Wanna know something else about me that no one knows?”

My lips twitched. “Another Bucky Barnes tidbit? Of course.”

Bucky’s smile was sad. “I can’t have kids either,” he told me. “After all the experimentation HYDRA did on me to try and copy the serum Irskine created for Steve, it…messed with things. At first it was just a suspicion, but…When I started getting my life back on track, I wanted to know for sure. I got them to run tests while I was in Wakanda, and the results confirmed my suspicions; the experiments had made me sterile.”

My heart sank, and I felt tears spring to my eyes. “Oh, Bucky…” I whispered, and then before I knew what I was doing I had thrown my arms around him and pressed my face to his chest. I had startled him; I could feel it in the way his body tensed. But then his arms wound around me and he smoothed my hair with a large hand.

“It’s funny,” he murmured, “how you never really realize you want something until you’re told you can’t have it. Steve was always the one who dreamed about settling down and having kids; I was always wanting to travel and see the world. But after everything I’ve been through, settling down with a family sounded nice. Of course, life had other plans.”

“You deserve so much more than life has given you,” I sniffed, pulling away from him. He reached up to brush his thumb across my cheekbone, catching a stray tear that had escaped, and smiled sadly.

“So do you, doll,” he murmured. “You’re an incredible woman – Kind, strong, smart, beautiful…Anyone that doesn’t see that is an idiot.”

My heart fluttered against my ribcage, and I bit my lip. His mouth was close enough that if I just tilted my head and leaned in…

No. I pulled back, and lifted the bottle of whiskey to my lips to down a large mouthful. That was a bad idea; a very bad idea. It was just the candles and the fire and the alcohol and the situation – I didn’t really want Bucky. Did I?

I cleared my throat. “I must be surrounded by idiots, then,” I joked, to ease the tension in the room. Bucky chuckled and settled back into the spot next to me.

“Men are dumb,” he said simply. “They were dumb a hundred years ago, and they’re dumb now. The only thing that’s changed is that now they have more ways to be dumb.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Are you speaking from experience?” I asked, and he shot me a rueful grin.

“I’ve done my fair share of dumb things when it comes to women,” he admitted. “My mother raised me to be a gentleman, and I had sisters so I knew how to act around girls. But sometimes none of that mattered and I still did something stupid to ruin things.” He shrugged. “No one is perfect, I guess.”

“I don’t know…From what Steve has said, you were pretty smooth with the ladies in your day,” I teased, and Bucky snorted.

“I could have gone on one date with one girl and Steve would have thought I was Casanova,” he deadpanned. “The poor kid couldn’t even talk to a dame without damn near having an asthma attack.”

The laughter bubbled from my chest before I could stop it. Bucky grinned, and I shook my head as I struggled to compose myself.

“Tell me Steve was wrong, though,” I insisted after a minute. “Tell me you weren’t the ladies’ man he makes you out to be.”

Bucky’s cheeks flushed, and he pursed his lips. “I’ve been with my fair share of girls,” he admitted with a shrug, and I nodded.

“I figured as much.”

“But,” he continued, “I was always good to them. I never treated them as objects, and things always ended on good terms. My mama raised me well.”

“I never suggested any different,” I told him, and his brow furrowed.

“Then why does it matter how many girls I’ve been with?”

“It doesn’t; I was just curious to see if Steve’s stories were true.”

Bucky was silent for a moment, and then he turned his head to the side to look at me. “(Y/N), can I ask you a question?”

I hesitated. “If you’re asking how many guys I’ve been with, a lady never tells,” I joked, trying once again to ease the tension in the air. Bucky’s lips twitched, but he shook his head.

“No, not that,” he said. He wet his lips before continuing. “Did it actually bother you to think Natasha and I had been here together?”

My stomach was in my throat. Bucky’s eyes searched mine, and I couldn’t pull my gaze away as I swallowed nervously. I couldn’t lie, though; the alcohol had my wits dulled, and he would detect a lie as soon as it came out of my mouth. Finally, I shrugged.

“I wasn’t thrilled about it,” I admitted, and he frowned.

“Why, though?”

This was where it got complicated, because I wasn’t entirely sure myself why it had bothered me so much. “I don’t know. She’s just so beautiful, and the two of you have so much in common, I…” I felt the heat creep up my neck to my face. “It just…it bothered me to think that the two of you had been here, maybe in a similar situation to the one we’re in, and maybe she got you to open up to her in a way no one else had been able to do. I hated the thought that the two of you are perfect for each other and that…that things happened, and that she likely knew you better than I ever would.”

By now, my cheeks were flaming. I had torn my gaze from his to stare instead at the fire, watching the flames like they were the only things holding me down. I had opened my big mouth, and now there was no going back. I felt embarrassed, pathetic and vulnerable, and part of me wished the flames would swallow me whole.

“That’s…a lot to unpack,” Bucky finally exhaled, and I buried my face in my hands.

“I’m sorry,” I groaned. “I shouldn’t have said anything…”

“The only thing you have to be sorry for, doll, is thinking that I would, in any scenario, choose Natasha over you.”

I froze, and then peeked through my fingers at him cautiously. He was watching me intensely, and I swallowed hard as I removed my hands from my face.

“What are you saying?” I asked quietly, and Bucky chuckled.

“I’m saying that, just as I’ve told everyone a thousand times before, Natasha is not my type. We’re almost too similar, in the wrong ways.” He shook his head. “I told you this morning that you had no reason to be jealous of her, doll. I meant it.”

My voice was small. “I had no right to be jealous,” I whispered. “It’s not like I expected anything to happen between you and I.”

“No?” Bucky had shifted his body to face me, and now he was looking at me with the same unreadable expression I’d seen on his face twice the day before. His flesh hand reached out to tug gently at the sleeve of my shirt – his shirt – as he wet his lips and looked back up to meet my eyes. “So you’re telling me,” he murmured, “that you have no idea what you’re doing to me, walking around here wearing my shirt?”

I tugged my bottom lip between my teeth. Bucky’s eyes were hooded, and I felt my whole body heating under his gaze. I swallowed before speaking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” I breathed, voice barely above a whisper, and he shook his head.

“What did I tell you about apologizing, doll?” he told me. “I’m not mad. How can I be mad when you wear that shirt better than I ever could? It’s almost sinful, what it does to me, seeing you wearing my clothes.”

“So is that why you gave me the shirt in the first place?” I asked, feeling suddenly bold. Bucky’s eyes glittered.

“I gave it to you because you were turning into a popsicle and I knew my body heat would be trapped in the fabric and it would warm you up faster,” he replied with a chuckle. “In the moment, my thoughts had been about making you comfortable. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I’d let anything happen to you.”

My insides melted. “Did that concern for me come as concern for a teammate, or a friend…?” I asked. “Or…?”

“Or,” Bucky agreed, his own cheeks pink now. “Something else. Something more. Something I hadn’t been able to explain for weeks now, until the second I saw you with my shirt on.”

My brow furrowed. “Weeks?”

This time he ducked his head. “Remember that mission in São Paulo a few weeks ago?” he asked, and I nodded.

“The one where I jumped onto that school bus to save those kids?” I asked, and Bucky frowned.

“You mean the one where you almost died?”

“If I didn’t do something those kids would have died –”

“(Y/N), you were on a third-storey balcony and you jumped onto a moving bus whose hood was entirely engulfed in flames…” Bucky shook his head. “That’s not the point. The point is that when I saw you jump onto that bus, I swear to god my heart stopped. I mean, there’s the concern you feel for your teammates when they’re in a dangerous situation. But then there’s the heart-wrenching fear you get when you’re about to watch someone you care about get seriously hurt or even die. And when that thought crossed my mind, (Y/N) – the thought that I was about to lose you – I’d never felt more terrified for someone else in my entire life. And I couldn’t understand at the time why it mattered so much to me, but now…Now I get it.”

For a few seconds, the air hung heavy as neither of us spoke. The only sounds in the cabin were the howling of the wind outside, the crackling of the fire in the hearth, and our shallow and ragged breaths. I realized that my body had slowly, subconsciously gravitated closer to Bucky’s; our knees touched, and my hand was resting on his thigh. My eyes caught the way his gaze lingered on my lips before flicking up to meet mine, and before I could talk myself out of it, I was sitting up and capturing Bucky’s lips with mine.

There was no resistance as his soft lips moved against mine, hands on my waist to pull me into his lap. My legs straddled his hips, and my arms circled around his neck as his hands held tight to my waist. My tongue teased his bottom lip and his mouth yielded to mine, allowing me to explore the kiss deeper as his hands roamed across my back and pulled me closer to him. His lips broke from mine to trail down my jaw to my throat, where he nipped teasingly at the sensitive flesh. I tilted my head back to allow him better access, and as his mouth nipped and sucked at my throat, no doubt leaving his mark on me, his hands had slipped under the hem of his Henley to knead at my flesh. I let out a soft groan, and felt him grin against my neck.

“Y’know, doll,” he murmured, lifting his head to nip lightly at my earlobe, “as much as I like seeing you wearing my shirt, I think I’d like it even more if I got to take it off of you.”

I shivered, and then I was lifting my arms so Bucky could slowly tug the shirt over my head, revealing that I wasn’t wearing a bra. His gaze fell to my chest, eyes dark as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. I should have felt exposed, but the hunger with which he was regarding me with only had me dizzy with desire. He took his time admiring me, hands slowly roaming my curves, but avoiding my breasts purposely.

“God, you’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he murmured, voice husky, and I took his face in my hands and pulled his mouth back to mine in a fierce kiss. My fingers ran through his hair and he sighed into my mouth, flesh hand sliding down my back to give my ass a playful squeeze. I squealed and he grinned wolfishly.

“Oh, this is gonna be fun,” he chuckled, and my body trembled in anticipation. When he leaned in to take one of my nipples into his mouth and suck lightly, I keened, fingers tangling in his hair.

“Bucky…” I whined, and he peppered soft kisses across my chest.

“Yeah, doll?” he murmured, hands massaging my hips as his mouth tended to my breasts. I let out a huff, trying to compose myself enough to speak. His touch already had me hazy, though, and it was difficult to form words.

“Too many clothes,” I finally managed to mumble, and he took the hint as he leaned back enough to yank the t-shirt over his head. My eyes dropped to his bare chest, and then my fingertips were tracing the dips and planes of his hard muscles. I could feel those muscles contracting under my touch, and when I reached his shoulder where metal met flesh I hesitated. Bucky scowled.

“It’s not pretty, I know,” he mumbled, and I pursed my lips. I pressed a quick kiss to his mouth before letting my lips ghost over the puckered skin on his shoulder. Bucky inhaled sharply, and when I reached down to thread my fingers through his vibranium ones and lift his hand to kiss his knuckles, he watched me with burning eyes and a slack jaw.

“There isn’t a single thing about you that could make me want you any less, Bucky Barnes,” I whispered, and then his free hand was cupping the back of my neck and pulling my mouth back to his. The kiss was slow, tender and deep, and I hugged my body tighter to his in an effort to be closer to him. In doing so, it put me in a position to feel the bulge in the front of Bucky’s sweatpants. I rocked my hips against his experimentally with the tiniest of whimpers when I was rewarded with the friction I craved, and Bucky’s breath hitched.

“Doll…” he rasped, hands tightening on my waist. I pulled back to meet his gaze with hooded eyes.

“Please…” I begged softly. “Bucky, please.”

I was fully aware of how desperate I sounded, but it was a shameless awareness. The need to feel his touch ran so deep it was practically an ache – An ache I desperately needed him to soothe. His eyes were black pools of lust as he looked at me, licking his lips as he contemplated his next move carefully.

“So needy, baby girl,” he murmured, fingertips teasing as they skimmed across my bare flesh. I shuddered and he grinned lazily. “God, the things I wanna do to you…You want me to touch you, doll?”

I nodded, unable to speak. Bucky’s eyes sparkled.

“Gonna take real good care of you, sweetheart, I promise. Gonna show you how a real man treats a woman as incredible as you.” He kissed the valley between my breasts, hands playing with the waistband of my sweatpants. I was on fire, between his words and his touch, and I was spiralling into a daze that I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to leave. “Is that what you want, doll?” Bucky murmured. “You want me to take care of that ache for you?”

I whimpered; was it that obvious I was aching for him? I could only nod meekly, but Bucky shook his head.

“Words, doll,” he said, gentle but firm. “I’m not doing a thing until I hear you say it.”

His voice was still husky, but his eyes were suddenly cautious, as if he wasn’t sure I actually wanted this. I frowned, in disbelief that even now he was letting his insecurities convince him he wasn’t the only thing in the world I wanted. I took his face firmly between my hands and held his gaze to mine.

“I want you to claim me as yours,” I whispered, “so that when anyone sees the two of us together, they know I belong to you and only you. I want you to fuck me so good that I can still feel you even after we’ve gotten back to New York.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened until just the thinnest ring of blue remained around his pupils. “Oh, fuck,” he choked out, and then he was laying me down as his mouth claimed mine in a searing kiss. The blanket was soft on the skin of my back, protecting against the chill of the hardwood underneath, but I wouldn’t care if I was laying outside in the snow if it meant Bucky would touch me.

His hands slowly – agonizingly – dragged the sweatpants from my hips. I let out a huff of frustration and he chuckled.

“Patience, darlin’,” he breathed. “I wanna take my time with you, but I promise I’ll make it all worth it.”

Bucky kissed his way up the inside of my leg and then down the other, purposely ignoring where I needed him the most. When his hands finally pushed my legs apart at the knees to expose me, I was a mess, biting my lip with my chest heaving. His eyes raked over my core hungrily before flashing up to my face.

“Fucking hell,” he rasped. “Look at you, doll; you’re dripping like honey.”

“All for you, Buck,” I said, breathless. “This is what you do to me.”

Bucky groaned, and then his fingers swiped through my folds. I gasped at the sudden contact, back arching off the floor, and the grin that stretched across his face was pure sin. Pulling my legs over his shoulders, he wrapped his arms loosely around my thighs and then licked a clean stripe up my slit. I cried out, back arching again, and his arms tugged my hips back down gently.

“Good girl,” he murmured, before his mouth went back to work. His tongue explored my folds, and then dipped into my entrance to gather my juices. I squeezed my eyes shut, hands fisting into the soft fur of the blanket beneath me as electricity buzzed through every nerve in my body. “Sweet as candy,” Bucky murmured into my flesh, and I keened.

When his lips wrapped around my clit and sucked, my hips bucked and I writhed in Bucky’s grasp. He let me shamelessly grind against his face for a few moments, but then his arms were firm as they pushed my hips back down to the blanket and held them there. His mouth continued its assault on my core, licking and sucking and nibbling until my chest was flushed and I was reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers. With my hips locked into place, I had to use my hands to direct his mouth. My fingers tangled in his hair, tugging on the dark locks to hold his face to me, and Bucky groaned into me, sending vibrations through my core that had a fresh wave of heat crash through me. I tugged harder, nails scraping his scalp, and he growled.

“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” he said in a low voice, and then he was teasing my entrance with not one, but two fingers. He pushed them into me slowly, watching my face for my reaction, and I moaned obscenely as he curled them and his knuckles brushed my walls. With a triumphant smirk, Bucky’s lips reattached to my clit as his thick fingers pumped in and out of me at an excruciatingly slow pace. My breaths were coming out in sharp rasps as I felt the coil in my belly tighten, teetering oh-so-close to the edge.

Bucky must have been able to tell I was close, because he added a third finger and grazed my clit lightly with his teeth. I cried out his name as he pushed me over the edge, eyes squeezed shut and hands curling into fists in his hair. He pulled out his fingers and helped me ride out my high with gentle licks and soft kisses, and when my body finally relaxed, boneless, against the blanket, he kissed his way up my body to press his lips to mine.

I tasted myself on his tongue, and I hummed delightedly. Bucky grinned into the kiss and nipped at my bottom lip playfully.

“I have never seen something more beautiful than you when you come undone, doll, fuck,” he breathed. “If I died right now, I would die a happy man.”

I giggled and pinched his side teasingly. “We’re not done yet,” I told him wryly, and then my hands were shoving Bucky’s sweatpants off his hips. He kicked them off impatiently, and my hand immediately wrapped around him. He grunted, and I felt the heat pool in my belly as I let out a soft whine – He was thick and hot and impossibly hard in my grip, and my walls were already clenching in anticipation.

I began to slide my hand up and down his shaft, and a low hiss escaped Bucky’s lips as his eyes fluttered shut. I tried to push him off me so I could trade my hand for my mouth, but Bucky shook his head.

“No,” he said gruffly, and my brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

I must have had a hurt look on my face, because his eyes widened and he was quick to press a tender kiss to my lips. “Oh, baby girl, no, it’s not like that,” he said quickly. “I would love to know how your mouth feels, trust me, but right now, my god, I need to be inside you so badly it hurts.”

“Oh…” I breathed, biting my lip. Bucky’s hand replaced mine on his length and he lined himself up with my entrance, teasing it with the tip. My breath hitched, and he looked at me imploringly.

“You sure about this?” he murmured, and instead of answering I rocked my hips against his, allowing him to slip fully inside me in one smooth stroke.

Bucky’s eyes rounded; I had surprised him. They quickly darkened as he let out a low groan, and I bit my lip, letting out a whine as he stretched me better than I’d ever been stretched before. Bucky held still for a moment, giving me time to adjust to his size and him time to compose himself.

I tilted my head up, lips searching for his, and he dipped his head to oblige me. When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine, breath hot against my face.

“Tell me when you’re ready,” he murmured.

“I’m ready,” I replied without hesitation. “Please, Buck…”

With a strangled groan, Bucky slowly slid out of me before pushing back in. I drew a shuddering breath, relishing in how full I felt with him inside me. The pace he set was languid and unhurried, and despite having been so desperate to feel him, now that we were joined, I was more than happy with slowing things down. There was no need to rush – We weren’t leaving the cabin anytime soon, which meant we had plenty of time to learn every inch of each other’s bodies.

Every languorous stroke was well-placed, hitting me in all the right spots until I was whimpering and entirely at Bucky’s mercy. I quickly came to the conclusion, though, that Bucky was just as much at my mercy as I was at his; I could feel it in every tender touch, kiss and thrust that he was all in – That this was more than just fuelled by desire. It had been a long time since someone had been so attentive to my body and my feelings, it made my heart swell.

“Look at me,” Bucky suddenly whispered. “Look at me, doll.”

I hadn’t even realized my eyes had been closed, and I blinked them open, only to have my breath catch in my throat. Bucky’s face hovered above mine, his eyes fixed on mine. I could see the fire dancing in his irises, casting golden streaks through the pools of blue; he had never been more breathtaking than he was right now. It wasn’t the colours in his eyes that had taken my breath away, though; it was the expression they held. Bucky, normally so closed-off and hard to read, was an entirely open book. His eyes held everything that his mouth couldn’t say – Trust, happiness, reverence, adoration…There was even something else there, something I dared not even put into thought for fear of ruining if before it could even begin. He was completely vulnerable, vulnerable for me, and I knew how big of a deal that was for him. With a lump in my throat and my heart fluttering wildly against my ribcage, I lifted a hand to brush my fingertips across his lips.

“James…” I said breathlessly. The use of his real name had him groaning softly, and then he was dipping his head to kiss me deeply. He snapped his hips into mine, still at the same slow pace, but with more force behind the strokes now. A breathy whine escaped my lips and Bucky pressed his forehead to mine, chest heaving as he fought to even his breathing.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he panted, rolling his hips into mine and earning another wanton moan. “I want to see you when you come apart around me.”

“Fuck…” I whimpered, forcing my eyes to remain open despite it being so natural for them to drift shut as the coil in my belly tightened. Bucky’s gaze was piercing, hungry, and unabashedly intimate as he fucked into me, slow and hard and so unbelievably good that the rest of the world – the storm still roaring outside, the knowledge that HYDRA was probably out there looking for us, our teammates back home planning to rescue us – melted away until it was just him and I, our bodies joined in the most profound and visceral way, energy buzzing from his body to mine and back again until it was impossible to tell where he ended and I began.

I reached my climax only seconds before Bucky did, brows knitting together as I struggled to keep my eyes on him, lips parted as I gasped sharply. Bucky’s eyes clouded over with pure, unadulterated desire, and then his hips stuttered and he was spilling into me with a groan that rumbled deep in his chest, his expression one of absolute bliss. His mouth found mine as we rode out our highs; the kiss was sloppy and lazy, both of us absolutely spent, but it was also sweet and tender. Bucky’s nose bumped mine affectionately, and then he was dipping his head to press his face to the juncture between my neck and shoulder.

My fingers carded idly through his damp hair for a handful of seconds, and he hummed contentedly. Then his arms circled under me and he rolled us over so he was on his back and I was sprawled across his chest, our legs tangled together and his softening member still inside me.

Neither of us said anything, but we didn’t have to; our bodies had already said everything that needed to be said. The wind still wailed outside, but the fire kept the cabin cozy, and the flames from the hearth and the candles bathed the room in a warm, golden glow. Bucky’s hand brushed through my hair before his fingertips swept down the naked expanse of my body, raising goosebumps on my flushed skin. I turned my head to press my lips to his heated chest, burying myself further in his embrace, and in this moment – skin-to-skin, curled up on a soft blanket by a crackling fire – I was more grateful than I ever thought I could be for a plane crash in the mountains in Austria.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky reader smut #smut #reader insert #fluff #mentions of cancer #infertility #insecure bucky barnes #cute #so much smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #mcu

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stxrrywildflower · 4 years

Text

kid

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - you get kindnapped

warnings - cursing, injuries, angst

word count - ?

a throbbing pain in your head and the metallic taste of blood in your mouth was the first thing you could process when you regained consciousness. the warm feeling of blood was trickling down the back of neck. that meant one thing, you had to have been hit in the head.

your wrists were restrained behind the cold metal chair you were tied to. the rope burned your wrists and ankles. you knew they were going to scar, you had seen it on various bau team members.

everything felt incredibly foggy. you couldn’t quite remember where you were or what had happened. as if your kidnapper has read your mind, a man stepped into the room, his face just barely illuminated under the light.

“welcome y/n! i’m so glad you could make it,” the man grinned.

you rolled your eyes. “what the hell did you do to me,” you growled. the unsub chuckled, “you, little girl, are going to make me a lot of money.” with that, the man just smirked before spinning on his heel and leaving the room, your own thoughts now being the only thing to keep you company.

rossi hummed quietly to himself as he put his suv in park before stepping out of the car and onto the driveway. the warm summer heat of washington d.c. met the senior profiler. between the trees swaying in the slight breeze and the birds chirping, it was a pretty good day.

walking up to the front door, rossi pulled out his keys. however, after twisting it and finding it to be unlocked, he was more than confused.

“figlia, i’m home!” rossi called once he stepped in. there was no response, the house was actually deadly quiet. usually there was always some music playing or the sound of the tv or your computer. “y/n?” rossi called again.

when rossi took note of the faint mud footprints on the floor leading up the stairs, he drew his gun. the only sound was the slight creeping of stairs as rossi walked up them. just in case, he spoke out as normally. “i’m home for lunch. what are you in the mood for?” once again, there was no response.

the second rossi saw just a drop of blood on the floor, he pulled out his phone. with shaky hands, he pressed hotch’s number. “aaron we have a problem,” was all rossi said.

within just a few short minutes, the entire bau team as well as a few cop cars were pulling up to rossi’s house. “rossi what happened?” morgan spoke once he walked in.

“y/n’s in trouble,” rossi started, “i think kidnapping but all i can go off of is some footprints and the blood in her room.”

the team all went their separate ways, spencer and j.j. to check the locks and footprints while everyone else headed upstairs into your room. just like rossi had said, there was a spot of blood on the floor. sure the spot wasn’t huge but it was still large enough to not be from a cut or other injury.

searching your room went on for just a few moments. finally, when hotch was digging around through your desk, his face hardened as he stood up. the air in the room tensed as hotch held up a piece of paper. in small dark letters was ‘8pm’. “what does 8pm mean?” emily piped up.

“i’m guessing that’s when we will be getting a phone call,” hotch answered simply.

they found your phone a moment later, the screen now cracked most likely from the attack. when it was unlocked, it opened right up to the messages app. more specifically, to rossi’s contact. that was the final confirmation of your kidnapping.

as the rest of the police and other crime scene investigators did their thing, the rest of the bau team regrouped in the kitchen. “we’ll work from the bau. garcia is already combing through security footage but as we know, child abduction cases need to be handled with care. i expect all of you to have your full focus on finding y/n and bringing her home safely.”

to be honest, rossi wasn’t exactly listening to hotch’s orders. his thoughts were going a mile a minute. he hasn’t even realized hotch was done speaking until morgan nudged him with his arm. “rossi, we’re heading back.” the italian man nodded before following the rest of his team out of his house and back to the cars.

driving to quantico took painfully long. everyone was on edge, especially rossi. well, that was obvious. garcia greeted them all when they stepped out of the elevator, holding her laptop in one arm while the other was motioning for j.j. and spencer to follow her back to the lab. the rest of the team headed into the bullpen.

“dave, a word?” hotch spoke.

rossi nodded, quickly putting his bag in his office before heading back down the catwalk. “you’re off the case,” hotch simply said once rossi stepped in.

“my kid is missing and you want me off of the case?” rossi exclaimed.

“you’re too emotionally invested in this case. you know the rules, hell you made the rules,” hotch rephrased. damn, hotch got him there.

there was a few moments of tense silence before rossi finally spoke up again.

“gideon and i formed the bau so we could keep people safe. it’s been a lot of years but i like to think that we’ve done just that,” rossi started, “and when y/n was born, i vowed to keep her safe as both a father and a profiler. and i failed.”

hotch remained quiet as the senior profiler in front of him sat down in one of the chairs and rubbed his eyes. “i wasn’t there to protect her and now, now she’s in the hands of a criminal. we have absolutely no idea where she is or if she’s even alive,” rossi ranted.

“don’t say that,” hotch cut in. “dave you’ve been an incredible dad to y/n. one incident which you had no control over will not change that. the team is doing everything we can. besides, we still have the phone call tonight.”

“thanks aaron,” rossi smiled slightly. he had to admit, the pep talk did help.

“you screwed up big time man,” you groaned. you couldn’t have woken up more than a few hours ago but the torture in that time was intense. the rope burns on your wrists and ankles were much worse as well as other cuts the unsub has inflicted on you. your entire face was bruised and bloody, mostly from punches to your eyes and nose.

the mans harsh and callused hand gripped your cheek, pulling your head up to look at him. “and why is that?” he asked. you almost wanted to laugh at that question.

“you kidnapped the daughter of one of the founders of the bau!” you exclaimed as if it wasn’t obvious already, “i’m guessing stephen gideon wasn’t available?” that remark earned a hard slap across the face.

“i’m going to get rich off of you. you really think daddy dearest isn’t going to pay off your ransom?” the unsub questioned. “i know that my dad isn’t dumb enough to give into your demands,” you rolled your eyes. “oh we’ll see about that.”

the man returned to the room at what he informed you was almost eight o’clock. “what’s with the phone?” you questioned. “like i told you before. i’m going to be rich. and all it takes is one phone call.”

emily kept her hand in front of rossi when the phone started ringing on j.j.’s desk. this was standard procedure. they never picked up right away when negotiating with an unsub. hotch motioned for them to stay silent as he leaned forward and pressed the answer button.

“hello?” hotch spoke.

“i’m looking to speak to david rossi.”

all eyes went over to rossi who’s stone-faced expression would give hotch a run for his money. “this is he,” rossi replied.

“perfect. now i’m willing to propose a trade. 20 million for her return,” then unsub offered. the teams eyes widened at that. even you, who had a cloth around your motion, was extremely suprised. there was no way your dad would pay that. right?

“prove that she’s alive,” rossi fired back, not even mentioning the deal.

the unsub trudged over your where your were still tied to the chair. with rough hands, he ripped the cloth off so your mouth was open. “say hi to dad!” the unsub exclaimed ina sickeningly sweet voice.

“bafangu chooch,” you growled out in italian, “bastardo, figlio di puttana.”

rossi’s mouth fell slight as did spencer’s and emily’s who both knew limited italian. you had pretty much just used some extremely choice curse words to prove that you were actually alive.

the unsub rolled his eyes and walked to the other side of the room. “see? she’s alive. now the 20 million by 10 or else the girl gets it. and i think we both know what that means.”

just before the unsub hung up, you yelled one final time. “shut the fuck up bitch boy. your hair is worse than morgan’s!” your voice was slightly staticky as you were yelling to a cell phone multiple feet away. nonetheless, the team heard exactly what you said before all lines of communication were cut off.

“go to hell!” you spat, unable to contain the tears that started to.

“well i’ll see you there,” the unsub fired back. you furrowed you’re eyebrows, that didn’t even make sense. “whatever, i need to get some things set up. let’s just hope that money gets here fast.”

back at the bau, the team was in slight disbelief at the phone call. “what did she say?” morgan first asked. “basically she told him to go screw himself and then something along the lines of being an ugly son of a bitch. i’m paraphrasing but i’m sure you don’t want the exact details,” rossi answered, his tone slightly proud.

garcia was typing away at her computer, trying to trace the call. “it pinged off of multiple cell towers. i can’t pinpoint the location but i may be able to get the general area,” the tech genius informed everyone. while garcia did that, everyone else listened back to the call, desperate to process the information.

no one was quite sure how she did it but just around 9:30, garcia had managed to find the five mile radius where the call had originated. from there, she found the only bulding that would be suitable to hold someone. rossi had thanked her profusely before suiting up alongside the team to head out.

“you’re staying outside. we’ll let you know when the unsub is apprehended,” hotch ordered.

rossi huffed and leaned against the car as the team entered the warehouse. his hands were shaking at the sole thought of you being just through the door. just three minutes later, hotch’s voice echoed in his ear.

“we got y/n!”

when rossi heard those words through his communication system, he immediately rushed into the warehouse. the unsub was being dragged out by a very unhappy morgan and hotch. after shooting the man an extremely nasty glare, rossi stepped further in, stopping slightly when he saw you.

j.j. and emily were focused on untying the restraints on your wrists and ankles while spencer was surveying your injuries. you were unconscious, probably from the fact that there was more blood on the back of your head as well as a fairly deep cut down your thigh. your right arm was bent at an awkward angle, definitely broken.

“figlia,” rossi gasped, kneeling down in front of you. part of him was incredibly thankful that you were found and would be taken to the hospital to be treated. on the other hand, the injuries you suffered were pretty intense. there was definitely going to be some trauma from the whole thing.

the paramedics arrived soon after that. they had made rossi step back so you could be put on a stretcher, an ambulance taking you to the hospital soon after that. all rossi could do is wait there and hope you would be okay.

you woke up a day later, your vision blurred as your eyes adjusted to the extremely bright hospital room. there was a tube in your nose helping you breath as well as an iv in your arm administering some pain medication.

“dad,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around your father with the limited mobility you could.

rossi held you tight, incredibly thankful that you were now awake. he just sat there, holding you as you continued to cry.

there was going to be a lot of both physical and emotional healing for you along with nightmares and pain. but you knew you had your dad and his team by your side ever step of the way.

and that made it a little better.

#criminal #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia #bau team #bau team x teen reader

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years

Text

The Assassin and the Caretaker Part 2

Part 1

Warnings: blood, scar, torture, mind control, killing, long injury descriptions (blood, cuts, dislocation, broken bones, etc), barbed wire as restraints, head injury, starvation

Caretaker watched silently as Villain and Hero's limp bodies were hurried away. When the door finally slammed shut, they felt a foreboding presence behind them.

"Call me," Assasin said. "When you are ready for your next mission. A man up North hired me to kill a gang of rebels. I could use your help, but I understand if you need... time."

Time? Yes, time would be good. Caretaker pictured Villain's last futile attempts to protect Hero in their mind. They couldn't cause that anguish, not any time soon.

"How do you do it?" Caretaker whispered, clutching the twenty thousand dollars in their hands. "How do you-"

"Do my job? I need the money."

Caretaker gave a curt nod. They needed the money too since they recently quit their job as a computer mechanic.

"Well," Assasin sighed. "I'm gonna go now, but, uh, call me. Yeah?"

"Sure," Caretaker replied. Once Assasin closed the door behind them, Caretaker sunk onto their couch. Villain's blood was still on it and Caretaker wondered breifly if their injury was bleeding again. Would Supervillain take care of them? No, duh, they were going to kill them, that's why Assasin caught them. Right?

And then what about Hero? Their head injury was so bad that Caretaker suspected that they wouldn't get away without some form of brain damage. Memory loss at the least.

What if they got out? What if Hero never remembered Villain? Caretaker was reminded of Villain quiet pleas to protect Hero. Why did they do this? Why...

Three months later...

"Oh my gosh Caretaker!" A voice broke the heavy silence of the room of a guilty person. Caretaker looked up to see Assasin strolling into their bedroom, uninvited.

"What?" Caretaker asked, unfased. "You said I could have time."

"Not three months of sitting around doing nothing at all," Assasin yelled. They stopped walking and leaned against the foot of Caretaker's bed. "I think it would do you good to do something."

"Like what? Kill people for money?" Caretaker scoffed. "Never again."

"How 'bout saving people?"

"That's better, but you wouldn't save anyone. You hardly look after yourself," Caretaker nodded towards the bruises that littered Assasin's body.

"These?" Assasin laughed. "A small price for obtaining some valuable information."

"About your next victim?" Caretaker mused.

"In a way," Assasin flashed a broad smile and walk to Caretaker's side. They took out their phone and showed a picture to them.

It looked like and black and gray screen.

"And this is supposed to show me..."

"Open your eyes Caretaker," Assasin snorted and put the phone two inches in front of their face.

"Okay!" Caretaker snapped and took the phone. For their sake, they observed the picture closer. The gray spots seemed to be figures. Yes, figures. One was hunched over and the other stood above it. The hunched figure had a white splotch above it.

Caretaker zoomed in on the picture. They could just make out notable features like an open mouth, arms, and eyes. Terrifyingly familiar eyes.

"Is this-" Caretaker croaked out. Assasin smiled.

"Villain," they said. Then their cheery gaze faltered. "With Supervillaim torturing the crap out of them."

Caretaker could not believe Assasin. First, they broke into their house. Second, they brought up painful memories and assisted in bringing fresh guilt back to the surface.

"Y-you don't, um," Assasin stammered. "You don't think my intentions are true. Do you?"

Caretaker shook their head. There was probably money involved in this.

"Where do you think I was for the last three months?" Assasin asked, getting irritated with Caretaker's lazy figure.

"Getting rich."

"Idiot!" Assasin yelled and punched the wall. Caretaker slowly looked up at the hole in the drywall.

"You better pay for that-"

Caretaker was cut off by Assasin forcibly grabbing them out of bed and pinning them to the wall.

"I got hurt taking care of that gang," Assasin lifted up their shirt to reveal a scar made from a bullet wound. "At the hospital, after my surgery, a doctor approached me. They told my that they worked for a group that took care of people... like me." Assasin stood back and breathed in deeply.

Suddenly, their eyes glowed red and they ordered in a deep voice, "Sit."

A strange feeling quickly overcame Caretaker and they sunk to the ground on their seat bones. The feeling vanished as soon as it came on, leaving Caretaker speechless.

"I have mind control powers," Assasin crouched next to Caretaker and looked them eye to eye. "Villain has powers also. Something to do with storms and stuff."

Caretaker was still speechless. All the recent events suddenly clickes into place. Assasin didn't need Caretaker's help in kidnapping Villain and Hero. They needed someone to administer the power suppressor so that they wouldn't get any on them.

"Bastard," Caretaker spat. Assasin gave a half-grin.

"Maybe," they said. "But I don't care. I know the second I leave you are going to follow me and we are going to save both of them."

Caretaker hated the fact that they were right.

Caretaker leaned their head against the window as Assasin drove to Supervillain's base, thinking of Assassin's stupid plan.

"What's the plan?" Caretaker had asked earlier.

"Kill some guards, take their uniforms and ID cards or whatever stuff they have on them," Assasin began. "Then," they continued after a pause. "We get into Villain's cell saying there was eletrical issues. Supervillain is gonna be out tonight, so we just have to deal with their minions which shouldn't be too hard."

"What about Hero?"

"After I make Villain sleep," Assasin glanced at Caretaker's paling face as they remebered three months ago. "With my powers," they reassured them. "It will only take a second since they will be tired anyways. After that, we get... Hero."

Caretaker frowned at the hesitation. "Is Hero okay you think?"

"No," Assasin choked. Caretaker stared dumbfoundly as they wiped a single tear off their cheek.

"Oh," they said.

"We got reports that they are not themselves," Assasin explained further. "Due to their head injury that I might've inflicted."

Caretaker was genuinely shocked that Assasin could care this much.

"No matter," they laughed suddenly. "Not that they are entirely innocent, but..."

Assasin never finished their thought and they drove the rest of the way in silence.

The pair did as planned and, let's just say got rid of and hid, a couple guards. Assasin being the bigger figure got changed into the larger uniform, and Caretaker the smaller. But it still dangled off their shoulders.

"Oh my gosh," Assasin laughed as they rolled up Caretaker's sleeves. "You are itty-bitty." Suddenly, they guided Caretaker behind a dumpster.

"Supervillain," they hissed silently and peered out. Caretaker could just make out a shadow entering a shed before Assasin recoiled back.

"That dang henchman!" They growled. Caretaker assumed that the henchman that they fought earlier lied. Then, a horrible thought struck them. Supervillain probably knows that they were coming. They had to get out of there like right now!

But Assasin had other plans. Without warning, they hurried into the shed after Supervillain. Caretaker hesitantly followed.

The first thing Caretaker noticed was Supervillain kneeling on the floor, pushed down by an invisible force that was Assasin. Their eyes glowed even redder than what Caretaker remember as they ordered Supervillain to keep still.

"Assasin," Supervillain growled, only to be shut up by Assasin.

"Get them," Assasin said in a low, but partially normal voice. Caretaker looked over at the wall to see Hero slumped in a corner motionless. Villain was suspended in the air, their head hanging limply.

And wow did they look awful. Villain's hair was matted in blood and dirt. Their upper half was stripped. Caretaker would see the half healed stab wound on their abdomen. Festering cuts decorated their body disgustingly. Deep purple, nearly black, bruises were on their throat where they were likely choked, or worse hung from for short periods of time. And that wasn't even the worse of it. Caretaker could see numerous bones shifting awkwardly as they dangled from enlongated arms. Likely dislocated at the shoulders. Caretaker wanted to gag as they approached them.

Gosh, they regretted everything all over again. Villain's chest barely rose and fall. It hurt to watch. Caretaker gulped and reached upwards to take off the wires that bound Villain's wrists to the wall.

They earned a heart-wrenching scream from the injured villain as they shot awake. Caretaker noticed only then that the restraints were barbed wire. They felt sick to the stomach as their eyes took in the deep wounds around their wrists.

"I'm sorry," Caretaker muttered when they realized with the proper strength (which they lacked), they could rip the barb wire out of the wall.

Villaim screamed and sobbed throughout the entire process as Caretaker yanked at the restraints. Out of the corner of their eye, they saw Assasin losing their control on Supervillain. They didn't have much time...

They broke one of them free, cutting their hand in the process. Ignoring the sting, they broke the other wire. Villain collasped on the ground, motionless.

"Assasin!" Caretaker called. Assasin nodded and rushed towards the unsuspecting Supervillain. They threw them against the wall and ran towards Hero, picking them up.

"We don't have much time," Assasin rasped, their voice strained from the effort of mind controlling Supervillain.

Caretaker didn't hesitate in scooping Villain up who thrashed and weakly kicked around, gasping in pain. As Caretaker left, they saw Supervillain getting up.

"Start the car!" They yelled at Assasin and started jogging. Villain was much lighter than the last time they carried them.

Caretaker opened the back of the car, put Villain in, and crawled in themselves. Assasin shut the door from the driver's seat and they sped away.

"We aren't safe anywhere," Assasin said, turning sharply into a highway. "Take care of them in the car. Now!"

Caretaker looked at Villain, who seemed to have passed out, to Hero writhing around in the backseat. Seeing that Hero was currently in more pain, they went to work taking care of them.

For the most part, Hero looked better than Villain, but Caretaker knew better. They were half-starved, eyes glazed over, and just weren't... right.

Caretaker knew that both victims needed medical attention, but Supervillain would get to them that way.

Caretaker opened the first aid kit and began cleaning the wound on their temple. A fresh one, Caretaker realized. That meant...

No, don't go there, Caretaker willed themselves and disinfected the wound. It was too thin to stitch up, so they put a gauze pad on it.

Hero didn't have anymore bad wounds to take care of. They woke up, or at least Caretaker thought so.

"Piggy back ride," they murmured and weakly clutched Caretaker's hand. "Hero wants a piggy back ride."

Caretaker's heart sank when they heard Assasin sniffle.

"You're gonna get one once we are safe," Caretaker assured the delirious Hero who nodded slowly in reply.

Caretaker crawled back to where Villain still laid. They had no idea where to start. There was too many, way too many wounds. Caretaker leaned heavily against the side of the car, straining their eyes to see the faint rise and fall of Villain's chest.

Getting a hold of themselves, Caretaker began disinfecting the largest wounds. They were running out of disinfectant.

Caretaker's fingers traced the stab wound, making Villain gasp lightly, but not wake up. It wasn't healed properly at all. They took out some soothing cream to rub on the irritated areas, including the rub burns all over Villain's skinny body from where they were possibly dragged around.

The next largest concern was the dislocated shoulders, broken ribs, and the broken hand, but it wasn't as big of a concern than the black SUV that was following them.

The SUV with the license plate of "EVIL".

#injured villain #villain whumpee #hero whumpee #supervillain whumper #whump

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korpuskat · 4 years

Text

Start Game [Tomura Shigaraki/Reader] - Part 4

[Ao3 Mirror] Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6,817 Summary: Things don't always go as planned in new relationships... and finding out that he's a murder and leader of a terrorist group certainly isn't the plan. Contains DFAB but gender neutral reader; handjob, blowjob, vaginal sex

So, I had a really bad night so instead of doing Kinktober 8, here’s the final chapter of Start Game that I was sitting on. pls hmu if you see errors, I’m really tired dkjfddhgdgkjs

===== [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] =====

In the end, you knew nothing about him.

Memories sit like a rock in your stomach. It felt so obvious now- plain as day. Half your screen lit up with your chat log- days worth of conversations laid bare, the words making your chest ache. How could you be so stupid? He’d warned you about it. That he was a stranger. Just some guy you'd hang out with, play games with- the center of your little innocent, stupid daydreams. That's all it was supposed to be.

The other half of your screen is covered with a still image, a photo grabbed from a news cast pasted onto a tips wanted hotline. Every cell in your body has gone cold as ice, frozen as the image. In the chat window, tiny text appears below the log: dust2dust is typing...

It was true. You knew nothing about him after all.

You didn’t reply to him, fully aware you’d left him on read.

You’ve never done that before. Always, always you’d reply as soon as you saw his message, all too eager to talk with him, spend time with him. But then, he’d never been quite so forward. It was always about gaming, about hanging out- to be so transparent about it now…

dust2dust: are u free tonite

Your stomach churns, sickness rising in your throat- tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. They bubble over, blur your vision and wipe away the image of a man standing on a rooftop, his hair whipping around his face. Maybe you could believe it was someone else, the strange mask he wore obscured Tomura’s recognizable skin and scars, the image too far out of focus to tell his eye color, even the darkness had left his hair more gray-colored than anything. But beneath the long black shirt sleeves, bandages peaked out, uneven. His right hand, his left wrist.

The tip hotline poster sealed it all together. Shigaraki. The man in connection to the Hosu City incident and the attack on U.A. prior and, oh. The bandages. Shigaraki had been shot, hadn’t he? That’s what the article you’d dug up before said.

A villain. He’s a villain! You’ve been hanging out with him- he could’ve killed you!

You curl up on your bed, tug your blanket tight around your shoulders. Your phone is solid under your fingers- the number pad staring back at you. You could get him caught. You could stop him from hurting anyone else…. It would be so easy! All you had to do was dial the number, to just... push the buttons. That's all.

You squeeze your phone in your hand- and your thumb is stiff, aching- just push the button, just tap the screen- that's all it would take. Why is it so hard? You could prevent the next attack, could make the world a little safer, to be a hero-

So why can't you do it?

Ding! You flinch, close your eyes- will yourself to look away from the screen. You don't need to see the chatbox flashing, don't need to see the new message sitting on the screen-- but with the client open, he'll get the read notification just the same. You just... walked away from the computer is all. It's just that innocent, that easy- to pretend you aren't aching to talk to him. That it's an honest mistake and not your desperate attempt to keep your head together.

The notification rolls in on your phone- a banner dropping down over the screen: New message from dust2dust.

Finally, your thumb moves. A single tap- and the mobile app opens up, your chat log spreading out.

dust2dust: u there

All you want in the entire world is to say yes, to ask what game he had planned tonight. To lose yourself in whatever colorful world was his interest tonight- maybe he'd want to visit your Animal Crossing island again. But that is wrong… isn’t it?

Between a rock and a hard place- you can't turn him in and you can't go back. There's no good answer to this, no way to pretend you didn't know why he wore those gloves now. No way to pretend he hadn't put those hands on you- in you. And... you can't avoid him forever.

You fingers shake as they touch the screen, tap on the keyboard where they could not meet the number pad. I know.

The response is immediate.

dust2dust: Know what?

You sniffle, wipe your face. You're over the precipice, there's no going back.

Shigaraki.

The cursor blinks in the text box. dust2dust is typing... appears and is gone within seconds. Nothingness. The green circle beside his icon remains lit, his status online.

You rub at your face and struggle to type out:

I won’t tell anyone. I promise.

The words sound true; you couldn’t even work up the nerve to call the hotline. Turning him in… somehow feels scarier than messaging him. Talking to him.

You watch, wait for the typing notification, but it doesn’t come. All that changes is the green circle beside his name turns gray, the status below his username updates: offline. last seen one second ago.

A coldness lances through your chest, a pain far worse than before.

You spend the next day waiting. Maybe for death, maybe for Steam to give you a friendly little pop-up, dust2dust is playing… and maybe you’d join him. Like nothing had changed, you’d join his party, he’d admonish you for being late, give you that quiet, warm praise when you solo a monster.

But it doesn’t. When desperation for fresh air drives you out the door, you expect a man in a black hoodie waiting for you. Maybe to talk, maybe to so easily lay his hand on you, just to be sure you won’t speak of him.

He isn’t there. He doesn’t lurk around every corner, doesn’t come online- you check. Every time your phone buzzes your heart swells, and every time it’s not him. The status on his profile ticks upwards without fail, no matter how often you open the chat and want to find the right words.

It’s worse than you imagined, the loneliness. Your once real friend and oh, of course! Of course you’d have the sense to befriend Japan’s Most Wanted. No matter how much you remind yourself, it doesn’t change the icy pit in your stomach. It’s not dread, it’s not fear.

Because as much as you think about him appearing and exacting his vengeance for you knowing too much- he could’ve done it before. He took you to his home, touched you, let you sleep beside him- he could’ve killed you through any of that. Instead he was careful, wore gloves. Opened up, just the tiniest bit. He could’ve killed you and he didn’t. Could’ve shown up at your door— could’ve destroyed the whole building.

He didn’t.

And that makes the pain sharper, more acute. A horrible ache has taken root in your chest and won’t go away.

It’s a terrible makeshift metric for goodness: that he didn’t harm you when he could have. But that has to mean something, doesn it? All the time he’s spent with you… that can’t be nothing. He risked exposure to be near you- and thus far has not left you in the dust.

Offline. last seen one day ago.

It has to mean something, it has to. That’s what you tell yourself as you slip through your apps. In your internet tabs there’s one that catches your eye. A map, a google search for restaurants near me with a bright red pin stuck into a satellite image.

It has to mean something.

You repeat that mantra over and over, even as you step off an unfamiliar metro line. It can’t be for nothing, can it? You walk, follow the directions back to your pinned location. The weeks spent talking and gaming even before he’d laid hands on you, when you still looked at him with star-struck eyes and a naivety that must’ve lasted longer than you thought.

He has to be busy. Can’t spend all his time in the arcade, being prickly and antisocial to everyone but you. That has to mean something.

You stumble through darkened streets- your journey having taken much longer than expected with your shaking legs and three separate breakdowns to consider if you were completely batshit.

The tiny distance calculator counts down as you walk and that might be the only thing keeping you sane. A nice little number to watch tick by as you approach a run-down section of the city. Sure enough, you end up outside a characterless building. It doesn't look right- where you had been was certainly somewhere lived-in, his possessions covering the shelves. But then, wouldn't a more nondescript building be more suitable?

You bite your lip, stand before the building in question. Your hand shakes as you approach- a broken BAR sign flickers once in the window. This is such a terrible idea, your worst, really. Bad enough to befriend a villain, but to go back? Maybe you should take a fourth break to debate if you've really lost it. There’s no turning back.

You reach out, fingertips brush against the door- it’s ripped open.

“Whatever, I’m-“ A man’s silhouette blocks most of the doorway, his face cast in shadow, backlit by the soft yellow of the would-be bar’s interior. He stops, looks down at you- and your bravery plummets to your toes. He glares at you with narrowed eyes ringed by heavy scars and facial piercings. “Who’re you?”

Your voice dries up- the reality of it all setting in too fast. “Oi, what’s-” Your attention snaps from the scarred man’s face to just over his right shoulder.

He looks just like he did in the press release: a terrible white hand grabbing his face, obscuring everything except one bright red eye. An eye staring you down, opened impossibly wide, pupil blown full, eclipsing the red of his iris till only a sliver remains. But it's him and the relief that washes over you makes it feels like years since you last saw him, not simply a day and a half.

The scarred man looks over his shoulder towards Tomura, raises one eyebrow- but Tomura doesn't even see him. Doesn't acknowledge him at all, doesn't see anything except your face.

"Oh, so this is your problem." The man huffs, shoulders past you.

And with him gone, all that is left is an unobstructed view into the bar, of Tomura Shigaraki, wanted villain, easing himself off a bar stool. He moves slow, but you watch his fists clench and release over and over, long, slender fingers drawing invisible lines in the air in a motion you've become all too familiar with.

Your hands shake, but you step through the threshold just the same. The door closing behind you is only faintly alarming, but with every sense attuned to the man before you, you don't have much thought to spare. He steps towards you, just one foot the first time- a test, a measurement- and though you cower, you don’t run.

That’s all he needs to know.

He’s on you- you hadn’t even seen him move. No more than a blur of black and the gray of the bloodless hand- and you’d think by now having him pressed up on you wouldn’t make your heart stutter in your chest. It does, though. But this time, this time you know the danger of his touch- of three fingers and a thumb curled over your throat.

“How did you get here?” He hisses, the threat of his hand has spread to his throat, the one eye now only half-visible under the misplaced fluff of his hair.

His hand eases off your windpipe just enough for your voice to eke by. “Phone saved the location.”

It feels wrong to speak of your almost normal date with the violence in his eyes. "Why are you here? Playing bait for the heroes?"

"No," You shake your head, your chin rubbing along the inside line of his hand. "No, I swear. I didn't tell anyone."

"Then why?" His eye narrows down to a slit, the damaged skin there folding in tight.

Your tongue wets your lips, your mouth parted as though that would make the words come easier. "I don't know." It's true; you knew coming here was crazy. "I... I missed you."

Even from behind the hand, you hear the hitch in his breathing. His eyelid lifts, rage giving way to something else. He stares at you, hardly moves but the gears turn in his head, "You're lying."

Tomura's wrist is cool under your fingertips- his pulse jumps as you touch him. It's not a plea for him to get off you, your hand not tight around his wrist- it's hardly more than a brush of your skin against his. "I..." Shame makes you look down to his feet, the same red sneakers you've come to love on his feet. "I didn't know what to say when... when I figured it out. I was scared." His grip shifts, as though confirming that you should be- "But... then I kept checking my phone. Waiting for you to message me. But I... I knew you wouldn't and... I couldn't find the right words. I thought maybe being here would be easier..."

"Is it?"

It's so disarming, so honest, you struggle to catch your breath. "Can I see you? I mean, could you...?"

Tomura waits a moment, but he does it nonetheless. His right hand never leaves your throat as he grasps the preserved palm with three fingers, drawing it away from his face. Your heart races- and from the twitch of his thumb over your jugular, you think he notices too. It's still him, of course- brow creased even more than usual, eyes tightened around the corners as he judges you.

"Tomura," You breathe, more sure. His face twitches, something just beneath the surface dying to break free. Still smothered beneath his suspicion. "I missed you. You're... the only person I really have and when I thought of never being able to talk with you again or- or touch you," You feel your cheeks heat, shame driving your gaze back down. "I couldn't stand it."

His breath shakes, his eyes like blood dart across your face, searching for something there. You're trembling so hard- anxiety and adrenaline rushing together in one awful slurry- you hardly even recognize that his hand is trembling too, his last finger twitching to come down and end it. It's not his finger that touches you.

All at once you think back to him standing beside you in the arcade, laying next to you in his bed: his hand on your skin, his breath warm across your face- he lingers there, eyes spread wide in something you dare not name. Not until he decides- and surges forward, presses himself to you completely, angling himself to find every inch of your body he can against his; his long legs set just inside yours, his thin torso leaves you hardly any room to breathe, his free hand raising to grab the side of your face- and with a burning need, he devours you. With lips and teeth and the tips of his fingers digging deep into your flesh, leaving eight bruises behind- and when his mouth drifts from yours, down onto your neck more bruises follow.

His tongue is hot and wet, laves a humid streak up from collar bone to jaw, leaves you shuddering and digging your fingers into his hair with a plea of "Tomura,"

"I knew it." He says, half laughs against your throat. The skin there tingles with the latent pressure of his hand, the threat that never came to fruition- then sparks as he kisses, messy and too wet, nipping freely, littering your skin with marks until you're panting. "I knew you meant it, that you're mine."

The word makes your knees weak, an airy moan escaping from your lips- which only fuels him to keep going. "You- you want to touch me?" The giddiness is back, an ecstatic trill in his voice, a shiver wracking down his body- all the way to the tips of his fingers that catch your wrists. "Then go on, touch me." He doesn't actually give you a choice, he shoves your hands against him, forces your palms up against the firm bulge in his pants.

Shock makes you tug against his hands for a moment- and for one agonizing second, Tomura's face falls. His too-wide grin- the one that puts you right back against the wall in that dim hallway- slips from its upturned joy. And then you touch him. Even with his demanding control, it's different when you actually do it: your fingers curving around the shape of him, feel his weight through the cloth. His breath catches and though you're sure it feels good, the twitch of his brow into something almost like surprise- just a flash of emotion before dissolving back into that thrilling, dangerous smile- has you thinking it's something else.

You palm at him and his hands loosen, lets you explore. A squeeze makes him grunt, and you take that as a good sign. Your best attempt to stroke him through his pants has his hips pushing into your hands. Though you need to bite your lip to keep yourself grounded, the loose, stuttering jerks of his hips give you enough courage to do more. Tomura stares at you, point-blank, inches from your face as your fingers quiver but dip below the waist of his pants.

The grin widens and nervousness makes your breaths come in quick- but when have you been able to say no to him? You push his pants down- and his cock bobs free, just as you had imagined how it looked when he was grinding on you: long and pale, the head a blushing pink, half-exposed, peeking out from under his foreskin. It's practically radiating warmth and throbs as you hesitantly wrap your fingers around him properly for the first time.

You just hold him for a moment, stumbling over what you should do- and his hand finds your wrist again. You welcome the help; he's not shy about what he wants you to do. He curls your fingers in tighter, tighter- until you'd be worried you were hurting him if he wasn't currently fucking your hand, half the motion coming from his grasp on your wrist, half from his hips. It's rough, the skin of your palm dragging against his cock, your strokes unlubricated except for the sweat of your palms and the first drips of precum that squeezes out each time your thumb and index finger squeeze up around the head. On the downstroke, the thin hood of skin slides back, fully reveals the pink skin beneath.

"You're doing so good," Tomura's voice is husky, rasping next to your ear. His gaze flits between your hands on his cock and your face, watching as your expression evolves- lingering when you lick your lips.

"Wait," You work against his grip to still your hand. Tomura whines, ruts once against your palm, fingers twitching as he tries to control himself. There's a question in his eyes, one you soothe with your free hand touching his side, then with words. "I want to... try something." His brow twists, one eye narrowing- until you're bending your knees. In the meager space he's left between himself and the wall, you slide down. His breathing hitches and something wild passes over his face.

You touch his legs, still covered in his dark pants. Beneath, his thighs are slender, but solid. One hand slides into your hair, bitten-short nails scratching at your scalp- spark a shudder that jumps down each vertebra, prompts you to look up at him. With his hand in your hair, you follow the long, thin line of his arm to his face. From below, he's menacing, face completely cast in shadow, his hair now framing the damaged and ruined skin of his features instead of obscuring them. Just like this, you're one finger away from a death too many people have seen. Maybe you should be concerned on why, exactly, that makes your mouth water.

His fingers- all except the littlest- press down at the top of your head, bring your mind back to the matter at hand. What you had wanted to try.

It's different being level with his cock. Before it was intimidating, something new and unfamiliar- but at least you had Tomura's hand to guide you... or really hold you still so he could use your hand. And that was good, amazing, even- to hear his panting up close and feel him, really feel him as he throbbed in your palm. But you worked up the courage to come here, you made some kind of horrible realization about your own desires in this world and you want to follow that thrilling conclusion to its end before common sense can catch up to the adrenaline.

Down here, with your thumbs sliding up beyond the hem of his pants, stroking at the expanse of pale, smooth skin of his thighs- barely dusted with hair so thin and pale it looks white, it's different. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, foreskin eased back into half-covering the head, a shiny bead of precum glistens at the slit. You touch him, squeeze just how he showed you- and feel the thick vein on the underside pulse hard beneath the pad of your thumb. You resist the urge to swallow, instead opening your mouth and easing out your tongue.

The first lick makes his cock twitch, though you think it's more the sight of you on your knees than the actual sensation. The taste is not quite what you expect; a single bead of precum and that which has smeared is not the bitterness you expected. It's mostly watery, a faint tinge of sweetness that settles in the middle of your tongue, soaks in deep. The next lick is less timid, more adventurous. You press the meat of your tongue up against the underside and stroke upwards, feel his pulse quicken. As you reach the tip, his hips twitch.

This time, you ease him into your mouth- and a wonderful little muttering of "Fuck." that goes straight to your clit. His fingers slide back from the top of your head, down to curl around the back of your skull. He gives you another guiding push, urges you to slide down his length a little more. It's something you can do- it's easy when he's the one talking you into it. And the praise that follows- "That's it, that's right,"- makes you shiver, makes you shift impatiently and try to swallow him down.

You bob easily, your hand covering what your mouth can't, each stroke smooth and slick with the saliva that slips from your lips. Each sound he makes is a badge of honor and you chase them without shame- Tomura's half lidded eyes and lopsided smile is all the sign you need to know he's thrilled with your attempts. Like building a catalog, a reference- trying anything you can think of and waiting for his noises, measuring your success with impatient thrusts and broken-off sighs, choked-down whines.

You sink down on him until your lips meet the sides of your fingers and you have to lay your hand against him, fingers pushing into the mess of pale hair along the base. Your jaw aches, but you want to try- want to swallow him down, to make him lose himself to your mouth just as you'd done to him. His cock touches the back of your tongue and saliva wells up around him- half an inch further and he brushes the back of your throat; you choke.

Your throat spasms, a wet noise escaping from your lips- you struggle to cough around his cock, feel shame rise in your cheeks as you try to pull away- and are stopped by Tomura's hands at the back of your neck, by his voice.

"Oh, fuck yes." He's staring down at you, blood of his iris completely lost to the black of his pupil. He pushes at your head, urges you back down. "Do that again."

Embarrassment washes away, leaves you wide-eyed, something like pride welling up instead. The head of his cock still on your tongue, you play with it for a moment. Breathes even and slow through your nose as you lick at his foreskin, slip your tongue in between. That earns you a sharp intake, so you swirl your tongue around the head, let the almost sweet taste of his precum coat your mouth until you're finally ready to try again.

He touches the back of your tongue and again your mouth floods in response, spit leaking from your lips to cling to his cock and drip over your chin. A deep breath and you do your best to flatten out of your tongue, let him slide in- it's not so severe this time. Like the itch in your throat before a cough, trying to suppress that urge makes your eyes water, so you squeeze them closed. You take him a little deeper- and Tomura moans as your throat constricts around him again; his hands keep you still as you instinctively struggle.

Your nails bite into his thighs, but the warning goes unheeded, utterly ignored as his hips rock, forcing his cock further into your throat. Protests muffled in your throat, but from the way Tomura's eyes roll back, you're not sure he even understands.

"Here, here," He says, one hand catching your chin with three fingers. He draws your chin up, tilting your head back- and the pressure in your throat eases. Breathing through your nose, catching your breath, you again find yourself staring up at him. With careful fingers, he brushes a loose hair from your face- and ghosts his thumb just below your eye where the gaging has made them water. He hesitates there, can't find the words for what he wants to ask. He doesn't have to. It's awkward to nod with his cock still in your mouth, halfway down your throat, but you do your best anyway.

With his hands returning to their place at the base of your skull, you resume. With the new angle, it's easier to take him in. Even if you do have to pause to choke, your own will keeps your hands at the backs of his thighs, keeping him from pulling away from you. Tomura loves every second of it, watches you from above with rapt eyes, keeps your hair out of the way so he can watch his cock disappear further and further into your body. You're doing so well, you look so good, he wants to tell you, but every real word has left his head, leaving him drooling and panting and he wants more

The tightening of his fingers into your hair is the only real warning you get. First, an easy stuttering of his hips, the same little motion that he's tried to suppress before- it makes you choke again, but you know he likes it- and perhaps you do too, feeling wetness well up in your eyes at the pressure in your throat, how your head feels light and empty as you struggle to breathe around him. But usually he gives you a moment to compose yourself- not this time. He whines and through tear-blurred eyes his face contorts in pleasure- his hips thrust again. You sputter, relax your jaw, and let him.

Each stroke makes your throat ache, itch as you fight the coughing fits that build up in your chest, but his next thrust has your nose brushing that tangled mess of hair. His scent, the musk of sweat and arousal fills your nose- and while Tomura greedily fucks your throat, one of your hands falls between your legs, rubs hard against your clit. The long-needed pressure makes you moan- and the vibration of your voice has him rambling, words too half-formed, too broken up by high-pitched, heady noises, too buried under the slick noise of his cock in your mouth for you to piece anything together except:

"Cum- ah!- gon' cum- I- oh," He breaks off again- his teeth sinking into his lower lip. You hold onto the back of his thigh- let him use your mouth until he's gasping, fingers twisting hard into your hair. His cock throbs on your tongue- and with his next thrust, sharp bitterness fills your mouth. With how Tomura moans above you, his brow drawn in high and tight, mouth hanging open, his cracked lips burning bright pink with his teeth's abuse, you couldn't begin to imagine not loving it.

He pulls you in close and you gag again, closer, closer until your nose is buried in those short hairs. Tomura's head falls backwards and all you can see past the black of his shirt is the long column of his neck and red, scratched skin there. This deep you struggle to breathe, to pull in enough oxygen around his cock, but the little dying whimpers of him riding out his orgasm is all that matters in the world right now. He pulls back before blackness can eat at your vision-

and for a moment, Tomura stares at you with such wonder in his eyes. His hands leaving your hair to grab the sides of your face, tilting your head so he can look at you. You can't imagine you look good, covered in tears and spit from gagging, but he runs his thumb along your lip all the same. He pulls you up by your jaw and you have to claw your way up his clothes to keep pace, near falling with your legs half-asleep- his mouth crashes onto yours. His kiss makes you lightheaded in a way even his dick could not, leaves your head spinning as you hold onto his shoulders for dear life.

His legs move, stepping backwards, but his arms give you no choice but to stumble along with him, half-dragging you as he goes. "Good, so good, perfect," He praises between kisses, "My perfect little pet," Another barrage of kisses, so fast and haphazard you can't begin to reciprocate before he's breaking away again. "You'd like that, right? To stay here and be mine." You try to say yes, yes but he's back on you, drawing your lip into his mouth and sucking too hard; all that comes out instead is a high-pitched whimper. You don't even realize where he's taking you until he's pushing backwards through the purple curtains into that dark hallway beyond. He fumbles behind him with one hand until he finds the doorknob.

The lighting is no better than before, a paused game screen lighting up the room in harsh blue light. He doesn't give you long enough to take it in. The room spins as he moves you like a doll, turning you around and shoving you back against his bed. Your knees catch on it and you fall back- and Tomura is back on you in seconds.

This time, he bypasses your mouth, lips latching onto your neck while his hands shove your shirt up and up until he can grope at your chest. Pain shoots from your neck at the harshness of his bite, his teeth sawing into your flesh in desperation to mark you, to force more noises from your mouth- while he catches your nipples between thumb and finger. Whatever had been holding him back before is gone now- he's rough, unhinged, twisting and tweaking at your chest, pulling on your nipples until your chest has to arch with him to assuage the pain. His mouth pops off your throat, breath ghosting over the wet, aching spot he's left behind before he finds another spot closer to your collarbone.

This hands, too, move along. The minimal patience he had for your shirt is lost on your pants; his fingers twist into the fabric and you're gasping for a reason other than his ruinous mouth. Cool air greets your heated skin- and his fingertips push between your outer lips. Tomura immediately detaches from your neck, a long trail of saliva hanging between his lips and your skin as he rears back at his fingers. You already know what he sees; the warmth has been building between your legs for far too long, the ecstasy of letting him use your throat, of listening to him lose himself in you- it hasn't been without effect on you. A single huff of laughter and he's back over you, teeth nipping at your earlobe as he taunts you. "This wet already? You're so dirty," He kisses over the still stinging mark he left, "I knew you liked things that were wrong."

His fingers slip through your slick, dragging it up to your clit. He swirls the pads of his fingers around it, fans the flames in your belly until you're squirming, begging into the darkened room, "Please, please,"

"That's right," He sighs, giddiness still making his voice light and airy, "You want me, don't you? Need me?" You can only whimper and nod, chase his fingers with your hips. "That's alright, I'll take care of you."

He shifts just enough to shove his own pants off his thighs and kick them off- and his left hand holds your thighs open as he settles between them. With his right, he grabs the base of his shaft- and you can't suppress a whimper as the head of his cock slots between your plump lips. He nudges against your entrance, teases your tight hole- before letting it slide through your arousal, coating the underside and rubbing against your clit. The head, fully revealed, peaks up between your legs as you look down- and it dawns on you that yes, this is really going to happen. He's going to be inside you-

And Tomura grins, leans in close to your face until you could trace every scar, even line across his face. As elated as he looks, his voice holds a dark sincerity. "I'm going to destroy you."

It's a promise and he delivers. He pushes into you- wetness eases his way, but he hadn't even stretched you. The head makes you pussy ache, sting around his girth, but he doesn't stop there. He breaks you open, cleaves his way deeper, forces your tight cunt to bend to his will and you do. Your body flutters, strains to accommodate his desires until he's buried inside you completely. Your thighs shake, tremble with the desire to latch around his waist and keep him still- but his hands are already settling just behind the bend of your knee.

"I told you," He says, pushing on your legs until you're bending in half, knees nearly meeting your shoulders. Above you, he consumes your vision, your world. Everything you've ever known fading away in favor of Tomura's scarred face and the way his hair sways when he moves. "You'd like it like this."

And Tomura plants his feet and thrusts. One stroke and your hands are scrambling over his sheets. He drives into you with reckless abandon- any finesse he might've had lost in your soft, pliant, heat. It doesn't matter. The extreme angle has his cock pushing in deep, touching all those new, sensitive places you've never found before. Every motion has him filling you up to bursting, the stretch making your body sing around him until unintelligible noises fall from your lips.

It's too much all at once; his cock is redefining your life, stroking each nerve into a new awareness while he's so close you can nearly kiss him, yet just inches too far, leaving you only able to stare at Tomura's features in rapt wonder. His gaze has long since become lust-hazed, his teeth sinking once more into his lower lip in a feeble attempt to stay quiet- but in reality it does nothing to stop the feral grunts that come in time with his cock pounding at your cervix. Worst of all is the arrhythmic stroking against one sensitive patch of your front wall that makes your entire pussy tingle and spark to life, driven so close to the peak you can't quite reach.

"Tomura," You can barely breathe, each punctuation of his hips knocking the air from your lungs. He doesn't respond, doesn't acknowledge you at all, opting to lower his head and pant against your chest. The heat makes sweat gather, your skin prickle- your arms waver, weak and near lifeless as you reach for his wrists.

"Tomura," repetition makes awareness filter back into his eyes. He stares at you from under the undulating wave of his hair, stray, sweaty strands sticking to his forehead in a wild fringe. "Please," The word barely makes it past your lips as another brutal punch of his hips has your eyes rolling.

"Tell me." His grasp on your legs tightens, digs in until you know bruises color your skin.

"Touch me."

Tomura's breath catches, his hips stutter as that dangerous spark returns to his eyes. He doesn't look away, holds your gaze as his right hand slides from your leg to your belly. With the rest of his fingers curled into a tight fist, the side of his thumb finds your clit. He doesn't even have to move it; each thrust makes your body sway with him, rubbing in time with his cock.

It's immediate- the tightly-wound arousal that's been aching in your belly flares, sparks finally catching in ignition. He keep fucking you, driving your high up and up until you can't stand it, hands grabbing at his arms just to have something to hold on to, something too desperate to be human escaping from your lips- until your mouth falls open and everything comes crashing down. The dam breaks; pleasure flooding out your need, cascading through your body, whiting out everything that isn't his touch, his voice, his cock- and you're arching, twitching, your cunt clenching around him as your clit throbs with his never-ending thrusts.

It's too much, watching you cum, feeling your walls contract around him until you're so tight he can't move and it hurts, your cunt milking him for everything he has and he drives into you until he can't anymore just to see how your legs and fingers twitch in overstimulation. He gives no thought to the way he's drooling mindlessly, how tightly he's gripping your leg- he cares only for the hot, wet sleeve of your pussy and the way your eyes have rolled back because of him.

Tomura cums so hard he shakes, sees stars- his cock kisses your cervix as he fills you, forever marks your pussy as his. His injured arms don't last much longer, but even with how his world goes fuzzy, he's careful with his hands, pulls each finger into cautious fists. Your legs ache from being bent for too long, falling down to rest on either side of his slender hips. Sweat dampens your chest, but he doesn't mind, rests the side of his face there, breathes hot air into the divot of your breastbone.

Your arms fight you, want to lay boneless where they landed, but with several movements that make you feel more like a loose marionette than a human, you find Tomura's back. One hand slides under the wide, loose collar to find the bandages there, the other cups the base of his skull where sweat has dampened the short hairs there that curl wildly.

The stale, unmoving air takes too long to help you cool down- fluids drying on your skin making you itch, feel disgusting-- but the weight of Tomura's head on your chest and his slow, even breaths keeps you anchored in place. But even Tomura must feel uncomfortable because he soon stirs, tipping his head to lay lazy, open-mouthed kisses across your chest. Another movement has you hissing- his hips shifting as his softened cock slips free- and so does the gush of fluids that run over the curve of your ass, pool onto the sheets.

Tomura doesn't even notice, lifting his head to meet your eyes again. In the blue light of his screens, you can make out how his pupils have released their stranglehold over his irises- which in the lighting look purple. Muscles feeling a little more human, you touch the side of his face- and speak the words you've been dreading. "What now?"

He blinks, slow and easy, catlike. When his lips part to speak, they stick together. "We never did play another game of Cloud Seven." And his mouth spreads into a grin- just soft enough, just rounded enough to perhaps be happiness.

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seriouslyblacklikemysoul · 3 years

Text

Like her - Bucky Barnes [IV]

Hey guys! Part four and honestly, it’s gonna get a bit messy.. next chapter is going to be a key-point. Again, if you want to be tagged or drop by and give me an idea about this series, please do let me know! Word Count~2k. MASTERLIST Part I | Part II | Part III

Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be. But she had no excuse to continue down that path – she was looking at the break of dawn. Sleep had been avoiding her but it wasn’t sleep’s fault – she was too tired for that. She had been waiting for the day her heart would be free and light as a feather - she was fooling herself. She was doing that thing again, where she started pushing people away. Where she was showing them a glimpse into who she was and why she was the way she was. She was scared they would turn their backs on her. She was scared that when she would need them the most they wouldn’t be there. She was falling so hard and so fast and she knew how it was going to end, she was going to hit the pavement because everyone who had ever promised to catch her, had left. So, she did the only thing she knew how to and that happened to be how to push people away. She became distant, didn’t answer as much as she used to, she hoped he would get the message and leave, so she wouldn’t have to worry about hurting him. She felt so broken and was slowly trying to pick up the pieces. She was actually more worried about dragging them down with her than the other way around. She was no hero – they had their share in that department. She closed her eyes just for a few seconds and exhaled a long overdue breath. Another day, another try. She had been roaming the house like a ghost. She knew that they were awake – or taking turns, to keep an eye and an ear on her, but she couldn’t care less. The strong smell of the coffee filled her lungs and she welcomed the familiarity of the simplicity. Diving into the cup of freshly pressed and brewed coffee, she almost forgot the situation she had put herself into. “You didn’t sleep all night” a hoarse voice remarked. She smiled inside the cup and without turning to check who it was, she answered. “Neither did you”. He was impressed by her confident after the last time they had talked. He had pushed her and he acknowledged that – but she erupted like a volcano. She moved slightly to the left, so he could make his cup of coffee, but didn’t left the spot – it had a wonderful view of the sea and the horizon. Her eyes never left the image outside, but his traveled along her face, studying her through brief glances. Once he realized what he was doing, he focused immensely on the coffee, trying to ignore her soft vanilla scent. “Why is every tree covered with… mattresses?” she asked perplexed. For a second there, he was lost in the way words flowed, without actually listening to her. He cleared his throat, obnoxiously loud and took a sip of his coffee before replying. “Sam was practicing with the shield” he informed her casually. Her eyebrows shot to the heavens and a smile made its way to her lips. “It’s not a Frisbee. Poor trees” she commented with ease. She was sarcastic but in a way that made him want to come up with more lines, just to listen to her comebacks. No, no, no. No. The silence, this time was not as awkward as it was before. Granted, it had only been a day, but she didn’t do what she usually did in a day. He didn’t trust her still, not fully. And she didn’t trust them, not fully. They had to go slow, to get to know one another, to be able to trust that when they found Zemo, no one was betraying the other. “Could I possibly have my phone back?” she asked after a while. He simply replied with a nope. She inhaled sharply and tried again. “I have to check my emails, James. And my computer is not connecting to any wi-fi here, so… could I possibly have my phone back?” she restated her question, leaving him little to no room for a negative answer. He put his mug down, and turned to her with his eyebrow arched. “I’ll supervise” he stated. He wouldn’t badge about it and she knew. It was the best offer she was going to get. She locked her eyes with his. Such a clear gray-ish blue, she could see her reflection. “Fine” she accepted and he got the phone out of his damn pocket, leaving her with an open mouth in disbelief. To think that she could have kicked him and get it herself. He handed to her and went right next to her, eyes on the screen at all times. She opened her data and her phone was catching up on all of the notifications she had missed. A single cough was enough for her to dismiss them all. At last, she opened up her email app to check if she had received any kind of update to her application, secretly wishing not to. When she saw the single email, she had been craving her entire life, which was basically an acceptance letter from her favorite University to perform her research, she felt as if the universe was playing her on purpose. Bucky re ad the email and was more than shocked that she was such a highly valued academic researcher. And then he looked at her, crushed. He thought she would be thrilled about that – but all he saw was sadness and disappointment. She closed the data, dismissed the applications and handed it back to him, without even looking at him. Grabbing her cup, she refilled it, in silence and went to sit on the couch. He was about to say something when it hit him. It was everything she wanted and she had actually achieved it – only for it to be taken away by the situation. She was having her dreams crushed once again and he couldn’t do anything. Maybe, he could say something nice. Maybe he didn’t have to be brooding all the time. He walked up to her, waiting for her to acknowledge him, not wanting to invade her privacy. But she didn’t and he was curious. He sat down next to her; her whole body was facing the other way. She was making it even more difficult than it already was. “Soon, you won’t even remember this and you will be conduction your research” he tried to smooth things over but when she turned to face him, his entire face fell. He wasn’t used to that much honesty. Tears were on the verge of spilling and she looked dead. “No. I never was lucky, that’s why I was strategic. But this time… I am the target of a cruel joke. It’s fine. Everything is fine” she concluded, closing her eyes for several seconds, to recollect herself. She would just not think about it. He had nothing to say to that; he felt bad for her, for the first time since he had been introduced to her, he truly felt bad. Maybe it was seconds, maybe it was minutes or hours, until Sam joined them. Silence was her go-to place; however, her mind hadn’t shut up about anything. A million scenarios had already been processed by her intuition and her logic. Why did Zemo want her? Why was he sending her Bucky’s personal stuff from before? Why hadn’t he delivered? Who was she? Before Sam could open his mouth, she had already planned their next few moves. She had to be organized and plan everything out; even when things didn’t go as planned, she had already explored that possibility and that was why she never ran out of plans. “I’ll call him. Make him believe that I will deliver you to him. Set up a meeting. We’ll stage everything. Even if he doesn’t believe me, we’ll sent proof. He’ll bite. After all, he is still looking for revenge. And what better way to start your evil plot, than taking down two of the people who put you in a cell?” she mapped out their strategic positions. She had a very scary mind, they thought. It felt that it came to her as easy as breathing. But then again, who were they to judge? “Good morning to you too” Sam mocked her but in reality, he was pretty convinced by her plan. She didn’t even listen to him and neither did Bucky. They had been having this little dance of letting go and pulling back. Their limits were testing each other. Could he trust her not to actually deliver them to him? He would never admit it but he was afraid of what it might happen if those god-damn words were spoken again. In theory, he was no longer affected by them – but what if? As if she had read his thoughts, she slowly nodded, leaving Sam even more confused. “We’ll use that too. Lead him on, just to get him where we want” she assured him but he still was reluctant. How was it possible that she had already planned that too? “What if they work?” he voiced his fear out loud for the first time in a very long time and Sam quickly caught on, but didn’t interfere. He wanted to see the dynamics between them. “I won’t let him” she said with a fierce tone he hadn’t heard before. It was a combination of Steve’s certainty during a pep talk and the aggressiveness of Tony when he thought he was right. Maybe, he could trust her. Sam saw through his inhibitions and understood that he wanted to trust her more than he had let on. With a smirk on his face, he tapped on Bucky’s shoulder to make his presence known again, because it felt as if they had no idea, he was standing there all this time. “Okay, we’re going with that plan” he admitted and reassured both of them. He was not entirely sure about her intentions as well, but the look she was giving to Bucky told him a lot more than what he needed to know. She looked at him like she didn’t expect him to trust her that much and she felt grateful because for once in her life she was being taken into account before being sent out like a monster. “I will get us an untraceable number and we can begin. It might take some time though” he continued. Well, that was better than nothing, she thought. As he was walking away, he did mention something that could potentially turn out worse than she would have expected. “Three things. I am out for my run. We are going shopping later on. Until we get to Zemo, you train” he counted before she could protest about a single thing, he was already out of the house. She left Bucky on the couch as she walked upstairs, not bothering to look twice. He had no words to describe how shitty his day was and it hadn’t even ended yet.

TAGS: @imlivingliferightnow @tonystankschild @badasseddy

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justjessame · 3 years

Text

Glorious, Before the Burden - The Mourning ~ 10

My thoughts of Loki weren’t all darkness and sadness. After I’d had my fill of my garden at night, I’d retire to my bed - too big without him next to me. I’d thought I’d grown accustomed while alone in Asgard after his fall, but here, on Midgard where we first shared a bed it appeared that nostalgia came rushing back.

Lying beneath a blanket that felt too heavy, on sheets that felt too warm, I’d be overcome with memories of better times - other beds - where I wasn’t alone.

“Do you know,” Loki’s cool finger danced up my bare spine as my teeth dug into my lip and my eyes fluttered shut at the chill drawing gooseflesh to the surface of my sweat glistening skin, after all he’d just helped me see Valhalla in all its glory - again. “That I see constellations under your skin,” his tongue replaced his finger tip and I arched up to meet him, sighing at the change, the temptation, the NEED that he was building. “Shall I tell you the tales of each one, my love?”

I’d wake each morning twisted in the bedding, sweating and feeling as if I’d had no rest - because I hadn’t rested. I was reliving every moment of my life with Loki - while he was living on without me, with the belief that I was gone.

Michael Griffiths had adopted me, much as he’d told Director Nick Fury, he assumed the role of grandfather. And as such, he took it upon himself to get me acclimated to my new home. Including, against my better judgement, teaching me the ways around that dreaded beast - the computer.

“It won’t bite,” he assured me, opening up the portable version he insisted on bringing over.

A laptop, as it was called - although I’d only seen them set upon tables and desks - the screen flickered awake and as he talked me through the navigation, I found that it was a portal to more information. That coupled with the internet, it could help me gain knowledge of the points and passages of Midgard that I had missed, even with a few trips that Loki had surprised me with over the course of our marriage - they’d been spontaneous and random - I had much to learn.

“See,” Michael knew that I loved learning - a ferocious appetite, he called it - and this appealed to my need for it. “This cottage was already wired for wi-fi, a call was all it took -” he’d done it for me, just as he’d taken care of the cell phone, as he’d handled much of what I would have missed. I offered to repay him, but he shook me off, refusing every offer. “I have no family, no close family at least.”

And so - we became one another’s family. Taking comfort in each other’s company, I’d listen to his tales of a childhood that sounded simple, yet wonderful - and he understood when I didn’t share as much. I need to keep myself tucked away, at least for a while longer.

Not every night was filled with memories - some were filled with images that I couldn’t place. Images that I felt certain my mind gave me to give me solace, to ease my pain, to make me feel peace - though some were so dark that I had to fear that perhaps Odin was urging Frigga to send me a reminder of my punishment.

I saw Loki, in chains - shackled and held in place by guards, my pain hit me so low and deep I was startled that I couldn’t wake. I watched as he asked Frigga if he’d made her proud, as he warned him not to make things worse - as Odin ordered her out. How could my eyes burn so hot in a dream?

Loki, my brave, darling, ARROGANT love, standing tall and laughing at his adopted father - mockingly asking what the problem was in what he’d done on Midgard - why there was such a fuss. And then, as Odin and he had their back and forth, as he truly took notice of his surroundings, it seemed to dawn on him FINALLY that something was TRULY amiss.

“Where is SHE?” His tone wasn’t one of fear. It was anger, the anger I expected when he would first note my absence. “Where’s MY WIFE?”

Odin, had he always looked so smug? Had he always looked so all knowing and condescending? Or was I simply cynical now? My eyes see him through the filter of pain and being cast out for my honesty.

“Your WIFE,” he made the word sound like a crime, as if I WERE a crime. “Is DEAD.” Loki stared at him, opening his mouth and preparing to argue, but Odin wasn’t through. “By her own hand,” he nodded at a guard who stepped forward and my heart twisted as I saw just how deeply they’d plotted to keep us apart, to truly destroy our connection.

The guard held one of the hair picks Loki had commissioned for me, my favorite in fact, coated in blood and I knew - I knew that they really had severed the bond. It was as if Frigga had taken that pick and shoved it right through my heart, coating it in my actual life’s blood.

Loki didn’t allow Odin to see him react. He shut off all comments about me. Returning to the mocking, arrogant prisoner that Thor had returned from Midgard with - accepting, from an outward appearance, my suicide with a stoic heart. But I knew my husband, and I saw the red tint in his eyes, I saw the flash that crossed his face, and I understood - he wouldn’t allow Odin to see his pain. He wouldn’t allow his capture, this person who had taken him as a pathway to peace with one of Asgard’s oldest enemies to see how broken he was by the news that I was dead. Not after - not with his failure, not after he lost his way and his regret was piling ever higher.

Hearing that Frigga wouldn’t be allowed to visit was a final blow - life imprisonment without solace or peace. And for once - since he first started plotting for his throne - he felt he deserved it.

Gasping awake, I saw that dawn hadn’t yet crested. A glance at the clock told me I hadn’t slept more than a few moments. This tortuous dream felt like it had taken YEARS off my life, that it had lasted DAYS to watch, but it was moments.

Sobbing as I thought of Loki, MY Loki having to hear that I’d taken my life - considering how they’d searched our rooms, taking anything I could have considered doing just that, and wondered - had they WANTED me to? Had a family I’d been married into, a family I’d thought myself a part of for so very long, wished me to do them this favor? End my life so once they could find my husband, they would have a built in torture ready made?

I couldn’t - no, Frigga wouldn’t want me to have done such a monstrous thing. It was one thing to SAY it, to try to convince him that I had - but to push me to it? That was beyond anything anyone I knew would ever press for. These dark thoughts would get me nowhere - no closer to - but would ANY thoughts get me closer to HIM?

Picking through our past, I fought to find ONE, just ONE that would make it feel like he was near - and I felt as though I might be growing near it - but then just as it came within grasping distance, just as I could ALMOST catch a hint of a whiff of his scent, a glimmer of the blue of his eyes - it was gone - and I was alone once more.

“Sigyn,” Loki’s eyes were as red rimmed as they’d been in our rooms - the day of destruction that should have warned me of what was to come. The sob building in his chest. “My love, is that you?” It was as if he COULD see me, locked away in what I could easily see was one of Asgard’s prison cells. “Have you come to haunt me, my darling?”

I shook my head, reaching for him, my own eyes burning again. Wanting so badly to touch him, to feel his cool touch. “No, Loki, no,” my throat burned too, as if I’d swallowed glass. “Why would I haunt you?”

He didn’t come closer, regret and fear warring for dominance within him. “Of all my failures, wife, pushing you to THIS -” he gestured at whatever he was seeing when he looked at me. “THIS cuts me the deepest.”

Confusion overtook my longing for him, what - turning slighting, I caught sight of my reflection - rather a reflection of the wraith that my Loki saw when he glanced my way - what else could one call the withered, bloody being that seemed ragged with death and despair, wearing sorrow like a cloak, the wound I’d supposedly given myself with the weapon he’d had created for me blossoming from my chest like a grotesque flower.

“Oh, Loki,” looking down, unable to meet his gaze, not like this - in this form, this monstrosity that they’ve twisted me into. “This wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose?” His pain and grief pierced me as deeply as the false wound would have. “Whose fault if not mine?”

Waking up with tears streaming, the pain still clenching tight around my heart, I wished that I could have answered him. That I could have told Loki who was at fault - but would answering him have truly helped?

#loki x sigyn #loki series #loki #sigyn #angst #alternate universe #mention of smut #bear with me

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where-dreamers-go · 4 years

Text

“Part 5 - Deals And Elevators” Riley Poole x Reader

(A/N: Requested. Splitting up to keep both the document and the spectacles separate worked, but with you and the Declaration of Independence taken by Ian, now Riley and Abigail have to tell Ben the news. Could things be spiraling out of their hands or could they get the upper hand?

Two points of view in this one!

Check out: Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

Warnings: Bad guys have guns, kidnapping, a skeleton, some language at a point, and death mentioned.

Word Count: 8,687 words )

Quick paces and tired breaths. Riley and Abigail made their way down the sidewalk, glancing back every few seconds to make sure that they weren’t followed. Luckily they weren’t.

Huffing and puffing, they tried to catch their breaths. Failure seeping in.

Riley could not think of an earlier time when he had mentally repeated the word ‘no’ before. If given the opportunity to yell at a wall, he would do so in a heartbeat.

More than out of sight of Ian, Riley was doing a poor excuse for a jog, but his heart wasn’t into it. There was a ache in his side that screamed for Riley to take a break and to stop moving. He couldn’t. Abigail couldn’t.

There was still danger. Danger for you, danger for the Declaration of Independence, and danger of literally anything that Ian would involve himself in.

Passing another building, neither Riley nor Abigail said anything. What would there be to say? What words could help or lessen what had happened out there on the crosswalk?

Digging into his jean pocket, Riley pulled out his cell phone. The battery already half used. There was only one person he thought of calling.

Once the ringing was interrupted there was a voice.

“What?”

“We lost it.” Riley got straight to the point.

“What?” Ben asked.

“We lost the Declaration. lan took it.” Riley walked beside Abigail, tired and partially defeated.

“Yeah, uh, okay. You all right? You all right?” Ben asked after a few moments of silence on his end.

“Yeah, yeah, we’re all right. Ben…Ian took (Y/N).”

“What?”

“Ben,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.” Riley held a hand on his waist, trying his best to keep his breathing in check. “They had the document. Ben—Ben, I don’t know what to do.”

“We’ll be fine.”

Abigail looked to Riley.

“Meet me at the car.” Ben hung up the phone.

With a motion of his hand, Riley flipped his phone shut.

The Declaration of Independence ending up in Ian’s hands when that was what they were trying to avoid all along was crushing. Ian kidnapping you was terrifying. There was no telling what he would do or give orders to do. Would he use you for leverage? Make you do something against your will? Would you do something risky?

Practically dragging the soles of his shoes, Riley walked beside Abigail. The old burnt orange sidewalks were a blur. One second Riley was saving Abigail and the next you were saving the Declaration. He could still see Ian yanking you off of the crosswalk.

All that work gone. A regrouping with Ben was a must.

I hope Ben can think of something, Riley thought.

Yes, the Declaration of Independence was incredibly important and there were sure to be more repercussions from stealing it, but you were one of his best friends. You were both close. Riley knew that you could handle yourself, that you were brave when you needed to be. He just hoped that Ian didn’t take advantage of that.

Wanting nothing more than to sit down and drink water, Riley and Abigail tiredly walked around a corner.

Eyes spotting Ben leaning against his father’s car, the pair jolted.

Riley mentally cursed. His flight instincts kicking in.

Ben was being arrested, the group around him no doubt FBI agents.

Backtracking, Riley silently urged Abigail out of sight and around the building. It took effort to turn his gaze away from his best friend being arrested. A continuing nightmare in front of his eyes.

Could this get any worse? Because I’m pretty sure it has, Riley thought.

Eventually the two made their way to a quiet quart-yard filled with a large fountain and luxurious green grass that was brighter than their whole week. The day and people around went on as normal as if unaffected by how Riley felt as if his whole world was crumbling from underneath his feet.

Abigail paced across the grass behind the bench Riley had sunk down to.

The last seventy-two or so hours flickered in his mind’s eye. The Charlotte, stealing the Declaration of Independence, saving Abigail in the middle of a car chase between vans, Ben’s dad finding out that they stole and tested on the Declaration, being chased down by Ian’s men after getting Franklin’s cool spectacles, Riley personally saving Abigail from being hit by a truck, you grabbing the Declaration, you being kidnapped by Ian, and Ben had literally just been arrested by the FBI. All for a treasure they had yet to find.

Great.

I can’t just get them back. Who knows where Ian is going? Ben’s done. I’m done. Might as well be.

Riley continued to sit on the bench with his face buried in his hands. His eyes stung from unshed tears. Fingers heavily dragged through his hair.

This is not happening.

Looking up, all Riley saw was the fountain with its endless loop of spurting out water. Neither Ben nor you were standing in front of him. His hands covered his mouth. Words were hardly anything he wanted to use in that moment.

Abigail sighed from behind him.

“Riley, do you know how to get in touch with lan?” Abigail asked.

Riley looked over his shoulder and asked, “Excuse me?”

“Can you call him?”

“Yeah…, but why? Shouldn’t I try to call (Y/N) and hope that—?”

“They shut off their phone earlier. To save the battery life.”

He sighed loudly.

Of course they would, he thought exasperated. Why do you have to be so aware of your technology this one time?

“We need Ben and (Y/N) back. And it’s illegal to get Ben back and I’m not about to start a criminal record.”

“Yeah, only…”

“Ian is a criminal.”

Riley caught on to what she was getting at. Not that he entirely liked the idea. Anything involving Ian at that point was something he would rather avoid. There were many ways he’d like to go about it.

“Okay…saying that Ian does get Ben away from the FBI, how does Ben know that it was our idea?” Abigail thought out loud. “We have to get a message to him.”

Riley blinked and said almost automatically, “Thomas Edison needed only one way to make a light bulb.”

She looked to him, a question in her expression.

“Just trust me. Ben will know it’s us.” He was confident in his choice of sending out a message to his best friend. Ben started it and there was no way he wasn’t going to be involved to see it through.

“Alright.” She nodded. “We’ll have them meet at Wall Street and Broadway.”

“Broadway?”

“The clue.”

Riley thought for a moment on her words before taking out his cell phone and clicking on his contact list.

. . .

“My name is Doctor Chase.”

Abigail had been on the phone for less than a minute and she already switched into professional mode. All business and not taking ‘no’ for an answer.

Riley wrung his hands together, heart rate up again.

Please work. Please work. Please work.

She wasn’t one for small talk with Shaw, much less Ian by the sounds of it.

“…and you let (Y/N) go. Ian, you can hold onto the Declaration for now—unharmed.”

Riley all but hid his face in his hands in anticipation.

Let them go. Come on.

“Because…,” Abigail held a serious expression, “If you do your part, you can have the treasure.” She frowned at whatever he said on the other end and added, “You need the next clue. We have it. If you help us get Ben back and give us back the Declaration, the meerschaum pipe, and (Y/N) unharmed, the treasure is all yours.”

Abigail smiled and Riley knew that Ian had accepted the deal. It still didn’t settle his nerves.

Soon she had given multiple instructions, times, and very specific details on what they had to do. Running the show and making sure Ian and his men would give (Y/N) back when Ben would do the trade seemed almost easy. Abigail did it without bating an eye.

Ending the phone call, Abigail handed Riley his cell phone back.

“Is (Y/N) okay? Are they still with them?” Riley asked, steeling himself for the news.

“(Y/N) is still with Ian, but they have a sprained ankle.”

He exhaled slowly, “Alright.”

“Riley?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you track them?”

He breathed in again, “I need a computer.”

“Alright, but…” Abigail frowned. “They won’t get Ben until tomorrow morning in New York.”

“Tomorrow? (Y/N) has to stay with them? Over night?” His hands clenched together before saying, “Well…if anything (Y/N) would claw their eyes out, but that’s just one option.”

Maybe with luck they’ll let (Y/N) go early. Wait…Abigail…where are we going to go?

. . .

To gain the upper-hand, Riley needed access to a computer. Sleep deprivation was the last thing on his mind. Night fell and when the sun rose up in the sky, you and Ben were still held against your wills.

Abigail and Riley had found an Internet café. Street Joe. Confidence boosted in him as he sat in front of a screen. Abigail watched over. Thankfully, Ian did not know where they were.

He had to believe that Ben and yourself would both make it out in one piece. If he didn’t…well, Riley didn’t want to even think about that. It would certainly churn the breakfast in his stomach.

The first thing on Riley’s list of tasks, as instructed by Abigail, was to keep track of Ian’s movements. So Riley easily tapped into tracking Shaw’s phone, Ian’s right hand man.

Why’d (Y/N) have to dive for the Declaration? Riley thought. They can be helping out right now.

. . .

It was about the time when Ben should had been picked up by Ian’s men. Abigail had everything timed to the minute. Running the whole operation and supervising via tracking of Shaw’s cell phone.

Grabbing Riley’s phone, Abigail called one of Ian’s mens’ phones.

“Hi, sweetie. How’s your day going?” Abigail asked into the phone.

Riley turned around in his seat.

Okaaayyyy, he thought.

“It turns out helping someone escape from FBI custody is a criminal act. And he’s the only criminal we knew.” She explained. “So we called him and made a deal.”

Riley waited patiently for new information. By the sounds of it, Ben was alright. Aside that he was with Ian’s men.

“Yeah, we both are. Riley’s right here, doing something clever with a computer.” Abigail got up and walked the short distance to Riley.

One hand on the keyboard and one hand on the mouse, Riley had returned his eyes to the screen.

“I’m tracking him through the…,” Riley started answering and was surprised that Abigail placed the phone over his ear. “Hey! I’m tracking you through the GPS in Shaw’s phone. They take a turn anywhere we don’t want, we’ll know it. So—.”

Abigail took the phone back to her ear.

“…don’t worry.” Riley finished in almost a whisper.

“If lan tries to double-cross us, we can call the FBI and tell them right where you are.” Abigail said. “And where to find lan.”

At the sound of Ian’s name, Riley looked out the large set of shop windows. What he saw obviously didn’t settle well with him, but he didn’t expect nothing less.

“Right across the street from where we're hiding, at the intersection of Wall Street and Broadway.” Abigail told Ben.

Ian paced the edge of the sidewalk with traveling tube in hand. The Declaration was hopefully inside. You were no where to be seen.

Riley kept his eyes trained for any sign you, however he only saw strangers.

“Simple. ‘Heere at the wall.’ Wall Street and Broadway.” She was smiling for a moment as she looked outside. There was a lengthy pause before she continued speaking. “Ben, there is a catch. We made lan believe he could have the treasure. It was the only way we could get this far.”

Eyes back on the computer in front of him, Riley saw Ben’s location.

“He’s here.” Riley announced.

Both Riley and Abigail stood up to lean close to the window. There they were able to see Ben exit a black car with Shaw and another of Ian’s men.

“Here we go.” Riley said.

Immediately looking to his right, Riley’s chest felt less constricted when he saw you walk from out of nowhere. How had he not seen you before? You there and close by wearing new clothes. He just didn’t like the idea of you having to stand so close to Ian. He exhaled hot air.

Please work.

. . .

Where’s Ben? You thought as you were allowed to exit the vehicle.

Ian gave you a look that told you not to utter a single word.

Jaw tightening, you steeled your nerves.

You had literally been kidnapped with the Declaration of Independence and forced into the back of a vehicle before a sick feeling took over you when you heard Patrick Gates telling you to ‘let the Declaration go’. They had Ben’s dad.

On top of that, Ian refused to let you go early when Abigail managed to contact him. He wanted Ben to give him the next clue first, which meant a sleepless night paired with paranoia.

There you were standing on the sidewalk beside Ian and ready to blurt out everything you then knew to Ben. Your best friends needed to know that there was much more at stake.

Ian was holding onto the pipe that you had all found in The Charlotte. It took a lot of self-preservation not to bring up what happened there in the Arctic Circle.

Even when Ben did show up, it didn’t matter. Ian had Patrick Gates and the plan was in his favor.

A black car pulled up to the sidewalk and caught Ian’s attention.

Two of the goons exited the car with Ben. Thankfully, he seemed unharmed.

“Ben.” Ian greeted. “You all right? No broken bones? A jump like that could kill a man.”

“Naw, it was cool. You should try it sometime.”

The two men laughed in dry humor.

You stood off to the side, arms crossed over your chest.

“The Declaration of Independence. (Y/N). And the meerschaum pipe.” Ian placed the two items on the hood of the black car. “All yours.”

Ben gave Ian a side glance. Reading Ian more at that moment than during any friendly game of poker.

Never in your life did you ever wish you had telepathy than at that moment.

For once can he look in my eyes and figure out what’s going on here? BEN!

“That’s it?” Ben’s gaze returned to the historical items.

“That’s it.” Ian nodded.

Slowly, you sidestepped your way to your best friend. A slight throb in your ankle when you placed too much pressure on it. Even facing the two men, neither looked your way, annoyingly.

Ben, flippin’ look at me. Look. You thought as you frowned at your friend. Hello? Not good!

“I knew you’d keep your promise. Now, where is it? Where’s my treasure?”

“It’s right here.” Ben answered, still not moving from facing Ian Howe. “The map said ‘Heere at the wall’, spelled with two E’s. Wall Street follows the path of an actual wall that the original Dutch settlers built as a defense to keep the British out. The main gate was located at a street called De Heere, also two E’s. Later De Heere Street was renamed Broadway after the British got in. So, ‘Heere at the wall.’” He pointed towards the street sign, “Broadway, Wall Street. Cheerio.” Ben pocketed the pipe, grabbed the brand new traveling cylinder for the document, and after a pivot on his heel he started tugging you away from Ian.

Not even two steps away and Ian spoke again.

“Just a moment, Ben.”

Your best friend slowly turned back to face him.

“lan, if you break our deal, the FBI will be only a few minutes behind you. You might get away, you might not.” Ben said, a sly confidence in his tone.

“Ben,” you hissed.

An eerie silence came down between the men. Eyes did not wander elsewhere.

Ian took two steps in Ben’s direction, eyes staring him down.

“Is that all the map said?” He asked.

Your fingers dug into Ben’s jacket sleeve.

“Every word.” Ben breathed out.

You placed a hand on your best friend’s arm, knowing what was about to come.

“Oh, Ben.” A smile appeared on Ian’s face. “You know the key to running a convincing bluff? Every once in a while you’ve got to be holding all the cards.”

You swallowed.

Across the street sat a large black vehicle, upon given a cue, one of Ian’s goons opened the back door to reveal Patrick Gates with his hands duct taped together.

“Dad.” Ben breathed out.

The door was slammed shut.

“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Ian asked.

Yeah, you’re a jerk, you thought. Buying me meals after you kidnapped me doesn’t change that.

Ben turned back to Ian and answered, “Trinity Church. We have to go inside Trinity Church.”

Ian looked around them. They were already there. Outside anyway.

“Good. Excellent.” Ian said. “Well, why don’t you ask Doctor Chase and Riley to join us? I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.” He patted Ben’s front and walked off.

You peered around with a spark of hope.

Where would th—ah. You spotted an Internet café and allowed yourself a small smile. Clever Riley.

. . .

Trinity Church.

The church was empty as Ian lead the way inside. You and Ben followed with Patrick between the pair of you. Shaw and Phil walked quietly behind you. The room was huge with an aisle down the center.

You would had appreciated the church’s beauty more if it wasn’t for the situation.

“Are you all right?” Ben asked his father.

“What do you think? I’m a hostage.” Patrick’s voice was hushed, his hands no longer taped together.

“At least we’re still breathing,” you whispered.

“Sit. Sit down,” Shaw ordered softly. Perhaps being inside of a church would help in regards of safety. Ushering both you and Patrick to take a seat in one of the middle rows.

Reluctantly, you and Patrick sat down. Upon sitting, you gingerly elevated your foot. Even after a night of icing it, it was still bothering you a bit. Phil and Shaw sat close by.

“Let them go, Ian.” Ben said, still walking with the man with all of the cards.

“When we find the treasure.”

“No, now.” His voice raised. “Or you can figure out the clues for yourself.” Ben dug in his pocket and handed over the glasses case.

“Ben. I don’t think you fully appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

Ian, ever the hierarchy man. You thought bitterly.

click

You all but elbowed Patrick in the side at how fast you turned in the seat. Eyes locked to one of the doors as it opened.

One goon strolled in followed by Abigail, Riley, and another goon.

They’re okay!…were they caught? You thought, your fingers wrapped tightly to the back of the long bench.

One of the goons placed a hand on Abigail’s shoulder and a frown immediately took over your features. Both Abigail and Riley were herded to sit on one of the far back benches. The end of their row was blocked by both goons. Their eyes were trained forward and also holding onto the seating in front of them.

The distance aggravated you. It twisted your emotions and sought out numerous possibilities into closing that distance.

Catching Abigail’s eye, you gave her a reassuring nod. Riley on the other hand must have had a mixture of emotions going through him because you could not tell how he was feeling, especially not at that distance. You turned back in your seat with a sigh. Though you could move your hands it felt as if they were tied.

“Let’s have a look at that map,” Ian’s voice barely carried to where you sat.

Both Ben and Ian took their own seats a few rows ahead of yours.

Just be patient. Everything will be okay, you thought as you adjusted your ankle’s position. We’re going to be okay.

You were quiet like everyone else as you watched on. Only Ben and Ian were allowed to look at the clue. Ben had put on the Franklin spectacles first as Ian held up the Declaration.

How many of our fingerprints are on that now?

After what felt like endless seconds, Ben said something.

“It’s uh…It's... it’s really quite something. It’s, uh…It really is remarkable. Take a look.” Ben handed Ian the spectacles.

You internally grumbled. The time of quiet and no action made your paranoia of impending doom reemerge. Ian’s goons held a silent stance, like a threat that never ceased. Wanting to know the next clue was less as intense as you wanting to grab your friends and walk away from the treasure hunt altogether. Or run, which every suited better.

“‘Parkington Lane.’” Ian read aloud.

“‘Beneath Parkington Lane.’” Ben added.

“But why would the map lead us here, then take us somewhere else? What’s the purpose?”

“Just another clue.” Patrick piped up.

Your eyes rolled to the high ceiling.

“Dad.” Ben chided. “No, you’re right. Parkington Lane has to be here somewhere.”

“A street inside the church?” Ian asked, holding the document.

“Not inside. Beneath. Beneath the church.”

Oh, no. Cramped spaces with these guys? Great, we’ll be underground with orders-following human beings. With guns. You sunk lower in your seat.

And just like that you all were being herded together and lead down the aisle. Meanwhile all you wanted to do was check on your friends. You hadn’t seen them in hours. It honestly felt like days.

There was not an opportunity for you to stop or just say something while in the hushed rush. Patrick, however did stop to the side and you automatically walked in front of him to go to Ben. Your best friend helped lead the way. Peeking behind you, the goons were all but pushing Abigail, Riley, and Patrick. Perhaps that was why Patrick let you walk ahead of him.

Shaw was quick to walk alongside Ian as Ben trailed behind closely as he held onto the document in its container.

The three men made their way into a small hall, to which you didn’t know what to make of it. Just another path leading to the next clue.

A lonely door was the next step.

Without hesitation, Shaw opened the door and patted Ian’s arm as he allowed him to pass through first. Shaw walked in right after Ian. Ever the close of friends.

You were a couple of steps behind and nodded to Ben as he held the door. A body bumped into you and Riley immediately mumbled out an apology. Moving through the new dark hall, you weren’t able to make out what Abigail was saying before she crossed through the doorway with Ben.

Two furnaces greeted you as you walked into another room. Tombs lined up the interior wall off to the right hand side.

Fun, okay. You picked up on the rough and smoky scent in the room. Abigail came to stand beside you.

The goon pushed Riley forward, causing Riley to look behind him. When the man made eye contact with you, you gave a strong warning look. He looked away, unable to hold your gaze.

Satisfied, you turned to check on the Gates, you spotted Ben going to talk with his dad.

Good, they sho—

A gentle hand touched your shoulder.

Abigail’s eyes were soft as she looked to you.

“Are you alright? I’m sorry we couldn’t get you sooner.” Abigail said quietly as you both walked further into the room.

“No, no. Thank you,” you smiled and spoke quickly. “You’re awesome. We got this far because of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Abigail returned your smile until Riley practically stepped on your toes. She then made her way over the the tombs.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Riley whispered, hand on your arm. Blue eyes trading between looking you straight in the eyes to the men around you both.

It was easy to see that Riley was relieved to see that you were safe. Well as safe as you could be, given the situation. He then eyed how you favored one leg over the other.

“Think I twisted my ankle.”

Riley huffed and pulled you in for a tight hug.

“That was a stupid move.”

“I know.” You murmured into his hoodie.

“Brave, but stupid.” He hugged you a little closer, his arms wrapped around your back.

“Let’s go.”

You both stepped out of the hug, no matter how comforting it might have been, and went to help Abigail look for the name. Thankfully there weren’t too many to choose from.

“Hey! Par…” Riley announced, pointed to an engraving. “Hey, I found it!”

Abigail stepped over and you followed suit just as Ian practically sidelined you to see for himself. After a partially peeved look from you, you went to stand next to Abigail so you wouldn’t be in the way. Although Phil was standing right there on her other side.

“Him!” Riley said, still pointing.

“Ben!” Ian shouted. “It’s a name.” Ian reported just as Ben pushed his way through the group.

Running his fingers over the engraved stone, Ben read softly, “Parkington Lane.” Studying the tomb, Ben took it all in. “He was a third-degree master mason of the Blue Lo…”

Ian had given a head nod and backed up.

Ben leaped back and collided into you as a goon came at the tomb with a full back swing of a large wrench of some sort.

“Hey! Stop!”

Everyone ducked away as the man repetitively hit the stone to crumbles of dust. After the next hit, you all watched on in disappointment. The guy was literally destroying history and the face of a tomb all in one go. There wasn’t anything you could do. Not even Patrick said anything.

Once the face of the tomb was broken down, the man stepped away and Shaw started clearing some debris. Soon Ian, three of his four goons, and Ben pulled out a rectangular coffin.

You watched on over Riley’s shoulder.

“Easy.”

The group started to lower down the coffin and—

In a heap, the bottom of the coffin and all of the skeletal remains fell out onto the floor.

Whoa.

“Careful no one steps in him.”

Riley stepped back, letting you be closer to the skeleton as he turned his head and blocked his eyes with one hand.

“All right, put it down.” Ben instructed, keeping an eye on what lay at their feet.

With a soft thump, the coffin was on the flooring.

Everyone leaned in close to have a peek into the small carved out opening. Shaw shined a flashlight inside.

“Okay. Who wants to go down the creepy tunnel inside the tomb first?” Riley asked.

Heh, no, you thought from your spot behind Ben and Riley.

“Right. McGregor, Viktor, you stay here. And if anyone should come out without me, well... use your imagination.” Ian said.

You glared into the front of his skull.

“Shall we?”

Without hesitation, Ben climbed in the tomb with a flashlight in hand. Ian didn’t wait a second to go in and unsurprisingly Shaw went in next. Riley assisted both Abigail, you, and Patrick up onto the top of the coffin as you all made your way into the small tunnel.

It was cramped, had a stale smell, and was naturally dirty.

“You got a light?” Ben asked from up ahead.

Light flickered to life in the space ahead of you as climbed out into a more comfortable hall of sorts. Cobwebs hung off of all corners. You followed after Patrick to an archway.

“Careful.” Ben said as he helped his dad through before giving you a hand over a minor obstacle. A torch in his other hand giving light to the way forward.

You breathed out a short breath as you managed not to aggravate your ankle thus far.

What I’d do to be back in my apartment.

“Watch your step.”

Riley was behind you in moments, eyes glancing around the space and to your leg. You gave him a small smile in response and gestured for him to get in front of you. You took another step—

“Come here.” Ben said.

At the sound of Ben’s voice, you turned in time to see him kiss Abigail. You rose your eyebrows and soon returned your sights forward.

Well then…was right about their tension…well…chemistry, you thought with a smirk. Giving them privacy, you continued forward.

Cautiously going further into the unknown, you were glad that Ben made his way towards the front of the group with his torch where Ian and Patrick were. You felt better at least with seeing what was there instead of last minute dodging cobwebs. None of you needed to trip over anything nor fall if light could give a better view.

“What's this?” Ian asked.

Seeing Ben’s head turn down, your eyes glanced down the flooring which turned to old wood. Unsettlingly, there was a very prominent break in the wooden planks in a similar shape of a shoe.

“It's a chandelier.” Ben answered as the group of you gathered to the railing. Using the fire from the torch, he lit the large chandelier.

Woodwork, cobwebs, rope, and stone were then visible as the room was illuminated. A series of steps and walkways lined the circular area.

“Here.” Ben and Riley untied the rope that held the chandelier close to the railing. The pulley system lead the light to the center of the open space. He tied off the rope.

Peeking over the railing, you saw how the stairs lead much further down than you would had liked.

“Wow.” Riley breathed out.

“Look at the elevators.” Ben said.

“A dumbwaiter system.” Patrick observed.

Wooden platforms were held by rope systems on the lower levels and hung over the darkness below.

“How do a bunch of guys with hand tools build all this?” A goon asked as he held a torch aloft. At some point it was passed on to him.

“Same way they built the pyramids and the Great Wall of China.” Ben said calmly.

“Yeah. The aliens helped them.” Riley murmured as he looked across the room.

“They had better tech anyway,” you mused.

Riley turned and raised an eyebrow at you in that little ‘we need to talk about this later’ look.

“Right, let's go. What are we waiting for?” Ian turned towards the first set of stairs.

“I’m not going out on that thing. Two hundred years of termite damage and rot.” Patrick said as he was given the torch from the goon, who at that point you had completely forgotten their name.

“Dad, do what he says.” Ben nodded.

You peered over to the wooden steps.

Two hundred years? You cringed.

Reluctantly, Patrick lead the way.

Each time you heard a creak of wood or a snap, you all but went wide-eyed. You stayed close behind Ben. Every step you took was done gingerly. Especially when a wooden step was not intact.

You weren’t too keen on touching the railing because it was probably littered with sprinters, but you were also hyperaware of how fragile the whole system was held together.

Two hundred year old wood. There’s no telling when gravity will take a large piece of this. You thought, almost forgetting that this was all for finding treasure. Please just let us get to the treasure or next clue safety. I just want to go home at this point.

A small clack of wood and your eyes darted across to Patrick.

“Watch your step.” Patrick called out as he stepped over a gap in the walkway. “We’re right under the Trinity graveyard. That’s probably why no one ever found this.”

You took a step down, watching your feet placement as well as Ben’s. Just in case.

Okay, then.

“Oh. Ah. Uhh.”

You looked over your shoulder to see Riley still at the last railing and shaking his hands. There was a look of disgust on his face that tripled as he looked down to his shoes.

“Hah! Oh!” Riley spun around and practically started pulling himself up on the chain that sat atop of a large wooden beam.

Bugs? You wondered as you again started forward.

In only a handful of moments, Riley had pushed his way between you and Abigail. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and he flinched.

A very disgusted and yet childish noise escaped his mouth.

You did your best not to laugh at his expense. Smile disappearing, you swallowed and stepped down onto a section without any railings.

Rumbling sounded from the walls and from above.

You paused, as did the others when dust and dirt fell from above.

“What is that?” Riley asked from behind you.

The rumbling continued.

The group of you inched closer to the wall, peering around.

Soon the rumbling subsided and faded.

“Subway.” Shaw answered from in front of Ben.

A cold chill ran up your spine and it wasn’t because Riley’s breath was tickling your ear either. You looked up to the chandelier then back ahead.

Shaw then took one step forward.

In a break of wood and screams, Shaw fell through the wood.

“Shaw! Oh, God, Shaw!” Ian cried out as his friend dropped and broke through another walkway below until he was no longer seen.

You hardly recalled the scream that escaped your throat. Fear started to build up in your veins.

Oh, no, no, no, no. No.

“Oh, my God.” Abigail gasped.

I have a bad feeling about this.

There was only a couple of moments of shared looks.

In a matter of seconds, all of hell broke loose.

The walkway beneath your feet buckled and started giving way. You fell back against the wall as Riley landed on the steps. Ben had dropped into a crouch.

Again, the wood buckled and fell apart. You launched to the right, arms clinging to wooden beams as your feet were no longer supported. On your left, Powell, that was his name, was tugging Ian up to safety. To your right, Riley was trying to worm his way up onto the beam he clung so hard to. On the stairs, Ben, your best friend, scrapped for hold onto ancient wood, his feet dangling over the abyss.

“I gotchu,” Powell had a hold on Ian.

“Ben! Grab my hand.” Abigail reached for him.

You struggled and inched your way closer to where Ian, Powell, and Patrick stood. A hand reached out—

CRUNCH

The walkway tilted, the three men moments away from falling.

“Patrick!” You shouted, seeing less of an escape route.

“Get on the elevator,” Ian said. “Jump.” He pushed Powell on the contraption.

CRUNCH

Patrick and Ian were hanging on to the walls as you were, but still had something to stand on. You all but heaved your way onto the walkway.

“It’s okay!” Powell shouted. “Come on.” He gestured with his hand and Patrick tossed over the torch.

Teetering, you managed into a crouch position.

Patrick leaped to the elevator, landed on his feet, and caught ahold of the rope railing.

With a final crunch, the walkway started to fully give way. Both you and Ian leaped the distance to the elevator.

Adrenaline was one heck of a booster. Pain quadrupled in your ankle as soon as you landed on the wooden planks on the other side and clung to Patrick Gates. Ian had landed rather harshly behind you. Powell helped him up in less time than it took you to turn around and check on your friends.

All three, Abigail, Ben, and Riley were alive and standing a level above. At the sight, your heart rate went down a fraction. You weren’t sure if you could handle any more life threatening scenarios. You were more than sure you couldn’t handle seeing any of your friends hurt or worse.

“Ian,” Ben called, “We can’t go down this way. We’ll leave. W-we’ll come back. We’ll have safety gear, exploration crew.”

“No.” Ian said. “We find the treasure. Get in the elevator.”

“You saw what happened to Shaw.”

Before any of you could properly react, Ian had grabbed Patrick by the back of his head and leaned him over the side of the elevator.

“Wait-no!”

“Ian!” You took calculated steps closer to Patrick and the farthest away from Ian.

“NO!” Ben’s voice echoed.

No one moved.

Your thoughts zipped through possible scenarios of how to get Patrick behind you and Ian off the elevator or face-planted into the wood without Powell hitting you. Although grabbing Patrick’s wrist and kicking Ian’s knee was sounding like a good option.

Ben’s dad could only be looking down into the abyss below.

“Get. On the elevator,” Ian ordered, eyes set on Ben.

“Okay.” Ben said. “It’s okay, dad.”

Ian had yet to move an inch until Ben nodded as he stepped onto the separate elevator. It was only then that Ian released Patrick and you immediately shielded the older man.

At that point you shouldn’t had been surprised by Ian’s actions, but . . .you were.

Ben made sure both Abigail and Riley made it onto the elevator. The three of them visibly not trusting the elevator system.

“Okay, let’s go down.” Ian said.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t flippin’ look down.

Powell and Ben each rotated the lever that resembled a large version of what rolled down car windows before automatic buttons. Each tiny click and tick of the elevator system made you look for a distraction.

Catching sight of Abigail shaking her head, you could practically read her mind. The trust and safety was at an all time low.

If she didn’t trust it then you didn’t trust it. Abigail’s instincts were on point and held low risk. The Declaration of Independence had survived thus far unscathed with her help. Mostly for making sure that none of you had directly squeezed lemon juice onto it. That would had been more than a little alarming.

Reading Riley’s expressions was the easiest part of the whole treasure protecting business you all found yourselves in. He was the little spark of glee regardless the spots of gloomy realism that he voiced. For everything you were faced against, he handled it the best that he could, with a piece of tech or not. You admired him for that.

Ben was a firm foundation. It seemed almost impossible that he could be brave through all of this. You were proud of him for keeping his cool and not risking too much. He had his morals and limitations.

If anyone could find the treasure and should find it, it should be Ben. You smiled confidently and looked—

A whirling sound of rope and the screams of your best friends tore a hole in your soul. Their elevator dropped, bypassing the one you were on, and going down a few more levels before jerking to a stop.

Heart pounding, you squinted your eyes to catch a clear glimpse of them.

“Get down there! Get down there!” Patrick ordered to the two men.

Man, if they don’t, I will. You thought while sending a hard look to Powell.

“Don’t stop,” you directed.

Hearing a voice from below, you looked over the side to see that Riley had jumped over successfully to a stable walkway.

He jumped? Your eyes went wide.

Riley reached up his hand as Ben held the document out and ready to toss it down to him.

Before you could think of why they would make an exchange except to help, Ben and Abigail dropped straight down. Wood splintering and dust bursting.

Screaming erupted once more alongside cracking of wood.

You watched in horror as your friends fell once more. You wanted to help them more than anything, to be closer if only the darn elevator was safe enough and more efficient.

There was nothing you could possibly do and in a split second you might have the same fate. Watching as the ones you cared for the most were teetering on the edge of survival. You were stuck on a slow elevator that probably wouldn’t last much longer.

Your friends’ elevator broke through everything until it snapped on one side.

“Ben!” Abigail was sliding off of the broken elevator as it barely hung on. Her and Ben’s hands latched together.

The elevator you were on still lowered at a dangerous slow pace.

Groaning of wood echoed through the space as the broken elevator started to swing. Meanwhile, Abigail’s legs were dangling over its side.

You couldn’t hear if they were talking or not, but the pulse in your ears didn’t help. Stomach dropping, you frowned.

Is that the Declaration? You thought as you did your best not to look over too far over the side.

As the elevator swung closer to the wall, Abigail fell. Thankfully, she landed on an extended walkway that held together. Although on her back, she was able to move fine.

SNAP

The elevator then dangled with Ben holding on with one hand and the Declaration strapped to him.

“Oh, no! Ben!” Abigail shouted as he tried pulling himself up, but only breaking off a piece of wood. “Hang on!”

After what felt like an endless thirty seconds or less, Patrick was able to send down a line of rope.

“Son!”

Grabbing on, Ben swung to the safety of the walkway near Abigail and climbed over the railing.

You sighed. Tension leaving your shoulders, stomach, and basically everywhere else.

How much more could your little heart take?

Patrick put a hand on your shoulder. A simple gesture of reassurance. You returned the gesture before pulling the rope back up.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dropped you. I had to save the Declaration.” Ben said reaching out to Abigail.

“No, don’t be. I would have done exactly the same thing to you.” She said.

“Really?”

“I would have dropped you both.” Riley trotted down the stairs. “Freaks.”

Their voices travelled up through the shaft to where the elevator was still lowering to their level.

A silence filled the group as your elevator finally came down into view for your friends.

“Get on.” Ian ordered.

“lan…it’s not worth it.” Ben said, still catching his breath.

“Do you imagine any one of your lives is more valuable to me than Shaw’s? We go on.”

You swallowed and looked to Patrick.

“The status quo. Keep the status quo.” Patrick said softly, eyes on his son.

Without a word, the three carefully stepped aboard. Seeing that the elevator was still stable, Powell lowered the elevator. Crowded though it was, it still worked.

I hope the treasure isn’t at the bottom of all of this, you thought.

Finally reaching another level with an opening, you felt a glimmer of hope.

“Now what?” Riley asked, looking at the level you were all heading down to. By the tone in his voice, he was done.

After all this you just really wanted something to eat, a shower, and your bed. Was that so much to ask for? Well, maybe one more thing, but you weren’t so sure about that.

“This is…” Patrick said, “This is where it all leads.”

Ben tossed a rope to the wood across to the port, of sorts. He and Riley pulled the elevator over before tying it off.

“Okay, let’s go.” Ben said and Abigail handed him over the torch.

Ben took point with Ian towards the new section.

Powell waited as Riley, again, helped Abigail, you, and Patrick. There was a small step down, but who knew how unstable that wood was.

As it was, the wooden planks underneath your feet were already given out, but at least it was made over solid ground. You were thankful for that much.

Using the flames from the torch, Ben removed the thick cobwebs from the archway. A doorless room came into view as Ben lit two more torches at the entrance.

Moving into the room one after another, you saw that the room was circular and had only a lantern standing. You and Abigail took it all in quietly.

Both Powell and Patrick had grabbed a torch of their own and migrated around the room. Patrick walked over to the hanging lantern and gave it light.

Everyone had their eyes peeled for a hint, a clue, an opening for the next step. Something to catch the eye.

At a point, Ben had given Riley both the Declaration’s case tube and the torch to hold on to as he surveyed the room.

“What is this?” Riley asked, turning around.

“So where’s the treasure?” Powell asked from near Ian.

Ben sighed as he turned to face everyone.

“Well?” Ian looked to Ben.

“This is it?” Riley’s voice raised. “We came all this way for a dead end?”

You didn’t want to believe that. You didn’t want to think of the consequences. The legal ones and the ones who were with you with guns.

“Yes.” Ben stated.

Laughing softly, Ian turned away.

You and Abigail shared a look of uncertainty.

“There’s gotta be something more.” Riley reasoned.

“Riley, there's nothing more.” Ben said.

“Another clue, or…”

“No, there are no more clues!” Ben shouted. “That’s it, okay? It’s over! End of the road. The treasure's gone. Moved. Taken somewhere else.”

You sucked in a breath, shoulders tense. Swallowing, your eyes darted between your friends.

Riley had not moved an inch as Ben yelled at him. Ben never raised his voice like that.

“You’re not playing games with me, are you, Ben? Hm?” Ian stared him down. “You know where it is.”

Ben’s eyes darted away for a moment before answering, “No.”

“Okay, go.” Ian said, barely turning to Powell.

Powell jogged his way back to the elevator.

Ian remained looking at the five of you for a second more before following after Powell.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Ben started forward.

The rest of you followed suit, not wanting to be left behind.

“Hey! lan, wait!” Riley shouted.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Patrick hurried.

“Wait a minute!” You rushed towards the entrance.

“lan…” Abigail started speaking.

“We’ll be trapped.” Riley reasoned.

“Don’t do this.” Ben said calmly.

“Hey, wait a minute,” You spoke again.

“You can’t just leave us here.” Abigail stood in front of you.

“Yes, I can.” Ian voiced as Powell already started moving the elevator up. “Unless Ben tells me the next clue.”

The elevator stopped ascending.

“There isn’t another clue.” Ben assured him.

“lan,” Riley said calmly, but you caught as the other man started rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you come back down here and we can talk through this together?”

Ben had his eyes trained on Ian as he continuously tapped a hand on Riley’s chest to alert him as Riley spoke.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end.

A second later, Ian had whipped out Powell’s gun from his holster and pointed it directly at Riley.

“Don’t speak again.” Ian stated with a dark look in his eyes.

“Okay.” Riley voice was incredibly small. Frozen in his spot, only his eyes moved.

Air had difficulty moving in and out of your lungs as your stomach dropped. It was like being on The Charlotte all over again.

Shit.

“The clue. Where’s the treasure?” Ian still held the weapon aloft. “Ben?”

Your best friend remained silent as your thoughts told you that Ian would leave Ben for last.

click

“The lantern.” Patrick spoke up.

“Dad…”

“The status quo has changed, son.”

“Don’t.” Ben shook his head.

“It’s part of freemason teachings.” Patrick started explaining as Ian lowered the weapon. “In King Solomon’s temple there was a winding staircase. It signified the journey that had to be made to find the light of truth.” Patrick turned to gesture behind him. “The lantern is the clue.”

“And what does it mean?” Ian asked with narrowed eyes.

“Boston.” Ben breathed out, sounding defeated. “It’s Boston.”

“The Old North Church in Boston, where Thomas Newton hung a lantern in the steeple, to signal Paul Revere that the British were coming. One if by land, two if by sea. One lantern. Under the winding staircase of the steeple, that’s where we have to look.”

One lantern? You peered over to Abigail who was eyeing the Gates men.

A smile took over Ian’s face as he said, “Thank you.”

He’s seriously thanking Patrick right now? He��s saying ‘thank you’?

“Hey, you have to take us with you.” Patrick interjected.

“Why? So you can escape in Boston? Besides, with you out of the picture there’s less baggage to carry.”

“What if we lied?”

“Did you?” Ian held up the gun once more.

“What if there’s another clue?” Ben added.

Lowering his arm, Ian said with finality, “Then I’ll know right where to find you. See you, Ben.”

Powell rose the elevator up and further out of sight.

“No!”

“There’s no other way out!” Riley shouted, voice cracking.

“Come back!” Abigail yelled.

“You’re gonna need us, lan!” Ben called out halfheartedly.

You looked over to Abigail as things grew quiet and the elevator sounds had faded. Ben and Patrick didn’t seem entirely concerned. Something was off.

“We’re all gonna die.” Riley murmured.

There was a tightening in your chest.

“It’s gonna be okay, Riley. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” Ben pointed at Riley before patting his shoulder and making his way back into the circular room.

“It’s okay, kiddo.” Patrick patted Riley’s shoulder as well.

The Gates’ men were all smiles.

“Wha—?” You turned around.

“Okay, boys, what's going on? The British came by sea. It was two lanterns, not one.” Abigail quickly turned to go after them with the Declaration.

You briefly tapped Riley’s arm and returned to the room.

“lan needed another clue, so we gave it to him.” Patrick explained happily as he checked one of the set-in walls.

Riley walked up between you and Abigail before speaking aloud, “It was a fake. It was a fake clue.”

Abigail nodded to Riley.

“You were able to lie?” Your eyes focused on Ben, aghast. “Successfully?”

A odd sort of happy release of tension filled your limbs. Any known and true danger was on it’s way up and out of the church.

“The all-seeing eye.” Ben whispered as he ran a hand over one of the carved-in walls.

Riley took a step closer to you. After a quick glance at one another, you both looked away.

“‘Through the all-seeing eye.’” The lit torch in Ben’s hand illuminated the old art on the wall. A single eye. He brushed away at thick layers of dirt and dust.

You breathed out a sigh of relief. It was back to basic searching of treasure. You reminded yourself again that danger had literally took the elevator up and you consciously lowered your shoulders from their perch by your earlobes. Without fear of gaining unwanted attention, you looked Riley over, making sure that he was somewhat okay. You noticed Riley’s hands trembling slightly.

You tentatively slipped a hand into his.

The vulnerable expression on his face had yet to dissipate.

“That means…” Riley said his thoughts out loud, “by the time lan figures it out and comes back here, we’ll still be trapped, and he’ll shoot us then. Either way, we’re gonna die.”

You gave a light squeeze to Riley’s hand.

Ben looked to all of you with a soft, confident gaze, “Nobody’s gonna die.”

There was a pause.

“There’s another way out.”

Riley all but rushed forward, not letting you go and urged you to move as he asked, “Where?”

“Through the treasure room.”

~~~~~

(That concludes Part Five - Deals And Elevators. Having Riley’s point of view was not planned early on, but I’m glad I changed it up. So, I added in the deleted scene, which is basically the extended version of the shaft scene where all the elevators are either falling or just making noise. Anyone else notice that Ian really, really doesn’t like Riley? Anyway, now that danger has passed, the friends can be together again! YAY! Get ready for part 6—the final part of the series!!! Will Riley ever know that the Reader likes him more than a best friend??? Ben definitely knows.

If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful. coffee

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @imacuteprincess @gingerlaserbeam @cubedtriangle @sledgy14 @thecaptainsgingersnap @awkwardspontaneity

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

Part 6/Finale

#Riley Poole #Riley Poole x Reader #Riley Poole x Reader series #National Treasure #National treasure fanfiction #Ben Gates #Abigail Chase #Patrick Gates #insert reader #Ian Howe #where dreamers go

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samanthalightning · 4 years

Text

She's Got A Date-EoWells X Allen!reader- Part V

*The GIF is not mine. All rights to the owner*

Part IV

Summary: While you face a relationship dilemma, you must help Barry stop The Mist from coming after your adoptive father. Based on 1x03

Warnings: None

***

You submerged your face in the water on your hands. The coolness temporarily eased the sting in your eyes. You turn off the faucets, you grab some tissues and dab them on your face to dry. You stared at yourself in the mirror; you were starting to look fine. The puffiness of your eyes ease, your eyes are still bloodshot red, but it was better.

It had been hours since that fight happened, and you have washed your face for the hundredth time today. Each time you think about it, you cry despite trying hard not to, and lucky you, it's all you can think about.

You reapplied your lipstick and mascara, and left the restroom. You walked down the hallway to come back to the cortex. You rounded a corner, but your feet quickly halted when a figure popped up to avoid collision.

It was him. You both froze, staring at each other. He could have swore, he saw a flicker of hurt and coldness in your eyes, before you lowered your head down when his stare became intense. This wasn't the first you crossed paths today. It's his building and you work here, though it didn't mean it got easier. It's always awkward and uneasy.

He didn't speak or move, so you figured you would be the one who needs to do it.

"Excuse me," you whispered, walking ahead passing by him.

"Y/N, wait." You stopped in your tracks and formed a fist. Although you didn't turn around. "We need to talk,"

"We already did. There's no need to further discuss it and make it worse." You didn't dare let him respond, and walked away rapidly away from him, not skipping a beat until you reached the cortex.

You quickly took a seat beside Cisco and buried your head on the computer, typing as you finished a report. Your thoughts ran, a sudden furious rage boiling in your veins. You couldn't believe how ironic it is that earlier he didn't want to talk about it, and now he does. It just infuriates you so hard, so hard and murder him with your bare hands.

"Woah, woah, you okay?" Cisco's voice pulled you out of your spiral.

You paused, fingertips ghosting the keyboard. You didn't even realize you were typing audibly, angrily. "Yeah. Just itching to get our meta," you said.

"Okay. Whatever you say," he replied, obviously suspicious and not an ounce convinced. None of them were if you're being honest. Especially Barry. He was very concerned, but it occurred to him that this might be regarding your mystery boyfriend, so he reluctantly kept his distance.

Wells came back. You can feel his eyes boring at you. You pretended to be oblivious, but it bothered you. Deeply.

Abruptly, a ping coming from the computer echoed in the room. It was the analysis on the toxin. Cisco was quick to call Barry and Caitlin, who God knows where to come to the cortex immediately.

They arrived moments later.

"Yo, check this out."

You all huddled up in front of the TV, waiting for someone to explain the result.

"We have identified the toxin," Wells said, clicking the screen of his tablet. The analysis results popped up on the screen.

"Hydrogen Cyanide?" Barry's brows furrowed.

"Well, what's interesting is what mixed in with the cyanide— a sedative," he added.

Your head cocked to the side, confused more than ever. You're no Caitlin, but that sounded odd. Never in your life have you heard those chemical compounds being mixed before— hell, even in being in the same sentence.

You turned to Barry to ask. His demeanor changed from being in serious thought to his eyes lighting up in recognition. A hand flew to his forehead, turning to Caitlin.

"The night of the explosion— find out if anyone was executed," he ordered.

Caitlin nodded and headed to the nearest computer.

"Why?" Wells asked, beating you to it.

"That sedative was given to criminals on death row before they go into the gas chamber, and breathe in cyanide," he explained.

That was one hell of a fact.

"There was someone executed— Kyle Nimbus," Caitlin informed.

A tab of his background and records popped up. And yup, he does look like someone crazy. Bald, pale skin, huge bags under his eyes. Just add a crooked smile and he could be the missing son of the Grinch and Penguin.

"That's him," Barry confirmed.

"He was a hit man for the Darbinyan crime family. They turned on him and testified. Judge Teresa Howard was the judge at his trial. She sentenced him to death."

It makes sense why he was hell bent on killing these people. The irony of his life though. Karma really is a bitch.

"He said there's one more on his list. Check the arrest records; who caught him, that could be his next attack," he walked towards her, and you trailed after him, dumbfounded.

There was too much information all at once, and Barry's the only one who's putting two and two together as fast as he runs.

You watched as Caitlin's eyes widened in horror. Her face blanched, glancing up at you and Barry, as if she had seen a ghost. It made you a little worried and anxious. The pit of your stomach knotting, as you swallowed thickly. Whatever information she got a hold of isn't good.

"Barry, the lead detective..."

Your heart dropped. Your mind quickly thinks of one person: Joe. Your thoughts ran wildly. You refused to believe it's him.

"Cait, who is it?" You asked, shakily.

"It's Joe."

You let out a gasp, panic surged through you. It felt like the world collapsed, your worry escalating into another level.

Next thing you knew, Barry was on his cell, both of you pacing back and forth, while he tried to reach Joe. Each time he took his phone off his ear, not able to reach him, he grew more frustrated. And so were you.

"He's not answering,"

"Call Eddie, maybe he knows," you suggested.

He took your advice and dialled him. You held your breath, anxiously waiting for the end of the ringing noise from Barry's phone.

"Eddie!" You immediately moved to Barry's side. "Hey, do you know where Joe went? He's not picking up his cell."

You placed your ears near and listened carefully. He paused, then said he didn't know.

"Eddie, it's really important I speak to him. I need to know where he went." Barry pleaded, evidently desperate.

Eddie must have picked it up. You heard an audible sigh from him through the phone. Eddie said he's in Iron Heights. That must have been why he's not picking up.

"Thanks, Eddie." Barry ended the call, and went to the team. "He's in Iron Heights, he's in Iron Heights because of me,"

Your brows drew together. If the toxins results didn't make sense, so is Barry right now. "What? Why?"

"I'll explain later," he said, running off to Caitlin.

She developed an antidote from the toxin, in case Barry didn't make it in time to stop Nimbus. Barry put on his suit, and faster than a blink of eye, he sped off, leaving a red streak of lights behind and a gust of strong wind blowing through your hair.

You took a seat and behind a computer to do your designated job. You pray to God Barry gets there before Nimbus does.

"Barry, I pulled up the specs on Iron Heights prison with maximum security, but I think I can talk you through breaking in there," he said, as he took a seat beside you.

You chortled, shaking your head. Your brother is probably doing the same thing right now. Cisco looked at you confused and a little offended.

"No bother. I've been figuring out how to break in that place since I was 11,"

Damn right he was. He used to get in trouble with Joe because of that, and you'll get a warning to think twice before pulling the same stunt. Barry still continuously, persistently did it. Eventually, he got older and no one has to call Joe about a minor trying to sneak in to see his Dad.

In a snap, it dawned on you. That's what Barry meant. Your Dad was the reason Joe was in Iron Heights. As to why, you wondered. Joe never once visited the man; he strongly believes that your Dad killed your Mom, it doesn't make sense why he would want to see him after all those years.

Your thoughts were pushed in the back of your mind, seeing Barry was inside the prison. You all cowered in silence, anxiety prickling your very existence. Your heart beating fast like you ran a hundred miles, you fingers were trembling. You took them off the keyboard, and hid them under the desk, clenching and unclenching it repeatedly.

You tried to keep it together, itching to hear Barry's voice, saying Joe's fine. You already lost your parents, you can't lose another one.

You felt a warm, large hand on your formed fist, fingers wrapping it securely with a squeeze. Your head shot up to the man in glasses beside you, stunned. Not that you just had the biggest fight ages ago, but your colleagues are literally sandwiching the two of you.

He gave a soft, assuring smile. And you appreciated it deeply. You opened your palm, intertwining your fingers with his. The differences were set aside for a moment, as you hold on to him for dear life.

"Joe's stable," Barry spoke.

The weight on your chest was lifted off. You relaxed for a second only to be reminded that there's still a meta-human on the loose that desperately needs some ass-kicking.

According to Barry, Nimbus transformed into a mist again, and Caitlin advised him to stay away, do not breathe him I'm. As weird as that sounds, it was the only way to avoid inhaling cyanide, and he might not be so lucky again.

But it was very obvious that it wasn't easy; the man is literally air.

"Guys, I don't think this is helping me,"

"You can't fight him, Barry. Just..." Caitlin paused to think. "...keep him coming at you, that should sap his strength."

Wells nodded in agreement. "Yes. Gas is the least stable form of matter— this meta-human will not be able to stay in this mist form, his particles will need to reform."

Barry ran. He ran farther and farther away from the prison. He takes quick stops, before running again.

Your eyes peered over to Caitlin's computer to check on his vitals. His heart rate elevated a bit, but everything was fine. Although he wasn't updating or saying anything it's starting to worry you.

Wells, clearly worried, leaned over and grabbed the mic. "Barry?" He called him. There was only silence on the other end. "Barry?" He called again, louder and firmer.

"We win,"

You all sighed with relief. Your eyes fluttered close, as you lean back into your seat and roll your head back. You squeezed him, you looked at him as a grateful smile spread across your face.

Barry brought Nimbus to S.T.A.R Labs, and left to go to the hospital. You stayed behind to see how well you did with makeshift prison, and get some satisfaction by watching him go crazy to find a way out.

You stood by the entrance of the pipeline with the team, watching the door slide down in front of a very angry Kyle Nimbus, pounding on the glass, constantly morphing into gas to escape his cell. The dummy didn't actually think you'd seal it.

"So, we just have to get used to working above a makeshift prison," Caitlin commented.

"Yup," you replied.

It's surreal. You can't still quite grasp the fact that you built a prison, and it's weird to see someone actually imprisoned inside. He deserved it, yes, but it's still weird.

Everyone turned to shuffle back to the cortex. Cisco pulled Caitlin aside. It looks like they have something to talk about, and by the look on Cisco's face, it's probably serious.

Your eyes flickered to Wells, who was surprisingly staring at you too. You locked eyes, realizing things had wind down— Nimbus is apprehended, and no meta-human to worry about for the time being. You don't know what's going to happen, where you both stand; if the relationship still exists, but one thing is for certain: it was time to address it and deal with it.

He tilted his head to the side, gesturing to go outside, before leaving the room.

You followed him, trailing behind him in the hallway. You dreaded every step you took, you heart racing fast under your ribs, and for many times today, your stomach churned, nervous.

You didn't know where he was leading you. You never really wandered around this area. The hallway is like a never ending maze; just no twist and turns. It was long and quiet and dark. If he was some dude, you would think that he's luring you to kill you.

You were about to ask him where you both were going, but he stopped. You both stood in front of a door. Nothing special about it, just a door. He twisted the knob and opened it. He took a step aside to let you in first and you obliged.

The lights automatically turned on, shedding lights on the room contents. Shelves containing boxes and some other covered things lined up across the room. It's another storage room. The dust isn't disgustingly obvious yet, but it hasn't been touched in a while. Probably since last year.

"We have another storage room?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. This was used when we were building the accelerator," he explained, closing the door behind him.

This is not the most ideal place to talk, but it's secluded and quiet and hidden. Given the fight earlier, all those three are a must.

You spun around to him, folding your arms, awkwardly waiting for him to speak first.

"So?" He started.

"So?"

He exhaled sharply, pursing his lips. "I thought about what you said, and..." He trailed off. A lump forming in your and you gulped in anticipation, watching him be lost for words. It was like those heart stopping moments in class just before your teacher passed your papers, scared of what your mark would be, except on this one, there's only two of you. This would not just affect the future, but potentially break your heart.

He stammered. " I don't— I don't want to lose you. I love you and you were right." Your mouth went dry. You were rendered speechless. Not a single word you could utter, staring at him in shock. You didn't expect that one. Scared that might not convince you, he added, "I mean it. I couldn't risk losing you."

Emotions barrelling through you. You kept it together, not wanting to broke down immediately.

"What about the press?"

"They'll leave us alone eventually," he answered.

"Your haters?"

He chuckled lightly. "They'll forget about it."

"And Joe?" The smile on his face faded, aware of the seriousness of that name.

"We'll deal with it. But I'm pretty sure he'll be happy for you,"

You lowered your head, looking down at your feet.

"Y/N?"

You glanced up, your demeanor stern as you looked into his eyes. "Are you sure? You might be just saying this right now, but you might regret—"

"The only thing I will regret is letting you walk away. I lost a lot of things last year, and I don't want you to be part of it. You mean so much to me,"

Your heart was cracked open. You were in awe of his declaration. Today was a tough one, and it will be on some days, but you certainly knew you would be a damn fool to let him go.

Although, it doesn't hurt to rile him up a bit. You maintain a stoic expression for a period of time, which ended very soon because you couldn't help it anymore.

"Damn it," you hissed.

You went to him, cupped his cheek and pulled his lips to yours. He responded quickly. His lips move passionately against yours, pouring all emotions into the kiss. Your stomach flutters in realization how vulnerable and raw this moment is. It was like he's opening up and he didn't have to say anything. Everything disappeared for a while. He clutched your arm, pressing you closer to this warmth.

You pulled away reluctantly, panting. You leaned your forehead against his.

"I love you," you whispered to him.

"I love you too,"

He drew closer to kiss you again, but you withdrew. You gritted your teeth, looking at him nervously.

"I think we should tell them tonight,"

***

Uh Oh. How do you think they'll react?

Anyway, I'd appreciate if you share this and give it love. Thanks!

Part VI

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fandomrewrites · 4 years

Text

Season 2; Episode 10: Fury

Hello all! Once again there is unfortunately no Isaac in this chapter, but he is mentioned. This chapter is very important for (y/n) so I hope you enjoy! As always constructive criticism is appreciated.

Season 2; Episode 10: Fury

Pairings: Scott McCall x Twin Sister, Lydia Martin x Best Friend, Isaac Lahey x Reader

Warnings: Mention of death, near death, violence

Word Count: 3,240

Season 2 Masterlist

Stiles, Scott, and I are sitting with Sheriff Stilinski - or I guess it's just Mr. Stilinski until he gets his badge back. We have a yearbook open, explaining to him that Matt is the killer he's looking for.

"Matthew Daehler?" Mr. Stilinski asks.

"Yes." Stiles confirms.

"This kid's the real killer?"

"Yes."

"No." Mr. Stilinski says, not believing his son.

"Yes."

"No."

"Dad, everyone knows the police look for ways to connect victims in a murder. All he had to do was go through their transcripts and find out which class they all attended."

"Except for the rave promoter, Kara. She wasn't in Harris's class."

"Oh yeah, that's right. So I guess they're dropping the charges against him?"

The two Stilinski's glare at each other before Mr. Stilinski replies, "No, they're not dropping the charges. Which doesn't prove anything. Scott, (Y/N), do you believe this?"

"It's not easy to explain how we know, but if you can just trust us. We know it's Matt." Scott says.

"Plus if you can't get him for murder, I think I have something else you can get him for." I hesitantly speak up.

All three heads turn to me with confusion. "I saw his camera." I pause taking a breath. "He has a lot of pictures of me. Pictures I don't know how he even took. I'm pretty sure he's stalking me."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Scott asks, eyes wide.

I shrug, "I thought I could handle it. But either way, can we go back to the murder thing? Since that's what we really want to get him arrested for. I mean murder is worse then stalking."

Mr. Stilinski looks like he wants to ask me more about the stalking but before he can Stiles speaks up, "Right, the murders. Matt took Harris's car. He knew if the cops found tire tracks at one of the murders and that if enough of the victims were in Harris's class, he'd be arrested."

"Fine. I'll allow the remote possibility. But give me a motive. Why would this kid want most of the 2006 swim team and its coach dead? And (Y/N), I want to talk to you about the stalking after."

I nod then Stiles speaks trying to give his dad a motive, "Isn't it obvious? Our swim team sucks! They haven't won in years." We all turn to Stiles with questioning looks, "Okay, we don't exactly have a motive yet. But then again, does Harris?"

The two boys and I watch Mr. Stilinski struggle over the question. Finally, he sighs, "What do you want me to do?"

"We need to look at the rest of the evidence."

"That's all back at the station. Where I no longer work."

"Trust me, they'll let you in."

"Trust you?"

"Trust... (Y/N)? I mean she actually has some sort of proof that Matt is a whack job."

Mr. Stilinski nods and points at me, "(Y/N) I trust."

*_*_*_*_*_*

When we get to the station it's two in the morning. Mr. Stilinski walks up to the front desk to speak with the officer as Stiles, Scott and I stay behind.

"We look at the hospital stuff first, okay?" Stiles whispers to us.

"Why?" Scott asks.

"Because all of the murders were committed by Jackson except for one, remember?"

"The pregnant girl. Jessica."

"Since Matt had to kill her himself, someone at the hospital could have seen him."

"Kids." Mr. Stilinski's voice breaks us from the whispered conversation. He waves us over as the officer buzzes us in.

Once in the office Mr. Stilinski brings up the security footage from the hospital. As he's clicking through it Stiles, Scott, and I stand behind him looking over his shoulder.

"I don't know, guys. Look at this. There was a six car pile-up that night. The hospital was jammed." Mr. Stilinski speaks, uncertain that we will find anything.

"Just keep going. He'd have to pass one of the cameras on that floor to get to Jessica. He's got to be on the footage somewhere--" Stiles encourages his dad.

Scott cuts him off though, "Hold on, stop. Did you see that? Scroll back."

Mr. Stilinski does as Scott says. He pauses on the image of a young man walking down the corridor.

"That's Matt." I say.

"All I see is the back of someone's head." Mr. Stilinski says.

Stiles agrees with me, "Matt's head. I sit behind him in History. He has a very distinct cranium."

I furrow my eyebrows as Mr. Stilinski asks his son, "Are you crazy?"

"Fine, then look at his jacket. How many people wear black leather jackets?"

"Millions. Literally."

"Can you scroll forward?" Scott asks, stopping an argument, "There has to be a shot of him coming at one of the cameras, right?"

So Mr. Stilinski presses a button to watch more of the video. "Stop! There he is again." I exclaim, pointing him out on the screen.

"You mean there's the back of his head again." Mr. Stilinski sighs.

"But look. He's talking to someone." Stiles says. We all lean slightly closer to try and get a better view.

"He's talking to our mom." Scott says.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Scott takes out his phone to call our mom at the hospital. He's asking her about Matt, but she doesn't seem to recall if she spoke to him. We decide to send her a picture of him to see if it jogs her memory.

"Did you get it?" Scott asks. There's a pause before Scott asks another question, "You recognize him? Did you see him?"

Scott pulls the phone slightly away from his ear, bringing his attention to me, Stiles and Mr. Stilinski. "He was tracking mud through the hospital."

Mr. Stilinski replies, "We have shoe prints alongside the tire tracks at the trailer site."

Stiles then excitedly says, "If they match that puts Matt at the scene of three murders. The trailer, the hospital and the rave."

Mr. Stilinski then looked up from the computer, "Actually, four. A credit card receipt for an oil change was signed by Matt at the garage where the mechanic was killed."

"When?"

"A few hours before you two got there." Mr. Stilinski says looking between his son and me.

"Dad, if one's an incident, two's a coincidence, three's a pattern, what's four?"

"Enough to get a warrant. Scott, ask your mom how fast she can get here."

"Now?" My brother asks, eyebrows raised.

"Right now. An official ID will get me a search warrant. Stiles, tell the front desk to let their mom in when she gets here."

Scott brings the phone to his ear again as Stiles moves to the door.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Mr. Stilinski and I are still behind his desk as we watch the door. Stiles walks in, behind him Matt has a gun pressed to the boys back. "She's on her way here. Sheriff? (Y/N)?" Scott says, not noticing his best friend and Matt.

He finally turns to face the door, seeing what caught our attention.

Breaking the silence, Mr. Stilinski speaks calmly, "Matt, whatever's going on, I guarantee there's a solution that doesn't involve a gun."

"Funny you say that. Because I don't think you're aware of just how right you are." Matt answers.

"I know you don't want to hurt people."

"Actually, I want to hurt a lot of people. You four weren't on my list, especially you, (Y/N), but I could be persuaded. One way is to try calling someone with your phone in your pocket like McCall's doing. That could definitely get someone hurt."

Matt stares at Scott, waiting for him to set his phone down on the desk. "Everyone." He encourages the rest of us to do the same.

We all remove our phones, placing them on the desk beside Scott's.

Matt takes the four of us into the cell block, making Stiles handcuff his dad to the wall outside of the holding cells. "Tighter." Matt snaps.

Stiles glares but his dad speaks up, trying to diffuse the situation, "Do what he says."

Reluctantly, Stiles listens and tightens the cuffs around him. Matt then motions for us to follow him once more. We make our way to the front of the station, Scott and Stiles in front and the gun trained on them. Matt has a tight grip on my right arm.

Heavy breathing stops us from continuing. We glance down the adjacent hallway locking eyes with a paralyzed deputy being dragged into a room by a clawed hand. "Are you going to kill everyone in here?" Scott asks.

"No. That's what Jackson's for. All I have to do is think about killing them. He does the rest." Matt casually answers.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Back at the office Matt forces Scott and Stiles to shred all of the evidence we have against him. Finally Scott raises the empty folders to show him that there are no more papers left.

At the same time Stiles starts speaking, "And we're done. So, Matt, since all the people you brutally murdered deserved it because they killed you first - whatever that means - I think we're pretty much good here. Right? I'll get my dad and we'll go. You continue with the vengeance thing. Enjoy the Kanima."

The sound of an engine can be heard from outside. Matt holds still, listening to the sound, "Sounds like your mom's here." He says looking over at me and Scott.

"Please don't do anything to her, Matt." I beg.

"Matt, don't do this. When she comes to the door, I'll just tell her to leave, okay? I'll say we didn't find anything. Please." Scott says right after.

Matt shakes his head, waving us over to the door. Scott hesitates, making Matt say, "If you don't move right now, I'm going to kill Stiles first. Then your mom."

We step outside the office and make our way through the building to the front desk. "Open it."

"Matt, please." Scott tries once more.

Matt responds by pressing the gun to the back of Stiles' head, "Open the door."

Scott turns the door knob, slowly opening the door. But instead of seeing our mom like we expected, Derek Hale is standing there. "Oh, thank God." Scott sighs.

But before we can get too thankful Derek sinks to his knees, paralyzed. Jackson is right behind him.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Jackson drags a paralyzed Derek into the Sheriff's office. Scott, Stiles and I following closely behind with Matt still keeping the gun on us. "This is the one in control? This kid?" Derek asks, laying on his back looking up at us.

"Well, Derek, not everyone's lucky enough to be a big bad werewolf." Matt then turns to the rest of us, "Yeah, that's right. I've learned a few things lately. Werewolves, hunters, Kanimas. It's like a fricken' Halloween party every full moon. Except for Stiles. What the hell do you turn into?"

"Abominable snowman. But it's mostly a winter time thing. Seasonal." I snap my head in Stiles direction, glaring. Usually I find his sarcastic remarks funny but now is really not the time.

Matt, clearly not amused, nods at Jackson. Not having a chance to protest, Jackson cuts Stiles neck. Stiles staggers, limbs going stiff and falls on top of Derek, "Bitch." Stiles mutters out.

"Get him off me." Derek speaks through clenched teeth.

Matt kneels beside Derek's head as Derek once again spits out, "Get him off me."

"I don't know, Derek. I think you two make a pretty good pair. It must kind of suck, though, to have all that power taken away with one little cut to the back of your neck? I bet you're not used to feeling this helpless." Matt smugly says to the Alpha.

"I've still got teeth. Why don't you come a little closer and we find out how helpless I am."

Before Matt can respond, headlights fill the room. "Is that her?" He asks looking towards Scott.

Scott looks outside, his look of despair confirms that it is in fact our mom. "Do what I say and I won't hurt her. I won't even let Jackson near her."

"Don't trust him." Stiles says.

With a look of rage that I have never seen, Matt brutally kicks Stiles off of Derek. He then places his foot on Stiles' throat. "This work better for you?" He questions.

"Stop! Matt just stop!" I scream out, tears threatening to spill.

He stops applying pressure but doesn't move his foot. He looks at me with a look I couldn't quite place. "You know, (Y/N). We could make one hell of a power couple but I noticed you have something going on with Isaac."

This statement causes Scott to look at me with raised eyebrows. I lick my lips, not taking my eyes off of Matt. "I told you before that I wasn't the guy who would say something like if I can't have her, no one can? Well, it wasn't totally true. Because, (Y/N), if I can't have you, no one can."

Before giving Scott the chance to react he raises the gun and shoots. A gasp leaves my mouth as I stumble back in shock. My hands raise to my abdomen, blood gushing through my fingertips. The minute the gun fires I can hear Mr. Stilinski yelling from the other room.

"(Y/N)!" Scott screams, trying to rush to me. Matt stops him, gun raising to level with Stiles head.

"She's not dead yet and if you don't do what I say, I'll kill your mom and Stiles too."

"Go, I'll be fine." I say through clenched teeth. Matt and Scott move out of the room. Jackson stays guarding me, Derek, and Stiles.

With my adrenaline pumping, I slowly move to the desk chair to sit down. One hand clutches the gunshot wound while the other uses the wall and desk as support, blood smearing wherever my hand was placed. Once I'm sat down I take off my jacket, applying pressure to the wound.

*_*_*_*_*_*

I gasp out in pain as I apply pressure to the wound, "(Y/N)! Are you okay? Please talk to me." Stiles speaks from the floor, voice trembling slightly.

"I'm fine, it's not like I'm bleeding out or anything."

"Do you have anything to try and stop the bleeding?"

I pause taking a breath, "I'm one step ahead of you. I'm using my jacket."

"Good. Whatever you do, don't close your eyes or fall asleep."

"Damn, really? I thought now would be a great time for a nap."

"I'm going to ignore those sarcastic remarks solely because it means that you're alright."

"Yeah well, I hate to burst your optimistic bubble but I don't know how long I'm going to last without medical attention."

Rather than answering Stiles asks Derek, "You know what's happening to Matt?" Referring to the scales that are appearing on Matt's side, which he showed us a few minutes beforehand.

"I know the book isn't going to help him. You can't just break the rules. Not like this." Derek answers.

"What do you mean?"

"The universe balances things out. It always does."

"Because he's using Jackson to kill people who don't deserve it?"

"And killing people himself."

I keep trying to focus on the conversation but I can tell my breathing is becoming shakier, "So if Matt breaks the rules of the Kanima, he becomes the Kanima?" Stiles asks the Alpha.

"Balance." Derek confirms.

"You think he'd believe us if we told him?"

"Not likely. You still alright (Y/N)?"

"Peachy." I shakily reply.

"(Y/N/N)? Your breathing is getting heavier. You have to stay awake. Keep talking." Stiles says, panic evident in his voice.

I reply, though my voice is now breathy and quieter, "I'm fine. I'll be fine. I-I don't know... I don't know how long I'll be okay though. If the paralysis wears off, your first goal has to be to help Scott and my mom."

There's silence, "Please, you both have to promise me. You'll help Scott and my mom as soon as you can." Tears start to fall down my face at the thought of Scott and my mom being hurt because the two people who could possibly help are too focused on me.

"(Y/N) we can't make that promise." Stiles chokes out.

"You have to. Remember your dad is out there too."

"If we don't help you first, you'll die." Derek bluntly states.

"Then so be it." I gasp, "The only way I'll survive is if I make it to a hospital. By the time you guys will be able to move it will be too late for me anyway. So don't waste your time."

"I can give you the bite. You'll heal and be fine."

"No. I don't want to be a werewolf. Just-just leave me and help the others." I pause for a minute, coughing, “Please.”

At this point my eyes keep flickering shut. My breathing is raspy and I can't focus on the things around me, though I know Derek and Stiles are talking. Suddenly all around me goes dark.

At first, I think I finally slipped into unconsciousness, but when I blink I realize that the power at the station has gone out.

I can hear multiple gunshots but it sounds muffled. Slowly I let my eyes shut, the hands that were once pressing tightly to the gunshot wound, now lay gently across my stomach.

*_*_*_*_*_*

Third Person P.O.V

At the same time the gunfire stops, Derek and Stiles can feel the paralysis finally start to wear off. They both shakily get to their feet, with the Alpha helping the human. They make their way to (Y/N), ignoring her earlier protests.

Derek uses his hearing to see if she is still alive, "She was right. She's not going to make it to a hospital."

"Then bite her." Stiles glares.

"She said no, or do you not remember that?"

"I don't care what she said, we're running out of time. Bite her. Scott and Melissa can't lose her." Stiles eyes glisten with tears as he looks down at the unconscious girl.

Derek looks at Stiles then glances at the teenager in front of him. Reluctantly Derek twists his head, now in his werewolf form he reaches down grabbing a hold of the girls arm. He bites down, leaving a bleeding bite mark.

"Get her out of here. Take her to Deaton. I'll cover you." Derek says as he reaches down picking the girl up and passing her to Stiles.

Stiles nods, his shirt now coated in Scarlett's warm blood.

Making it out of the station and quickly placing the unconscious girl in the passenger seat. He drives as fast as he can to the vet clinic in search of Deaton.

"What happened to her?" Deaton asks once he sees (Y/N) in the boy's arms.

"She got shot. Derek had to bite her for her to survive."

Deaton nods, removing (Y/N)’s jean jacket and slightly moving her black crop top to clean and stitch the wound. "This will help the healing process go faster. She's going to need a lot of rest."

Stiles nods, "Scott doesn't know that Derek bit her. And Mrs. McCall doesn't even know that she was shot."

"She'll be alright. It looks like the wound may already be healing."

#sister mccall imagine #isaac lahey imagine #lydia martin imagine #teen wolf imagine #series rewrite

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cake-writes · 5 years

Text

Fever (Part One)

Pairings: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader (mentioned)

Story Warnings: Cheating, Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, Smut, Breeding Kink (if you squint), Angst, 18+

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Steve couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t. Not to his best friend’s girl.

Master List / Spotify Playlist

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered, because the mission ran long. Even Steve didn’t get away from it unscathed, if the blood staining the shoulder of his uniform was any indication. You’d seen him hurt too many times over the years, but this time you felt guilty.

He’d gotten hurt keeping you safe.

His best friend’s girl.

Bucky must have returned to the compound by now, you were sure of it. He’d been radio silent for the last three weeks on an assignment god knows where, but what you did know was that he’d be getting back today; said he wouldn’t miss your anniversary for the world, the hopeless romantic that he was. Your hopeless romantic.

You might have gone a little stir crazy as the days dragged on, missed him a little too much – so you passed the time by going on quick in-and-out missions in hopes that you’d get home and find him there waiting for you.

He wasn’t.

Each mission wound up being no more than a couple of hours, tops, except this one. You and Steve had been trapped here for the last day and a half. Too many Hydra agents to count. Too many fights for survival. Pinned down by the enemy, the two of you barricaded yourselves inside a too-large server room where the walls were thick enough to offer a modest layer of protection: two feet of metal and concrete, meant to safeguard Hydra’s most sensitive data.

The worst part wasn’t even that you were missing your anniversary. No, it was that you’d yanked an empty syringe from Steve’s back about twenty minutes ago and there was no way of knowing what mystery substance it contained. He hadn’t even noticed it, either, which made you wonder what the hell kind of pain tolerance he had. The stupid thing was just sticking out of him, needle about three inches long and yet he’d been completely fucking oblivious.

How?

Thankfully, Steve seemed to be doing okay, all things considered. His wounds would heal, of course. They always did. They always would. You tried not to worry, but you still felt guilty, so much you asked for the umpteenth time, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, doll,” he said in exasperation, holding his cell phone and yours up toward the ceiling in hopes that one of them would pick up a signal. “I’ll let you know if anything changes, you know, like I said the last ten times you asked.”

You huffed a little as you attempted to access one of the computers, having already tried five of them with no success. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt. Especially when it’s my fault.”

He laughed at that, somehow, despite the fact that you were both trapped in here with no hope of rescue. No signal, no reception, no dice. Things looked pretty dismal, but he was ever the optimist. “I can already feel myself healing. Stop worrying, okay?”

Computer number six was also a failure.

Another twenty minutes passed, but nothing changed.

Well, at least, not that you noticed. Steve was burning up, but he didn’t say a thing – didn’t want to make you worry. He cared too much about you for that, cared more than he should have for his best friend’s girl.

Always had. Always would.

Sweat dotted his brow as he watched you try computer after computer to no avail. He just couldn’t tear his eyes away; even in the harsh fluorescent lighting, you were illicitly gorgeous, far more attractive than you should have been to him. Hair tousled, eyeliner smudged, tight black catsuit on your body ripped in too many places to count, cuts and scrapes and bruises peeking through – all superficial.

He didn’t like seeing you hurt, either, so when the heat creeped up his neck, he wasn’t sure if it was from concern, claustrophobia, or carnal attraction.

“Anything?”

Steve’s question was simple, but he barely even recognized the sound of his own voice. Strained. Rough. Maybe because his throat was so dry.

When you glanced up from the screen and over at him, he forgot how to breathe. Bright eyes and a beautiful smile, despite the less-than-ideal circumstances.

All for him.

Only for him, here, and sweet as sin.

“Nope,” you said cheerfully, popping the ‘p.’

That drew his attention to your mouth at the worst possible moment. As you focused back on the screen in front of you, you pulled your lower lip in between your teeth in thought, almost like you were trying to tease him, like you were trying to drive him out of his fucking mind. The sight shot straight to his groin; brought attention to the fact that his pants were starting to get just a little too tight.

Then you looked up again at the silence and caught him staring. Tilting your head to the side, you asked slowly, “Still feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” he rasped, and then he cleared his throat – tried to clear his mind, too, but it didn’t work. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Steve didn’t like to lie, but he didn’t have a choice. Not here. Not when he felt like this.

Your fingertips stilled over the keyboard as you studied his face a little more closely, and then you took a few steps toward him. “Are you sure? You look a little flushed.”

Your keen scrutiny only made him even hotter – made him want to escape before he did something he’d regret. He was already toeing the line.

But he couldn’t. No, he wouldn’t.

Not to his best friend’s girl.

With your approach came the heady scent of your perfume, and his resolve weakened even more – particularly when you pressed the underside of your wrist to his sweaty forehead. Your skin was far cooler to the touch than it should have been, and the physical contact sent a pleasurable chill through him.

“Something’s wrong,” you said with a frown, swapping your wrist for your palm, and then you brought both hands to either side of his flushed face. “You’re way too hot, Stevie.”

You spoke his name so softly, so gently – like a lover, like a balm.

Stevie.

On your lips, it sounded sweet as honey.

Steve’s temperature already ran hotter than yours because of the serum, but you were long used to it because Bucky was the same. Ironic, really, that the only person on the face of the earth who’d be able to tell the difference without a thermometer was who stoked the fire to begin with.

Well, you, and whatever the hell it was he’d been injected with.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, but the words felt foreign on his tongue. Wrong. He wasn’t fine. The way he leaned into your touch was evidence of that.

“Here,” your hand trailed down his back to help guide him to a nearby chair, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake, “Sit down, okay? Tell me how you’re feeling.”

Ravenous. Touch-starved. Not fine at all.

Steve sank into the worn leather desk chair, but that proved even worse. Now he had to look up at you – look up at your pretty little face and try not to imagine how you’d look straddling him, taking every inch of his cock.

Yeah, like that was possible.

He’d break you. How Bucky managed not to was beyond him. You weren’t enhanced like either of them.

“I’m hot,” Steve finally admitted. “It’s hot in here.”

A flimsy excuse. Even he knew it wasn’t. Something was wrong.

“Really? I’m actually kind of cold.” With a smile, you made a show of briskly rubbing your arms, probably to make him feel better – and then you teased, “Maybe you can warm me up, huh?”

Don’t tempt me, sweetheart.

Your brows rose in surprise, but you laughed soon after.

Oh. Had he said that out loud?

He didn’t know. He didn’t care.

And it didn’t seem to bother you, either, because the concerned look in your eyes was still there and your jokes and laughter were a front. “Are you nauseous? Sick? Come on, talk to me. Please?”

Oh, he liked the sound of that.

Steve quickly found himself wondering if that was how you sounded when you begged for more, begged for release, begged for something only Bucky was lucky enough to give you.

Imaginary pleas of please, Stevie, please echoed in his ears.

His eyes closed as your fingers threaded through his hair – an attempt to soothe the ache settling into his bones, perhaps. You quickly stopped, however, and he only realized why when he looked back up at you.

When had he taken hold of your wrist?

“What is it, Stevie?”

Shit, honey, if only I knew.

But the words didn’t come. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth.

Steve noticed, then, how easily his fingers and thumb overlapped – how small and delicate you really were, not to mention how absolutely defenseless. Your eyes were impossibly soft as you gazed down at him with such concern, such care, that he somehow wrenched his hand away.

“I… I don’t feel right,” was what he finally settled on.

“Can you describe it?”

You were worried about him, he knew, but you should have been worried about yourself for entirely different reasons. With you so close, he had no choice but to breathe in the irresistible scent of you. It drove him crazy.

You drove him crazy.

Through gritted teeth, Steve managed a rough, “Just find a way to get us out of here.”

“But you’re—”

“Now,” he barked, and you immediately jumped into action at his harsh tone.

Thirteen computers and counting.

Another ten minutes, and you were on computer number seventeen. Still no dice.

In between hurried keystrokes, you snuck glances over at Steve only to find him watching you like a predator might watch its prey. It unnerved you a little. Eyes dark and breathing laboured, he seemed much worse than before – overheating, but you didn’t dare check his temperature again. Your stomach had been in knots since he raised his voice with you, or maybe it started when he grabbed your wrist – a firm grip, one that might have left bruises beneath your shredded sleeve.

Why were you so anxious?

This was Steve. Captain America. Your boyfriend’s best friend. He’d never hurt you, at least not intentionally and you had a feeling that all of this had something to do with the mystery substance running through his veins. He’d be fine.

That was when the computer dinged with a signal. At last. You might be able to get a message out, even if the reception was so poor. It was a short one, a quick and dirty ‘SOS’ along with your location. Command would send an extraction team for the two of you.

After you hit ‘send,’ you let out an audible sigh of relief. “Finally got a message through. Don’t worry, they’ll get us out.”

Something about that phrase snapped Steve’s resolve. He didn’t want to get out.

No, he wanted to get in.

That was when your back slammed against the wall, so hard that the impact left you gasping for air. “What—”

But you couldn’t finish that sentiment because Steve’s lips were on yours, hot and wanting and unfamiliar – not at all like how Bucky kissed you, how Bucky loved you more than anything.

For a moment, you froze up, absolutely stunned by what he’d done. You came to your senses quickly, though, and shoved him hard in the chest to get him to stop – but only after a few frenzied tries did he finally break away.

Breaths coming out in short bursts, you croaked, “What the hell?”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat and squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself against the wall with one arm above your head. His free hand came up to massage his temple, a distraction from the tightness of his pants. He’d caged you in – trapped you against him so deliciously and when he finally spoke, he sounded just as wrecked as he looked. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

“I’m with Bucky,” you hissed, voice wavering. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Angry words laced with fear. He didn’t blame you.

But he couldn’t stop himself when his eyes dropped back to your mouth, and in an instant, he found himself wanting another taste, another touch. The fever burning hot fire through his body made it impossible to ignore, let alone resist any longer. What little self-control he had was gone.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he choked out, and then his hand was in your hair, too-tight grip allowing him to pull you in for another kiss. This time he was much less forgiving, almost bruising your lips in his need for you – lips so soft and pliable and his.

Steve overpowered you with such ease, especially when he swept his tongue into your mouth to sample your sweetness straight from the source. Scalp stinging painfully, you put up a fight, at least until he gathered both your wrists in one large hand and pinned them none-too-gently to the wall. Pain – not a lot of it, but enough to sting, to smart, to leave more bruises.

No matter how hard you struggled, you couldn’t break free.

Of course you couldn’t. You weren’t strong enough. Not against him.

You attempted to knee him in the groin anyway, a last resort, but he easily deflected it by shoving one of his thighs in between yours. Thick, corded muscle pressed hard against your clothed core, wrenching a strangled gasp from your throat.

“Steve,” you whimpered against his lips, still trying to break free from his hold: an exercise in futility. “Damn it, stop, let me go—”

But he didn’t. No, instead he kissed you again, muffling any other protests, any other objections – and moans, too, he soon discovered when you mistakenly ground against his thigh in another failed attempt of escaping.

Peppering your jaw with open-mouthed kisses, he murmured, “How am I supposed to stop when you sound so pretty?”

Pretty for him.

All for him.

A shudder wracked your body at the feeling of his breath against your ear, at the low timbre of his voice – rough and full of desire.

You stopped fighting after that.

And then you started to feel the heat, too. You felt the burn on your tongue, first, felt it prickle against your lips – uncomfortable, stifling heat, a fever that quickly made its way through your extremities, made your knees go weak, made you melt against him like butter.

If Steve hadn’t been holding you up, you would have hit the floor.

“It’s too hot,” you whined, leaning back against the wall, revealing more of your throat for him to mark, to claim. The sharp, sudden ache between your legs was unbearable. “God, it hurts—”

“I know, baby,” he breathed against the saliva-slickened skin of your neck. “I know it does. I’ll make it better.”

Your arms were thrown carelessly around his neck, now; when had he even let you go? You didn’t know. You didn’t care. You just needed him, needed what he was going to give you like you needed air.

An insistent tug around his collar – an unspoken plea, but the words soon followed, spilling from your mouth like a broken record. “Make it better, Steve, please make it better, Stevie, please—”

“Jesus, doll,” came his groaned reply as he all but yanked the zipper to your catsuit down, down, down between your breasts, and then the sleeves followed, fabric ripping along the seams. The moment you pulled your sports bra over your head, he palmed your breasts – left hot kisses and even hotter touches against your hypersensitive skin, and when he took a nipple into his mouth, you shivered.

“Not enough,” you gasped, fingers curling in his hair.

The taste of your skin was intoxicating – salty sweet with sweat and something he couldn’t quite place.

Longing, perhaps. Or dread.

Teeth raked against the pert bud and again your knees gave out, but Steve held you steady – a welcome reminder of his thigh between yours. This time, you ground down against him purposely, far too impatient and needy to wait for more.

You just couldn’t stop. Not that you even wanted to anymore.

With your free hand, you blindly fumbled with his belt and, somehow, it loosened. His fly was next, frantically unzipped until you had enough leeway to slide your hand into his boxers. As soon your fingers wrapped around him, Steve let out a shaky breath and met your eyes with a shared, albeit fleeting thought—

This was wrong.

But neither of you could stop.

You shoved his pants down below his ass, freeing him from the constraining fabric. His cock was hot and heavy in your palm, and you smoothed your thumb over the leaking slit.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he swore, sending a surge of heat straight to your core.

You wanted this – wanted him.

Steve stripped the rest of your catsuit off in about two seconds flat – half tore it from your body in order to reveal your soft skin and perfect curves. Not that he had a chance to really appreciate them, however, because with a flick of his wrist your panties were in shreds on the floor and you’d slung one leg around his waist.

So fucking eager. He loved it.

He hiked your thigh up higher – allowed you better access to line him up, and when the head of his cock glided through your slick folds, you breathed, “Make it better, Stevie.”

So he did.

Steve slid all the way inside of you in one fluid motion, to which your eyelids fluttered shut, head lulling back against the wall with a dull thunk. The pleasant burn of him stretching you out so beautifully had your fingernails digging into his shoulders, leaving angry red marks behind.

“That’s it,” Steve coaxed, his large hand cradling the side of your face. “There you go.”

The tight, velvety drag of your walls as he slowly withdrew drove you both absolutely insane – and then he slammed all the way back inside, punching the breath from your lungs.

“You— god, you feel so good, Steve, give it to me, I need you, fuck me, Stevie—”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore, so blissed out of your mind already and he’d barely even started. With the his cock so deep inside you, the tip snug against your cervix, Steve couldn’t think straight either – and hearing you beg for him like this was better than he ever could have imagined.

He kissed you, then, all teeth and tongues, swallowing every single one of your pleas. Your arms slowly came to rest around his neck, and with unsteady yet practiced flair, you jumped up the tiniest bit – jumped up into his arms, and sure enough, he caught you.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why you knew he would.

Bucky.

A train of thought quickly forgotten as both your legs wrapped around his waist. Hands palming your ass, now, Steve fucked up into you – fucked you to pieces, and then he kissed you back together.

“Fill me up,” you gasped against his lips.

Jesus.

You didn’t have to ask him twice, especially when he felt the tell-tale flutter of your walls around his cock. You were close, and your soft, breathy whimpers only confirmed it.

“Gonna come for me, baby?”

“Yeah,” you moaned. “God, I’m so fucking close—”

Steve’s thrusts started to falter, then, and his fingertips dug into your hips. He left more bruises, but the mix of sensations was too much for you to handle and with a strangled cry, you fell apart, walls clenching down around him – desperately trying to milk him dry.

Even your body wanted him to come inside.

It pushed him over the edge, the knowledge that even on the most primal level you wanted him to fill you up – a conscious decision, but an instinctive one, too. With a soft groan, he pushed in as deep as he could go and spilled hot inside of you, marking your insides like a brand.

As he came down, exhaustion hit him like a wave. He set you down gently, but then he held one of his hands to the wall to keep himself from falling.

He felt weak, and so did you.

Chest heaving, you slid to the floor in post-coital bliss, cum dripping down the insides of your thighs. Steve wasn’t nearly as winded, and of course he wasn’t. He had the serum coursing through his veins, just like Bucky.

Bucky.

“Oh god, Steve,” you choked out, staring up at him in horror. “What— What did we do?”

Steve’s eyes widened in shock, feverish haze finally starting to clear.

Two years today – your anniversary.

Not that it mattered.

Part Two / Cold Sweats (fan-written sequel)

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #fever

1K notes · View notes

sherrybaby14 · 5 years

Text

Clicking

Summary: Office AU, where Steve is your IT guy and he’s got his eyes on you.

Request: IT ex-boyfriend Steve completely obsessed with you

Kinktober prompts: (Did day 1) Spanking

Warnings: Non-con (please do not read if this offends you) (also, turns into dubcon), spanking, smut, light degradation (very minor name-calling/teasing).

Words: 2100

Could your day get any worse? You clicked at the mouse multiple times. Nothing. Computers were never your strong suit. You pushed away from your desk and walked out of your office.

Lunch break. Nobody was here. That meant one thing. Putting in a ticket with the Information Technology department.

“Ughhh…” You groaned at the thought. Those people were trolls. Always acting superior.

You pulled out your cell phone. Maybe you could work the rest of the day on the smaller gadget. It would be better than dealing with them. There was no way that was an option, so like ripping off a Band-Aid you went to your company’s website and wrote a quick request for IT help.

When you put the phone down you walked back into your office and plopped down at your chair. Your company was huge, there was no way they would send him. Still, you cringed hoping anyone but your ex showed up.

“Knock, knock.” The voice made the pit in your stomach drop.

“Steve.” You stood up. “How have you been?”

“Oh, you mean since you ghosted on me?” He shut the door behind him and walked around to your computer as you pushed away from the desk.

“Ghosted? We went on three dates; I didn’t think that merited a break-up.” You knew he deserved some explanation instead of zero response. “We weren’t clicking.”

“That’s your opinion.” Steve picked up your mouse and popped out the back.

He was handsome maybe you were too hard on him. He did make you laugh a few times. Steve fiddled with the thing and started moving the cursor around the screen, clicking on a few icons to test them.

“Trouble double-clicking your mouse. Why am I not surprised?” He turned around with a big grin on his face. “All you needed was a new battery dummy.

That was it. The reason you didn’t call again. Like most IT guys he had that ‘I’m smarter than everyone’s outlook. Plus you didn’t appreciate the innuendo

“Right. Thanks.” You folded your arms.

“This mouse clicks now.” Steve mimicked your stance. “Maybe I could help you with the other one? Dinner tonight?”

“I don’t think so.” You sighed. “Thanks for coming down, but I should get back to work.”

“Right.” Steve pressed his lips into a fake smile and stepped away. “Wouldn’t want to distract you with a life.”

“Excuse me?” You scoffed at him.

“You backed off because you actually liked me.” He stepped forward. “But that would mean not working eighty hours a week. Being something other than frigid from time to time?”

“I backed off because you throw around insults like candy at a parade.” You signaled for him to move. “So if you don’t mind, this frigid dummy has important business to take care of.”

“That’s genius Doll. You not liking insults? I bet your pussy got a little wet hearing them just now. Strong, powerful woman being put in her place? Yeah, that’s what you need.” He grinned at you.

Your mouth hung open in shock. Those few sentences alone were enough to get him fired.

“That’s right. Keep those lips parted. I can slide my cock between them easier that way.” Steve reached out and grabbed your chin, pulling it down.

“Are you insane?” You went to slap him, but he caught your wrist. “I could have you fired, you arrogant asshole!”

“But you won’t.” Steve squeezed down on your wrist and chin, holding your mouth open. “Because I’m right. You are wet. Aren’t you Doll?”

You tried to say no, but all that came out was a mumble. Instead, you shook your head.

“Wow. Not only are you a dummy and frigid.” Steve twisted your arm and dropped your chin. “You’re also a liar.”

You cried out as he manipulated your body so it was against his chest, your arm pressed between the two of you painfully.

“Let go of me or I’ll scream.” You tried to claw at him with your freehand, but he hoisted your wrist higher and pushed forward, making your chest go flat on your desk as he kicked your ankles apart.

“No, you won’t.” Steve’s other hand ran over the curve of your ass, squeezing your cheek. “First off, nobody is here. Second, they’d open the door to see you bent over, vulnerable, filled with lust.”

Before you could respond Steve started to bunch your skirt over your hips.

“NO!” You tried to stand back up, but he pushed you down against the desk.

“Quit lying.” SLAP! Steve’s palm came down hard on your ass.

You let out a little squeal as your cheek stung. CRACK! It came down again.

“STOP!” You tried to wiggle away, but there was nowhere to go.

“Wow, you are being loud.” SMACK! The burn spread. “Is that what you want? Everyone at the office to see the frigid dummy liar getting spanked like the naughty girl she is? Maybe smelling your cunt? Because this little room already reeks of sex.”

He was right, you had to bite your lip to stay quiet. WHACK! SLAP! SPANK! SMACK!

“I really like you.” Steve rubbed the burn on your behind. “You’re lucky I’m willing to put up with your shit, even after not hearing from you for weeks.”

“Please stop.” You tried to stand again, ignore the flame.

“I will when you stop lying.” He pushed you down with ease.

CRACK! SLAP! WHOOSH! Each stroke made your rear explode with pain. You were trying to stifle back all noises, biting your lip so hard it started to bleed by the time tears started to pool at your eyes.

“Don’t lie.” Steve rubbed his hand against your burning behind, almost soothing it. “Are you wet?”

You opened your mouth and shook as your brain told you to shake your head no.

“I’ll stop if you tell the truth.” Steve’s fingertips dug into your pained flesh.

“Yes.” You shut your eyes, shame-filled you. “Yes. I’m wet. Now let me go!”

“Why would I do that?” Steve’s hand went up to the band of your panties and pulled them down. “You were finally good. Shouldn’t you get a reward?”

“No!” You pulled at the desk to get away, but Steve pushed you harder against the wood.

“Shhhh.” Your panties went down your thighs. “None of that now. This is the fun part, well honestly I’m sure all of this has been fun for you.”

His hand cupped your sex.

“Wow, you’re not wet.” Fingers ran over your slit. “You’re soaked. When was the last time you got laid?”

You buried your face in your hand. Humiliation at the question and your physical response flooding in.

“No wonder you’re so frigid.” The pads of his fingers pressed on your clit, eliciting a moan from your body. “You know I could’ve helped you with that on the first date right? I’ve been obsessed with you since the moment I spotted you.”

He began rubbing in a circle. The human touch, the interaction. You had missed it. Your body stilled under his touch, the way he was pressing, giving your clit the attention it needed. Another moan came out.

“As much as I want to hear those noises, now isn’t the place Doll.” Steve leaned down, his mouth next to your ear. “Keep them up and I’ll shove your panties in your mouth. Or would you like that? Tasting how sweet you are? I bet it’s better than you smell.”

You tried your hardest to stifle the whine. Steve rose back up with a chuckle and dropped your wrist. He knew that your objections were slinking away. Your body too pleased with his motions to put up any fight.

He started to rub harder and faster. You found yourself bucking against him, grinding your clit against his fingers as your stomach started to coil.

“When was the last time you came?” He picked up speed. You clawed at the desk as your body ignited. You needed this. “Answer the question.”

“I….I….” Your head was swimming.

“That’s not an answer.” Steve slowed down, lessened the pressure.

“I don’t remember!” You gasped and tried to rock against him. “Please don’t stop!”

“Wow, first it’s please stop and now it’s please don’t stop?” His hand left your body and frustration started to fill you. “No wonder you’re so on edge. If you’ve waited this long, I think you can wait a few more minutes.”

The sound of his belt coming undone was unmistakable. You lifted your head to look around.

“What are you doing?” You pushed yourself off the desk as Steve sat in the chair, his cock yanked out of his pants, standing at attention.

“Giving you a place to cum.” He put his arms on the rests. “You want to finish don’t you?”

“I….I’m not having sex with you!” You stood up, your skirt still around your waist.

“Quit pretending.” Steve rolled his eyes and leaned forward, yanking your panties down further with one hand as he wrapped the other around your waist. “We went on three dates. I think that’s plenty. “You have thirty seconds to decide. Do you want to be the frigid bitch or the strong woman who takes what she wants?”

“And you think I want you?” The frustration was started to turn to anger.

“I know you want me.” He swiped his fingers over your pussy making you fall forward with a squeak. “Your body knows you want me. Quit lying. Take what’s yours.”

Steve pressed down hard on your clit again. A moan started to come forward, your lip was already swollen, you needed something to bite down on and without thinking you moved forward, even more, opting for his shoulder.

“Ahhh.” He brought his other hand to the back of your thigh, helping you straddle him on the chair. “Bite me all you like baby.”

You didn’t lift your head. His hands moved, one to his cock the other to the small of your back. His tip ran down your slit before stopping at your entrance. He put pressure on your back and you gasped as his cock split you.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” It had been so long, there was a slight pain as you lowered yourself. “You’re so big.”

“And you’re so tight.” Steve pushed you harder. “Fuck baby. You’re not a dummy or frigid, or a liar, when you’re like this you’re the fucking queen.”

He pulled your head hard against your shoulder as he flexed his hips and pushed your back. Impaling you on his cock. You cried out against his body as yours started to shake.

“A queen who can take whatever she likes. Whatever she demands.” Steve’s hands moved to your hips. “I’m nothing but her loyal subject.”

You were on top, but he was in control. His fingers guided you as you bounced on his cock, your clit brushing against his body with each movement. He was so large; you were so filled. You moaned into his chest as you tried to follow his lead, the heat, and desire for release returning.

“Please, Steve.” You were starting to lose control. “Please, I need to cum.”

“Then cum.” Steve nipped at your neck. “Nobody is stopping you. Take it.”

Your body shook as you pushed yourself, trying to take the lead from him. Moan in his shoulder as your hands dug into the chair. Rolling and rocking your body.

“Are you the Queen?” Steve flexed his ass, poking the tip of his cock against your cervix.

“No.” You weren’t going fast enough, chasing the need to finish. You needed his help. “You’re the King.”

You looked up at him with glassy eyes. A smile spread across his face. In a swift movement, he hoisted you in the air and set you on your back on the desk.

“Fuck yeah I am.” His hands dug into your thighs as he started to pound into you without mercy.

You brought your hands to your mouth to bite down, but Steve swatted them away.

“I don’t care anymore. Let them hear you. Let everyone know you’re getting fucked. I want them to hear you.” He didn’t slow up, his threats and demands sending more pleasure through your body. “Cum now. Do It. NOW.”

That was all it took. You started to explode around him, creaming yourself as his cock railed into you. Your head floated away, and you didn’t hold back the moans as your body went limp from the euphoria.

Steve bottomed out one last time before pulling away. He reached for something and pressed it against his cock. His face contorted from the release as he joined you in the release.

You tried to steady your breathing as Steve's hands grabbed your ankles. He was sliding your panties back into place. You looked down to see his seamen against the fabric.

“Don’t even think about taking these off.” He lifted your ass and his cum pressed against your pussy. “I’ll pick you up at seven for dinner.”

You didn’t think before nodding in agreement. Steve leaned down and kissed your forehead before tucking himself away. You didn’t even get off your desk before he left the office whistling, door wide open.

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