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inseobts · 2 months ago

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Tell Me No Lies

law x fem!reader

you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.

a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it

words count: 3.9k

tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You want me to do what?”

Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.

Penguin holds up his hands, grinning like he’s already imagined you and Law making out in a booth “Not my idea! Bepo came up with it.”

Bepo, ever innocent, blinks “It’s logical. Varrick lies constantly. You can tell when people lie. Captain’s the one meeting him. It’s simple.”

You stare “You want us to act like a couple.”

“Just for the night!” Shachi chimes in from where he’s stuffing chips in his mouth “The place is a casino-slash-brothel. No one goes in there looking like a business partner. You show up all cold and stiff, he’ll know something’s up.”

Law hasn’t said a word.

He sits at the head of the table, arms folded, expression blank. But you know that face. He’s thinking. Calculating. Fighting something.

Then, flatly “Fine.”

You blink “Fine?”

“You’ll have to stay close,” Law adds, eyes flicking to yours “I can’t talk in code around Varrick, and I doubt we’ll get a second chance if he feels like we’re onto him.”

“So, what, I sit on your lap and play with your hair while you ask about Navy routes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penguin snorts soda through his nose.

Law doesn’t miss a beat “If it gets us the truth.”

You swallow hard. Because that should not have sounded that smooth.

Later, in your room, you stand in front of the mirror, pulling on the final piece of your dress, a deep red number that hugs your waist and legs and dips dangerously low down your back. You smooth it down, checking the slit up your thigh, the way the silk shimmers under the ship lights.

“You don’t have to look like a goddess,” you mutter to your reflection “You just need to catch a liar.”

But damn it, the dress works. And the second you step into the hallway, you hear Shachi’s voice echo from down the corridor “Caaaptaaaain!”

You freeze.

“Don’t be mad when she looks hotter than you, bro!” Penguin adds, loud enough that it bounces off the steel walls.

“Stop yelling” Law says from somewhere out of sight. His voice is tense.

You round the corner and stop dead.

Oh no.

Law... Law is in a black suit, crisp and clean, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair’s slicked back just enough to make your throat go dry. Tattoos peek out at the edge of his collar. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at his den-den mushi, but when he looks up and sees you his fingers still. His eyes trail down, slow. Too slow.

You hear Shachi whisper “damn” under his breath and fist bump Penguin like they just won a bet.

Law clears his throat “You’re… ready.”

You tilt your head, smirking “You look nice too. Didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“It was a gift” he mutters.

You take a step forward “From who? Someone who wanted to see you flustered?”

His jaw ticks “I’m not flustered.”

You do notice the slight red creeping up the back of his neck. Just a little. Enough.

Before either of you can pretend to be normal, the rest of the crew crowds the hallway behind you.

Bepo holds up a little camera “Say cheese.”

“We’re not taking pictures” Law snaps.

“Oh come on,” Penguin grins “Look at you two!”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“Nope.”

Shachi elbows Bepo “Ten bucks says they come back married.”

Bepo nods solemnly “I’ll take that bet.”

Law groans and starts walking past them, ignoring the chaos.

You trail after him, heels clicking on the metal. As you pass the guys, you whisper, “Try not to blow our cover.”

Penguin winks “Go get that intel... and maybe some action.”

You don’t answer but your cheeks are hotter than they should be.

And the second Law opens the hatch to the upper deck, the cold sea air hits you and so does the reality of the night ahead.

The casino is loud. Velvet-lined walls drown out the outside world, while gold lights glint off dice and crystal glasses. Somewhere near the back, a piano plays slow jazz. It’s all soft temptation and sharpened edges.

You walk in beside Law, his arm around your waist. His fingers rest against the small of your back like they belong there, not too tight, not too loose. Just… there.

You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress. You can feel everything.

Stay focused.

Varrick is waiting in a private corner booth, exactly where intel said he’d be. He’s slouched in the plush seat like he owns the place, surrounded by too many drinks and not enough class. Rings clink against his glass as he lifts it.

“Trafalgar Law!” he says, standing with a grin too wide to be real “Wasn’t expecting you to bring arm candy.”

Law’s arm tightens around you. Not protectively. Possessively.

“She’s more than that,” he says, calm as ever “But she doesn’t like to talk much.”

You smile politely at Varrick, then glance at Law from the corner of your eye.

Smart. That gives you the freedom to observe.

You slide into the booth beside Law, close, but with just enough space between you to keep your focus.

Varrick leans forward “So, you wanted info on that Navy ship?”

Law nods “I heard it was seen heading east out of Ivona Port last week.”

Varrick shrugs, swirling his drink lazily “Could be. Could be west. Hard to say.”

You place your hand lightly on Law’s thigh. Barely a touch. Just enough.

Lie.

Law’s eyes don’t move. His posture doesn’t change. But his fingers tap against the glass in front of him once, acknowledging you.

Varrick chuckles “You know, these Navy guys come and go. They don’t tell me everything.”

Your fingers slide up, brushing over the inside of Law’s wrist as you reach for your own drink.

Another lie.

Law hums “Then tell me what you do know.”

“I know they’re not looking for pirates right now,” Varrick says “Some big job further north. Something to do with weapons.”

Your nails gently press into the back of Law’s hand, slow and deliberate.

Lie.

You feel him tense slightly. Like he’s thinking.

“Do you want something in return for this info?” Law asks coolly.

Varrick grins “Only a little favor later. Nothing serious.”

Even now he's lying.

This time you run your fingers slowly down Law’s forearm, letting your touch linger like a lover’s caress. But it’s all code. All signal.

Law shifts beside you. To anyone watching, it just looks like he’s turning toward you, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You nod “Three lies so far.”

“Mm.”

Varrick raises a brow “You two are cute, y’know that? Real cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually into each other.”

Law leans in, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek as he speaks “We are.”

Your heart skips.

You almost miss the way Varrick’s mouth twitches at that. A little wrinkle in the corner of his eyes. Something flickers. Jealousy?

“Lucky guy then...” Varrick mutters.

Law’s arm moves from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. Not fake this time. Not calculated. His hand is warm, firm, fingers curling possessively.

You’re practically in his lap now.

You keep your eyes on Varrick “So what’s the Navy doing near Blue Rock Island?”

He flinches.

Small. Quick. But you see it.

You drag your hand up Law’s chest like you’re playing with his shirt but your fingers dig in slightly at his collarbone.

That’s the truth. That’s the target.

Law tilts his head slightly, voice low and smooth “Blue Rock, huh?”

Varrick blinks, caught off guard.

You glance at Law just for a second and see it.

His eyes are calm. But his pulse at his neck is faster now. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. You’re supposed to be watching the informant, but now you’re catching the way Law’s lips part ever so slightly when you shift in his lap. The way his breath hitches.

He’s too good at hiding. You never have a baseline for him and suddenly, you realize you do now. You’ve been close enough tonight to read him. Feel him.

So when his ears turn red the moment Varrick leaves the table you finally know what his tell is.

“You’re enjoying this” Law mutters as Varrick disappears into the crowd.

You swirl the last sip of wine in your glass “Enjoying not getting stabbed in a double-cross? Sure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You turn your head slowly toward him, lashes low, a smirk threatening at the corner of your mouth “No? Then clarify, Captain.”

His jaw clenches.

You lean in “Or are you upset I figured out your tell?”

Silence.

Got him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. Just sips from his glass like he’s trying not to set it down too hard. You watch his throat bob, slow and tight. He’s flustered. Controlled but clearly struggling to keep that control.

Which is dangerous and tempting.

You reach out, brush something “imaginary” from his collar, letting your fingers drag across the base of his throat. He stiffens just slightly, and you swear under that cool expression, his eyes darken.

“I’m not ready to leave” you say casually, turning away to scan the floor “We did the job. Got the truth. Maybe we deserve a little fun.”

Law doesn’t argue. That alone is suspicious.

So you both stay. You drink. You people-watch. You flirt, just enough to be part of the act. And he plays along, letting his hand rest low on your back, murmuring sarcastic commentary about the drunk nobles and sleazy gamblers, voice low and rough in your ear.

But then Varrick returns.

You’re seated now in a more open lounge, a couch near the roulette tables. Varrick walks up with a drink and a too-easy smile.

“Forgot one little detail,” he says, tone casual “Seems like the Navy isn’t after pirates right now because they’re meeting with one. Some kind of alliance. Dunno who.”

Lie.

You shift against Law and drag your fingers along his inner thigh, too slow to be innocent.

Varrick talks more, and you let your hands wander. One arm over Law’s shoulder, the other toying with the fabric of his jacket. A fingertip gliding along the inked edge of his collarbone. Every time Varrick lies, you punish Law with a new touch.

You want to see how much he can take.

When you trail your hand up to the side of his neck and run your thumb along his jaw, you feel it. That little twitch. A shiver. His hand slides up your waist and grips tight, like a warning.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“He’s lying again.”

Your voice is barely above a breath.

“And you’re pushing it” Law growls, so low only you can hear.

But you just smile and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering “Don’t lose your composure, Captain. Someone might think you’re affected.”

Varrick finally gets bored and excuses himself, clearly thinking he’s dropped enough bait.

The second he’s out of sight, Law stands.

“You come with me. Now.”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just starts walking toward the upstairs hall of the casino. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

Which… you do.

Up the stairs, past the velvet curtain, through the dim corridor lined with private doors. He finds an empty suite with a key card left in the slot—probably reserved for VIPs or those with a winning streak.

He opens it.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then he pins you to the wall. Hands at your side, like blocking you. Eyes burning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice rough “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You pretend to think “Touching my captain in public? Flirting with a man who’s obviously holding back? Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes and back again. His breath is hot against your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You grab his lapel and pull him down.

“I’ll tell you if you lie.”

For a few long seconds, Law doesn’t move.

His fingers flex on your hips, like he’s debating whether to pull you in or push you away. His eyes are on yours, unreadable to anyone else but you can see it now. The cracks in that cold, calculated shell. The tension. The restraint.

You’ve spent months trying to get a baseline on him. To decode his behavior. Now? You are the baseline.

And he’s struggling.

“I should let you go” he mutters, voice low, more to himself than to you.

“But you won’t” you whisper back.

His eyes drop to your lips “No.”

He steps closer. Your back is fully against the wall now, your breath tangled with his. You tilt your chin up, almost daring him.

“What’s holding you back?” you ask.

His mouth twitches “You.”

A beat.

Then “You’re too good at reading people.”

You grin “So are you.”

His hand slips to the back of your thigh, just under the slit of your dress. Not high, but enough to make your pulse skip “You’ve been testing me all night.”

“Guilty.”

“You think it’s funny watching me lose control?”

“I think it’s hot.”

That does it.

He lets out a quiet, sharp breath, like he’s just given up fighting gravity, and leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. His hand stays on your thigh. His other lands on the wall beside your head.

You whisper, “You’re not usually like this.”

“No,” he says “You bring it out.”

You stay like that for a moment, so close, heat radiating between you, neither of you quite touching where it counts. The tension is unbearable in the best way. It’s not just attraction. It’s months of silence, near-misses, unsaid things finally rising to the surface.

Law is still Law, he's collected and composed, but now you know what it costs him. You feel the restraint humming under his skin like electricity.

You reach up and slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers.

“Stay” he says. It’s not a command. It’s almost… a request.

You nod, slow “I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally steps back, not far, just enough to breathe, and moves to the bed. Sits on the edge, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to reset.

You take the moment to look around. The room is warm-toned, elegant. One massive bed in the center. Silk sheets. Balcony window cracked open to let in the sound of crashing waves and soft jazz from below.

You sit beside him, gently bumping his shoulder “So. What now?”

Law doesn’t look at you “Now, we sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’re going to act like none of that happened?”

“I didn’t say that” he replies, voice quiet.

He leans back, hands braced behind him, eyes finally meeting yours “I’m saying we don’t have to rush it.”

Your heart stutters.

He adds, almost awkwardly, “This isn’t just the mission. Not for me.”

You don’t tease him this time. Instead, you smile, warm and soft.

“Not for me either.”

He pulls off his jacket, tosses it over the chair. Starts unbuttoning his cuffs. You stand and go to the bathroom to remove your heels and freshen up, giving him space, and maybe yourself a moment to breathe.

When you come back, Law’s already under the covers, shirt slightly open, tattooed chest half-visible in the low light. He’s facing the wall.

But when you slip in beside him, he immediately turns over and pulls you in, an arm draped over your waist, forehead pressing into your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room is quiet now.

The casino noise is a distant hum through the balcony window, soft music, muffled laughter, the whirl of spinning wheels and shuffled cards. But inside, it’s just the sound of two hearts beating faster than they should.

You’re lying on your side, Law behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, warm and heavy. Not demanding. Just… steady.

The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged. Comfortable, yet not quite safe.

Your voice cuts through it, soft and curious.

“If we’re just gonna sleep… then why here? Why not go back to the ship?”

You feel him pause behind you. Not tense but thoughtful.

He exhales through his nose “Because.”

“Because?”

His voice drops, rough like he hasn’t decided if he wants to answer honestly “Because if I took you back to the ship, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He shifts slowly and pulls you in tighter, chest pressed to your back now. His nose brushes your neck, and his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely manage a whisper “This?”

He hums “Stay close. Let myself… feel something.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you expected.

He continues, quietly “On the ship, I’m your captain. In control. Always thinking. Always five steps ahead.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And here?” you ask.

“Here,” he says, “I get to be a man lying next to someone who makes him forget all of that.”

You don’t answer for a moment.

Then, deliberately, you reach back and trail your fingers down his forearm, slow and gentle.

“Good,” you whisper “Because I like this version of you.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just tucks his face into your neck like he’s finally allowing himself to breathe.

You shift slightly.

Not much. Just enough to test the space between you.

He doesn’t stop you.

So you turn.

You roll slowly to face him, your knees brushing his under the covers, your chest barely touching his. The low golden light from the hallway filters in through the crack under the door, just enough to catch the edge of his face, his jaw, his eyes, that small crease between his brows.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Quietly.

You speak, low and honest “You’re not the only one who forgets how to breathe around the other.”

His expression flickers. Just a second. But enough for you to see hope, doubt, desire. Then gone again.

You lift your hand to his cheek, gentle.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

There’s nothing hesitant in it. No more caution, no more reading cues, no more pretend. Just heat, and months of tension finally snapping. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

Your hands move instinctively, one gripping his shirt, the other slipping around his waist. He shifts, pressing you into the mattress, his knee between yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

When he finally pulls back, just an inch, his forehead rests against yours. Both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

You whisper, “That didn’t feel like something we’ll forget in the morning.”

Law shakes his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“It’s not.”

Another beat.

Then you add, teasing, “So much for just sleeping.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, eyes half-lidded “You started it.”

You laugh soft and warm and tangled in sheets and tension.

And when he pulls you close again, one hand splayed across your lower back, your smile fades into something quieter. Something real.

Because this time, neither of you is pretending.

The next morning, the sun isn’t even fully up when you and Law leave the casino.

No one says anything at first. You walk side by side, close enough that your arms keep brushing, but not close enough to make it obvious.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the second the Polar Tang comes into view, the nerves hit you like a cannonball.

You’re holding your heels in one hand, the other arm looped awkwardly around your waist to keep Law’s massive coat closed over your dress. Your own shoes were giving you blisters, so somewhere between the casino lobby and the harbor, Law, annoyed and muttering, slipped out of his and made you wear them.

Now here you are, flopping around the deck in his too-big shoes while he walks beside you in his socks, lipstick faintly smudged across the corner of his jaw.

You don’t look at each other. You cannot look at each other.

And then just as your foot slips slightly in one of his clunky boots “Well, well, well… Look who finally decided to come back.”

Shachi.

Leaning on the railing with a bowl of cereal and way too much smugness for six in the morning.

You freeze.

Penguin appears from the stairwell, blinking at you both. His gaze travels from your tousled hair to your crooked dress zipper, to Law’s missing shoes, to your very obvious lipstick on his jaw.

He lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle.

“That,” he says, pointing his spoon between the two of you, “was not part of the mission.”

Law doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps walking, face unreadable except for the ears burning red.

You try to look casual. Like you didn’t just sneak off a casino floor at sunrise “We, uh... we stayed for surveillance reasons.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, I bet you were surveilling something.”

You shoot him a glare, still wearing Law’s boots “My heel broke.”

“Sure it did. And your lipstick broke too? All over the captain’s face?”

You reach up automatically to touch your lips, and groan when you realize he’s right.

Law growls under his breath “Enough.”

But Shachi’s having too much fun “Man, I thought you’d at least try to sneak back on like it didn’t happen. This is so much better.”

“Do you want to swim today, Shachi?” Law deadpans.

Bepo pops his head out of the hallway “Did you two share a bed? Was it part of the act or did something actually happen? Because you both look like—”

“Bepo.” Law cuts him off like a gunshot.

You turn to face Law, trying so hard not to laugh because the man looks like he wants to teleport to another planet. His hair’s still a little messy. His collar’s open. And he’s got the exact same expression he had when you kissed him: that barely-holding-it-together calm that only you can see cracking.

You mutter under your breath, “We should’ve never come back.”

Law nods “Agreed.”

Then, just when you’re about to make a break for your quarters, Law stops and turns.

He grabs your hand.

The crew goes dead silent.

He lifts your fingers to his lips in one smooth motion. Kisses them.

Soft. Deliberate.

Then walks off with all the calm dignity of a man in socks who’s still the most dangerous person in the room.

Your brain short-circuits. The crew loses their minds.

Penguin lets out a strangled “WHAT—”

Shachi screams “HE’S IN LOVE!!!”

And you’re just standing there, one hand in the air, heart about to burst out of your chest.

You finally bolt down the hallway toward your room, calling back “I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!!”

Bepo shouts after you, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMOTIONAL MATURITY!”

You slam your door shut, cheeks on fire, heart racing, and a stupid smile you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

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brokenbarnes · 4 months ago

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Haunted Eyes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on the Episode "The Power Broker" from the Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Zemo is offering the Winter Soldier to Selby for payment, but the reader plays his handler. Hurt/comfort type shyt

Warnings: canon level violence, slight panic attack, mentions of ptsd

A/N: Holy shit guys I haven't written (and posted it) in over four years. I hope you enjoy it, hopefully my writing as improved since high school!

You were unhappy with the idea from the start.

Your best friend, closest confidant, one you’ve watched grow into a new version of himself; forced to play the part of the man he used to be. Could you even consider the Asset a part of Bucky? Would it be rude not to? There’s been many long conversations about who he is now, how he defines himself in this modern era.

Zemo’s plan was awful enough that it could just work. Bucky back under the invisible muzzle of his former self, playing a part to appease a buyer who just couldn’t resist.

If that wasn’t awful enough, Zemo had a role for you as well. His field Handler, his orderly, his master. Someone he would obey every and any command from.

The thought of it made you sick. Your stomach rolled as you zipped up your disguise, provided by Zemo conveniently on the flight to Madripoor. A tactical Kevlar jacket, form fitting dark slacks and heavy combat boots.

Looking in the mirror, you fixed your posture to reflect one with authority. Shoulders back, chin lifted, hands on your hips. You could possibly make this work, if you could see it through.

Bucky didn’t say a word to you at the club. Neon lights, hazy blue smoke, the odor of too many bodies rubbing close together. The Asset is not supposed to speak unless spoken to, therefore his coldness shouldn’t have been a surprise to you.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” Zemo smirked at him in Russian as Bucky followed you and Sam through the crowd.

You didn’t flinch, but you felt you heart tear in two at the empty look in his eye. How did it come back so easily? The Bucky you woke up to everyday had a warm look in his deep blue eyes, crows feet crinkling when he smiled at you. This was not your Bucky.

As a shady looking man placed his hand on Zemo’s shoulder, you ordered Bucky to attack. He did so without a question, reminding you of the fraction of the man you saw on the DC bridge almost a decade ago. He put men down without blinking, clearing the room as people gasped.

Selby’s lounge was tinted with green neon and a faint smell of cigarette smoke. Your stomach turned at the atmosphere. Zemo lounged in a modern looking chair, Bucky positioned himself between the two, Sam opposite. You stood near Bucky, posture stiff, arms behind your back, face rigid as steel. Bucky was the same.

Selby reminded you of a snake, draped over her disgusting couch, wrapped in expensive materials and reeking of designer alcohol. She eyed your soldier with a hungry gaze, a different emotion burned in your chest.

She greeted Zemo not as a welcomed friend, but as an adversary she couldn’t wait to see what the next move was. You read her well enough to know she was skeptical of Zemo, the rumors of him locked away were supposed to be true. So how was he in Madripoor?

One look at Sam’s face showed you he did not trust Zemo, not one bit. Apparently Bucky did somewhat, or didn’t care about trusting him, just using him to get to the next step. Bucky’s past wasn’t based on trust, it was based on obedience.

And fear.

Zemo remained relaxed in his chair, glancing over at Bucky who stood so stiffly in the corner. His eyes were emotionless, muscles slack. You knew if you placed a muzzle over his mouth, it would be like nothing had changed at all since he came into your life. All the progress he was working towards with you and Dr. Raynor would be gone just like that.

“In exchange for information of the serum, I offer you the Winter Soldier,” he smiled in his sinister way. “Along with the code words to control him of course.”

Selby sat up straighter on her snake skin couch, like a cobra raising it’s head before it attacks. She was interested.

“He will do anything you want,” Zemo mused.

You met Sam’s eye across the room, worried, curious, concerned. Bucky slipped back into the role of someone he never wanted to be ever again. Maybe just a little bit too easily.

“Anything?” She leaned forward, puffing her chest out slightly, eyes locked on Bucky. Not his eyes, anywhere but his eyes in fact. His chest, his shoulders, new and improved arm, thighs, his feet. But she did not look in his eyes.

“Handler?” Zemo’s cold, calculating eyes turned to you. “Care to demonstrate?”

The words were bitter on your tongue, but Zemo’s warning replayed through your head. You cannot break character if you want to live, you have to sell it.

“Ready to comply, Soldat?” You tried to not stumble over the Russian, the language you learned so many years ago. The language that haunted his nightmares, waking up mumbling in a Slavic tongue engrained in his consciousness. Speaking the language for the both of you meant something had gone terribly wrong.

The awful blank stare in eyes remained, but his jaw clenched as he nodded. “Yes, Handler.”

“Kneel, Asset,” you hated the tone of your voice. One you hadn’t used in a long time, one that was never meant for Bucky.

He dropped to his knees at your feet, eyes still staring straight ahead. You tried not to wince as his knees slammed into the hardwood floor without even a moment of hesitation from him.

From the sheath on your thigh, you lifted a knife to his neck. He didn’t blink as the blade pressed into his skin.

“The Asset is completely compliant to your every need,” your voice was brittle, like glass. It appeared strong but one push was all it would take to bring it all down. “He will fight, kill, destroy anyone you ask him to.”

Selby’s hungry eyes asked for more.

“The asset does not think for itself,” you continued. “Anything you ask it to do will happen automatically. Completely submissive for its handler.”

You swallowed hard, turning your attention down to the man at your feet. “Asset, lean forward.”

You watched as Bucky leaned forward, digging the blade into the soft skin of his throat. You fought to keep your expression neutral as a tiny bead of blood trickled over his Adams apple.

“He will do anything without regards for himself.”

Selby smiled, clearly thrilled with her new deal, turned to Zemo and gave up the name of the doctor working on the serum.

“Stand, Asset,” you said, just loud enough to be heard by the one who mattered most.

Bucky returned to his standing position, posture military perfect, eyes staring straight head. A small stream of blood drying over the stubbly skin of his throat.

You were grateful for the tactical jacket when the shooting started. Selby’s lifeless body stared up at you like a snake skin, a hole blown through her sternum.

Although the cover was blown, Selby dead from a mysterious assassin and a whole nightclub full of dangerous people below; you were grateful you were no longer Bucky’s handler. The mask he had donned was gone, the awful, haunted look in his eyes had vanished but left a trace.

Later...

Finding Sharon Carter in Madripoor was not on your bingo card for this mission, but you were grateful for the temporary shelter of her apartment. Bucky lost his Asset attire, Sam no longer looked like a pimp, you were able to borrow some of Sharon’s sensible shoes.

Your adrenaline crashed at Sharon’s apartment, after running for your life from Selby’s night club and a bounty placed on your heads. All of the energy you felt when playing the Handler drained out of you, it was all you had to try and listen to Sharon discuss her situation.

You pulled your feet beneath you on her fancy leather couch, resting your head in your palm against the arm rest. Your mind replaying the image of Bucky leaning into the knife in your hand.

Bucky sat on the other end of the couch, avoiding your eye contact, hands laced together in his lap.

You wished he would catch your eye, lift the corner of his mouth in a subtle smile, reach over and nudge your foot with his. But when he thought nobody was watching, his head hung low, staring down into his lap, bouncing his knee in the way you know meant anxiety was making his skin crawl.

Sharon was hosting a party in the gallery below her luxury apartment, full of questionably authentic art pieces and shady customers.

Although the customers were having fun, the four of you observed, on edge. Despite the open bar, nobody from your party was drinking, silently observing the life Sharon had built for herself.

Bucky noticed as you slipped away, seemingly uncomfortable in your own skin. He silently followed you from a distance, watching you take the elevator up to Sharon’s apartment. He waited and took the next car up.

By the time you reached Sharon’s apartment, your chest was tight and it felt like you were breathing through a straw. No matter how deep of a breath you tried to take, it was never enough air.

You stumbled your way into her bathroom, turning on the sink and watching cold water flow over your wrists. Bracing your forearms against the porcelain, you dropped your head, pressing your eyes into the damp skin.

Tears burned in your eyes, squeezing your eyelids together you tried to contain the guilt building inside.

The scary thing about Bucky was that he could sneak up on you like nobodies business, avoiding squeaky floor boards and balancing his weight just perfectly. He was still like a ghost in many ways, as much as he tried to erase it.

So when he knocked gently on the bathroom door, it startled you, moving you to quickly wipe your eyes.

“Y/N?” His voice was gentle as he called through the door.

You froze, trying to steady your breathing although you knew his super soldier hearing picked up on it through the door.

“Y/N, Honey, let me in,” he murmured, leaning his temple against the door, hand on the doorknob.

“I’m okay,” but your voice was shaking.

“Y/N.”

You sighed, wiping your eyes once last time before opening the door. Your super soldier was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his black long-sleeve shirt. Usually you’d admire how the material stretched across his broad chest, but your eyes were flooded with tears.

You let him in without another word, he shut the door behind him. Sitting down on the lip of the modern-looking tub, you ran your hands through your hair, trying to calm down.

He didn’t speak, his favorite tactic, which drove you crazy. Forcing you to fill the silence like an interrogation technique.

“Bucky, I…” you swallowed hard, guilt stirring in your gut as you looked at him. You blinked quickly before trying again. “Bucky, I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Do what, Doll?”

“Be your handler,” you spoke the world like it was a slur, a bad taste in your mouth. “Make you… Make you…”

He tilted his head at you, observant eyes watching your every move.

“Honey, you didn’t make me do anything.”

You stood up, standing in front of him as he leaned against the sink.

He had wiped the blood away and the serum had healed the thin skin over his throat, you swore you could still see where your knife had nicked him. You reached out and gently touched the spot under his chin where you had pressed the unyielding steel.

“I hurt you,” you shook your head, chin quivering.

“I’m okay,” he shook his head. Your touch was warm against his skin, he reminds himself that he enjoys this feeling.

“I don’t want to be another person in your life that’s hurt you,” tears spilled over your cheeks now, dripping under the neckline of your borrowed shirt.

He closed his flesh hand around yours, the one that was still tracing the healed line on his skin. His clear eyes met yours, blurry with tears and guilt.

“You are not my handler,” he spoke quietly, but firmly. “I know the difference. You were playing the part, not that it ended up mattering anyway. You didn’t hurt me, Y/N.”

You looked down at your shoes and tried to focus on your breathing. Why was he being so nice to you? You became another figure of those that had hurt him, had turned him into a shell of a human.

“C’mere,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you against him. You let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to the metal hum under your ear, a sound that has always brought you comfort.

“There is never a good time to be playing the Winter Soldier,” he spoke softly, just for your ears only. “But if I had to choose anyone to be my handler, I’d choose you any day.”

“Don’t,” you wiped your eyes on the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Nah, I’m serious,” he took a deep breath, which reminded you to copy him. Something you do all the time for him. “You’re the one that’s pulling me out of all this. You know all the dark secrets of my mind.”

“Dark secrets?” You wrinkled your nose, feeling your muscles relax a touch.

“Mhm,” his warm hand felt good on your skin, brushing the tender skin of the underside of your arm. “I trust you.”

Trust was a hard thing for Bucky, you could count on one metal hand the amount of people he trusts. But if Bucky could still trust you after playing the antagonist of his nightmares…

And you knew what those nightmares were like for him, leaving him shaking, sweating, reeling for a grasp on reality. Out of all the handlers he had in his lifetime, you hoped you were the one that showed him the most kindness.

“I don’t want you feeling all mixed up now,” he squeezed you quickly before letting go. “There’s only room for one crazy person in this relationship.”

You wiped your eyes, sneaking a glance in the mirror over his shoulder. He blocked your reflection with his strong back, leaning in to kiss you.

You’re forgiven, he told you, pressing his body into yours.

And that’s all you needed.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #captain america #captain america brave new world

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redd-blushing-roses · 13 days ago

Text

It's Fear

word count: 3.4k

pairing: (winter soldier)Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: The Winter Soldier protects you during a mission, but there are consequences for every action.

warnings: lot's of angst, torture, relatively unpleasant descriptions of abuse, assault (nothing too detailed, but it's still uncomfortable)

notes: hi all. finally got this one sorted out. I have a couple more fics being worked on which I hope to be ready later this week. This was just an idea I had and thought it was somewhat interesting. i think you can imagine it's set some time just before the events of the second captain america movie.

enjoy reading :)

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It was quiet in the elevator.

Nothing but the mechanical pulley system working to keep the box running up and down, the sound of your breathing, uneven and nervous. You try not to look, try not to stare, but you can’t help it.

It’s unnerving, no matter how long you’ve worked beside him, to be in the same room as the Winter Soldier. No less to be standing in an enclosed box with the assassin.

He stood across from you, staring vacantly at the wall above your head, arms crossed and a deep frown set in his face.

The numbers slowly ticked on the display above as the elevator descended. Your hands remained at your side, fingers brushing across the metal of the pistol in your thigh.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t supposed to attack you; you’d been there when Alexander Pierce had reprogrammed the soldier, enabling your voice as a trigger for his obedience. He would listen, he would watch over you. More importantly, he would be sent with you to protect you.

But still. Although you trusted he would protect you, you’d seen HYDRA members use him to try and hurt you before.

The elevator finally dings and you quickly step out of the doors, steel groaning as the Winter Soldier trails behind you.

You made your way down the dimly lit hall of SHIELD’s secret basement. The hall was lined with empty cell rooms, a dirty laboratory and the ominous holding room where the Winter Soldier was kept.

You were grateful they’d decided you would be of more use spying on Steve Rogers, the righteous super soldier back from the dead. They’d set you up in an apartment, living across the hall in the small one bedroom place you called home rather than being holed up in one of their dingy housing cells.

“Consider it a bonus for your hard work.”

A bonus.

You’d take it, although most days your hard work felt like a never ending cycle of betrayal and contradiction.

You stop at the room ending the hallway, taking a breath before you bring your fist up to the door, knuckles lightly rapping against its surface.

You hear the muffled sound of voices. A chair scrapes against the floor, then footsteps.

Besides you, the Winter Soldier tenses. You look at him out of the corner of your eye. His dark blue eyes slide to meet yours for a moment, looking away just as fast.

He’s just as afraid as you are.

The door swings open, your heart hammering at the sight of Pierce.

“Ah, my two favorite spies.”

He nods his head towards the room, opening his arm wide as an invitation for you to enter. “Come in, come in.”

The Soldier grunts and walks in first and you follow. The two of you sit in the chairs placed in front of the large desk. You pretend not to see the armed guards lining the wall by the door; pretend you don’t smell the lingering scent of antiseptic cleaner, likely used on a recent blood stain.

“You really live up to your name myshka (mouse). I almost didn’t hear you.”

Myshka.

Your code name.

It perfectly captured your role. Where the Winter Soldier was aggressive violence and cold stares, the picture of destruction and death, you were silent observance and stealthy escape.

Always on the outskirts of the action; collecting information and disappearing without a trace. You could talk to a government official, who knew full well who you were, and have them spilling their secrets without even realizing, taking a sip of their drink and scratching their heads, wondering where you vanished off to.

Yes, you were the mouse.

The one poking holes in SHIELD’s perfectly collected agency.

Your fingers clench the pant leg of your suit and you clear your throat.

“You needed something, Sir?”

Pierce only called you down to the basement when he needed something. And it was always for one of three reasons:

1. The most common reason was for testing. He’d subjected you to all kinds of testing, bloodwork, brainwashing, simulation and weapons testing.

There wasn’t anything he’d shy away from testing you on or testing on you.

2. Less likely, considering you’d only just arrived in Washington after being gone on a mission, but Pierce frequently called you to give you the rundown of the latest mission. Where he was sending you , what or who you were looking for. What he wanted you to pull from Natasha; what you needed to look for in Fury’s office.

Just a few weeks ago, Pierce had called you down, informing you spying on Steve Rogers was not enough. He wanted you to seduce him, to bed him, and not to stop until you were pregnant.

“Imagine it. A child with the Super Soldier serum naturally embedded in its DNA. We’d be unstoppable.”

You’d gone home sick to your stomach, the thought of them abusing and indoctrinating a child to their twisted sense of righteousness was too much. And quite honestly, Rogers was not your type.

But there was a third option. And from the smirk on Pierce’s face, you suspected this was the more likely reason you’d been called down:

3. He was disappointed in your work. Alexander Pierce does not take kindly to disappointments, and he always deals with them accordingly.

“Of course. You know me so well. A curse of you line of work I’m sure, always anticipating one’s next more.”

He picked up his glass, swirling the liquor before downing the drink, just as you were waiting for him to do.

He folds his hands, leaning back in his chair.

“I’m going to be honest with you both. Your last mission was performed in an unacceptable manner. The outcome was, to put it lightly, a complete disaster.”

You lowered your head, eyes hot and glassy.

The Soldier and you had been sent to a dinner gala, tasked with gathering intel on one of HYDRA’s weapons contacts.

It was supposed to be quick. A 45-minute round of undercover mingling. You, dressed a tad too scandalous for your taste, attracting attention and making conversation.

The Winter Soldier watching from behind, ready to shoot should someone should they so much as breathe wrong in your direction.

And someone had.

You swallow thickly, the memory surfacing.

Being brought into a secret and empty room, unwanted hands running down your arm, your chest, your thighs.

You hated it. You hated him.

All you needed was the location where the weapons broker was hiding HYDRA’s new technology. And AI so powerful, it could configure future possibilities.

You had let him touch you, asking questions all the while. But your questions grew less frequent as his hands continued to roam, as you held back tears.

And you stayed. Because you knew if you didn’t get the information, Pierce would do something much worse.

“So, Pierce says, watching you, a tear threatening to fall from your lashes. “Do either or you want to explain why our broker was found with a bullet through his skull and why neither or you came back with the location?”

Your eyes shift to the Soldier’s, his posture rigid, gaze laser focused on Pierce.

The man had begun to touch you more, your discomfort silenced by his large hand covering your face, calloused fingers gripping your jaw tightly, his other hand moving up, up, up the slit of your dress.

You let out a muffled and strangled cry, your hands pushing back against the broker. But it was no use. He had you bent, back pinned against a desk, his body pressed up against yours, allowing you to feel every inch of him.

As he had begun to tug on you undergarments, your tears spilling down your face, breath catching in your chest as fear began to consume your thoughts, a shadow loomed behind the broker.

There was a silent thud, a quiet bang, and the broker’s jaw went slack, his body falling off of yours.

You blink, stunned. Blood was splattered across your face, dripping in your hair and down your dress. Your eyes moved upward, the Winter Soldier, gun still held out, stood across from you.

His eyes were unmoving from your trembling form.

He refused to look at you now.

“Mr. Pierce, it was a mistake.” You began, hating the way your breath trembled. “The mission took a turn. The broker wasn’t… he wasn’t being cooperative.”

“I believe you weren’t cooperative Myshka “, your eyes snap to his. Of course he knew.

“I wasn’t going to let him-”

“You didn’t give your best effort. You gave into fear. I thought we’d gotten that out of you, but it seems you may need another lesson.” Your knees were bounding, fingers white as your grip grew tighter.

Not this. Anything but this.

You’d take that awful moment over going back to the room.

“Please-” Pierce cuts you off, turning to the Winter Soldier.

“And you. Your orders are to protect the spy should she be threatened or in danger. Not kill a man who’s being a bit handsy.” The Winter Soldier says nothing. He just swallows.

Pierce shakes his head, standing.

“You failed your mission, Soldat. A first for you. And your last.

He moves around the desk and grabs the Soldier by the hair, tipping his head back with a painful jerk.

You watch, terrified. Pierce whispers something into the soldier’s ears, his eyes glued to yours. It’s unintelligible, the Russian too quiet and quick for you to catch.

But as the Winter Soldier’s blue eyes slide to yours, you know whatever punishment he’s been threatened with will be just as unpleasant as yours.

Pierce moves away, pleased with both of your reactions.

“Let’s get these over with, hm. A quick lesson before you get back out there and do your job. Properly this time.”

Pierce leaves the room, the door wide open behind him, calling you to follow. But you are rooted to the seat of the chair, fear coursing through your veins.

The Winter Soldier swallows thickly.

And then he speaks.

“I did my job.” He’s staring at you, hands fisted on his knees, similar to yours. It takes you a moment before you realize he wasn't giving a statement. He was asking a question. ‘I did my job?’

He had killed the man because his orders had been to protect you. The Soldier had followed you and the broker, silent and shadow-like. He had watched how the scene progressed, the hands, the tears.

He’d seen your distress, how scared you were. And something had snapped.

The Winter Soldier was asking you whether or not his work had mattered to you. Whether you considered it a job well done.

Your eyes soften, and you try to ignore the guards who are now moving at the edge of the room.

“You did,” you whisper. For a moment you hesitate. And then you place your trembling hand over his knee, the Soldier stiffening at the touch. “I’m grateful for it.”

Rumlow enters the room, brows furrowing at the sight. The Winter Soldier goes back to staring at the wall, and you sigh shakily, removing your hand.

You look up at Rumlow, trying not to cry as he moves towards you, hands coming down to pull you out of the chair by your vest. “Come on then.”

Rumlow drags you out of the chair, and you follow him, dragging your feet, sneering with hate.

You hated him.

You can’t help looking back into the room, the Soldier getting up at the instructions of his own guard. You don’t let Rumlow take you down the hall easily. You cry. You scream, fists pounding against his chest.

You only stop when he hits you, knuckles ripping open the skin of your lip, cursing at you to stop. You give in, wiping the blood from your chin and letting him drag you to the room.

You leave the Winter Soldier behind. Still sitting. Waiting for his own torture to begin. You do not see the Soldier standing as the guard pokes him with his gun; do not see the Soldier’s eyes as he watches you leave, not moving until you are out of sight.

You do not see the pain in his eyes, knowing he is about to forget you, to have every memory of you erased.

He watches you, hoping to cement your image into his brain. If he's allowed to have anything left, he wants it to be you.

The Soldier was programmed to protect you. But he sometimes wonders how much of what he feels for you is programming or himself.

During recon missions, he finds himself watching you rather than the target. He places himself in front of you, even though you can hold your own when things get dicey.

Sometimes, during undercover missions, he finds his fingers twitching at his side, a strange aching in his chest as he watches you smile at him. It’s all for show, a fake gummy smile. But it still brings on the uncomfortable images in his head, things he should not be thinking of -

- More often than not, he’d come back to his cell after missions, lying awake on the cold hard bed, wishing he could have brushed a lock of hair from your face, wishing he could give you a reason to give him a real smile.

You were kind to him. Despite the fact you were always on edge around him, fingers always hovering by your pistol, you treated him like he was worth something.

Of all the things he was afraid of, an ever growing list, he found in this moment, he was most afraid of losing you.

He can only hope the memory of your face, of the hand on his knee, of your kindness, will slip through the process.

But as the guards push him towards the wiping room, the large piece of machinery looming in the shadows, he knows it’s only wishful thinking.

He was the Winter Soldier.

And you were compromising his ability to perform his mission.

You are left in the bare room, the walls a bright white, each surface glossy. It’s sterile and awfully lit.

You’re bare feet pad against the floor, leading your body as if in a dream. Rumlow had stripped you of your tactical gear, letting you change into a hospital gown. Your hair was down, your braids ripped open by Rumlow, already damp with sweat.

You move to the only thing in the room, a chair in the center of the far wall, a headset laying on its seat, along with a vision visor.

Trembling fingers slide on the visor first, the room’s shape warped behind the fisheye glass. The headphones are next, swallowing the quiet with static.

You seat yourself on the chair, tense. Waiting.

Sometimes, you don’t know what is worse, the waiting or the actual event.

Nothing happens for a few minutes, you sweating through the gown, counting seconds as your eyes dart around the room.

And then there is a noise.

Loud whirring gears and mechanical parts. The sounds begins in your right ear, distant and muffled. It grows louder, moving across the headphones to your left ear, piercing. It hammers into your brain and you wince, moving to take off the headphones as if you’ve never tried before.

A jolt of electricity runs down your body from the base of your neck, leaving you gasping, hair standing up on your arms.

Your fingers tingle with the shock. You know the source well, the electricity always emitting from the same place, the tracker Rumlow had embedded into your spine.

Another endless reminder HYDRA had control over you.

The sound eventually stops, only to be replaced by another. The sound of fire, crackling and popping.

You wait, eyes panicked as they dart around the room. And then the visuals begin to play.

The white room is still there, still intact, but in the center of the floor is now a large burning fire.

It’s as if you can feel the heat of the flickering flames, your face warming up. You grip the sides of the chair; you knew it wasn’t real. Knew it was just the program tricking your senses.

Conditioning you to feel fear. But it was hard not to fight against it. Hard to remember what was real when your senses were being bombarded with images and sounds, overstimulated to exhaustion and delirium.

The heat was becoming too intense, the fire growing larger in the visor, flames licking closer.

A spark flies in your vision and you jump from the chair, feeling the sting of the ember on your skin. Electricity courses through you, sending you to the floor writhing in pain.

It doesn’t stop. It won’t stop until you get back on the chair. You grit your teeth and pul yourself back in, panting as it stops-

The noise, the fire, the shocks.

Your lip trembles.

They were only just beginning. And for four hours, the cycle of horrors repeats.

Wasps flying around you, hot flashes of pain poking your limbs to mimic stings, buzzing overwhelming your ears.

A baby crying in the corner of the room, leaving you sobbing as it lays there helpless. You can’t get up to comfort it, the tracker shock immobilizing you every time you reach for it.

The Winter Soldier, staring you down, playing a too long game of Russian Roulette, every bang of the gun sending shivers down your spine. Even here, in the simulation, HYDRA finds a way to use him against you.

It’s horror after horror. Blood. Pain. Screaming profanities.

It’s Rumlow standing before you, slapping your cheek. (And it’s so real, sometimes you believe he’s really standing there before you in the room).

It's the Winter Soldier, kneeling in front of you, a strange voice which does not belong to him whispering cruel obscenities into your ear.

It finally ends with the weapons broker.

He enters the room, that ugly and evil sneer on his face. You are a trembling and crying mess as he moves towards you.

Your mind is so overstimulated, so abused. You can’t close your eyes. Can’t scream. Can’t move.

You can only succumb to the fear and let it happen, praying it’s all over soon.

Rumlow finally enters the room. It takes you several minutes to realize he is really there, not just a trick of the simulation. He moves towards you, and you feel your muscles tense unconsciously, shaking with exhaustion.

He looks at you, head tilted with pity. You glare at him, despite your mind telling you not to provoke him.

Rumlow leans down, fingers sliding down your cheek.

“We’re done for today malen’kaya myshka.” (little mouse) He takes off the gear, hand sliding down your sweat soaked hair.

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. Quiet and soulless.

“I hate you.”

Rumlow looks at you, a flicker of disappointment passing through his gaze. His hand pets your hair own more time, soft and gentle.

And when he reels back his arm, as if to hit you, you don’t close your eyes. You don’t flinch.

You just stare. Waiting.

He smiles and looks up at the ceiling above you where you know a camera is hidden.

“I think she’s learned her lesson.”

Sleep does not come to you that night. It never does, your mind too busy replaying the horrors. Too busy waiting for the next thing to jump out of the shadows of the cell.

(They never let you go back home after reconditioning. Steve Rogers was too righteous to let your shaky form slip past his front door without question.)

And despite the fear, there is still the memory lingering behind it all.

The Winter Soldier, his gun pointed at you.

No, not at you. At where the man had stood.

The memory is already distorted after the session in the room, like a picture muddled by smoke.

You pull at a thread of the sad blanket you laid under.

You can't hear him anymore, but you know he's lying in one of the cells next to you. He had been escorted past you in the hall, eyes vacant and cloudy, like he didn't recognize you.

And it dawns on you he probably didn't. He doesn't know you anymore. It was the same every time.

But the Winter Soldier had protected you. There was something there. Despite the fear you felt when thinking of him, you couldn't help but wonder if he was just as much of a victim of HYDRA's torture as you were.

If his role wasn't one he chose, just like yours.

You lay tossing and turning all night.

There was still the fear, but now there was something more.

Anger. Not just hate, but the need for justice. What they were doing to you, to the Soldier, was wrong. More than wrong, it was far past the borders of evil.

You knew HYDRA had to be stopped.

And they had to be stopped soon, before they grew too powerful.

You were too afraid to do it alone. You couldn’t do it alone. And as much as you'd like to ask him, the Winter Soldier wouldn't be able to help you. Not now. Not when he had become a blank slate again.

But maybe... maybe with time.

As you returned home the next morning, waving quietly to Steve as he gave you a sweet smile, nodding good morning, you began to form a plan.

And you knew exactly who was going to help you.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #captain america winter soldier #the winter soldier #steve rogers #marvel #winter soldier angst #bucky barnes angst

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gangplanksorenji · 1 year ago

Text

Kinknuary Day 13: Uniform Kink

Pairing: NewJeans Hanni x Male Reader

Word Count: 5,562

[Kinknuary Masterlist]

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It’s just another goddamn stressful day that you’ll be tackling and you just can’t wait for it to end. Even teaching a class full of boisterous students sends you into a hellhole of utter stress and dismissing them is such a sigh of relief—you still show empathy and enthusiasm to teach and make them learn new things but there are just times where it’s really unbearable but you fight through it, following your moral code of conduct.

Yet one student stood out from the rest, not really because of her academic performance (in which she is already doing decently great) but, in the way she dressed that literally doesn’t follow the campus’ dress code.

As she’s about to leave and get her bangs packed and ready, you suddenly called out her name in a formal manner as you caught her attention off-guard. Of course, she rolls her eyes in subtle annoyance as her friends opted to just wait for her onto the campus’ canteen and Hanni agrees on that and averted her attention towards you.

“What is it, professor?” Hanni asks you with little-to-no-interest as wants this to end as quickly as possible as she has more endeavors to be in with.

“Ms. Pham, I would like to talk about something that I’m pretty sure you’re aware of.” Your stern demeanor intimidates Hanni as the presence of gravitas within you makes her feel a hint of nervousness, unsure on what you may talk about.

“I don’t seem to know what you’re talking about, professor?” She seems to not be cognizant about what you’re talking about as there’s multiple reasons on why you may call her out. It may seem sincere but she may act oblivious just to trick you but you could never be so sure, so you enlightened her with a fact. “Don’t you see what you’re wearing, Ms. Pham? Don’t you see that it definitely doesn’t follow the dress code of the school’s regulations.”

“Oh, I guess I’m sorry, professor. I don’t know anything about this regulation-thingy and what are you going to do about this, hm, strip it out of me, professor?”

God, this girl—Pham Hanni, yes, this girl is not the girl you don’t want to deal with. Everybody knows how bratty and stubborn she can get whenever she’s being disciplined and snapped back to her place, despite her bubbly and friendly attitude. With that iron wall that’s strong within her, you want to teach her a lesson and break it despite the possible risks and you might need to even take it a step further than the most primitive ways of disciplining students.

You let out a deep sight as silence ensues and then, you slammed hard on the desk and gave her a cold, stern gaze that startled and scared Hanni. “Don’t you dare talk to your professor this way, Ms. Pham Hanni—and I know you’re not this oblivious to not know about the school’s rules and regulations, don’t you?”

And as much as you’re having the higher authority right now, Hanni herself didn’t back down without a fight and rather provoked your inner fire that you didn’t absolutely like but your patience is staying stronger than steel, fighting through her stubborn behavior. It became continuous that the both of you are starting to argue like little kids but you still maintain your composition yet Hanni’s erupting like a volcano gone rogue right now and there’s one thing to deal with this, moreso, privately.

“Then why does it matter so much for you, professor? Just say the words and I—”

“Go to my office now, Pham Hanni.” You interrupted her with a single sentence as her heart dropped massively as fear now emanated on her eyes, as she never saw you this serious before. As much as she wants to complain or retaliate, she doesn’t want to get in any trouble or escalate this situation further so, without any choice, she packed her things and went to your office with you, of course—you need to guard her since she might immediately escape and catch you off-guard, unprepared and you don’t want that to happen.

Once you’ve reached your office, you offer her a seat as you turn on the lights and sit on your chair, ready to further talk about her annoying and frustrating behavior.

“Professor, if it’s just another dumb talk about my bitchy behav—”

“Can you just stay quiet, please?” You retort in response with her talkative antics that made you boil in anger and immediately, Hanni shuts her mouth silent and gulps nervously. “You are being a nuisance to a lot—let me repeat it again for you, a lot of professors, whether it’s your stubbornness or you just being incapable of following such simple instructions and being selfish, it’s getting out of hand.” You blow a deep breath as you’re about to tame a beast like Hanni as you’re preparing for another pointless hindrance that further makes everything go down into flames.

You’re just as puzzled as most of the people that knew her and you hate that one thing that really shows how much the professors despise her—her bratty attitude that will never fade as the boys around her fall in love with that and it’s just something wrong. As much as you don’t like her not following the dress code the school has implemented, you can’t lie and dive into your hypocrisy with the beauty that lies within her because of her aesthetically hot school uniform outfit. Of course, you won’t let your intrusive thoughts win and remain composed throughout the time being of disciplining her and making her snap back to her roots.

Yet you have a single trick up your sleeve whenever this gets out of hand, and you’re just holding onto this for a while, testing your patience.

“We don’t know what to do anymore with you so a little cooperation will be appreciated if you will just—”

“But here’s the thing, professor—” Hanni pushes the chair a little back, before standing and giving you a subtle smirk in aims to lower down your guard. “—at the end of the day, it’s not going to harm anyone and you can’t do anything with it, hah.”

“Hanni, it’s not just that—it’s all about the discipline and the control of your—”

“Oh, stop it, professor—” Hanni walks towards you as your senses heightened, absolutely flummoxed with her eager movements towards you as she’s obviously seducing you into making you fall down her spell. “—don’t tell me you don’t like how pretty I look in this outfit.”

In all means, she’s goddamn right and there’s no way on earth you would say a no but of course, you’re fighting the urge of your primal desires as you brush her approaching advancements to lure you in, retaliating and further wanting Hanni to back down even though you know that she’ll just advance without anyone to stop her.

“Stop this madness, Pham Hanni—you’re not going to—”

“I’m absolutely in this, professor—stop being a hypocrite and tell me how pretty I look with this uniform.”

It’s her accent and her saccharine voice that further doesn’t help with your defensive state against her unstoppable will. You can’t lie how perfectly beautiful she looks in this possibly-cursed uniform as every inch ultimately highlights her slender waist, her beautiful thighs and her perky mounds and you hate it. Maybe, she dressed like this for a purpose but you’re not so sure and you’re running out of time before you unshackle everything that has been caged for so long.

Knowing that hypocrisy is such utter bullshit, you finally give in a little as you start to stutter and mutter such complimentary words that Hanni catches her ears on it.

“You l-look good in this outfit, Hanni—not going to lie with you. Your curves, your thighs, it’s just perfect for you.”

Hanni finally smiles widely with her eyes drawing such crescent moons, emanating her cuteness towards you. She’s delighted to hear your sincere takes on her outfit and decided to take it a step further than ever before. Hanni then closes towards you as her hands palmed your chest, the warmth of it making you overwhelmed and excited as your heart races its beat like it’s catching something.

“I guess you want something to deal with this, right, professor? And don’t you dare say no because—” Hanni looks at your eyes endearingly with aims to further lure you onto her spell as her thick Australian accent followed by her sweet voice seduces you further, “—I can see in your eyes, professor—your pretty, black eyes says it all…” She further puts gasoline on the flames as she caresses her hands slowly on your chest, making you feel the affection and sincerity of Hanni’s eyes and because of your clever mind, you knew exactly where this is going as you fully gave in to your animalistic urges and broke apart your stern, teacher-like persona.

“I do want you, Hanni. I can’t believe I’m saying this but you’re so goddamn pretty and hot.” You took some quick peeks on her impeccable features as she saw this, smiling at the fact that you’re admiring her scrumptious body and her pretty face.

“I know professor—you’re hot and pretty handsome too. You don’t know this but—” Hanni tiptoes as you slightly slouch in order for her to be in level with you as she whispers in your ear, “—I had a crush on you for a long time now, professor.”

This may sound unorthodox for you but you feel your heart beating triple its normal rate, finding Hanni’s advances wholesome and flustering. It may sound wrong as you want to unhear what Hanni just said but you can’t help yourself with your own desires and even wanting more. Knowing that Hanni’s touches are getting bolder enough for you to act up, you gently push her hands off on your chest as she pouts cutely, dejected with your retaliating advances yet she doesn’t give up, at her watch.

“Hanni—we can’t be doing this. This is just wrong, I’m sorry—”

“But professor—” Hanni lays down onto the couch as she displays herself in front of you and all you can see is an angel getting ready to be sullied. “—don’t you wanna think of something else? Like, kissing me, making me rile up or just ruining me with this goddamn uniform? Come on professor, make a girl worth her while…”

With your own desires taking over you, you can’t be bothered to really make yours unattended as her primal calls make up for your time as you were lured by her own devilish remarks. You pin her down at the couch as she yelped in response, feeling a little shocked with your aggressive actions but she never wanted you to break the heated atmosphere that has been building up as she grabbed your collar and kissed you intimately.

This is totally wrong—you said to yourself but you didn’t care anymore, not when Hanni’s plump, luscious lips are in contact with yours, sharing such an intimate kiss as the both of you find yourselves even indulging deeper and not wanting to end this so soon but speak of the devil, Hanni pulls out of the latch of your lips as she looks at you with need in her eyes. Can’t seem to really contain yourself anymore because of such a hot scene, you thought of something that will change the course of this session and will start things off incredibly well.

“Get on your knees, Hanni. I’ll probably assume you know where this will go, right?”

Getting up on the couch, Hanni eagerly obliged to your request as she knelt down in front of you with her eyebrows furrowed, a little nervous about what you may have in store. Hanni knows what you’re coming up with but she just wants everything to be confirmed by you so she didn’t hesitate to ask you about it. “Are you s-sure about this, professor?”

“Yes, Hanni—I am more than sure. Besides, no one will know any of this and have no secret cameras installed here anyways. Now, do your thing and impress me.”

Your tone makes her heart drop as the heat makes everything intense as your stern face intimidates her but it didn’t bother her to start her own service. Her hands trembled a bit but she didn’t care as she continued unbuckling your belt and then unbuttoning your pants as you mildly groan due to her hurried actions as her touch feels enchanting, the hotness rivaling the cold air that had permeated around the room. Even with the possible uneasiness laced in every move she does when she’s stripping you, you can’t help but be in awe of how she’s genuinely interested in what she’s doing as the lust and anticipation glistens on her dark orbs.

“Have you done this before, Hanni?”

Hanni, still busy with her current activity, takes a second before she could respond as she looks at your eyes endearingly and mutters, “Not really, professor—just on my toys though, so I had some little practice at my end.”

You scoff as you were shocked by Hanni’s dirty, little secret but you didn’t take it as a joke or way too seriously—it’s just great that she had experienced it with even a silicon toy but now, she’ll be trying the real thing and it’s just going to be better than this. Now, with your last defense left before her grand treasure, Hanni didn’t waste any time and let the feral beast inside you be unshackled from its frustrating restraints and god, Hanni’s eyes lit in awe and amazement as she gets her first treatment and a sight of such a beautiful, perfect cock.

“Professor—it looks good and thick. It feels so warm and nice on my hand too—woahh...”You can see how adventurous and how new Hanni is in these kinds of things as she’s just in full-admiration of your entire length now all for her to taste and use. You want to show some mercy with Hanni, even with her bitchy attitude that makes you want to teach her lesson, you’d still keep the feral beast inside you for now as you don’t want yourself to grow impatient, reminding Hanni on what to really do.

“Show me what those plump lips can do, Hanni—show me what they’re really made of.”

“Yes, professor…” With no time to waste, her soft flesh meets your engorged tip as she sends multiple pecks onto it, from your tip down to the base her actions immediately send waves of pleasure and it's a pandemonium of delight. Sudden surge of pleasure does course down your veins and you can’t help but let out moans that screams volumes of peak delight and gratification with the incredible work of Hanni’s lips marking every inch of your shaft with her touch and she’s barely even doing anything on your cock yet.

Well, you didn’t need to imagine anymore nor Hanni as she envelops her soft lips all over your tip, just pushing it almost the frenulum as she eagerly bobs her head and sucked onto your length like it’s favorite popsicle. With you sitting onto the couch, you may think that Hanni’s struggling a little due to the position but she shows no signs of it as she continues her masterclass of an incredible display of her talented mouth doing wonder all over your length. She definitely knows how to suck a damn cock like yours, even if she said she hasn't had a real one and just done it with her toys makes you think if she’s lying on her teeth but you didn’t mind it as you let do an incredible job between your legs. Inevitably, saliva seeps out at the side of her mouth and onto her chin due to her furious bobbing as it stains the couch and makes it a little wet—adds to the element of a messy, sloppy, and most of all, a great blowjob session.

With now taking more than half of your length everytime she thrusts her mouth on your cock, a gag can be heard resonating around the room as it’s bound to make your arousal soar higher than the heavens, and it absolutely did. She didn’t stop sucking you, moreso, even pull out quickly enough to catch her breath as she gives you the best she could deliver as she’s totally serving the dish hotter than what you expected, all of the elements coming all together in aims to reach a single goal: to make you stimulated enough to blow a healthy, thick load. With her furious bobbing onto your constantly throbbing penis, you grabbed her blonde-highlighted dark streaks as an outlet to fight the constant pleasure you’re experiencing and wanting yourself to give her a treat, you caught her off-guard by simple forcing your entire length down her throat as it hits the back of it, activating her gag reflex and immediately, she forced out of your saliva-sheathed member as she catches her breath in response.

“Wha—What w-was that professor?”

“I just wanted to feel your entire throat and if you can take it whole, Hanni—go on and continue…”

Hanni throwed a slight glare because of your sudden harsh actions towards her but she brushed it off immediately and got back onto sucking your raging length again. This time, it was better considering how she locks eye contact with you periodically, more often that earlier and with a new and a better addition, Hanni’s dainty fingers finding its way to fondle your balls for further stimulation as it became so frequent that you increase the quality and also the volume of your moans and that alone sends Hanni onto a better task at making your brain go haywire.

There’s is no absolute way that this can get any better—Hanni bobbing her up and down furiously as she gags every time she does it, saliva seeping out her mouth and staining the vicinity around her lips, her tears and makeup getting ruined because of her own harsh doings against your length, and the peak of the iceberg is herself in her uniforms which turns you on so fucking much—and there’s nothing you can ask for at this moment. Her pace is just getting ridiculous at this point that it’s all going to get out of hand soon because you’re feeling the familiar sensation growing up in your loins as you have more plans ahead for this girl as the both of you are just starting.

Well, you never knew that a girl in her uniform would make such a blowjob session thrice as hot as you’ve ever thought about and maybe, you just found yourself a new fetish.

“S-Stop, Hanni…” Your pleas fall deaf onto her ears as the sounds of her constant slurping and her sheer focus on sucking you off makes off a wall to refrain herself from any distraction. Gathering up more strength, you raise your voice in hope for her to hear you as you can feel yourself going near that high you’ve been waiting for but you don’t want it deep down her throat.

“I said stop, Pham Hanni!”

Fear took over her as she’s startled and afraid with your tone, immediately stopping and pulling out of your drool-lathered, throbbing length as connections of saliva were evident.

“Did I d-do something wrong, p-professor?” You could feel the fright laced between her words as felt bad and guilty with it, so you reassured her in the nicest way possible as you don’t want this to end so quickly and anti-climactic.

“No—I want my load to be deep in your pussy because girls like you don’t deserve a load deep down their slutty throats…”

“B-But I deserved it!”

“I won’t repeat myself, Hanni.”

You’re not wrong, by any means. If she misbehaved so badly and acted like an unbearable brat earlier, then it’s just fair making her be deprived of your seed. You commanded her to stand up as she did so, and you helped her with that and not so long after, you ordered her again to bend herself over, her hands palmed all over the wall as she gave out an excited look, Hanni anticipating what you may still have in store up your sleeve.

“Do you w-want me to strip off m-my clothing?” Like your growing fetish onto hot and petite girls in uniforms, you can’t be bothered to see her naked as two brilliant things are the reasons: one, she’s still within the school’s premises as you don’t want her to be utterly ruined and naked when the both of you are done and two, you really want to sully her with her uniforms on as it’s such an arousing sight to see her curvature and her impeccable features being complimented by her uniform. With this conclusion, you came up with a single reasoning and replied to her—

“No, I want your uniform stayed on—you’ll look better ruined with those on and look too great on that.”

Hearing this, Hanni’s lips curled up a smirk as she knew how to really turn you on right from the start. She knows her captivating and alluring aura will send down your defenses and will break your stern persona as a professor and given the fact that her in a uniform turns you on even more than what she expected, makes everything better and more arousing. Now, with her unparalleled pleas of needs towards you, you can’t help but feel yourself inching closer towards a heavenly route towards your own sin—and you’re about to take such a bold risk that will define your limits and Hanni’s and it’s all about to break down. With her petite and slender figure bent over and ready for taking, you take a moment to admire her plump cheeks and her beautifully sculpted thighs that it’s in the right amount of thickness. You caress your palm over it as your fingers slowly run over the hem of her white-laced panties, stretching it out a little in order to tease her and not for long, your deftly swiped it down to her ankles as you were met with her glistening, needy cunt that’s already dripping and you don’t know when it started.

With that desired treasure within your reach, you’re in no state to not dive into it yet your conscience fights with you but you manage to calm it down as you fully indulge on your own needs and immediately, you plunge your length in her with a harsh grip on her thighs as a leverage and god, her moans are basically the purest and the most erotic sound you’ve ever heard in your entire life—such sultriness and sweetness behind her lustful needs makes it such a great symphony to listen as rhapsodies of her delighted feelings escapes her mouth, further muttering such lovely moans that greatly fueled your lust over her.

You know this is wrong—so besmirching yet you’re at the point of no-return and just finding yourself being lured deeply into the abyss of your primal desires.

“God—p-professor—your cock—oh, it’s so big and n-nice up my tight, l-little cunt!”

“You’re t-tight as fuck too, Hanni—let me guess though—” You then inch closer towards her ear and fixed her hair as some of it falls back onto the other side as you muttered, “—you’ve tried shoving up your toys in this tight pussy, isn’t it?”

Hanni’s already at her vulnerable point as she can’t think of any articulate response rather than moaning in need yet she manages to fight through it, uttering a reply before she can let out her lustful profanities again. “Y-Yes—yes, professor! I l-love playing w-with my toys that’s why—fuck, so good!”

As you ensue such powerful yet slow thrusts, Hanni can’t help but voice out her satisfaction each time you do it as her thighs jiggling in response to your harsh movements is bringing you into a hypnotic trance. With her delectable buttcheeks being a victim of such vibrations due to your constant ramming of her cunt and with that such, you gave her a single spank that reverberated around the room and Hanni herself cried in intense pleasure because of it. With such an incredibly hot sight of Hanni in her uniform, getting railed from behind, you can’t help but make yourself unable to maintain the pace even if you wanted it slow with Hanni and you didn’t last long and gave in to your primal instincts and let your hips do the work.

Your new profound pace makes Hanni writhe as her fist forms tight curls from the constant course of pleasure running down her veins, making her stimulated enough to drip around your ravaging member and onto the floor, staining it with her own succulent juices. Your hands now averted its attention towards her shoulders and then her perky mounds in which you slowly groped, and fondled them carefully while still maintaining a breakneck pace that’s been forming such heavenly clouds of gratification that makes the best for both worlds. She lets out a series of satisfied moans, but this time, it’s more sultry and more of a whimper in your words as your intimate actions brings her closer onto her own promised land.

“Oh fuck—professor! P-Please k-keep doing—fuck, ahh—that!!”

It was the same words uttered earlier and until now, and you’ll never get tired of it and will even make her a ruined mess that can only moan such lifeless syllables full of lust. With your relentless pace and such stimulating actions onto her small mounds, you further make it worth her while as you kiss her nape and suckled onto the porcelain skin, making her feel cherished and treasured as it’s all just becoming too much for Hanni that she’s unable to control herself, vulnerable on writhing unstoppably as the quivering of thighs would be a reasonable evidence to start with.

If this is what Hanni wanted at the very start, then she’ll get what she wanted—not because she solely deserved this, yet.

“Is this what you wanted, hm, Hanni? You really decided to dress like this to lure me in—well, you fucking got it because—” You keep fucking her steady as she cries from the stimulating actions your hips has been oscillating as her tumultuous mouth letting out the most lustful profanities are coming into a halt. “—I’ll destroy this pussy and fill you up like a good fucking girl and to teach you a fucking lesson!”

With the venom laced being thrown at her, unlocking the pure devilish deeds in you and putting your merciful façade onto its unfortunate demise, you let yourself be unshackled from the restraints you’ve been cursing yourself onto and rammed her tight, wet cunt like there’s no tomorrow. You gave her nothing but a lightning pace as each thrust aims to break her in half, teaching her a lesson and as the cherry on top, to fuck that living bratty and bitchy attitude out of her. Now grabbing the tie that has been an absolute iconic element of her outfit, you used it as a collar for a leverage to further fuck her into oblivion and with this pace, it isn’t going to be long before Hanni meets the end of the line, setting herself up to the top step of absolute lust and peak quality of pleasure—the long-awaited orgasmic trance of Hanni.

You know how close she is with the constant pulsations of her pussy around your ravaging length as you muster up the fastest pace your hips can do just to chase her orgasm further and with an ear-screeching scream of ecstasy, she announces her anticipated high.

“Oh god—I’m g-gonna—fuck—gonna cum on y-your cock, professor! Holy sh—shit!”

“Do it, Pham Hanni—cum on my cock like a good, pretty girl.”

With the last string of her defense now cut down, streams and streams of her nectar flow around your cock as she catches her breath everytime she lets out rounds of such an intense orgasmic high. You didn’t stop your thrusts though, yet you slow down to give her a breather but she looks back at you, wanting you to fully ravage her tight cunt even with her current state. Marking that as a green, you further resume your frantic pace as the wet squelching of her pussy and the constant clashing of both your drenched bodies became an arousing sound to hear as it draws you further to your own peak, inching it closer yet you fight it in order to savor the tight feeling and an ecstatic clenching of her velvety walls around your throbbing shaft. You support Hanni with your muscular arms as you can see how her orgasm depleted a chunk of her energy as her hands became weak, unable to full grip onto the walls as she just became a lifeless form capable of just uttering the most erotic syllables known to man and god, it’s even drawing you closer to the edge as it stimulates you into oblivion, and can’t draw back.

Chasing your own high as you want it as soon as possible, you use her body like you have something to prove to her as you train her with the aims to derive the best pleasure out of it and Hanni’s, too. Even with the orgasm-drunken state of Hanni, she’s able to encourage you to further release in her as she wiggles her bubble butt leisurely, wanting to get off yourself too as her voice captivates you and lures you deep on your darkest, lustful desires.

“Come o-on, professor—use m-my cunt and cum i-in me—please, I w-want it! I’m s-safe so you don’t need t-to worry—ahh—a-about me!”

Your eyebrows furrowed, reluctant with that approach that you may do the unthinkable but yet find yourself thrusting harder and faster, “Are y-you sure, Hanni?”

“Yes! Yes, p-professor—so please, I w-want your load d-deep inside me…”

With Hanni’s reassurance and her further encouragement for your long-awaited release, you trust her as you give her wet, tight walls the final thrusts it deserves as she constantly clenches with your pace, unable to control herself from it as you gave in.

“God—I’m gonna cum so hard in you, Pham Hanni!”

And then, your final blow decimates the last standing defense within you as your euphorically groaned and shoot spurts and spurts of your treasured load deep inside her cunt as you bury your whole length in her, in aims to fill her up to the womb as she lets out such ecstatic moans with the warmth inside her painting every inch of her walls white with your seed. Your initial response after a mind-bending orgasm that lasted for like fifteen seconds is to pull out slowly and admire the creamy mess you made inside her emanating heat, as the both of you let out such exasperated breaths after a steamy session that no one can possibly top off. Hanni becomes weak as her legs got a little wobbly from your aggressive actions, sitting down slowly at the floor and recovering herself from the earlier euphoric trance and so did you, letting your cock soften as it twitches in need but you didn’t mind anything and take some time to recover.

“Oh my—you came so much in me, professor…” Hanni lightly laughs as it’s contagious, laughing with her and smiling right after, knowing how satisfied she is as much as you did.

“You too—I could literally feel a faucet leaking out of me when you came.” Hanni blushes from your reply as her hands come down to the hem of her panties, pulling it up as some of your semen leaked out and stained her thighs.

Awkward silence ensues right after as both parties slowly descend into recovery, catching breaths and reminiscing—maybe comprehending too—such remarkable moments throughout the intense session of such intimate sex.

“Oh gosh—well, y-you proved your point already, professor.” Your face paints a confused one as you vaguely remember what she could be talking about.

“Of what, Hanni.”

“Of teaching me a lesson, professor. Would definitely follow your orders from now on.”

You faintly smile from her possibly sarcastic ways of a response of your “discipline” but you can sense the sincerity deep within her despite her unfathomable attitude.

“You know, we should clean up and fix ourselves, Hanni.”

The both of you then hurriedly got up as you helped Hanni since her legs are weaker right now (but it’s in a state where she can still walk) thanks to your constant ramming at her cunt for like umpteenth times. The both of you fix yourselves and become more presentable and as she’s about to leave, you chat with her for a short while and then waved goodbye at each other but now, both of your faces emanate delight and comfort.

---

As Hanni is walking her way down towards her friends who've been waiting for forever, probably in the school’s canteen, she notices a small note stitched onto her backpack that says, “Thanks for that, Hanni. I’ll be calling you later for something… :)”

Knowing that it’s from you, she can’t help but smile as it went all troublesome but in the end, it all fell down onto curiosity and possibly, a stronger connection.

#kinknuary 2024 #newjeans smut #hanni smut #newjeans x male reader #hanni x male reader

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solxamber · 9 months ago

Note

If you haven’t gotten this already, maybe a part 2 to Idia x sentient npc reader?

Maybe they somehow find themselves in twst? Maybe isekai style (I’m stuck on you villainess fics lol)? Or if you had other ideas that’s totally fine too. (I’m not used to requesting 😭)

I really like your stuff so honestly I wanna give you as much creative freedom. Or if you feel like that fic is over/you don’t have inspo for it anymore that’s understandable too 😊

Keep up the amazing work!! 💖💖

Idia Shroud x Sentient NPC Part 2

Part 1 : here

Thank you for the request, and I'm glad you like my isekai fics <3

The moment you blink into existence in Twisted Wonderland, you’re not sure if this is real life or another game glitch. One minute you were comfortably breaking the fourth wall and wooing a gamer, and the next? You’re standing in front of an overgrown haunted house with a big “Night Raven College” sign. And a certain blue-haired, fire-topped guy is gaping at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

“W-WAIT,” Idia stammers, eyes wide behind his tablet as he stares at you. “This—This isn’t happening. There’s no way. Did I… did I actually summon an NPC?!”

You take one look at him—tousled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and the way his fingers hover over his tablet like it’s some sort of lifeline—and a grin tugs at your lips. Oh, this is gonna be good.

“Well, well, well,” you say, casually strolling over to him. “If it isn’t my favorite player. Miss me?”

Idia makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a strangled gasp, his whole body freezing up. “Y-You—! You’re here! How are you here?! Did I—is this some cursed DLC? Am I in a nightmare? Oh my god, is this another event?!”

You lean in, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Nightmare? Babe, I thought you were happy to see me.”

Idia’s face flushes a deep red, and he yanks his hoodie up over his head, mumbling something incoherent into the fabric. “H-Happy? Who said anything about happy?! I didn’t sign up for a ‘real-life NPC invading my world’ edition!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You weren’t just thinking about how much you’d like me if I were in the real world?”

He stiffens so hard it’s like his entire spine turned into a steel rod. “HOW DID YOU—NO. I didn’t—this isn’t—this is a glitch, it has to be! Or a fever dream. Or maybe I finally lost it after all those sleepless nights grinding for rare drops—"

"You're cute when you ramble," you interrupt with a smirk, enjoying watching him implode. "So, are you going to show me around this place, or should I just assume you’re too flustered to handle me?"

Idia stares at you like you’ve grown two extra heads. “Y-You’re just… okay with this? You’re literally… in a different dimension, and you’re fine?!”

You shrug. “Eh, it’s a step up from my last gig. Besides,” you add, leaning in closer, “I kinda like having you as my guide.”

His brain short-circuits for a full ten seconds. “G-GUIDE?! L-Like an actual dating sim?! Do you think this is a game?!”

You pause dramatically. “Isn’t everything a game?”

There’s an audible groan from behind you, and you turn to find Grim, your new furry audience member, smacking his face with his paw. “Great, just what we needed—another weirdo.”

Idia, still staring at you like you’re some kind of unholy glitch in his life’s code, manages to stammer out, “I—I can’t believe this is real. There’s no way this is real.”

You smirk. “It’s real, all right. And don’t pretend you’re not thrilled. I can practically hear your heart racing.”

His face flushes even deeper, and he clutches his tablet like it’s his last connection to sanity. “Okay, okay. You’re in Twisted Wonderland, fine. But this doesn’t mean you get to start… start messing with the plot!”

You grin. “Who says I’m here to follow the plot?”

Idia lets out a strangled noise, burying his face deeper in his hoodie. “This… this is too much. I’m not ready for this level of immersion. This is like, hardcore VR, but real! And with you here, it’s… it’s… OH MY GOD, WHAT DO I DO?!”

You put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at you. “Easy. You play the game, Idia. And let me show you how fun it can get when I’m the one writing the script.”

The look of sheer panic—and excitement—on his face is priceless. "Y-You're serious?!" he squeaks, not sure whether to pass out or burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. "But, like—what if this is a permanent event?! What if I never—"

"Oh, relax," you say, poking his chest lightly. "I'll make sure we both enjoy this little 'quest.'"

There’s another groan from Grim, but you ignore him, keeping your eyes locked on the flustered mess in front of you. Idia’s practically a puddle at this point, cheeks redder than Riddle’s roses, but you know he’s loving every second of it.

“Okay,” he mutters, glancing between you and his tablet. “Okay, I can work with this. Maybe it’s not a total catastrophe. I mean, you’re here, so—wait, does that mean you’re, like… my NPC now?”

You flash him a rogue grin. “If that’s what you want, I’m all yours.”

Idia blinks. Then, with the kind of realization that only a true gamer would have, he straightens up slightly. “I-Is this… the ultimate secret route?!”

"Could be," you say, leaning in closer. "You think you can handle it?"

He stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered beyond belief, but finally, he nods—though it's more of a nervous twitch than anything. "Y-Yeah. Yeah, I-I can handle it. This is fine. Totally fine. Just… don’t, uh, don’t go rogue too much? I-I don’t think I can survive if you start rewriting my entire life!”

You laugh. “No promises, player.”

The panic in his eyes is real, but so is the smile slowly creeping onto his face. And as you stand there, facing him in this strange new world, you realize you’re both about to have a lot of fun.

"Welcome to the real game," you whisper, before pulling him into a kiss.

Idia promptly drops his tablet.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia #idia shroud

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devilish-cherry · 4 months ago

Note

ok ok hear me out on weirdo bf choso who silently and stealthily leaves strange offerings for the reader that are supposed to be gifts but unintentionally come off as extremely creepy...

the reader mentions missing lunch everyday between classes/work? a suspicious-looking homemade bento appears in her fridge, with little faces in the food that look more creepy than cute. the reader mentions she accidentally shrunk her clothes in the wash? a bag of new clothes in her size is left on her desk. the reader mentions she needs new kitchen knives? a full set suddenly appears in her kitchen, shiny and sharp and terrifying. no note, no words, no sign of who might've brought the gifts or why.

reader thinks she has a stalker but really it's just her bf not understanding the concept of communicating before gifting things to people. choso's like a cat that brings their owner a dead mouse to show affection. i can't stop thinking about this. do you see the vision

STOP. STOP RIGHT THERE. BECAUSE I SEE THE VISION. I SEE IT SO CLEARLY IN 4K HD ULTRA RESOLUTION. I AM STARING DIRECTLY INTO THE VISION WITH TEARS IN MY EYES.

this is SO choso-coded it’s insane. this is exactly the kind of behavior choso would exhibit because he has absolutely no idea how normal human interactions work, and honestly? good for him. he’s just out here expressing his love in the most cryptic, unsettling ways possible. he knows he’s supposed to provide, he knows he’s supposed to take care of you, but no one ever told him he had to explain himself while doing it. why would he do that. he’s literally giving you what you need??

the bento?? horrifying. imagine opening your fridge and just seeing a homemade meal staring back at you. the little rice ball faces are not cute. they are uncanny. they are haunting. and the worst part is, you have no idea who put it there. is it poisoned? is it cursed? you don’t know.

the clothes??? imagine you shrunk your favorite sweater in the wash, only to come home and find a bag of new clothes, in your exact size, sitting on your desk. no note. no explanation. no evidence of entry. you are losing your mind. there is no reasonable explanation. how did this person know your size? are they watching you?? are they in your walls??? meanwhile, choso is just happily existing thinking he’s done the most thoughtful thing in the world. you start sleeping with one eye open.

THE KNIVES. imagine coming home from work, already exhausted, only to flick on the lights and see an entire shiny, pristine, borderline combat-ready knife set on your counter. no receipt. no note. just gleaming steel staring back at you. you straight up think you’re about to be murdered. you start considering witness protection.

this man is so lucky he’s cute because he is out here actively accidentally convincing you that you have a deranged stalker when in reality, it’s just him being the most socially oblivious yet well-intentioned boyfriend of all time. you start thinking you have a stalker. you are TERRIFIED. you bring it up to choso, all shaken up, like "omg someone has been breaking into my home and leaving things for me i think they're dangerous” and choso just. blinks. tilts his head. furrows his brows like a confused cat and is like:

"…you do not like the gifts?"

and that’s the moment it clicks. everything. the bento. the clothes. the knives. it was him. the whole time. in his mind, this is all deeply romantic.

and now you have to explain to your very sweet but extremely socially inept boyfriend that you appreciate the thought, really, but leaving unsolicited gifts in complete silence like some kind of eldritch sugar daddy is deeply alarming behavior.

i am OBSESSED with this concept. i am in love with your brain. i will never stop thinking about this. you have permanently activated my choso brainrot and now it will never shut off. thank you for this blessing misty, you are doing the lord’s work for the choso nation. 🙏

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo #choso x y/n #choso x you #jjk imagines #jjk scenarios #jjk fluff #asks

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mysteria157 · 1 year ago

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Moment Two: Your Daughter's First Pair

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity (not really), sexual suggestion, slight angst (very minimal).

Word Count: ~3.4k

Summary: Nanami joins you and your daughter for a family tradition, but he may not be as strong as he thinks.

Set in the It Had To Be You universe but you don't need a lot of backstory to follow along.

Notes: This was a random thought that I had based on something that has always been a thing in my family that I wanted to write out. There is nothing significant about this, I have not written Nanami in a LONG time, so I'm trying to warm myself up again. I am so rusty but I'm using fleeting moments of inspiration and taking advantage of it.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

MINORS DNI

“You don’t need to hold her so tight.”

“I’m protecting her.”

“And what am I, a goat?”

He raises a brow at your jest, autumn wheat and elegant but nonetheless annoyed as he glares at you. He doesn’t mean it, you know that—it’s all nerves.

“Ken, we don’t have to do this you know? If you’re against the idea, we can wait a few more years.”

“I’m not against it,” he reassures you, adjusting your daughter in his arms. Ulani babbles up at him, her chubby hands digging into a sharply cut cheekbone. He carries on without complaint, already used to her behavior. “This is a tradition, and I understand it but…”

You turn a key chain in one hand, your thumb smoothing along the glittery face of a dog—or is it a cat? The rack is filled with key chains of different colors, animals and objects, bringing back memories of middle school when you would drag your best friend Omelia into this same store in Sendai before it closed down. Despite the many years that have passed, the store chain still has its subtle hues of purples and pinks, earrings punched through purple cardboard paper, pens with wonky erasers, and headbands of different designs.

“But what?” you try to finish for him, smiling up at his nervous form as he lets Ulani talk to him in her own baby language.

Kento pulls in a deep breath as if to steel his nerves and prepare for the inevitable. He’s praying to whoever will listen, trying to use every coping mechanism in the book. He’s wearing jeans that hug his fit thighs and a dark blue short sleeve that shows too much bicep for your liking (you should give him a dress code). There are only so many single and married women and men that you can glare at in a day, and the redhead over by the register is pushing it.

“Will it hurt her?” your boyfriend’s low timber pulls you back, filled with apprehension, and he keeps mahogany eyes on his daughter to avoid showing you just how scared he is. You rub his back to soothe him, tracing the bands of muscle that are tense behind the soft fabric.

“I-I’m worried.”

“And you shouldn’t be. It’s a simple thing, lasts two seconds. Just like when she got her first shots.”

That’s not enough for him, because now Kento furrows his eyebrows in frustration, bouncing his daughter in his arms to entertain her and also soothe himself. “There are a lot of things to consider. The risk of infection. Rejection. What if she hates them? What if they get caught on her clothes? Or her curls? Or—”

“Are we ready?” one of the employee’s sing songs from behind you both, walking towards the singular chair perched against the glass wall of the store.

“I—” Kento croaks, clearing his throat and swallowing loudly. He looks down at you. “Are we?”

In the time you’ve known him, you’ve only seen Kento visibly nervous a handful of times. That stoic demeanor is a smooth, stone-like shell to everyone else besides family and close friends, but you know the weak spots and have glimpsed into the fragmented sections only visible to your eyes. Right now, he’s nervous and fearful beyond belief. That all encompassing love and attention that he shows you from sunup to sundown extends to his daughter as well. If there is one person besides you, who can make Nanami Kento show his emotions freely and without reservation no matter the date, place, or time, it’s Ulani.

“How about you hold her?” you suggest and give him a small push towards the black chair. Two employees work at the small kiosk next to him, unwrapping sterile materials and cotton swabs. Kento’s eyes watch every movement, searching for any sign of threat that can give him the ammunition to take his daughter and never come back. You can practically hear his thoughts:

“Is that up to code?”

“How long has that been sealed?”

“What is the name of the manufacturer so that I can ensure it’s reputable?”

Your roll your own eyes, knowing how right you might be.

When you found out your pediatrician would be on her own maternity leave, you let Kento research every establishment in Tokyo until he found one in Shibuya. Reputable, good reviews, and well-practiced in this procedure.

Of course, you’re nervous too. She’s your daughter, a combination of you and Kento, conceived from a very drunken night of disdain but grown out of eventual love and adoration. The thought of her crying in pain makes that maternal part of you flare with anger and the consuming need to protect her forever. But you’ve prepared for this for awhile.

Kento? Not so much.

“Is that clean?” your boyfriend asks one of the employees, clutching his daughter a little tighter. It’s a little rude, but the employee smiles at him in a way that conveys understanding of his trepidation. This isn’t their first rodeo.

“Completely sterile from the package. I promise she’s in great hands.” Deep eyes free of steampunk-esque glasses flicker up at her in doubt, but he simply sniffs and looks back to his daughter instead to withhold a scathing remark. “How about one of us on each side, and we do it at once?” she suggests, addressing him directly. It helps, as he gives her a somber but curt nod.

He situates Ulani in his arms so she’s sitting fully on his lap, his large hands holding her up with a slight tremble. The sight is enough to remind you again that this is new territory for him. What has always been a normal tradition for you and the other females in your life, is a foreign concept for him.

Ear piercings are a milestone in a young girl’s life. You got yours as a baby, and so did your mother. Omelia got hers as a baby, as did all her female cousins, as did her mother and the mother before her. If you interacted with your mother’s side of the family, then maybe you would know if your cousins also did the same.

But that’s another thought for another time, and you refuse to let painful memories tarnish what should be a memory you are crafting on your own, right now.

You step closer and run your hands through thick blond locks that are free of gel. You brush the strands from his forehead, letting the soft texture slip past your fingertips as he relaxes instantly. With his place in his chair, he’s at the perfect height to rest his head on your stomach, and he does so a second later.

One of his hands brushes light brown curls from his daughters ears. You can feel the unease radiating from him with every deep breath he takes, and you scratch that spot at his nape that makes him shudder, hoping it will help.

The muscles in Kento’s neck bunch together instead when one of the employee’s leans toward Ulani to make marks in deep purple, and even your own stomach turns in response at what’s to come.

“Okay, we will do this on three. How’s that sound honey?” one of the employees coos at your daughter. Ulani, who is a carbon copy of her father, stares up at her, observant and sinking into her daddy before offering a gummy smile. “She’s so pretty.”

“She’s beautiful,” Kento corrects, slightly rough but still appreciative of the compliment. “Aren’t you, my dove?”

He tickles her side and offers a rare chuckle as she squeals up at him, wiggling in her father’s embrace. The sight makes your heart do flips because this is your world, day in and day out. Just you, Kento, and the person you’ve created together.

You step around to squat in front of him so you’re eye level with your daughter, a hand coming up to wiggle the toes covered in a tan sock. Her eyes catch you immediately, and she holds your gaze long enough for the two employees to position themselves on each side of her.

Kento holds his breath.

“Alright, here we go. One. Two. Three.”

They both move in sync, pressing down on the plastic gun so the studs slide through the soft lobe of Ulani’s lower ears. Kento’s eyebrows furl together immediately. Ulani’s eyes widen for a second before her face contorts, her mouth opening in a silent cry. Your heart hammers and your chest tightens in an sudden flood of sadness and desperation that crashes against you like a tumultuous wave when Ulani takes one heaving breath in….

And screams.

His reaction is quick. Kento bounces one leg at a tempo that alarms you, his handsome face flying through different stages of grief, anger, and pain as he watches the employees adjust the diamond earrings to ensure they heal without complication. His mouth opens and closes, jaw grinding to keep his rudeness in check, because you know what he wants to say.

He was the same way when she got her shots; all glares and sharp stares at everyone else because they were the source of her discomfort. But like that time before, you are the cooling balm for his hot anger as you wiggle your daughters toes and murmur soothing words at her, to show him that she’s going to be just fine.

“It’s okay, baby,” you smile softly and it’s enough to capture her attention even though she’s squealing and crying from the sharp but quick pain in her ears. But all too quickly, you’re not enough for her, because the daughter that you carried for almost ten months turns away and reaches for her father, crying loudly in his arms. It’s a sting that you prepared for, but nonetheless hurts with a severity that takes a few seconds for you to recover from.

By the time you pay one of the employees and exit the store, Ulani has already calmed down. Kento digs into the diaper bag on his shoulder and pulls out a cotton cloth, wiping her nose as she sniffles and whines into his shoulder.

“I know honey, I know,” he coos to her, wiping the tears from her light brown skin and swaying back and forth. “But you were so strong, weren’t you? Hmm? A lot stronger than me.”

He pulls her away from his neck, smiling softly at her, and that one smile makes your chest bloom with satisfaction. It’s times like these that remind you how your life has surprisingly fallen into place. Who would have thought that the man who used to drive you insane would be the only one fit for you?

That small twinge of hurt you felt minutes ago when Ulani turned away from you resurfaces, but reassurance cools it’s prickly edges. Even though this is a moment you may have been more connected with, it’s Kento who feels the painful side of it a lot more.

So you give him his own moment. You watch quietly as he kisses her chubby cheeks repeatedly, smiling into her skin at the giggles that leave her. You fall into the hum of the world around you as you watch him tuck away the cotton cloth and smooth the curls away from Ulani’s ears, finally admiring the diamonds that twinkle on each side. The lobes will be red for a few days, but for Ulani, she will never think of them again until she’s old enough to pay attention. Until she’s old enough to change them out to match the outfits she decides to wear, different colors and gemstones, and multiples if she ever has a streak of expression in her teenage years. Like you did.

Kento finally looks down at you, chestnut browns sparkling as he takes you in from head to toe. The harsh Shibuya sun beats down on bustling city square, but the rays are soft when they touch him. Tan skin is illuminated gold on his cheekbones, his hair luminous in the sun. You reach up to run a hand through his locks for the second time this afternoon, your heart still not used to the incessant hammering that arises when he leans into your touch.

You lift an accusatory eyebrow at him and hold back a chuckle when you speak. “Our daughter was the soldier this afternoon, and yet I’m coddling you?”

“Keep coddling,” he demands, voice tinged with mirth as he turns to place a kiss inside of your palm and then leans back into your stroking. “Today was very painful for me, have you no shame?”

You snort and dig your nails into his scalp in retaliation, enjoying the groan that rumbles in the air from your ministrations. “Don’t blame this one moment on your entire day. You had a great run, remember?”

“My slowest three mile run yet.” Quick on the draw, and you already know where this is going. Kento rarely complains, but when he does, it is about the most trivial things as a means to get and keep your attention.

“You made me pancakes this morning.”

“Not my best work. Too much cinnamon in the batter.”

“We made out two hours ago?”

“Ulani woke from her nap and interrupted what would have been a very enjoyable afternoon.” That complaint leaves his mouth in a grumble, and you purse your lips to hold off the laughter that sits in the back of your throat. He’s truly pouting, and god do you love him.

“And now seeing your daughter cry from her first ear piercing was icing on the cake of a bad day, I imagine?”

“Exactly.”

You finally giggle and playfully pull a strand of his hair. He narrows his eyes at you, mischievous yet still carrying that ingrained indifference that you know and love. Ulani shrieks in his arms, finally past her blip of crying and now ready for her parent’s attention. You take in her drool of a smile, slightly red ears, and brown onesie-dress, and the possibilities flood your mind. It’s…very overwhelming when the thoughts hit you: how she will grow into herself, develop her personality, her wants and desires, her hobbies and her dreams.

“Pay attention to me,” he interrupts your thoughts, and you can’t help the bark of laughter that you give him in response. Ulani mimics you, completely oblivious.

“You’re such a baby, and we have a baby,” you tease, snorting at his level expression and dusty cheeks, slightly shy but absorbing your presence. “You and Ulani have had it rough today. So how about a reward?” You look to your daughter when you ask, knowing damn well she has no idea what you’re saying but you want to include her anyway.

“How about frozen yogurt?” I.e., the unsweetened applesauce in the diaper bag for Ulani and matcha-flavored frozen yogurt for Kento from a favorite vendor a few blocks away. It’s an obsession of his that’s been appearing in the freezer with numbing regularity.

Kento remains unphased by your suggestion, though his lips twitch with the desire to smirk down at you.

“Seeing our daughter in pain was more heartbreaking than I thought. Food may not help, I’m afraid.”

Kento is milking his “pain” at this point, and you’re far too in love with him not to entertain the idea you know is floating in his head. You love this about him, just how playful he is when it comes to you.

“You’re a tough nut to crack.” You tap your chin as if you’re thinking hard, humming in contemplation. “How about…” you trail off, a hand sliding up a muscular bicep before massaging his nape again, relishing in the shudder he gives in response, his eyes twitching to hold back the urge to roll into his head in satisfaction. “Since you’ve suffered so much today…we can go home…and I’ll do that thing you like.”

You have the privilege and skill of being able to read Nanami Kento like a book. You don’t miss the glee that dances across his features—the uptick of one side of his mouth, the slow brow lift, the darkening of his irises. He knows exactly what that thing is. You’re pretty good at it—a master at it—and he made you promise that the day he ever turns that thing down, is the day you can leave him.

His cheeks explode in blush, jaw ticking before he clears his throat and smooths a sweaty hand down the dark blue of his shirt.

“I see,” he ponders, looking up to the sky as if in deep thought, and you know if you roll your eyes again, they’ll get stuck. “Well.” He situates Ulani in his arms and presses a few kisses to her cheek again to pull those giggles from her that you both love. “Who am I to deny your mother?” he suggests to his daughter. “Not a moment to waste, Ulani.”

“You’ve got to be kidding—”

“Quickly, before you change your mind.” He slides a hand to the small of your back as a means to hurry you along, pressing softly and turning you in the direction of the car.

You try to bat his hands away from you, giggles growing in volume as he dodges all your attempts to get rid of him. “I’m not going to change my mind, Ken—”

“Quickly.”

He takes your hand and you let him pull you, beaming at his back as he increases his pace. Ulani is happy as can be in her father’s arms and babbling as he talks softly to her.

“A snack before nap time sounds good, doesn’t it? What kind of applesauce would you like today?” She gurgles. “Cinnamon again? Hmmm, we should always try new things, Dove. What about the strawberry ones I bought you yesterday?” A squeal. “Strawberry it is. I think…”

The rest of their conversation fades into the background as you walk with them, warmth coursing through your veins with each step. It’s a warmth that catches you off guard, but has been ever present since Ulani’s birth. And you love every bit of how it feels. How it flows through you with every breath you take. How it only grows every minute, every hour, every day that you create a life with them.

After Ulani is buckled in her car seat and you slide your seat belt into its latch, Kento leans across the armrest, a warm hand sliding against your cheek in a gentle caress before he slants his lips against yours. It’s a surprise, but the shock dies as quickly as it forms as you melt into his touch—full lips that know your own and soft blonde locks brushing your face.

That affection that he pulls from you every day is given back in this moment—freely and without restraint—in the parking lot of Claire’s in Shibuya, where your daughter got her ears pierced for the first time.

When he pulls away and whispers his love for you against your lips, you repeat it back to him without thinking. It’s a motion that you both carry out whenever you can.

“No more piercings. My heart will probably give out.”

“Do you feel better?” you ask in a tone that is filled with the teasing nature that sticks to you like a second skin.

He loves it, but doesn’t take the bait, and instead kisses your lips again, each cheek, and the tip of your nose. “I will soon.” The innuendo is so obvious you can taste it. He’s been with you too long to be a blushing and awkward man. “Once Ulani is asleep.” You push him away with a giggling huff and savor the deep chuckle that falls from his lips, permeating the air of the car.

As Kento drives through the crowded streets towards your shared home in Nakameguro, the hand not on the steering wheel envelops yours, a thumb stroking the skin of your palm. You look out the window and observe the colors and cars that zoom by, and the sound of a deep breath behind you makes you look back. And when you do, your heart gives a painful but welcoming lurch as you gaze at her. Your daughter already asleep, her head dipping to the side—curly locks askew and sticking to the drool on her face, and her new diamond earrings shining back at you.

Thanks for reading!

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greenflowerceo · 10 months ago

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hii im suuper late to my own week ik (i'll post the rest of the days from time to time, college applications were a pain </3 but i've got most of it down

This piece is a redraw of my very first post ! This has been a wip since the start of the year so my art style unsurprisingly changed a bunch as i tweaked the lines and colors. it's not the best but it's looking as good as it can be!

as for the zine, people are free to draw up pieces for the week up until the end of september and we can compile it all together! it's not really the usual zine format but who knows.. we can maybe try to figure out a way to formally start a more structured zine project for these two

Anyway! I've decided to dedicate my greenflower week posts to my headcanons I've made up for them from the past 4 years.. I figured you guys could take a peek into my brain since I haven't really been good at that unless you catch me in a vc :") there's a buncha hcs and old ass art i never posted finally unearthing under the cut if you wanna take a peek

So, first thing: Body headcanons..

i took super long getting what i want with this waay back when I started posting cause I was still figuring out a lot with my art. i couldn't get in good details/features that would properly differentiate them or make them fun to draw. I wasn't striving to be really innovative with the designs or anything, I just wanted them to feel like characters I like looking at and thinking about

finally, i'm somewhat able to settle on these as of right now! It will most likely update as the time passes and my art changes, but this is what I got!

basically the main idea is that i wanted Lloyd to be bulkier but sharper. grew up fast and has all these edges, but then you get to know him and he's just a big ol dork. Mostly wears loose-fitting clothes that hides his figure, but he's quite built underneath

Brad's a lil taller and pretty lanky. my art style may not be able to show that properly but lloyd can snap him in half <3 he also seems hella chill but that's probably cause he got balls of steel after living through a million ninjago invasions

This thing below is an old outfit concept I have for a project that I've been working on. does not reflect my current headcanons with his physical appearance but i do like his clothes

I think he loves his role as the green ninja, saving the world and such. it came with lots of baggage and reflection but i do promise that he enjoys it for the most part. I think him wearing green is kind of like wearing work clothes so he tends to avoid it on days when he's free to keep from being too ready to jump into ninja mode

i do tend to keep him in green though cause the fandom sure does love their color-coded ninja

anyway .. that's about most of what i've got for this that looks good enough to post, so here's a bunch of other doodles/sketches, both old and new ToT

oh and a quick comic too cause why not

one more: bonus greenflower yuri

thanks for coming to read this far :) there'll be more soon

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #ninjago lloyd #brad tudabone #ninjago brad #lloyd x brad #ninjago greenflower #greenflowershipping #forgivenshipping #forgivenship #evan's art!#evan rambles!

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year ago

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The Eye of the Hurricane [9] - Engagement

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: A marriage decision leads to an honest conversation about expectations.

Word Count: 2700

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For a couple of seconds, he gawked at you in complete silence before he managed to pull himself together.

“You—you’re saying yes?”

“I’m saying yes.”

“Seriously?”

“Please don’t ask me again because I have this feeling that I’ll change my mind if I think about it longer than a second,” you stated and he nodded fervently.

“Right,” he said. “Sure, I…wow. Okay, we’re—we’re getting married then.”

“Don’t say that either, I am not ready to hear it out loud,” you said with a sigh but before he could answer, a soft voice reached you both.

“Bucky?”

He closed his eyes shut for a moment as he scrunched up his face and you turned your head to look at the top of the stairs where a pretty girl in an oversized shirt –his shirt, if you had to guess— was leaning to the steel handrail.

“Hi,” she said. “Um, who are you?”

“His fiancée,” you stated, trying your hardest to ignore the pang of jealousy in your stomach and her eyes widened.

“Oh I didn’t—I didn’t know—”

“Neither did I when I woke up today,” you said with a click of your tongue. “Can you leave us please?”

“Sure!” she said as she rushed back to what you could only assume was the bedroom and Bucky shot you an apologetic look.

“Charm I’m sorry, if I knew…”

You walked past him, looking around the huge living room. Even you had to admit it looked incredibly beautiful and sleek, and the clear view of the city that you could see from the floor-to-ceiling windows was absolutely breathtaking. It was exactly what you would come up with if someone asked you what Bucky's apartment would look like; luxurious yet dark.

It didn’t mean you would tell him that though.

“I’m not moving in here by the way, this place is a dump,” you forced yourself to say, “If I wanted industrial interior, I’d buy myself a factory.”

“Right, sure—”

“That could be a fun project though,” you muttered more to yourself as the girl appeared at the top of the stairs again, and rushed downstairs, grabbing her coat off the rack.

“Sorry again,” she said without looking you in the eye and walked out of the apartment, and you heaved a deep sigh.

“None of this will be happening from now on by the way,” Bucky said in a haste and you rolled your eyes, then turned around to look at him.

“I don’t care about you enough to have that conversation with you,” you said. “I don’t give a fuck who you fuck, but you’re not going to make me look like an idiot in front of other people so when it inevitably happens, you’ll keep it a secret.”

“You don’t have to worry about that at all,” he said, his voice firm and you crossed your arms.

“So then,” you said. “I feel like we should both talk about the conditions before taking it to the families and the lawyers and everything.”

“I’m good with your conditions,” he said and you shot him a glare.

“You don’t even know my conditions.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

You kept your eyes on him, a slight frown pulling your brows together before you took a deep breath and took off your coat to throw it over the couch.

“Either way, I think we should talk about it,” you insisted and leaned on your hip. “So do you have actual booze in here or are you going to pull out a homemade barrel or something?”

He smiled slightly.

“Take a seat sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll bring the wine.”

“And put a shirt on!” you said as you made your way to the table, ignoring the way your heart skipped a beat. “This is a business deal, honestly. There has to be a dress code.”

When Bucky came to the table, he did in fact have his shirt on and he was carrying a bottle of wine with two glasses. He filled one and handed it to you, then filled his own and sat down. You took a sip, pleasantly surprised at the taste and lowered your glass, leaning back.

“Alright,” he said. “Tell me your conditions.”

You swirled the wine in your glass, deep in thought.

“Well first of all, we need to have a time table,” you said. “I don’t want to stay married to you for the rest of my life, and I’m pretty sure you share the sentiment.”

A small smile twitched the corners of his lips but he didn’t comment on it.

“But we can’t get a divorce as soon as I take over because that will lead to a lot of questions and I won’t have the time for distractions, the taking over process is chaotic enough,” you said. “I can’t be making any mistakes, especially considering I already have a rival.”

“Calling Ian a rival makes him sound more important than he actually is,” Bucky commented. “But I agree. We already know some of the families can disagree with this idea.”

“Stark?” you asked and he nodded.

“At least,” he said. “We have Steve and Sam’s support, my family and your family of course, but the rest…”

“You think Romanoff would disagree?”

Bucky thought for a moment.

“Probably, but I can talk to Nat I think,” he said. “She’d hear me out.”

“Barton?”

“Barton is not going to do anything Nat disagrees with,” he said. “If we have Nat, we have Clint.”

“So that leaves us Stark,” you said, pursing your lips. “Who talks to him, you or me?”

He shot you an apologetic look.

“I mean we may try to sell it as love but at the end of the day, everyone will think about the business side of things,” he said. “It could be better if your father talked to him actually. He already dislikes me enough, and we’re changing the power balance in the city by doing this.”

“Alright,” you said. “My dad could do that.”

“Next?”

“I want your word that I will be included in everything,” you said. “None of the bullshit the earlier generation pulled. I will be in every meeting and I will be included in every single decision.”

He nodded. “Yeah, figured as much.”

“I mean it Bucky,” you said, looking him in the eye. “We will be equals completely.”

“We will be,” he assured you. “I swear on my honor.”

“And I’m not changing my surname.”

He threw his head back. “Charm…”

“Out of question.”

“Charm if I’m going to get you into those meetings, you need to have my surname,” he insisted. “You know the rules. We need to give them an actual reason if you can’t be there as an heir.”

You thought for a moment and cleared your throat.

“Hyphenated it is,” you said. “I’ll keep mine and add yours.”

“It’d be better if—”

“I can’t take over my father’s territory if my last name is Barnes,” you pointed out. “I’ll use both, it’s fine.”

Bucky thought for a moment, then licked his lips and shrugged his shoulders.

“Fine,” he grumbled even though his tone signaled it was anything but fine. You sipped your wine, leaning back.

“Goes without saying that we won’t have any children in the meantime so should we even talk about it?”

“I think we should,” Bucky said, a small smile curling his lips. “Just in case.”

“Just in case?” you repeated and he rolled his eyes.

“It’ll be on the prenup just like everything else,” he reminded you. “And our families will see those prenups, so it’d be better if we covered it beforehand.”

You huffed out and waved a dismissive hand.

“Fine,” you said. “The usual, right? The first born is the heir…”

“The second born is the spare, yeah,” Bucky said. “Although, if you’re keeping your surname…”

“Our children would as well,” you finished his sentence for him and let out a dry laugh. “So then, is the firstborn yours or mine?”

“Maybe it’ll be twins,” he joked and you shook your head.

“We’ll say that the firstborn rules both until the second born is ready, and then divide my territory and yours accordingly,” you said and Bucky raised his brows.

“But until then, both territories?” he asked. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person.”

“That person doesn’t exist and will not exist,” you reminded him. “It’s just gonna be a hypothetical article in the prenup, that’s it.”

“And if we want a divorce—”

“When we have a divorce,” you corrected him and Bucky hummed.

“Any specific reque—”

��The weekend house,” you cut him off and he let out a small laugh.

“How long have you had your eye on it?”

“Oh, so long,” you said with a grin. “It’s really pretty.”

Bucky held up his hands, gesturing surrender. “It’s yours then."

“I mean I know I can’t just get it without giving something in return so how about you? What do you want in the divorce?”

“Nothing.”

You blinked a couple of times, gawking at him.

“You want nothing?” you asked him. “Bullshit. Say your price.”

“I don’t need anything.”

“You’re going to get me in the business and help me take over and you want nothing?” you insisted. “No fucking way. What is your game here?”

“I don’t have any.”

“Why are you doing this then?” you asked with a frown. “Seriously. What’s in it for you?”

“My reasons are my own.”

“Bucky…”

“But I do have one request now that you mention it,” he said and you nodded your head.

“Yeah tell me. What is it?”

“Throughout the time we stay married,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “No sleeping with other people.”

“…I’m not going to sleep with you,” you managed to say after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“We’re going into war with an outsider while pushing you to the top,” he said. “Any kind of issue in our marriage, including a whisper of a rumor could work against that. We need to present a united front to all the other families and our people. Can’t fight a war on that many fronts, you know that.”

As much as you hated to admit, as it turned out, Bucky was actually smart when it came to how things worked in business. You nibbled on your lip, trying to put your thoughts in order before sticking your nose in the air.

“That’s a two-way street,” you told him. “If I’m behaving like the perfect wife, you’re going to behave like the perfect husband.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Bucky, I’m serious,” you said, looking him in the eye. “Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your mistresses.”

“Don’t go behind my back and make me kill your boyfriends,” he replied and you took a deep breath, then downed your wine and stretched out your hand.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” you said and he chuckled, then reached out to take your hand into his, sending a pleasant warmth from your hand to your whole body.

“Likewise,” he said, his voice soft. “Let’s make you the queen, princess.”

You and Bucky decided to tell your family about your decision that weekend at their favorite restaurant. It would at least give you some time to get your story straight and you figured it would play into the lie; that you and Bucky had something for each other all along and once you got together you didn’t want to lose any time to get married.

Of course your closest friends were going to know about it, it would be impossible to keep it from Becca, Sarah, Steve and Sam because they’d had the first row to every single fight whenever you were within each other’s sight not to mention heard about how much you two disliked each other for years now.

But as far as anyone else was concerned, it was the happy ending to a decade long crush on both parts.

That night, you decided to stay in a hotel until the weekend. Not only did you not want to talk to Ian or your father, but it would also work in your favor; it was Bucky’s favorite hotel, it was in his territory and he would make sure to stay with you in the honeymoon suit every night until the weekend so you were pretty sure the rumors would reach your families way before you told them.

Your bodyguards were still on your father’s payroll after all.

You sipped your champagne, your feet propped up on the small coffee table across from the couch you were sitting on, the fluffy bathrobe wrapped tight around your body as you changed the channel on the TV but the knock on the door made you turn your head. Heaving a sigh, you pushed yourself off the bed and went to the door, then put a bright smile on your face and swung open the door.

“Finally!” you exclaimed, then gasped at the huge bouquet of roses Bucky was holding. “Oh my God!”

“Hi beautiful,” Bucky said with a smirk and you stole a look at both your father’s and Bucky’s men in the hallway, then turned to him.

“You shouldn’t have!” you giggled as you grabbed his arm to pull him into the suit, and closed the door behind him.

“Flowers are a nice touch,” you commented, the lovesick smile disappearing from your lips even if your heart did a happy flip and Bucky winked at you.

“I’m glad you like them,” he said as you took them from him, then walked to the open kitchen to pour water into the empty wine decanter before putting the flowers into it.

He leaned back to the kitchen island. “Did you talk to Becca yet?”

“Tomorrow,” you said. “I slept the whole day away today, barely did anything. Must be the stress after yesterday.”

“Is she serious with that girl by the way?” Bucky asked you. “Leila?”

“I’m not going to tell you anything about Becca.”

He tilted his head. “You and I are going to get married—”

“And she’s my best friend so she’s still above you on my loyalty list,” you pointed out. “Marriage is one thing, friendship is another.”

“Should I at least threaten the girl so that she doesn’t break her heart?” Bucky asked and you rolled your eyes.

“No, Leila is a sweetheart,” you said as you walked past him, then threw yourself on the couch to grab the remote. He followed you and rested his hands on the back of the couch you were sitting on, the closeness of his body making your stomach do a pleasant flip for some reason.

“So what are we watching?”

“We are not watching anything,” you said, trying to focus on the screen. “I’m watching The Bachelor.”

He let out a groan. “Seriously?”

“There’s another TV upstairs, go watch whatever you want to watch there,” you said, grabbing your champagne glass again and tilted your head back so that you could look at him, and Bucky shot you a mischievous grin.

“Marriage requires quality time together, Charm.”

“Who told you that lie?” you asked, turning your glances to the TV and he chuckled.

“Steve sent me an article about it today when I told him the news.”

“Not Sam?”

“No, Sam sent me the address of a great psychiatrist,” he said. “For couples therapy and marriage counseling.”

“That’s much more useful than an article,” you pointed out and he squeezed at your shoulder making your heart skip a beat.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said as he walked to the hanging stairs and someone knocked on the door, making you frown and look at Bucky over your shoulder.

“Room service,” Bucky answered before you could ask. “I already know your favorite so I ordered for both of us.”

“How do you know my favorite?”

“I pay attention,” he said as he started climbing the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt. “Don’t open the door yet though, will you? Wouldn’t want my men to think I last five minutes.”

“I’m sure that would be an improvement for you,” you said with a scoff and he tsk tsked.

“If you want to see just how wrong you are, all you gotta do is ask nicely princess.”

“That will never happen!” you called out and slipped a little on the couch when you heard him close the bathroom door, then heaved a sigh.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself as the water started running. “My honeymoon should be so much fun.”

Chapter 10

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky x reader #mob bucky barnes x reader #mob bucky #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky x reader #mob boss!bucky #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mob boss bucky barnes #mob!au #mob au

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waywardxrhea · 1 year ago

Text

Jealousy: a Bucky Barnes one-shot

pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 3k

You are working with Bucky, Sam, and Zemo to get intel on the Power Broker when the night takes an unexpected turn...

content warnings: minors DNI (18+) - smut (semi-public, oral - male receiving, fingering), PWP, jealousy, groping, drinking, language, name calling (slut - not by Bucky), some violence.

“You can come out now,” Helmut Zemo called to you through the bathroom door of his private jet you were currently holed up in after getting ready for an evening of espionage.

“I feel weird…” you muttered, looking at yourself in the mirror.

Sam, Bucky, Zemo, and you were getting ready for an intel gathering mission and this time it was your turn to gather intel. Why that meant you had to have your tits nearly falling out of the dress Zemo picked out, you didn’t know, but you were so close to getting the break you needed you would do nearly anything to get answers.

“Everyone feels weird at these things. The dresses are uncomfortable but when you’re somewhere looking at art you need to look like art yourself,” he told you.

“Fine,” you sighed, giving yourself one more once over as the plane started to descend.

On anyone else you would have said the dress was gorgeous. It flowed like a river when you walked, it was sparkly enough to be seen from space, and the combination of the low cut neckline and the slit in the leg was enough to make the devil himself blush. It just wasn’t you. Ever since you became an agent for SHIELD, the CIA, and now freelancing with this band of misfits, you’d grown accustomed to wearing pants and tactical gear and in your downtime it was leggings and chunky sweaters. Nothing even the slightest bit revealing.

So when you exited the bathroom you couldn’t help the blush that creeped up your neck as Sam gave a low whistle from where he stood in his steel blue pressed tux, saying, “Man you’re looking good!”

“Can it,” you told him, rolling your eyes and shoving your hands into the pockets of the dress. That part at least Zemo took your advice on when designing the dress which you guessed you were grateful for…

“I told you you’d look beautiful,” Zemo said. “A thank you would be nice.”

“Thank you,” you told him with a sarcastic smile, turning away and rolling your eyes.

As you turned away, Bucky emerged into the main area of the plane, adjusting his tie and giving you a once over. “I think you’ve made him speechless,” Sam said teasingly, nudging Bucky in the ribs after he didn’t say anything for a few seconds.

Sam had always teased the two of you because he knew you liked Bucky but you’d just never made a move. He’s got bigger things to worry about than me, you’d always told yourself. Besides, he’s on those dating apps and all, so that’s proof he isn’t interested, not in you...

“No time for puppy eyes, we’re here,” Zemo said as the plane touched down. “Does everyone remember the plan?”

“Yes,” you replied. “I go in first and blend in for a while. Admire the art, catch the attention of the target, chat him up for a bit. Once I get what we need on the Power Broker I’ll excuse myself to the restroom and we make a break for it.”

“Correct,” he told you with a nod.

“The three of us will go in separately and pretend to look at the art while making sure things don’t go sideways,” Sam added.

“Right again. What is the code word for if you become compromised?”

“Champagne,” you told him instantly. Now this was the stuff you were built for.

“Are we ready?” Zemo asked as the group approached the door to the jet.

“As I’ll ever be,” you said, making your way to the door and carefully picking your way down the steps to head into the party.

“Don’t strut or anything,” Sam told you teasingly as he watched you feign confidence on your way in.

“Shut up, I don’t strut,” you snapped.

“You do tend to strut when you’re in heels,” Zemo said.

“Okay let’s not focus on my walk you guys!” you said before approaching the door to the art show.

“Here, let me get that for you ma’am,” a suited man said, opening the door for you with a smile and a wink.

You gave him a smug raise of your eyebrows in return as you walked through the door, narrowly missing the hand that was outstretched, no doubt trying to cop a feel. “I feel gross…” you mumbled as you walked further in, grabbing a glass of champagne from a tray nearby.

While looking around, something caught your eye so you made your way to an art piece that you had only ever seen in textbooks. It was beautiful… A man slid up next to you to admire the piece as well, and casually asked, “You like it? It’s one of a kind.”

“It’s wonderful, I didn’t know this piece was even on the market!” you said, wonder in your eyes over the art in front of you.

“Maybe it could be yours if you give me something in exchange,” the man said suggestively, making you throw up a little in your mouth.

You turned to see who the man was and saw that it was the target. Like some miracle he had walked up to you, but you weren’t about to take it for granted. So as much as it pained you to do it, you reached over to his arm and brushed your fingers over it and asked in your most innocently seductive voice, “And what may that be?”

“All right we’re all in, if this guy goes too far, say something and we’ll come get you,” Sam told you through the earpiece as he casually made his way over to the nearby bar.

While he said this, you and the man made your way over to the VIP area where you two sat down on a couch and were served drinks of your choice. He glanced down at your breasts quickly before asking, “So what’s your name darlin? I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

You giggled and put on the charm as you walked two fingers up his chest, telling him, “You’d like to know, wouldn’t you?”

“That I would,” he replied, placing a hand on the bare portion of your thigh. He snaked his other arm around your back and rested his hand on your ass, pulling you close. “A pretty little thing like you shouldn’t have to attend these events alone.”

“Play your cards right and I could be your plus one from now on…” you told him, the corners of your lips turning up in a small smile.

The next half hour felt like forever as you pushed for more drinks for your pleasant company and innocently sweet talked your way into the answers you needed. When you felt like you had enough intel to make our next move, you sweetly told him, “I’m so sorry, but you’ll have to excuse me, I need to go to the girls’ room. These drinks went right through me!”

“I’ll be here when you get back sweetheart,” he told you with a smile as you got up, grabbing your ass once more when you stood.

As you turned the corner to make it seem convincing that you were actually looking for the restroom, you suddenly felt a hand grab your wrist and pull you toward them. You just about took them out before realizing that it was just Bucky. “What the hell, Buck?” you asked, taken aback.

He put his finger to his ear, turning off his coms before whispering sharply, “Why’d you let him touch you like that?”

“W-what?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowing.

“We’re getting out of here, you two need to get out before we’re compromised,” Zemo told you over the coms.

“Be there in a minute,” you told him before turning your own off, following Bucky’s actions. Getting back to his question, you said, “I did what I had to do to get answers. Why do you care?”

“Because no one should be touching you like that,” he replied, looking deep into your eyes.

You laughed a bit before asking sarcastically, “Oh yeah because it should be you right?”

What happened next shocked you to the core. Because Bucky, the man who had stolen your heart, said, “Yes,” before crashing his lips down onto yours, pinning you against the wall hard. A million thoughts ran through your mind and your head spun as you tried to process what was happening all while sinking into his soft lips.

“Bucky…” you whispered between kisses as he held you close. Never breaking the makeout session, he felt around for any door handle he could find before pulling you into whatever room it revealed.

Once the pair of you were in the room, he hiked you up onto the counter before resting his forehead on yours, saying, “It killed me seeing that bastard touching you like that. I wanted it to be me.”

With your senses finally kicked in after the shock of the kiss, you shook your head and whispered, “You don’t mean that. You’re just saying that because of how I look right now. If we were back at the hotel and I was in my leggings and sweater you’d just look the other way…”

“No,” he said as he looked deep into your eyes, pulling away and taking your hand in his. “This is something that’s been on my mind for a while, but I never had the courage to say it until now. I thought I could push away my feelings in order to not compromise our friendship and partnership but… I wanted to kill that guy for touching you like that.”

You opened your mouth to say something in response, but nothing came out. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into another kiss. When you got back to it, your hands wandered each other's bodies desperately, Bucky’s metal hand slipping under your dress to cup your breast and mess with your sensitive nipple. You gasped at the cool touch and he took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

As you ran one hand through his hair, he slowly slid his right hand down to your thighs, not moving any further than there without permission. Not even caring how dirty it made you feel to do so, at the touch you spread your legs for him and pulled away for a moment to whisper, “Please touch me…”

“As you wish,” he whispered, taking no time at all to begin toying with your swollen clit. He nipped at your earlobe before mumbling, “God you’re so wet.”

“That’s because you drive me crazy,” you admitted. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this…”

“Oh yeah?” he asked while gently pushing two fingers in and feeling around for that special spot inside.

“Oh God yes,” you whimpered, your head rolling back as he found what he was looking for. No one had touched you like this in so long and it just felt so good and so…right with it being him.

He added his thumb to the mix, rubbing your clit while his fingers worked their magic and you had to bite your knuckle to keep from screaming, it felt so good. Seeing your reaction, Bucky smirked and started kissing your neck, telling you between kisses, “I guess we shoulda talked about it because I’ve been dreaming of this for a while. First chance I get after tonight, I’m fuckin’ you into oblivion, doll.”

Those words were all it took to bring you impossibly closer to the edge. The idea of Bucky doing unspeakable things to you made everything that much better and you could feel yourself shaking as you approached your high. “Bucky…” you whispered shakily.

Bucky stood there just admiring you as he picked up the pace of his fingers inside your sensitive cunt. He gave you a sideways smile before whispering, “God, just look at you. You’re so beautiful. Those little gasps and whimpers all for me? That’s enough to make me wanna go all night,” he said, making you even weaker in the knees. Your head rolled back and your breathing started to become uneven as he worked his magic inside, the pace somehow getting more vigorous the closer he brought you to release. The smirk was audible in his voice as he added, “Come on doll, I can tell you’re close, just cum for me.”

And just like that with a few more strokes of his fingers you were experiencing the most intense orgasm you had in years. “Oh my God, fuck…” you moaned before he captured your lips on his own once more while you rode it out on his fingers which continued to pump in and out lazily as you clenched around them.

“I think I can get used to that sound,” he told you with a smile once he pulled back from your kiss.

You couldn’t help the school-girl-like giggle that escaped your lips before you got serious again, kissing him after jumping off the countertop. You spun the two of you around and pinned him to the counter this time, your fingers trailing their way down to his belt and messing with the buckle waiting for permission. “You don’t gotta do anything for me right now, the others are waiting. I’m sure they’re getting worried,” he told you.

“I think for once you need to put yourself before others,” you whispered, ghosting your fingers over the prominent tent in his slacks.

He chuckled before giving in, saying, “Make it quick.”

“Oh trust me I can do that,” you told him with a wink before undoing his belt buckle and letting his slacks fall to his ankles. You toyed with the waistband of his underwear for a moment before pulling them down as you sank onto your knees in front of him.

As you kissed the swollen tip of his penis he sucked in air through his teeth, telling you, “Don’t be a tease.” You giggled and ran one finger on the underside of his cock, the vein pulsing beneath your touch, and that had him like putty in your hands and asking, “Please?”

With that final almost whimper of a please from the man standing above you, you took his impressive length in your mouth. You got as far back as you could before beginning to bob your head, his right hand gently resting in your hair to guide you while his left had a death grip on the counter behind him.

When you hollowed out your cheeks, Bucky’s knees almost buckled and he tightened his grip on your hair. At this you pulled back and teased his head with your tongue before going back in. The way his breath hitched in his throat and the way he started moving his hips showed he was losing the restraint he had on himself meaning that he was close, so you used your hand to work what you couldn’t with your mouth and that’s exactly when he lost it.

He had never felt anything like the feeling he was experiencing right now as he gently thrust his hips forward, relishing in the feeling of pure pleasure he was getting from your mouth. “Fuckin’ hell!” he groaned as he came to his high, his warm release filling your mouth while his grip on the counter tightened, his metal hand breaking the marble in the process.

Coming back up to eye level with him after he finished, you smirked before telling him, “Quiet down Sergeant, you don’t want anyone to catch us, do you?”

“Oh next time you’ll be regretting that, doll,” he growled playfully before pulling his clothes back up while you fixed your makeup with what you brought in your pockets. As you fixed your hair too, he looked at you in the mirror and said, “Really though, that was nice. Something I’ve been wanting for a while.”

“Me too,” you replied, kissing him tenderly once you looked presentable again.

After you and Bucky got yourselves calmed down from all the excitement you headed back out to the party so you could go back to the jet. As Bucky adjusted his belt while the pair of you exited the room, you noticed the man from earlier was standing down the hall talking with someone. He seemed to notice Bucky adjusting his belt and that goofy smile on his face so he rolled his eyes and shoved past you, muttering, “Slut.”

“What did you just call her?” Bucky asked, sudden white hot rage filling his whole body.

“I called her what she is, a slut!” the man spat loudly.

And that was all it took for Bucky to wind back and punch the man in the face, taking care to use his metal arm to do so. Once the man was on the ground, Bucky took the man’s collar in his hand, yanking him up and growling, “Don’t you ever talk about a woman like that again. Got it?”

“Got it!” the man whimpered as Bucky threw him back down on the ground.

With that settled, you two left the party and got back to the jet, walking hand in hand. Sam took one look at you and told Zemo, “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“We don’t know that!” Zemo retorted defensively.

“Oh don’t we now?” Sam asked with a laugh. He turned his attention to the pair of you and asked, “Did you or did you not go MIA so you could have sex?”

“I- What- We-” you tried to say, stumbling over your words as your face heated up.

Bucky rolled his eyes and chuckled before saying, “Whichever one bet that we had sex lost.”

“I told you!” Zemo shouted victoriously.

“But did you at least do something?” Sam asked, fishing in his wallet for a twenty.

“That’s for us to know and you to not find out,” Bucky replied, kissing your knuckles before leading you to a seat on the plane where you could rest your feet for the flight. As you sat down and relaxed into Bucky’s strong embrace, you had a feeling that tonight was the first of many pleasurable nights to come.

a/n: so this is my first one shot on tumblr! I wrote this one night when I just couldn't get Bucky out of my head, I hope y'all enjoy!

and if you don't follow me or know my account, feel free to check out my Steve Rogers long fic here!

#bucky barnes x reader #smut #marvel #bucky barnes #oneshot

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noorpersona · 3 months ago

Text

Rivalry: Shirabu

"You’re insufferable."

That was the last thing you hissed at Shirabu Kenjirō before the attending physician turned, red-faced and barely breathing through his nose, and barked loud enough to make half the emergency department flinch:

"Both of you—out. Now."

But that wasn’t how the day started.

It started with an argument.

“0.25 milligrams,” you said evenly, eyes flicking from the tablet to the patient. “He’s seventy-two. With a documented history of hepatic impairment. We’re not doing a full dose.”

Shirabu didn’t look up from the vial in his gloved hand. “He’s metabolizing fine, vitals are steady, and the attending’s notes—”

“—don’t override the risk of oversedation,” you cut in, sharper this time. “We need to adjust it. I already cleared it with Pharmacy.”

He glanced at you then, that cool clinical stare that always made your blood boil. “I triple-checked the chart. We’re wasting time.”

“You’re going to put a seventy-two-year-old man into respiratory depression.”

“And you’re going to let him seize while we argue.”

Your mouth opened, ready to fire back—and that’s when it happened.

The patient’s monitor screamed.

A violent shudder rocked through his body, limbs jerking, back arching off the gurney.

“Shit!” you both snapped in unison.

“Code blue!” you shouted into the hallway. “We need Ativan, now!”

The room exploded into motion. Nurses poured in. A crash cart slammed into the doorframe. Someone started chest compressions. And you—helplessly gripping the IV tubing you hadn’t primed—stood frozen beside Shirabu, both of you silent, horror pooling in your throats.

The attending shoved through seconds later, eyes wild. “Get the hell out!”

Now.

“You’re done here for today,” the attending had spat, voice blistering. “Go help the nurses. Clean linens, supply runs, sit with waiting patients—I don’t care. You’re both liabilities right now.”

Shame swirled in your gut. Not because you were wrong—no, you were right about the dosage—but because you’d let Shirabu get under your skin. Again. And someone paid for it.

You stormed out of the trauma bay, white coat flaring behind you like a war banner, and Shirabu followed half a step behind, not saying anything yet, which was somehow worse. The moment you passed the threshold into the hallway, you whirled on him.

“You’re unbelievable,” you snapped. “I told you the dose was too high—”

“And I told you I triple-checked the chart,” he said coolly, not even looking at you. “But of course, you think you’re always right.”

“Because I usually am. You never listen to anyone, you just go with your arrogant little gut—”

“My gut?” He turned then, sharply, eyes like frost over steel. “You mean the one that finished top of its class in diagnostics and surgical prep?”

“Oh, congratulations,” you snarled, hands tightening into fists at your sides. “You got a gold star while you ignored the actual patient in front of you.”

"You don't know how to read the room half the time," he snapped. "You’re so busy being morally superior, you forget we’re on a clock. You want to argue philosophy while someone’s bleeding out? Grow up."

You could feel your pulse in your teeth. Heat flooded your face. You weren’t even sure when the two of you had gotten so close—but now he was right in front of you, all sharp lines and cold fire, his jaw tight, breath shallow, his stupidly pretty mouth parted like he had one more insult on the tip of his tongue.

“You’re a condescending prick, you know that?” you hissed. “Always acting like you’re the only one with a functioning brain.”

“And you’re a self-righteous control freak who can’t take being challenged.”

“You don’t challenge, Shirabu. You bulldoze.”

“And you let your emotions run the whole goddamn room.”

You stared at him, breathing hard, chest rising and falling as if you’d just sprinted across the hospital. He was infuriating. Arrogant. Cold. The kind of person who drove you absolutely insane. And yet—

His mouth was moving again, eyes still sharp—but all you could think about was how close he was. How flushed his skin had gotten. How your stomach hadn’t stopped twisting since that patient flatlined. The adrenaline still burned in your chest like a furnace. And how long had it been since anyone had touched you, really touched you—looked at you like more than just a coat with a badge and a clipboard?

When was the last time I had sex?

The thought shot through your brain like a live wire. The frustration, the tension, the sheer exhaustion of existing inside a pressure cooker like this day after day—it all exploded behind your eyes.

Sixteen-hour shift. A missed lunch. A mistake that rattled your bones.

Fuck it.

You grabbed the front of his coat, yanked him forward, and shoved him—hard—into the nearest door. It flew open with a groan, revealing the dim, cramped supply closet, the air inside cold and sterile and completely indifferent to what was about to happen.

You shoved him inside.

He barely had time to stumble backward before you stepped in after him, kicked the door shut with a sharp slam, and crashed your lips to his.

It was a mistake. It was impulsive. It was heaven. A desperate, furious kind of salvation.

Shirabu froze for half a second—just long enough for you to think oh god, what have I done—before he growled low in his throat and kissed you back like he’d been waiting for this, like he had been burning too. His hands found your waist, fingers digging into your hips like he wanted to leave bruises, like he needed to anchor himself to something real.

You gasped when he walked you backward, guiding you with rough, hurried steps until your back hit the shelves. The plastic bins and paper-wrapped gauze rattled with the force of it.

“This,” he rasped against your jaw, breath hot and uneven, “is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had.”

“Shut up,” you whispered, clawing his lab coat open. “I don’t want to hear your voice right now.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to use it.”

You dragged him down again.

The kiss deepened, turned frantic, messy. Teeth. Tongue. Hot breath and sharp nails. The smell of antiseptic and the sting of fluorescent lighting faded into nothing. The only thing you could feel was the press of his mouth, the grind of his body against yours, the heat blooming low and hungry in your belly.

He yanked your scrub top up, pushed it out of the way with impatience, and bit down along your collarbone like he meant to leave a mark. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders. You wanted him closer. You wanted him rougher. You wanted to feel anything but the burn of regret and the echo of the code blue.

And you let him.

Because you’d been burning for too long.

And because, for once, Shirabu Kenjirō had finally shut the hell up.

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omiomi · 4 months ago

Text

Master list

Part 5

Code Red: Unfinished Sutures (Part 6)

Baek Kang-Hyuk x Fem!Reader

The air in the camp was suffocating, thick with the weight of unspoken goodbyes. Tomorrow, Baek Kang-Hyuk and his team would be gone—back to Korea, back to the life he had promised his father.

Jae-Won sat slouched on a crate, his expression unreadable. “Dr. Baek, maybe you should settle things with Dr. Y/N before we leave.”

Baek stayed silent, his jaw tightening.

“You can’t just disappear without a word again,” Jang-Mi pressed. “Not after everything.”

Everything.

Baek let out a slow breath. What was he supposed to say? That he had been waiting—waiting for her to be ready, to find her own reason for living beyond Black Wings, so that when the time came, she would follow him into the world outside?

But she hadn’t.

And now time had run out.

Before he could answer, the ground shook.

A deafening explosion tore through the air, the force of it knocking Baek off his feet. Smoke, fire, screams—chaos erupted in every direction.

And then—

Her scream.

His stomach dropped.

—

Baek sprinted through the wreckage, his heart slamming against his ribs. The medical tent was barely standing, torn apart by the blast. Blood and debris littered the ground.

And then he saw her.

Y/N lay motionless beneath a collapsed steel beam, her uniform soaked in blood.

For a second, the world stopped.

Then his body moved before his mind could catch up.

“Y/N!” He dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as they brushed against her soot-covered face.

She was alive. But barely.

Jang-Mi appeared beside him, pressing down on the deep wound in Y/N’s abdomen. “She’s critical,” she said, voice clipped with urgency. “Dr. Baek, if we don’t get her into surgery now—”

Baek didn’t wait.

Ignoring his own wounds, he lifted the steel beam off her with a pained grunt, ignoring the sharp burn in his muscles. He could barely register Jang-Mi shouting orders or the alarms blaring in the background.

All he knew was she was slipping away.

And he wouldn’t let her.

—

The emergency tent was a mess, equipment scattered from the bombing. But Baek didn’t care.

Because Y/N lay lifeless on the operating table, her pulse weak, her breaths barely there.

Baek’s hands hovered over her wound. Too much blood lost. Too much damage.

Jang-Mi’s voice cut through his thoughts. “We’re out of compatible blood supplies.”

Baek barely hesitated. “We have the same blood type. Hook me up.”

Jang-Mi’s eyes widened. “Baek, you can’t—”

“I can. I have to.”

His own body was still recovering, but he didn’t care. He gritted his teeth as the needle slipped into his arm, his blood flowing into Y/N’s veins.

Then, with unsteady fingers, he picked up the scalpel.

He had performed hundreds of surgeries under worse conditions. But this time, his hands trembled.

Because this wasn’t just another patient.

This was her.

The woman he had waited for. The woman he had been patient for, giving her the time to grow, to figure out who she was beyond the battlefield.

He had wanted her to find a reason to leave Black Wings behind—not for him, but for herself.

Because she was meant for more than this life.

Because she was meant to be with him.

But if she died—

Baek’s throat burned. His fingers curled into fists, blood dripping onto the surgical table.

If she died, all that waiting, all that hoping—it would be for nothing.

He wouldn’t let it happen.

With renewed focus, he worked faster, suturing the wound with precision. Every second was a battle against the clock, against death itself.

“Stay with me, Malaika,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “You have to stay.”

The monitors beeped erratically—slower.

Baek clenched his jaw, fighting the wave of exhaustion crashing over him. His own body was giving out from the transfusion, but he pushed forward.

Because this wasn’t just a surgery.

This was him fighting for her.

For the future they hadn’t had the chance to reach.

For the love he had never gotten to say out loud.

—

Baek Kang-Hyuk staggered under Y/N’s weight, but he didn’t let go. His body screamed in protest—his own blood loss making his vision blur, his legs nearly giving out—but he held onto her like she was the only thing tethering him to this world.

Jae-Won moved to help, but Baek shook his head sharply. No. He had to do this.

The evac point was just ahead—a military-grade helicopter waiting to take them back to Korea. Back to safety. Back to a world that had felt unreachable for so long.

But Baek couldn’t focus on that.

All he could think about was her.

Jang-Mi rushed ahead, prepping the medical team onboard. “Lay her here!” she called over the roar of the helicopter blades.

Baek carefully placed Y/N onto the stretcher, his hands lingering just a second too long on her wrist. Her pulse was faint but steady. It wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside him.

As the team worked around her, hooking her up to IVs and oxygen, Baek slumped into the seat beside her, exhaustion finally dragging him down.

Jae-Won sat across from him, arms crossed. “You look like shit.”

Baek didn’t respond. His gaze never left Y/N.

Jang-Mi adjusted the oxygen mask over Y/N’s face before looking at Baek. “She’s stable—for now. But she lost too much blood. Even with the transfusion, her body is weak. If she doesn’t wake up soon…”

Baek clenched his fists.

He already knew.

She had to wake up.

The helicopter lifted off, the ground beneath them shrinking into nothingness. Their duty here was over.

But his battle wasn’t.

Not until she opened her eyes.

—

She was weightless. Floating. Caught between wakefulness and oblivion.

There was pain—dull and distant, like a memory she couldn’t quite reach.

And then there was him.

A voice cutting through the darkness, low and rough, calling her name.

“Malaika.”

She wanted to answer. Wanted to reach out.

But she was so, so tired.

So she let the darkness take her again.

—

The hospital in Korea smelled of antiseptic and fresh linen. It was a far cry from the chaos of Black Wings—sterile, quiet, suffocating.

Baek sat beside Y/N’s bed, arms resting on his knees, head bowed. He had barely moved in hours.

The doctors had done everything they could. Now, it was up to her.

He exhaled sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “You’re making me wait again, Malaika.” His voice was quiet, but the frustration, the exhaustion, the fear bled through.

He had waited for her once before.

Waited for her to find herself. To understand that she was more than Black Wings. That she had a life waiting for her beyond the battlefield.

But she hadn’t come.

And now?

Now, she was making him wait again—this time, on the edge of life and death.

Baek leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. “Wake up,” he murmured. “Just wake up.”

And then, her fingers twitched beneath his palm.

Part 7

I think this confirmed that I cannot write angst🙂‍↕️. Hope you all liked this chapter!

Taglist: @study-with-reine234 @redhoodedtoad @celestialstar111 @ryujinxzyy @urfictional

#baek kang hyuk #baek kang hyuk x reader #baek kang hyuk x you #kdrama #netflix #the trauma code: heroes on call #x reader #baek kang-hyuk #ju ji hoon #light angst

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hummingbird24220 · 2 months ago

Text

The Littlest Listener (Part 3)

One Piece x Reader — Whitebeard Pirates (Ace) x Platonic!Mermaid Reader

They caught you during a storm.

The skies had turned black fast, winds howling and currents too unpredictable even for your sharp instincts. You’d been scouting a nearby marine-controlled cove—nothing serious, just intel-gathering—but the bad weather had masked their ships. And when the net dropped, tangled with seaweed and heavy with weights, you didn’t have time to escape.

Salt stung your eyes. Steel clamped over your wrists. A needle jabbed into your side. Everything blurred.

When you woke up, you were somewhere cold. Concrete. Steel. A tank filled with circulating saltwater—a poor attempt to simulate the ocean, but enough to keep you alive.

You were alone. You were angry. And you refused to give them anything.

The Marines tried to play nice at first.

A man in a clean coat entered every day, clipboard in hand and a fake, patient smile on his face.

“You’re one of Whitebeard’s little spies, aren’t you?” he’d say casually. “Come on, girl. You’ve got a smart head on your shoulders. You know you’re too young to be loyal to a monster like that.”

You didn’t answer.

“You tell us which island they’re heading to next,” he’d try again, leaning closer to the glass, “and we’ll let you go. Simple as that.”

You stared through him with sea-glass eyes and said nothing.

By the fourth day, you started talking—but not how they wanted.

“Yeah,” you said sweetly, “they’re totally docking at a secret base off Suna Island. There’s, like, five ships. All made of cake. One’s powered by sea chickens.”

The marine blinked. “What—”

“Oh, and the commander of that ship? His name’s Captain Musclepants. Real tough guy.”

Another marine tried to slap the glass. You just blinked and tilted your head. “That’s not very professional.”

You gave them information, alright—half-truths laced with nonsense. Names that didn’t exist. Islands they’d already passed a month ago. A fake emergency code that actually translated to “I like bananas.”

They caught on eventually. You kept smiling.

But the tank wasn’t the ocean. You were getting weaker again. Your tail felt heavy, your skin itchy. You didn’t show it, though—not when they watched. Not when they leaned in and said, “Where is Whitebeard heading next?” or “What’s your role on his crew?”

You bit your tongue. You kept your eyes clear. You imagined Ace’s voice—teasing, warm: “Don’t give them the satisfaction, guppy.” You imagined Marco’s quiet steadiness. You imagined Pops, arms crossed, saying, “Hold on. We’re coming.”

You knew they would be.

No storm could stop them for long.

Elsewhere, aboard the Moby Dick…

The crew was deadly quiet.

Ace paced the deck like a fire ready to erupt. Marco’s feathers twitched with tension. Whitebeard had already broken two chairs.

“She’s strong,” Marco said softly. “She’ll hold out.”

“She shouldn’t have to!” Ace snapped, fists clenched. “She’s just a kid! They—they took her!”

“And they’ll regret it,” Whitebeard said, voice like a crashing wave. “Because no one—no one—takes one of mine and walks away unpunished.”

The sails turned. The sea carried their fury forward.

And far away, in that cold, artificial tank, you felt it.

They were coming.

You knew something had changed the moment the guards started yelling.

The base had been calm for days—routine check-ins, interrogations, cheap meals shoved through a hatch. But suddenly, the air was electric. Boots pounded across the hallways, alarms screamed, and a deep rumble shook the water of your tank.

You pressed your hands to the glass, heart hammering. Then came the distant boom of an explosion.

Your eyes lit up.

They were here.

The Moby Dick had dropped anchor far out to sea. It didn’t need to get close. Not when its crew could tear through steel and stone like paper.

Ace landed first—fire raining around him, fists glowing red-hot as he cleared a path through a wave of Marines.

Marco flew above, wings blazing blue, knocking soldiers aside with swift, precise strikes.

Whitebeard came last—his bisento splitting the ground open as if the earth itself obeyed him.

“Where’s the girl?” he thundered, voice rolling through the walls like a quake.

A Marine burst into the room where your tank was kept, eyes wide. “They’ve breached the gates—! Everyone to the front—!”

He didn’t get to finish. The wall behind him exploded outward in a blast of smoke and fire.

When the dust cleared, Ace stood in the rubble, wild-eyed, fists still burning.

“There you are!” he breathed, running to the tank.

You grinned weakly, fingers pressing to the glass. “Took you long enough.”

“You little—” Ace laughed, voice cracking. “You’ve been sassing the Marines, haven’t you?”

You nodded proudly.

Marco dropped through the hole in the ceiling a second later, followed by Vista and Izo, blades drawn. One look at you and Marco was already moving, summoning phoenix flames to melt the lock on your tank.

“Water okay?” he asked, checking your condition.

“Better now,” you mumbled, weak but smiling. “Smells less like bleach and lies.”

Whitebeard’s massive frame stepped through the rubble last, eyes sweeping over you, jaw clenched.

“You alright, little one?”

You blinked up at him. “Yeah. They didn’t break me.”

For the first time since this whole nightmare started, Whitebeard smiled.

“Good,” he said. “Because now it’s our turn.”

Minutes later…

The base was in shambles. What wasn’t on fire was cracking at the seams.

Ace carried you in his arms like a prized treasure as the crew retreated. You were bundled in a cloak soaked with warm seawater Marco had enchanted to help you breathe. The moment your tail touched the open sea again, you felt alive.

You slid into the water and clung to the side of the ship, eyes bright with relief.

The entire crew greeted you with cheers, shouts, and a few threats to "strangle the next marine who even looks at her funny.”

Thatch tossed you a cookie. Marco gave you a vial of something blue and healing. Vista handed you your shell crown back (“We kept it safe.”)

And Ace?

Ace just crouched beside the edge of the ship, watching you with a warm, tired grin.

“You good?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “You came for me.”

“Always.”

You flicked your tail and splashed him in the face.

“Hey!”

You laughed. He didn’t even wipe it off—just smiled wider.

That night, they threw a party in your honor. You stayed in your barrel of seawater near the center of it all, watching your family eat, laugh, sing—and every now and then, someone would wander over just to pat your head or pass you a snack.

You hadn’t broken. And they had come for you like a tidal wave.

You were safe. You were home.

#x reader #one piece #luffy #sanji #nico robin #tony tony chopper #nami #usopp #reader insert #fem reader #ace #platonic #whitebeard pirates #request

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imsojules · 1 month ago

Text

After the tide turns – Part 4

pairing: jj maybank x fem!reader

tw: apocalypse, blood, military control, mentions of drugs, murder, swearing, inspired by the last of us, no proof read for this one, established relationship, english is not my first language!

a/n: 💩 is getting real!! I really wanted post this sooner, but when I’m telling you I wanted to cry and bang my head into my laptop while working on this I really mean it. What is english language is even about.. anyway, please let me know what you think ♥

word count: 5.3k

taglist: @chuuuchuuutrain, @d3adfa1ry, @maddsgrace, @darkparablesfan, @yulianie

masterlist | previous | next |

The gates slam shut behind the new arrivals like a final verdict. Steel jaws snapping closed around the QZ, sealing the fate of everyone inside. The sound echoes off the concrete, a harsh punctuation that reverberates through your chest. No frantic warnings. Just the grinding machinery of control clicking deliberately into place.

Ward Cameron steps forward like a man born to command moments like this. His stride is calm, measured, hands clasped behind his back as if inspecting property already his. His gaze sweeps the camp with the quiet assurance of a monarch surveying a conquered province.

Behind him, his men fan out like clockwork, moving with choreographed precision. One climbs the watchtower, boots striking metal silently, a ghost moving through the early morning haze. His movements carry the ease of someone holding the codes even the guards don’t have. Another slips through the barracks door, rifle lowered but ready, fluid and practiced. The guards don’t resist; they part without hesitation.

Rafe brings up the rear, the familiar smirk barely masking the sharper edge beneath. His revolver gleams under the rising sun—not merely a weapon, but a symbol. Before the Cameron convoy rolls in, Rafe deals in black market shipments: ammunition, scarce medical supplies, contraband luxuries capable of shifting loyalties in the quiet desperation of the camp. Rumors whisper of this shadow economy like a secret currency, and Rafe is its undisputed merchant prince.

This takeover isn’t just military. It’s business.

Every smooth move, every silent nod, every guard stepping aside without question is part of a plan cut in dark rooms and sealed with whispered promises over greasy tables. Rafe is the muscle and the merchant, securing his foothold in the new order.

Ward’s voice crackles over the loudspeakers. The words promise order backed by federal decree, but they sound less like salvation and more like a contract being enforced.

“You will not be harmed, so long as you comply,” he intones, voice smooth and measured, wrapping the camp like chains. “Lay down all unregistered arms. Civilian patrols are suspended. Essential workers, report to requisition points. Everyone else—remain in your shelters.”

You know compliance means survival only for those willing to obey without question.

Rafe’s black-market connections ensure Ward’s men are stocked and untouchable, while the camp slips quietly beneath their control.

You don’t realize you’ve frozen until JJ’s rough grip snaps around your wrist— grounding you.

“Back to the tent,” he murmurs, voice low, tight, like something’s coiling deep inside his chest.

But your feet refuse to move.

Rafe swaggers through last, the lazy grin barely masking the hard edge of a man who hasn’t spent the night behind the guards’ barracks. Like a visitor sliding in under the guise of diplomacy the day before, now he moves like he owns the place.

His sidearm shimmers, a quiet declaration holstered in plain sight. He chews a toothpick, eyes scanning the camp with bored indifference, as if nothing here matters.

He isn’t hunting anyone specific.

He’s just watching. Waiting.

JJ tugs again. “We have to move.”

Around you, the camp shifts. Something subtler—whispers rippling between tents, civilians pulling back like water retreating before a storm surge. A child vanishes into the folds of a mother’s jacket.

Kiara appears at your side, blade reversed and sliding fluidly along her arm as if it’s a natural extension of her body. Pope slides up quietly beside her near the depot wall, breath ragged, eyes wide and sharp with disbelief.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, voice low but strained.

Kiara doesn’t spare him a glance.

“They’re taking the zone,” she answers quietly. Her voice is flat and distant.

“They’ve already taken it,” JJ mutters.

Kiara’s shoulders are rigid, jaw set in stone. Her blade stays hidden against her forearm, reversed and ready, but she doesn’t draw it. Her eyes scan the soldiers like a wolf studying a trap.

Then a single gunshot cracks through the air. It echoes like dry thunder, sharp and deliberate—a warning bell struck with lethal intent. It isn’t a warning shot. It’s punctuation.

Ward’s voice returns.

"This settlement is now under interim authority of the Coastal Reclamation Committee," he says, each word falling with deadly precision. "Backed by Federal Reinstatement Order Seven. You are no longer under FEMA oversight."

A new regime has just announced itself.

"If you cooperate," he adds, voice low and warm, "you will eat. You will be safe."

JJ spits into the gravel. “Safe, my ass.”

Kiara stands beside you, blade sheathed again, fists clenched. Her eyes are dark with something else. She’s not trembling. Not panicked. But it’s there in the tightness of her gaze.

Her family isn’t here. They’re in the North Sector.

Safer, for now but only if the sectors stay open.

You step toward her.

“Go,” you say quietly.

Her brow furrows. “What?”

“You have to go. Now. Get to them before the sectors close. If they seal us in—”

“No,” she snaps.

“Kiara, your parents need you. If the gates lock—”

Behind her, a FEMA banner flaps lazily in the wind—already half torn, the emblem faded from sun and time. You realize then: this isn’t just about surviving. This is about refusing to be erased.

JJ steps in. “We need to move. If they’re sweeping zones, we’ll be next.”

“Where?” Pope demands, voice shaking.

But none of you know the answer. Ward’s voice continues to echo through the camp—polished, soothing, full of promises he never intends to keep.

JJ’s eyes flick toward you, the faintest tremor betraying his steel. He’s fighting the urge to break—anger, fear, exhaustion all mingling just beneath the surface.

—

Each day bleeds into the next with mechanical efficiency— just quiet control, wound tight like wire around every throat. The streets between tents stay still. Not peaceful. Just subdued. People walk with their heads down and their voices lower, if they speak at all. The air itself feels heavier now, like even the wind is afraid to breathe too loud.

The guards patrol move in pairs, always the same slow rhythm, eyes sharp, rifles slung casual but ready. They don’t ask for compliance. They expect it. And somehow, that’s worse.

You work the depot now. They call it “essential,” like that word means something anymore. JJ calls it “playing dead.” Do what they say, keep your mouth shut, don’t look too long in anyone’s direction.

The depot is little more than a lean-to patched together with scrap wood and tarps, its interior cramped and dim, smelling of dust, damp earth, and the faint, sour tang of sweat. Crates pile high on uneven floors, creaking softly under the weight of scarce supplies—canned food, frayed rope, faded blankets.

You stand behind the battered counter, your fingers cold and stiff from the chill creeping in through the thin tent fabric. The quiet is a fragile thing, like glass teetering on the edge of breaking.

Then the tent flap shifts—a slow, deliberate movement that makes your heart hitch. Rafe Cameron steps in, the familiar swagger in his step impossible to miss. His boots hit the dirt floor with a lazy scrape, announcing him like a storm rolling in on the horizon. That crooked toothpick is jammed between his teeth, half-chewed and half-defiant, the same grin tugging at the corner of his mouth that’s gotten so many people into trouble even before.

He leans against a crate with the ease of a man who believes the whole world should bend around him—calm, collected, dangerous. His eyes scan you slowly, cool and assessing, like he’s weighing you for some unspoken gamble. The casual cock of his head makes it clear he’s not just passing through.

From the inside of his jacket, Rafe pulls out a small, crumpled bag. The faint shimmer of pills and powders catches the weak lantern light, a secret treasure in a place where hope is scarce and pain is constant.

“You look like you could use a break,” he says, voice low and smooth like dark whiskey poured over ice. “Something to take the edge off. Just for a little while.” His grin widens, daring you to react.

You rifle through the supply list without looking up. “Not interested.”

He chuckles, a slow, rough sound that scrapes the silence. “Come on, don’t play the saint with me. Everyone’s interested in something.” His gaze locks on your hands, then slides up to meet your eyes with a flicker of challenge. “Even you.”

Your jaw tightens, refusing to show any crack in your calm.

Rafe’s eyes narrow, sharp as broken glass. “You feel like you’re just not like them, huh? You think you’re better? Stronger? Smarter?” His voice drops to a low rumble as he steps closer, heat pressing in.

“Good.” He pushes off the crate with a casual shove, boots scraping as he moves. “Means you’ve still got fight left inside you. But if you ever want to forget this hellhole for a while... you know where to find me.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and intoxicating like smoke. The tent flap rustles behind him as he steps back into the gray light outside, leaving a faint trace of cigarette smoke and something darker.

When the depot work finally lets you go, the sun starts bleeding gold across the tops of the barricades. Your back aches from lifting crates, your fingers numb from the constant cold. You don’t say goodbye to the others—just nod, scrawl your initials on the inventory sheet, and step out into the stillness.

The walk back is muscle memory. Past the burned-out bus used for storage. Past the kids trading battery scraps for dried fruit. Past the watchtower, where the same guard leans on a rusted rifle and doesn’t bother to look twice.

Your tent squats behind a barricade of corrugated metal and old tires, patched with mismatched tarp and duck tape. It’s sagging and smells faintly of kerosene and damp socks, but it’s home. Sort of.

Inside, it’s dim and narrow, lit by a single battery lamp hanging from a bent coat hanger.

JJ’s the first to glance up from his cot. He’s lying back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes watching the ceiling like it owes him answers. His eyes flick to yours, and he starts to sit up slowly, as if he doesn’t want to spook the moment.

“Took your sweet time.”

You drop your pack with a sigh. “They’re saying a shipment’s coming tomorrow. Again.” you mutter, peeling off your jacket and draping it over a nail.

JJ snorts, dry and tired. “Yeah. Right after Santa and the Tooth Fairy.”

You bend over to grab your shower bag from under your cot—a well-worn mess of a thing, with a half-dry towel spilling out of the zipper. You sling it over your shoulder without thinking, already reaching for the tent flap.

But then JJ is there, quietly. He leans close, like he’s always belonged right here, between you and everything else. His hand finds yours with a steady, gentle grip, and before you even have time to think, he lifts your fingers to his lips, kissing them softly. Your fingers curl a bit tighter around his.

You glance at the others—John B crouched by the crate with the busted walkie, Pope nose-deep in a tattered book—but they’re quiet.

John B finally speaks. “You good?”

You pause. Not at the question but at the way he asks it. Like he already knows the answer.

You don’t turn around. “Rafe stopped by the depot today.”

“What the hell did he want?” JJ snaps.

“He didn’t do anything,” you say, voice flat. “He just showed up. Smiling like he runs the whole damn place.”

John B’s stare hardened. “Did he threaten you?”

“No,” you say, too quickly. Then quieter: “Not exactly.”

Pope looks up now, pen frozen in midair. “What does that mean?”

You exhale loud and finally face them. “He offered me something. Pills. Whatever mix he’s pushing now. Said I ‘looked like I needed it.’”

JJ swears under his breath, voice low and sharp. “Son of a—”

“I said no.” You say it firmly, meeting JJ’s eyes.

John B sits up, slow like he’s trying not to explode. “He’s testing us. Seeing who he can buy. Who’ll fold first.”

“He’s already bought half the guards,” Pope mutters.

You nod. “And the other half are scared of what happens if they don’t play along.”

You roll your shoulders, trying to shake the weight off. “I’m going to shower. Before curfew lockdown hits.”

You don’t wait for them to respond—just step toward the tent flap, your hand brushing back your hair as if you could scrape the day off your skin.

The showers aren’t far, just past the rows of tents and the flickering lampposts. A thin trail of steam curls up from the old pipes, promising a brief reprieve from the grime and tension that cling to your skin. You want nothing more than to let the water wash the day’s dirt and fear away.

Suddenly, a faint, unsettling harsh and uneven sound shatters the silence wrapping cold tendrils around your spine, making your skin crawl. Something is wrong. Terribly, horribly wrong.

Drawn forward by a mix of dread and helpless curiosity, you follow the voices until the path opens onto the clearing by the central plaza. Floodlights blaze down with a cruel, merciless glare, painting everything in harsh, stark whites and deep, choking shadows. The crowd presses in a suffocating wall of faces, eyes wide with horror, mouths set in frozen grimaces.

In the center, bound and kneeling on the cracked concrete, is a man you don’t know but whose terror screams across the cold night like a curse. His skin is pale, his hands raw where the chains bite into his wrists. His head lifts slowly, eyes wild, begging silently for salvation.

A soldier steps forward, his boots thudding deliberate on the cracked ground. He moves like a predator savoring the kill, raising his rifle with terrifying calm, every muscle taut and rehearsed.

The silence swells to a crushing weight, smothering your chest. Time stretches, each second a razor scraping the raw edges of your sanity. Then the man screams—a soul-wrenching, bloodcurdling cry that splits the night, a sound so full of pain it feels like the world itself shatters.

The rifle fires. The crack is a thunderclap in your ears, a violent explosion of sound and finality.

The body convulses, then collapses forward with a sickening thud, chains rattling against the concrete like the clatter of a death knell. The crowd erupts into a wave of gasps and stifled sobs, but the shadows swallow their cries instantly.

A woman’s sob breaks through—raw and ragged, trembling with a grief too deep to bear. A child clings to a man’s leg, face buried in torn fabric, whimpering as the nightmare swallows them whole.

Your stomach churns violently. Your legs threaten to give out, knees buckling under the weight of what you’ve witnessed. Your breath comes in shallow, jagged gasps. You feel your hands tremble, nails digging into your palms.

You stagger back a step, your heel catching on a crack in the concrete. The stumble jolts you, but it’s not enough to break the spell, the frozen horror rooting you to the spot. The stench of gunpowder and blood burns your nose. You can taste it, sharp and metallic at the back of your throat.

You barely make it out of the clearing, the brutal shot still ringing in your ears, the weight of what you saw pressing down like a stone in your chest. The loudspeakers crackle somewhere in the distance, announcing curfew with a cold, unyielding voice.

You’re almost halfway back to your tent when you hear hurried footsteps behind you, crunching sharply on gravel and broken concrete.

“Damn, there you are,” JJ calls out, voice tense but relieved.

You freeze for a moment, heart hammering so hard you think he might hear it from across the yard.

Then, ahead, you see him. JJ’s silhouette framed by the flickering light of a lone lamppost, his chest heaving like he’s been sprinting. His eyes catch yours instantly wide, frantic, full of questions.

John B and Pope aren’t far behind, the two of them moving with cautious urgency, scanning the dark spaces between tents. Pope’s gaze is sharp, calculating, watching shadows like they’re already enemies.

JJ reaches you first, closing the distance in just a few quick steps. He stops right in front of you, breath ragged, and for a second, he just stares, as if trying to analyze your face.

“Are you okay? We heard a shot-”

You swallow hard, struggling to steady your voice. “I saw… a soldier. He shot someone.”

JJ’s jaw knot with tension. “God... why didn’t anyone stop him?”

John B steps up beside JJ, glancing warily toward the plaza. “No one’s stopping anything around here,” he says bitterly, voice low. “Not anymore.”

Pope’s eyes flick between the three of you, unblinking. “Curfew’s on now. We shouldn’t be out here.”

JJ’s hand slides from your arm to gently grip your shoulder, grounding you both. His breath is hot and ragged against your skin.

You try to collect yourself. “There was a kid watching.”

You see it hit him. His face twists, something ugly and aching flickering across it before he covers it with his hand, scrubbing at his mouth like he’s trying to erase the thought. “Jesus.”

For a long moment, neither of you says anything.

—

You stir awake slowly to the distant sound of boots crunching gravel, someone yelling nearby. You blink up at the patched ceiling, barely lit by the low wash of cloud-filtered sunlight. JJ’s still next to you, head tipped back, eyes closed but not sleeping. His thumb absently runs along your shoulder, like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Morning,” he mutters, voice raspy.

“Did you sleep?” you ask quietly.

He snorts. “Not really.”

A beat passes. He pulls his arm away gently and sits up, rubbing the back of his neck. “C’mon. The guys are probably already in the mess.”

The mess tent buzzes with low conversation and clinking metal, but the energy is wrong—too quiet in some places, too forced in others, like everyone’s pretending to be okay just loud enough to drown out what they really feel.

JJ slides into a spot at the back, and you follow him, settling next to him on the worn bench. John B and Pope are already there, mid-conversation, which dies the second they see you.

Pope gives a soft nod. John B offers a small, quiet smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you answer, but your voice is thin.

The silence that follows stretches a little too long.

JJ is the first one to break it. “Coffee’s cold,” he mutters, nodding toward the cup in front of him. “Surprise, surprise.”

You nod absently, but your hands stay folded in your lap. You haven’t touched the food they gave you—gray eggs, something trying to pass for fruit. None of it tastes like anything. Most of the real food’s long gone, and anything with yeast or fermentation is banned outright now—too risky since the infection’s roots. Bread, beer, even old canned stuff—it’s all suspect. One bite of the wrong thing, and it could be over.

“So,” Pope says finally, “didn’t hear anything on the radios this morning. Not even a curfew recap.”

John B doesn’t look up from his mug. “Yeah. Maybe they think silence is scarier now.”

JJ glances at you, then quickly away. “They’d be right.”

It hangs there.

You close your eyes for a second. The man’s face flashes behind your eyelids—wide-eyed, terrified, every part of him shaking. And then the scream. You press your thumb hard against your palm like you can dig the sound out of your memory.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you murmur, voice tight. “I just stood there.”

“No one blames you,” Pope says immediately. “You weren’t supposed to be there. You didn’t choose to see that.”

JJ’s jaw tightens. “But they wanted someone to see it. That’s the part I can’t shake. They wanted it to spread.”

“But what if it doesn’t change anything?” you ask, the words slipping out raw. “What if it’s just... fear now? Every morning, every second.”

John B gives you a half-smile. It’s tired, but genuine. “We’ve been through worse. Sort of.”

“Not exactly the same vibe as treasure hunting,” Pope snaps, tone heavy with irony.

JJ smiles, faint but sincere, and bumps your knee. “Doesn’t matter. We’ll get through this too.”

A ripple of murmurs rolls through the mess tent—trays shift, heads turn—just enough commotion to make you glance toward the entrance.

Sarah stands in the doorway, wind‑tangled hair framing a face pulled tight with fatigue. She clocks the room then spots your table and weaves through the maze of benches.

She drops onto the end of the bench beside Pope, hands wrapped around a dented metal mug she hasn’t even filled. For a heartbeat no one speaks; the hush around the five of you feels suddenly deeper, like the tent itself is eavesdropping.

John B breaks it first, voice low. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, but her eyes flick to you—an unspoken you saw it too. “Listen, I don’t have long.”

Pope leans in. “What was the real reason they shot that guy?”

Sarah’s voice drops to a razor’s edge. “He was moving Rafe’s stash. Out of the zone. South QZ.”

John B’s brow furrows. “Why?”

She shrugs. “No clue. Might’ve been a trade. But it was the Coastal sector. Completely locked down. No shipments in weeks.”

You glance up. “Then why’s today’s drop coming from there?”

Sarah hesitates. “Exactly.”

Pope frowns. “Nobody said anything about that.”

“They won’t,” she says. “They don’t want panic.”

And then you hear it—

CLANG.

The checkpoint bell rings once, slow and loud. Metal on metal. That unmistakable sound:

Inbound shipment. Gate Three.

—

You stand at the edge of the depot yard, clipboard clenched so tight your knuckles blanch, trying to ignore how your fingers twitch uncontrollably. Around you, the usual skeleton crew lingers—two guards, half-asleep and slumped against the cracked concrete, rifles dangling from loose grips.

You lift your eyes.

A shadow crosses the barricade wall—tall, boxy, slow-moving. One of the old FEMA trucks, paint worn down to raw metal in patches, pulling up like a ghost from the past. Two more trucks follow behind, tires grinding against cracked asphalt.

The convoy stops.

You take a small step forward. One guard lifts a hand, as if willing the moment to hold steady.

The passenger door creaks open.

A man in standard QZ gray steps down. His sleeves hang past his wrists, and his eyes look distant, unfocused. He moves slowly, as if his body doesn’t know where it is.

Behind him, another figure stumbles off the second truck. Then another. None say a word.

Your skin prickles.

“Manifest?” you ask, voice barely steady.

The first man turns to you—bloodshot eyes, pale skin marred by dirt and exhaustion. He shakes his head, then holds out a folded paper. His hand trembles.

You take it, unfolding the sheet carefully.

Names. Too many names. You flip the page.

And your breath catches.

Your mother’s name, printed clear as daylight.

Your world tilts.

You don’t remember moving, but suddenly you’re at the truck, boots crunching gravel.

“Back away,” a guard mutters, but his voice is thin, uncertain.

More passengers climb down—slow, unsteady, fragile.

Then you see her.

Her hair is longer, tangled. Her shoulders thinner, slumped as if the weight of everything she’s been through is pressing her down. Her jacket zipped up tight against the warm air, like a shield.

But it’s her.

Your chest tightens. Your heart clenches and shatters at once. You blink, once, twice, like your eyes are lying to you. But the shape doesn't change. It’s her. It’s really her.

“Mom?” The word escapes before you can stop it—soft, trembling, like a prayer finally answered.

She looks up.

Her eyes find yours.

In that instant, something inside her cracks. She takes two tentative steps forward.

Her mouth opens, voice rough and ragged. “You shouldn’t be here.”

The words scrape out of her throat, jagged and raw.

Your pulse hammers in your ears. You step closer, heart breaking open.

“I thought... I thought you were gone,” you say, your eyes filling with tears.

She flinches, like you might break. “I tried… I tried so hard to stay away.”

Tears glisten in her dirt-streaked face. “You need to leave.”

You reach out, but she pulls back, swaying.

One hand clutches her ribs, blood dark and spreading beneath her sleeve.

Your stomach twists, the sick taste of fear curling your tongue. No. No, this can’t be happening. Not now.

“Mom… what happened?” Your voice cracks, desperate.

She shakes her head, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t… don’t touch me.”

She sinks to her knees.

That’s when you see it.

A bite mark, half-hidden under her jacket.

Cold ice spreads through your stomach, freezing every thought, every hope.

Too late.

From the third truck—a scream.

Not fear.

Rage.

One evacuee leaps like a wild animal, tackling a guard, teeth flashing. Blood spatters the side of the truck.

The crowd scatters.

She looks up, tears cutting clean lines through dirt and sweat.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers, voice breaking.

Your mind races, memories flooding in—her laughter, her warmth, the way she held you when you were afraid. And now this... this monster wearing her skin. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. Not like this.

You take a step toward her, but a deafening gunshot cracks through the depot yard.

One of the guards drops the infected evacuee mid-lunge, but it doesn’t matter. Three more are already on top of him before his rifle even hits the ground. The second guard turns to run—too slow. A woman in tattered clothes barrels into him, jaw clamping down on his throat with a wet, animal crunch.

Your knees buckle. You stumble backward, catching yourself hard against a rusted supply crate. The clipboard slips from your hand and clatters to the dirt. As you steady yourself, your hand brushes cold metal—a crowbar, half-buried under a torn tarp.

Without thinking, you grab it. The weight anchors you, gives your shaking fingers something to hold.

All around you, the evacuees transform.

Some scream. Some convulse. Some simply go still for a heartbeat too long… then snap upright, jerking with unnatural speed. A man with blood down his chin slams himself headfirst against the depot fence, snarling through broken teeth.

A siren starts to wail somewhere inside the QZ. Distant, confused. Too late.

Your mother is still kneeling. Shaking. Her breathing is ragged now, wet.

You drop down in front of her. “Mom, we have to move. Please—”

She lifts her face. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused. Sweat drips from her temple. “You have to go,” she rasps.

“I’m not—”

From the depot gate, a series of sharp pops—more gunfire. Screams rise, closer now. A flaming body stumbles from the second truck, crashes into a stack of fuel drums.

The explosion hits like a thunderclap.

You’re thrown off your feet, the blast wave ringing in your ears. Smoke swallows the world in an instant. Flames roar to life, leaping skyward and casting long, jerking shadows of the infected as they pour from the trucks.

The QZ alarm shifts to evacuation tone. Sharp, urgent. That sound—the one you were never supposed to hear.

You crawl back to your knees, coughing, blinking through the smoke. Your mother is still there. Still breathing.

You reach for her, and she reaches back—but then freezes. Her breath catches.

Another evacuee stumbles into view behind her, growling low, movements twitchy and sharp. You react without thinking—grabbing a loose piece of rebar from the ground, swinging hard.

It connects with a sickening crunch. The evacuee drops.

You stare at what’s left of their skull, chest heaving.

Your mother is crying now—quiet, defeated sobs that cut through the chaos like a blade. “You need to run.”

The depot is burning. People are running. The screams are growing fainter—not because they’re stopping, but because they’re being overrun.

You hear boots pounding gravel. A figure stumbles through the smoke—JJ, blood on his jacket. “We have to move—now!”

You hesitate, looking back.

Your mother’s hands are in her lap. She’s shaking, and that light—her light—is dimming fast. She meets your eyes one last time, and in it, you see everything she’s trying to say:

I love you. I’m sorry. Go.

JJ yells again. “Come on!”

You rise slowly, heart breaking in real time. She doesn’t move to follow.

As you turn and run into the smoke, past fire and rubble, past bodies and memories, a second explosion rocks the yard.

This one doesn’t knock you over. But it takes what’s left of her with it.

The shockwave chases you, heat licking at your back like the breath of some hellish beast. You don’t turn around. You can’t. The part of you that wants to is screaming, clawing at your insides, but you shove it down. Keep moving. Just keep moving.

JJ’s hand grabs your arm, steadying you as you trip over broken pavement. “This way,” he growls, his voice hoarse. “Evac route through the maintenance tunnel—go!”

You don’t answer. Your throat is raw, heart thundering. Smoke wraps around you like a shroud, turning the world into a blur of shadow and flame. Behind you, the depot is a furnace.

You and JJ duck under a collapsed security gate, stumbling into a narrow side alley flanked by rusted-out storage containers. Somewhere behind you, gunfire rattles—short bursts, then silence. Too much silence.

JJ yanks open a hatch embedded in the cracked asphalt. “Down!” he barks.

You hesitate at the edge. The ladder descends into pitch black.

The tunnel is damp, the air thick with mildew and old decay. JJ seals the hatch behind you, and darkness swallows the world until his flashlight flickers to life, casting your long shadows ahead like ghosts.

You don’t speak as you move. Each step echoes with the weight of everything lost.

After what feels like miles, the tunnel begins to slope up. Your legs burn. Your lungs ache. At last, a second hatch looms above. JJ pushes it open carefully, peering out before giving the all-clear.

You emerge into a narrow corridor on the outer edge of the quarantine zone—once a service route, now a forgotten gap between fences. You can still hear the sirens behind you, distant and broken. The sky above is dull orange with smoke, but the streets here are quiet. For now.

You collapse against a wall, hands trembling. JJ crouches beside you, watching the way your shoulders shake, the way you stare at nothing.

“She was alive,” you whisper.

JJ nods slowly. “And she saved your life.”

You close your eyes. Try to hold onto that. Try to believe it.

I should’ve gone back,” you choke out. “The others… what if they didn’t make it out?”

“They did.”

You look up sharply. “What?”

“I saw them,” JJ says, voice tight. “They were heading for the fuel yard. Right after the first truck lit up”

He swallows hard, eyes searching yours. “They made it out. They had to.”

Then a new sound cuts through the quiet.

A low, rattling breath. Wet. Gurgling.

JJ’s head snaps toward the end of the alley. His flashlight beam sweeps across peeling brick, broken pallets—and a figure slumped just beyond a dumpster. It twitches.

He raises his weapon, but you grab his arm. “No,” you breathe. “Let me.”

You step forward. The shape groans, dragging itself toward you. Its eyes are wrong—cloudy, animal. Its fingers scrape the concrete like claws.

You don’t hesitate this time.

You swing the crowbar, fast and hard. It collapses with a sickening thud.

And silence falls again.

51 notes · View notes

cowboygenesis · 5 months ago

Text

2: the roommate | kylo ren x reader

part 2 of the "bump it, cool it" series: masterlist. | playlist

pairing: [modern!au] kylo ren x reader chapter warnings: explicit language. word count: 2.5k series summary: when your roommate’s older brother needs a place to crash, you begrudgingly offer up your couch— only to realize he’s the most insufferable, entitled asshole you’ve ever met. the worst part? you can’t seem to stop thinking about him. notes: here he comes... my boy. i have another chapter to post (from the pile), then we're back to live writing. i don't have much else to say here! enjoy the chapter and let me know what you think!

Now Playing: Hermetic Boogey - Tonbruket

A symphony of dog barks and passing cars carry in the wind as you rummage your purse for keys. ‘10:34, Wednesday’ reads on your phone, urging a tired exhale from your parched throat.

‘Poor Rey,’ you think, inputting the 4-digit code to your apartment building. You never envied her bartending job, besides the generous tips she’d often bring home to place in your shared piggy bank. On the other hand, her absence into the late night meant a moment of peaceful solitude for you.

The door swings open with a beep, and you flick the light on before lazily ascending the staircase. While the complex has an available lift, you had made it a habit of taking the stairs, even after long shifts.

The plastic bag in your hand weighs down on your fingers, forming red creases you’d later rub away. Waitering at a nice restaurant meant taking home a good amount of leftovers and sharing them with your roommate— this time, you’d have to commit the act alone, but you think you deserve it. It’s been a long day of scribbling orders and carrying trays of cocktails, and now, you’re ready to sink your sorrows into a hot shower and an episode of your favorite show. Your lips curl into a tired smile at the thought of that new face mask you had bought the previous week— you think it’d do nicely with how dry your skin has been feeling this past winter.

The sight of the wooden entrance at the end of the hallway makes you sigh with relief. As you approach, the silver steel of a small number ‘9’ greets your sore body. With the keys ready, you quickly slide them into the lock and open the door. It clicks softly, and you push it open with your elbow.

Inside, the vague figure of black furniture outlines a soft, trickling light from the kitchen window. As you kick your shoes off, you can’t help but exhale loudly as the door behind you shuts. The apartment is pleasantly warm and still smelling of whatever lunch Rey had cooked while you were away— a symphony of rosemary and a flavorful broth hovers in the air, making you salivate.

You drop your bags to the floor by the wall and carefully tread toward the kitchen, hands extended to navigate your way in the dark. Once you reach the kitchen table, you shrug your coat off. With nobody around to watch your developing pigsty, you flick it toward the approximate location of your couch.

“Ow!” you hear an unfamiliar baritone gravel, making your heart drop to your nauseated stomach. You walk backward, back colliding with the countertop and bruising your spine as your jittering hands search for a potential weapon to defend yourself from the intruder.

“Who— who’s there?!” you confront with a strained lilt, feeling your face tingle as it drains of color. Finally, your fingers squeeze around a metal handle, and you hurriedly extend the tool, cutting through darkness. “Get the fuck out if you know what’s good for you!”

A shadow shifts near the couch, morphing to its full, imposing height. You tighten your grip on the weapon, blood roaring in your ears.

“I have a knife!” you shout, though the slight waver in your voice undercuts the threat significantly. God, was this it?

The shadow steps closer. Despite your better judgment, your eyes shut tight in preparation for what’s to come. “I warned you!”

Then, with a sharp click, the room floods with light.

Quickly blinking the glare away, you first spot the salad spoon lodged between your fingers, fluttering in the air from your tremor. Your gaze snaps up.

Beyond the spoon stands a man around your age. His dark, piercing eyes bore into your form with dimmed amusement, his lips— plush, pink, and curled into an imperceptible smirk. His hand moves off the light switch and he stuffs a thumb into his pant pocket.

“Hello to you, too,” he hums smoothly, tilting his head. His dark locks shift as he surveys you head to toe, before ultimately focusing on your feeble weapon. “One way to greet a guest.”

Guest?

You carefully lower the spoon, the fear in your blood shifting into simmering anger. Everything clicks in mere seconds, your voice becoming tight when you utter. “Kylo?”

You watch his jaw clench for a moment before he nods. His smirk drops, but the mocking mirth within his pupils stays evident. He glimpses at your white knuckles, and the sight makes him exhale sharply, like a non-commital laugh at your peril. “Did I scare you?”

“…What?” you utter, incredulous at his reaction to your fear. Your hand lowers, returning the spoon to the counter. Your fists clench around nothing when you bunch them at your sides, glaring up at the perpetrator. “Are you serious? Where’s Rey?”

“She’s not home,” he shrugs, giving you another once over like he expected you to know already. “You’re the roommate?”

“How did you get in?” you continue, ignoring his (frankly rude) question.

Kylo exhales slowly before reaching for one of the cabinets. He withdraws a tall glass and approaches the sink to fill it with water. When he answers, he doesn’t grace you with eye contact. “I stopped by her bar and borrowed the keys.”

You can’t help but stare at him, awestruck. The bright kitchen light reflects on his pale skin, casting soft shadows across his face. You’re immediately caught by his side profile— a strong nose and long, dark eyelashes grazing his mole-speckled cheeks. There’s no emotion evident there, aside from a sick sort of merriment.

“I…” you croak out, not knowing where to begin. He stands straight again, looking you over the rim of his glass as if you were taking too long to reply— this gaze alone is enough to send your chest reeling with frustration. “Why were you sitting in the dark?”

You watch him think for a beat, casting an unreadable glance your way.

“No reason,” he utters flatly between sips, his shoulders lax and a stark contrast to your own tensed-up figure. “Just waiting.”

Your breath is still uneven, adrenaline prickling your limbs. His unbothered tone only aggravates the tense knot tightening in your chest. You knew you wouldn’t like the guy, and now you had to be civil. You guess you can argue his case to an extent, perhaps he was merely resting and didn’t notice you come in initially— or, more viscerally, he stayed quiet to freak you out. Deliberately.

“For what? To scare the shit out of me?” You cross your arms, forcing yourself to stand your ground despite the way he looms, broad-shouldered and completely at ease in your kitchen. “You must have heard me coming in. You could’ve made yourself known, at least.”

Kylo leans his hip against the counter, setting his glass down with a dull thud. “Could’ve.”

That’s it. No apology, no further explanation. Just that infuriating, self-assured gaze like he’s barely tolerating the conversation that he started with you.

You huff, running a hand down your face. “Okay… okay, from the top. You got Rey’s keys, made yourself at home, and thought it’d be a good idea to sit there in silence like a complete psycho.”

He exhales through his nose, almost amused, and finally—finally—offers something real. “Yeah, when you put it like that…”

“Cool. How old are you again?” you chuckle sardonically, feeling the threads of your sanity fraying.

“Thir—”

“Okay. Okay, don’t finish that,” you huff, promptly cutting him off with the rise of your hand. He stops, thankfully, just for a self-satisfied grin to crawl onto his lips. Your stomach lunges up to your throat for reasons unknown.

“Anyway,” You take a slow breath, rolling your lips together as you try to gather the last remnants of your well-being. “Next time, I hope I’ll get a heads-up before a break-in.”

Kylo raises a dark brow, eyes flicking over your face. His smirk doesn’t falter much. “I used a key.”

You glare. “It’s not yours.”

“I was invited.”

“Yeah—” You gesture sharply toward the door, your hand slicing through the air. “I know, I got the memo.”

He tilts his head at you, brow quirked and lips pursed as if he was trying to hit you with a ‘what’s the problem, then?’

“What I don’t know,” you trail, pointing a near-accusatory finger his way, “is why you decided to show up tonight.”

A few days after settling the living arrangements with Rey, she mentioned that Kylo would be driving in from out of town in precisely one month. You thought that’d be plenty of time to prepare (mentally and physically), but alas, life was full of unpleasant surprises. Kylo, in general, was one of them.

He tilts his head, watching you with something illegible in his eyes. His stare is steady and assessing like he’s trying to figure out some hidden truth about you— and it partially works. You suddenly feel too warm, still thrumming from the adrenaline crash and shrinking under his gaze. It’s hard not to, the dude is huge.

“I drove in earlier,” he replies flatly, his bicep flexing slightly. You swallow thickly.

“And Rey knew?”

He stills for a second, mulling over your words. “Sure.” — she fucking didn’t.

“You’re kidding,” you sigh, rubbing your face before leaning against the windowsill. The marble below your palms does well in cooling your fervor, so you rap your knuckles around the edge.

“I was under the impression I didn’t need to make an appointment,” Kylo muses dryly, carefully surveying your movements.

“You don’t,” you utter, trying hard to maintain unbothered, but the truth threatens to seep out the cracks in your mein. It would be nice if he made an appointment, if only to allow you some time to prepare. Not like it matters, but your makeup is probably cakey after hours of running around and you don’t exactly smell like roses. Yeah. It definitely didn’t matter— as long as he didn’t get to close. “I told you, a notice would’ve been nice.”

“Something you should bring up with your roommate, then,” He replies. For a second, the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s fighting off a smirk. “But duly noted.”

“May I just remind you that you’re my roommate too, starting today?” you correct flatly, giving him a glare. He returns it, but it’s half-assed and lopsided— like everything he does, you think.

He snorts lightly, shrugging his broad shoulders. Somehow, he manages to make juvenile expressions look diplomatic and serious. “Fair enough.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, willing yourself to move past the snarkiness and make some small talk. You want to give him the benefit of the doubt— perhaps he’s tired after travelling or you’ve made a bad first impression. Whatever it is, you seriously doubt Rey’s family could be anything but sweet and caring, like she is.

“You’re Rey’s brother, right?” you quip. You don’t need to ask, you remember the info clear as day. Still, it’s the best you can do in terms of being inoffensive while still veering away from the banter you had so unfortunately started with.

“Uh-huh,” he nods, sparing you no theatrics or explanations.

Maybe the benefit of the doubt thing wouldn’t work here, after all. His arrogance, indifference, and general attitude of ‘I take up all the space in a room and don’t care if you notice’ already put you at your wits end. If this was just the beginning, you struggled to visualize a world where you wouldn’t jump at each other’s throats sharing a space.

Kylo watches you, head tilting ever so slightly. He looks comfortable, even joyful to some strange extent as he crosses his arms. For a beat, you feel like he’s waiting for something specific to happen.

“So,” you say, forcing some level of composure back into your voice, “how long are you staying?”

Kylo places his now-empty glass in the sink with a soft clink before turning back to you. “Not sure yet.”

Oh, cool. Could exhaustion make someone completely insufferable?

Your fingers tighten around your biceps where they’re crossed, knuckles pressing into your skin. “You don’t have a plan?”

He smirks at you. Smirks. “Not one I feel like sharing.”

You stare at him. Openly. Blankly— like you can’t quite believe this is your life right now, because you cannot. He’s deciding to treat you like a pest rather than part of his literal saving grace, and for what?

“You gotta be fucking with me right now,” you utter, your eyes squinting like he’s some fucked up mirage.

“Would you like me to?” he answers over the rim of his glass, eyebrows high on his forehead. The glint in his dark eyes is enough to make your patience snap.

“Alright,” you breathe, pushing off the windowsill and making a beeline for your bags. You no longer have the energy to be polite, or hospitable, or even remotely pleasant. If this man wants to lurk in the dark and ignore your attempts at peace, fine. Let him. You are going to eat your takeout and pretend he doesn’t exist, at least until Rey comes home and inevitably forces you two to spend time together.

Except now, you feel like the banter has soured your appetite.

Kylo doesn’t move as you pass him. You feel his gaze on your back when you place the bags on the counter and pull open the fridge, stuffing two takeout containers inside with much more force than necessary. In the back, you spot a covered pot with what you assume to be Rey’s leftovers from lunch. It’d be polite to offer to reheat something for him.

“Help yourself to whatever’s in here,” you mutter, lazily nodding toward the fridge before shutting it. “Or don’t. It’s your business.”

You don’t wait for a response. Instead, you stuff the plastic bag into the trash, grab your tote off the counter and storm down the hall, toward your bedroom.

Kylo’s voice follows you just as your fingers curl around the doorknob. There’s a thread of amusement in his tone, like he’s getting off riling you up. “I knew I’d like you.”

Your jaw clenches so hard it aches. You slam the door behind you, muffling whatever else he might have said, and press your forehead against the wood.

“Entitled asshole,” you mutter under your breath before moving to unpack your bags. You place flick on an ambient light before searching your pant pocket for a lighter. You use that to light a candle, and as the sweet, warm aroma fills your nose, you start feeling a little better.

For a moment, you hear the muffled sound of the fridge opening and a brief tapping of a glass against the counter. Your nose scrunches in annoyance, but soon enough you’re powering on your PC and getting comfy in your chair. Fuck him— fuck him so hard. You wouldn’t let these few weeks get the best of you.

You wouldn’t let Kylo Ren win.

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