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3ardnpc · 10 days ago

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Mammon finally discovers what—who—you’re hiding from him.

TAGS: mammon x reader x lucifer, smut, angst, jealousy, accidental voyeurism, threesome, fingering, oral, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, 18+ MDNI, 4.3k

A/N: another repost from my old blog! Even tho mammon is my fave I cant help but make him suffer just a little bit

You’re nervous and he can tell, just like he can tell when someone’s bluffing in poker. It's the way your eyes sweep across the room on anything but him. It’s the way you clutch your DDD in both hands against your chest like there’s a secret to hide on it.

Ever since you landed in the Devildom, disheveled and confused, he was begrudgingly assigned to be your guardian demon and what kind of guardian would he be if he couldn’t tell when you're distressed? He’s The Great Mammon after all!

But too bad The Great Mammon can’t seem to get you to spill your guts no matter how long he stands and pesters you. He thought being your first and spending so much time together, practically attached at the hip, you’d trust him a little more with your secrets. It stings that you can’t confide in him fully yet.

Not that he’d ever admit any mere human could make him feel this way!

“I’m not lettin’ ya leave the room till ya tell me!”

You let out a breath of air, bordering between exasperated and tired. “Come on, Mammon, I’m not hiding anything.”

At that moment your DDD chimes with a text alert and your cheeks darken and eyes turn down in shame. Your eyes drift again.

“Gonna answer that or what?” He tries peering at your phone, but you step back. He can’t help the clammy feeling in his palms as theories run wild in his mind.

Could it be a boyfriend? You’d never date some lower level demon from RAD, you can hardly stand being alone in a room with one for fear of them stealing your soul. A boyfriend from the human world perhaps? Or even, the only other human in the exchange program, Solomon? That shady sorcerer could have seduced you for some nefarious purpose and you might’ve fallen for it. If you did, Mammon wouldn’t hesitate to hunt and tear Solomon apart if he hurt you.

And it couldn’t be any of his annoying brothers. If you were dating any of his brothers he’d know… right? And if you were going to date any of his brothers, it’d be him, right?

You’re his human, after all.

“Gonna have your nose in my business all day or what?” You retort.

“Hmph,” he shoves his hands in his pockets and takes a small step back, “just wonderin’.”

You tuck your DDD into the coat pocket of your RAD uniform and regard Mammon with curiosity. “What did you need anyway?”

Oh yeah, he almost forgot why he had even approached you in the first place.

“I may or may not owe a few demons.”

“I’m not lending you anymore Grimm, Mammon.”

“Come on! I wasn’t gonna ask ya that!”

He was.

You cross your arms and tsk, “what happened to the money you earned working part-time?”

Mammon huffs, not in the mood to explain how he lost it all after a disappointing night at the casino.

A familiar ring interrupts the conversation and he recognizes it as your ringtone. After two rings, and his intense blue stare, you give in and he watches as you pull it from your pocket and read the screen.

Your eyes light up, the same way Beels’ light up when he sees an extra large plate of deep fried bat wings.

A twinge of jealousy strikes him. Did you ever get that excited when his name came up on your phone? Oh no, he felt like Levi. The green tendrils of envy creep onto his heart without warning and he tries swallowing it.

“You scummy, good for nothing idiot! Where's my limited edition, glow in the dark, space-themed Ruri-chan figurine?! I know you took her!” Levi barks when he comes barreling into the living room. Speak of the devil. “I want her back now! Your scummyness probably rubbed off on my precious Ruri-chan!”

Mammon moves behind you for futile protection from the oncoming wrath of the third born. He clutches onto your shoulders like a life raft.

“Oi, I didn’t steal nothin’!”

He did and the damn thing didn’t even sell for much.

“Liar!”

Mammon hears your melodic laugh as you pry his hands off, your phone still ringing and he finally gets a view of the caller on your screen.

It’s Lucifer.

Why the hell are you getting so excited over Lucifer of all demons calling you? Do you like being lectured for hours, constantly reprimanded and berated? Are you that much of a masochist and he just hasn’t realized it yet?

“Don’t ignore me! If she’s not back in my arms by tomorrow I’ll lock you in a room with Cerberus.”

You swipe to answer your DDD and say to Mammon before departing, “you’re on your own.”

Mammon helplessly watches you go, giggling on the phone as you say hello to Lucifer.

—

The hour-long rant Mammon received from Levi was a pain. Not only does he have to pay off his debt to those demons at the casino, but now he has to buy back Levi’s figurine.

He figured he could just steal a few things no one would miss and sell them. That annoying TSL soundtrack that Lucifer always has on could probably sell for something. He could make some money and never have to hear those songs reverberate off the walls again.

He can just blame Lucifer when the album is suddenly ‘lost’. Though, there’s no way anyone would believe The Lucifer lost something, but that detail isn’t important right now. He needs the Grimm.

Mammon knocks on Lucifer’s bedroom just to check if his older brother is there. Lucifer knows when Mammon knocks and ignores answering. So Mammon has gotten good at straining his ears to listen to any signs of papers rustling or a pen scratching, but there’s nothing tonight. Lucifer’s door, although usually locked specifically to keep him out, is surprisingly unlocked when Mammon turns it.

The gothic and immaculate room is empty. So far so good for Mammon. He gets to work shuffling through each and every drawer and shelf, searching for anything valuable to pocket.

The door knob to the en-suite bathroom twists and in a panic, Mammon dives into the nearby wardrobe and shuts the door, leaving a tiny sliver open to peek out of. All he can really see from this angle is Lucifer’s ridiculously massive bed. He always wondered why his older brother needed a large bed. Lucifer himself may be a tall demon, but not tall enough to warrant such a wide bed.

Probably to fit him and his huge ego, Mammon thinks. He almost chuckles at his own joke if not for seeing you tip-toeing up to the bed fresh out of the bathroom.

You’ve changed out of your RAD uniform. A red silk robe hangs loosely over your shoulders instead. You glance around the room, probably checking for some sign of Lucifer, an adorably innocent expression on your face. You’re clueless to Mammon’s presence stuffed inside the closet.

He wants to jump out and ask what in the Devildom you're doing in Lucifer’s room, but he can’t move. He can’t even seem to catch his breath inside the suffocating closet.

Only one real question runs through his mind: why? Why are you in Lucifer’s room? Why are you wearing that?

He watches you crawl onto the bed, running your hands over the black, satin sheets. A satisfied hum leaves your lips when you settle against the headboard, shifting until you find a comfortable position. Your hands fall into your lap, idly playing with the hem of your robe, and a content smile rests on your face.

“And what’s this?”

Mammon, so absorbed in watching you, didn’t notice the sound of Lucifer walking into his bedroom. You perk up at the sound of Lucifer’s voice, moving to a kneeling position on the bed.

“A surprise,” you say, but your tone is not one Mammon’s familiar with. It’s seductive and tempting like an incubi’s, only sweeter and it’s coming from you. He wishes those words were directed at him, and him only, not Lucifer.

“Oh, really?” Comes Lucifer’s cool response.

Damn bastard, Mammon curses in his head, tempted to pop out of the closet just to wack his older brother in the back of the head. Is that really all ya got to say when she's dressed up for ya in bed?

His teeth clench, a growl forming in the back of his throat. It’s just like Lucifer to sound unappreciative when he’s got such a perfect human all to himself.

“You called me to come meet you in your room. I thought I should dress up.”

Your nimble fingers pull apart the knot on the front of your robe and it slides easily off your shoulders. Your body is almost naked except for the lacy black underwear and bra. It reveals more skin than Mammon ever thought he’d see, and his greedy eyes only want to see more. His strains to look through the opening.

Mammon watches you boldly pull on Lucifer’s red tie to bring his face closer, his lips barely grazing yours. He sees the slight smirk and hungry red eyes on Lucifer.

“Don’t you like it? It’s just for you, Lucifer.”

Just for you.

Those words punch Mammon in the gut. This isn’t for him to see. He shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t even know about your secret relationship. But you two are close, right? You can tell him anything. He’s your first, after all.

“I don’t think you deserve any praise. Do you know why?”

You shake your head, a pout on your lips from Lucifer’s rejection.

“Because you let that pest in.”

Before he can react to Lucifer’s words, a burst of magic throws open the closet doors and forces Mammon to come tumbling out.

“Mammon?” You gasp, grabbing your robe to cover yourself again.

Scrambling to his feet, Mammon averts his eyes and mumbles out incoherent apologies.

You probably think he’s a damn pervert. He won’t even look you in the eye.

“Should I throw him out or should we punish him for spying?”

“Punish?” You and Mammon both echo. While Mammon’s voice is fearful for the kind of sadistic ways Lucifer will torture him, yours is curious.

The eldest brother doesn’t turn his head to acknowledge the younger, his eyes are keenly on you. His gloved hand slides over your shoulder, toying with the thin strap of your bra before sliding it down. “Answer me.”

Your coy eyes dart over to Mammon who is still helplessly sprawled on the floor, unable to move. A tongue moves to wet your lips and both men watch, mesmerized by your action.

“He can stay.”

Mammon has always had nice long and slender fingers and, of course, he knew that. He had the skilled, nimble fingers of a thief. They were capable of picking pockets and, apparently, making you writhe and gasp beneath him. Oh, if only he had a camera to capture your pretty face gasping his name in fragmented breaths.

Two orgasms with just his fingers and now he was aiming for a third just to keep listening to your overstimulated moans. The way you writhed around his fingers, struggling to keep up with his ruthless pace, was addicting. Your fingers were buried in the dark sheets of Lucifer’s bed.

Finally, your eyes fluttered open. He watched your flushed face intently, memorizing the way your brows furrowed together in pleasure, glossy lips parted for air, and the sheen of sweat that had gathered over your smooth skin. He could watch you fall apart on his fingers for the next century or for the rest of his eternal life, preferably the latter.

Mammon met your eyes. He may have been declared the worst, scummiest brother of the seven but when he saw you, those words meant nothing. You were his human. His perfect human. And the way you looked at him convinced him that maybe he wasn’t a worthless loser like his brothers said, he was just as perfect in your eyes as you were in his. That was all that mattered to him.

He slowly drew his two fingers out of you, earning a whine. Your weak arms chased after him. He couldn’t resist the low chuckle that escaped him. You were so needy for him—just for him.

Your sticky arousal clung to his fingers and he greedily stuck them into his mouth to taste. So sweet, just like you. One taste and he felt an insatiable hunger, rivaling Beel’s, begin to build up inside of him. He wanted you so badly for so long. Now, you were splayed out for him with legs spread wide, a leaking cunt ready to be fucked. The need on your face was apparent.

Mammon slid his fingers from his mouth with a wet pop. Two orgasms later and he had yet to kiss you. As he leaned down he thought he should. He wanted to. It’ll be our first kiss, Mammon thought. Our first kiss in Lucifer’s room, on Lucifer’s bed, under Lucifer’s watchful eye.

He couldn’t do it.

Instead, he came down to press hot kisses against your neck. He cursed himself for being so afraid. His fists curled up beside your head.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, you responded by baring your neck for him, sighing and grinding yourself against his clothed erection. He bit back a groan and buried his face into your neck.

“You’re all mine, right?” He murmured more to himself than anyone else. You were too lost in a haze of pleasure to properly hear him.

But his fantasies could only last so long.

“For now, Mammon. But, don’t forget who she really belongs to.” The cold voice reached his ears from the corner of the room.

Mammon’s blue eyes moved to where his older brother reclined on the sofa with a cruel smirk. The fireplace was lit, casting an even sinister glow on Lucifer that Mammon found fitting. The brothers locked eyes, equally filled with an unspoken challenge.

Mammon glared at Lucifer, the demon who was so proud and confident you’d never leave him for anyone else. So proud and confident, he’d let Mammon fuck you.

Yeah, well, Mammon would show him. He would fuck you so good you wouldn’t even rememeber Lucifer’s name by the time he was done.

“Ya bastard,” Mammon snapped, fully removing his face from your neck. “Can ya just shut up?”

Lucifer only crossed his arms, the smug smirk growing deeper.

“Mammon…” came your sweet, wavering voice. He looked back down at your adorable pout. Those plump and reddened lips that had been caught between your teeth when you tried (and failed) to hold back moans just looked so irresistible. He wanted to kiss you. Your hand came up to run through his snowy hair. “Don’t be mean.”

“Yes, Mammon,” Lucifer said the younger’s name with venom, “I wouldn’t recommend it. After all, I’m the one allowing you to do this. I can end it whenever I please.”

This was only happening because Mammon happened to stumble in on you and Lucifer. But it wasn’t just Lucifer’s decision to let him stay, you also had a say in this. You were the one letting him kiss your body, fuck you on his fingers—you wanted this just as much as him. Lucifer be damned, Mammon only wanted your permission.

Mammon’s only reply was a dismissive ‘tch’ and his mouth returned to press kisses on your body. This time with renewed vigor. He’d carve his name on your skin and use his cock to ruin you until your thoughts were consumed by him.

His fingers scorched a trail over your chest until he cupped one of your breasts, squeezing and running his thumb over a hardened nipple. You let out a breathy moan, arching your back into his hand. He bent his head to take your other neglected nipple into his mouth. He used his skillful tongue to lick and suck and abuse each nipple until they were red and littered with his marks.

“Hah,” you sighed, taking on a whiny tone “please, Mammon, touch me.”

He detached his mouth from your nipple to give a short reply, “I am, baby.” He continued his assault on your breasts, then made his way up to your neck and sucked even more bruises onto your skin.

Lucifer clicked his tongue at the pet name, but didn’t say anything. He stayed glued to his spot on the couch and watched you two with a fierce red gaze. How any of this was punishment, Mammon wouldn’t know. Letting him have you all to himself while Lucifer quietly sat back and observed seemed more like a reward.

“Y-You know that’s not what I mean.”

“I wanna hear you say it.”

You bit your lip hesitantly, nervous eyes flitting over to Lucifer. He remained silent.

“Your fingers, your mouth… I want you to—ngh,” you moaned when his fingers grazed the inner part of your thigh. So close. He dragged them higher, lightly brushing your outer folds. A knowing smirk rested on his lips. You bucked your hips, desperate for him to sink his fingers back into you. “I want you in me, on me. Please, please.”

How could he resist such a pretty plea? One hand pushed your thighs apart and two fingers quickly entered you again, pushing through your tight walls and had you crying out.

You sighed with blurry unfocused eyes that drifted over the room as Mammon offered you such great pleasure that your thighs trembled around his hand. You gasped when his fingers curled unexpectedly, hitting the perfect angle, making you arch your back and your fingers dig into the dark sheets.

Judging by your reaction, Mammon knew he hit the jackpot and he’d be foolish not to keep going until you’re clenching around his fingers and crying his name for Lucifer to hear—better yet, for all of the House of Lamentation.

His mouth made its way down until he was kissing your inner thighs. One of his large hands pushed your thighs further apart so he could fit his shoulders between your legs and get a better view of your drenched folds. After two mind-numbing orgasms, your arousal coated his fingers and soaked the bed. His tongue lapped around his fingers, cleaning up your mess, savoring your taste. He became ravenous once your sweetnesses hit his tongue.

Foregoing his fingers, Mammon instead used them to spread your folds apart to plunge his serpentine tongue into your cunt with a ferocity that had you shaking.

“Ah, too m-much.” You groaned, twining your fingers through his hair and tugging on the strands, hoping it would halt his quick tongue. He grunted at the sharp tug on his head, but your arms, weak from the onslaught of pleasure, were no match for his demonic strength and determination. His fingers dug into your thigh to prevent you from squeezing them around his head. You would have bruises in the morning, but it would be another display of him on your skin. Exactly what he wanted. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking the swollen and sensitive bud, and grazed it with his teeth. You cried out. The pleasure was so overwhelming that tears began to roll down your cheeks.

“Good girl. You can take it.” Lucifer was no longer sitting on the couch. Some time between Mammon fingering you and eating you out, he moved to the edge of the bed, closest to your head. He stroked your sweat matted hair out of your face. His white gloves dragged across your damp cheek.

You muttered Lucifer’s name between breaths. You didn’t realize it, but Mammon did.

Saying another demon’s name while he was the one between your legs!?

“Oi, oi,” Mammon snapped, tugging at your hips until you were dragged out of Lucifer’s grasp. His possessive hands, nails digging in and leaving crescents on your skin, squeezed your thighs. “He ain’t the one who’s eatin’ ya out, is he? Eyes over here.”

Lucifer scoffed, “don’t be childish, Mammon.”

The eldest demon moved to sit behind you, propping your limp body against his chest. Having you settled against him, he slowly removed his gloves. When long, pale fingers finally emerged, they toyed with your nipples first, tugging and pinching, drawing out your high-pitched whimpers. He played with you like a doll under his absolute control, knowing exactly where you liked to be touched, where you let out the softest gasps from the pressure of his hands against your throat.

You fell against Lucifer, fitting against him like you were meant to be that way. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t. Mammon was your first man. So, why did you fall into the arms of Lucifer instead of him?

“Tch, yer a greedy little slut, aren’t ya? Wantin’ two demons at once. Ta be nothin’ but a stupid cocksleeve.” The comment came without warning, even Mammon paused.

“Mammon.”

The second-born nearly yelped when he heard the simmering fury in Lucifer’s barely restrained voice. A familiar dark aura fogged the room. Just before Lucifer could reach around you and throttle him, your hand pressed against his chest to stop him.

“It’s fine, Lucifer,” you managed to say in time. “I-I kinda liked it.”

Your back was to Mammon. You couldn’t see the relief that left his body limp.

“I won’t let him talk to you like that.” Lucifer narrowed his sharp eyes at Mammon over your shoulder. Even after you confessed to liking the names, Lucifer’s hands tightened around your waist protectively. “You can go now.”

“B-but I ain’t finished,” Mammon protested, reaching to touch your shoulder.

Lucifer was faster, wrapping his gloved hand around Mammon’s wrist and pushing him away. “You’re done when I say so.”

The aura in the room changed with Lucifer’s mood. As the eldest and strongest demon in the room, he controlled every action, down to the last breath, and Mammon would be wise to remember that.

“He doesn’t have to go,” you turned around to look at Mammon, “don’t go.” You offered him a soft reassuring smile.

“You really want him to stay, love?” Lucifer had your attention again, cupping your cheeks in his hands, searching for any signs of hesitation.

You nodded and Lucifer sighed. “Okay, but,” Lucifer looked at Mammon, “no more touching. Your punishment can start now.”

“Wha-”

“Mammon, stay,” your sweet voice commanded him and he was stuck. The feeling of your pact activating left him feeling numb all over. His master gave him an order he had to obey. So, this was the real punishment.

Mammon clenched his jaw and helplessly watched Lucifer flip you onto your stomach and spread your legs, ass up. You were facing him on your elbows, flashing him a teasing smile. Your bottom lip came between your teeth and Mammon groaned, wishing he had kissed you when he could.

“You prepared her well for me,” Lucifer taunted, unbuckling his pants and bringing out his cock. His two fingers pushed into your wet cunt. You gasped when a third finger entered, stretching you out further to ensure taking Lucifer’s cock would be easier. “Now you can watch me fuck her.”

Lucifer’s fingers slipped out and were soon replaced by his thick cock, pushing into your tight walls. The second he entered you, your arms collapsed and you fell against the bed, eyelids fluttering shut so you could fully feel his entire length buried inside you and fucking you.

As much as he wanted to, Mammon couldn’t tear his gaze away from you and your expressions. When you’d bite your lip to hold back shallow gasps after each rough thrust, or how your brows furrowed when Lucifer reached around your waist to play with your clit, he studied them all.

“Nng—more,” you panted, grinding your hips against Lucifer.

Just like Mammon, Lucifer wasn’t immune to your pleas. He lifted your body against his chest, letting you sit on his cock as he thrusted up into you and his hand played with your tits. You moaned, reaching your hand around to scratch at Lucifer’s neck. Your thighs trembled with each wet slap of your hips connecting.

“Let him know who’s fucking you this good,” Lucifer said low in your ear.

“Y-You!”

Lucifer gave your sore nipple a cruel pinch, demanding more than one-word answers.

“Hng! You, Lucifer! You make me f-feel so good!” You cried, grinding harder against his cock.

“Good girl,” Lucifer cooed into your ear. He continued fucking you, playing with your clit, until your body tensed.

Mammon could tell you were close. You came around his fingers twice—he remembered. When your head fell against Lucifer’s shoulder and your body locked up, he could tell that you came, Lucifer as well. His fingers twitched for contact. He just wanted to hold you, be the one whispering sweet comforts into your ear as you came down, but that was Lucifer’s job.

It was numbing to sit in place, unable to have what he desired more than Grimm, and be nothing but a spectator in Lucifer’s cruel punishment.

Your sleepy head rested on Lucifer’s shoulders, already dozing off when he pulled out. Your combined juices dribbled down your thigh. As Lucifer worked on making you comfortable, he glanced over his shoulder at Mammon.

“Give it up. She’s mine.”

Mammon felt his mouth go dry. If only you weren’t so oblivious to his obvious feelings and if only he weren’t so adamant on denying them, then things wouldn’t be this way.

With you resting comfortably in Lucifer’s bed, the command you put on Mammon was released. The feeling returned to his limbs, but the dull ache in his chest lingered. He dragged himself from the bed, knowing the longer he watched your peaceful expression in Lucifer’s arms, the more it’d hurt.

He still wished he kissed you.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #mammon x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me headcanons #obey me fanfic #mammon smut #obey me nightbringer

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thesunloveschips · 6 months ago

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Obsessed - Part 9 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: After Azriel's mother reprimands him, he orchestrates another coincidence that leads to a reconciliation.

Warnings: Y/n being a bit naive and delulu. Azriel being the hopeless billionaire still in love because we all deserve a man like this. Azriel saying fluffy and corny things because we deserve men who say such things to us.

Word count: 3.6k

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

“You insensitive little shit.” Such a pleasant woman, his mother. “How dare you violate someone’s privacy?”

“Mum, I-”

“And this is how you approached her?” Clearly, Azriel’s mother had no intention of letting him speak.

“I-”

“There are many ways to meet new people, Azriel. The most common one being that you could’ve gone up to her and politely introduced yourself.”

“She would’ve rejected me.”

“She should definitely reject you after the stunt you pulled.”

“How-”

“The audacity. . .” Needless to say, Azriel received a scolding for the next seventeen minutes. “Leave her alone, Azriel. You’ve hurt her immeasurably. Your devotion does not compensate for that.”

“I want her in my life.”

“Then start by giving her some space. Let her sort out her feelings.”

“She’s hurting.”

“You hurt her, in case you forgot.” Like his mother would ever let him forget. “And don’t creep around in your building’s common areas just to see her.”

“Yes.”

“If I hear anything otherwise, I will stop baking pineapple cake for Christmas.”

For those of you unfamiliar with Azriel, this was the most effective way to threaten him. With his favourite dessert. Or the lack thereof.

“Yes, mum.” But Azriel’s mind had already begun concocting ideas. He was the Chairman of Umbra for fuck’s sake. If he could run a billion-dollar empire, he could definitely get Y/n back.

“If you run a billion dollar empire then I gave birth to you. Mark my words, Azriel. If you loiter around her like an aimless fool, I will burn my recipe book.”

His mother was a pleasant woman. Her threats did not involve bodily harm. But whether he’d be able to have his mother’s homemade desserts was still debatable. “I’ll call you later. It’s my turn for the appointment.”

“Bye, mum.”

“Maintain your distance.” And she ended the call.

Azriel supposed Y/n would definitely like his mother as a mother-in-law. His mother would have a daughter to dote on and he could simply watch the two of them chatter while sipping coffee.

Y/n had an internship. At a university in another European country. As a research assistant to a professor. For three months. Then she’d return to her own university in the city where they first met and fell in love.

Well, he fell in love and she was unaware but not to worry, everything would be fine.

****

Azriel knew for certain that his events management abilities were applause worthy. Why wouldn’t they be?

Because the way he orchestrated his meeting with Y/n and ended up being her neighbour was something.

And now, he’d orchestrate a few more events.

Y/n’s internship had ended.

It was a good thing for her professor that he was a well mannered, decent human being. Else, Azriel would’ve definitely intervened in a manner that wouldn’t have ended well.

And now, she was back in the same city. She had just begun the second year of her master’s program.

Wonderful.

In three weeks, the reclusive chairman of Umbra would give his first guest lecture in a university.

Was it a coincidence that this was the same university Y/n attended? Absolutely not.

Because Azriel did not wait around for things to happen. He made things happen.

That’s how he reached where he was and he was definitely not going to be discouraged.

She’d begun to shine again during her internship. Friends, both new and old, helped her navigate life.

He hadn’t contacted her per his mother’s instructions.

Some days, he’d just randomly opened their chat. He’d see her online and sometimes, he’d type but he never sent a message. And he never received one either.

Azriel sighed.

He looked at his choice of clothes for his guest lecture. The topic was his latest collaboration with Rhysand’s Velaris Corp to acquire Hewn Inc.

He had to look so jaw droppingly handsome that Y/n would fly into his arms and they could run off into the sunset together.

Black was his colour.

He knew it.

And Y/n found him hot in black.

So it was decided. Black trousers, sweater, long trench coat.

That’s how he found himself on the stage of an auditorium, holding a mic, giving a lecture, and answering questions posed by eager and foolish students alike.

The lecture had ended. Some students and faculties stayed back for follow up questions. Azriel patiently answered all of them when he saw her.

Y/n.

And he was hers.

Immediately and undoubtedly hers.

What a sad time it was when he was not hers. A sad time spanning twenty-nine years of his life.

“Excuse me.” And Azriel made his way towards her. But then he stopped when her gaze found him.

Fuck.

He wasn’t prepared for this.

He thought he was but he wasn’t.

He hated it.

The sight of her entire body seized by the grief of his betrayal. Her emotions all over her face for him to read that Y/n had most definitely not moved on from him.

Someone covered her from his line of sight. A face turned back with the glare of a demon. Nesta Archeron.

He sighed. And Nesta seemed offended that her glare had resulted in a sigh. She turned back and took his Y/n away.

Azriel looked up at the sky as he pulled out his phone. He still didn’t look at the device.

The evening pinks and violets painted the sky. Clouds were scarce. The moon was readying for its appearance. And Azriel was brooding.

A call came. A different ringtone. The one he’d set for her.

“How many more lies?” A soft voice whispered. He knew she was referring to him not telling about his designation in Umbra. She’d thought him an ordinary employee.

“As many as it takes to ensure your safety.” He breathed.

“Why are you here?”

“Guest lecture.”

“And it happened to be right here?”

“Yeah.” It would happen anywhere she was. Guest lectures, conferences, and whatever the fuck that would give him a chance to see her and breathe the same air as her.

A pause. The wind whispered something to him and danced with his hair for a while. “You’re beautiful.”

Silence.

The call continued. And he felt oddly chaotic and calm.

“Go away, Azriel.”

“I cannot take impossible requests.”

“Then take impossible orders and make it possible.” Y/n was firm. “Leave me alone.”

“I cannot.” And he knew his voice was shaky.

“Why?”

“I need to know you’re safe, comfortable, and happy. It’s all that keeps me sane in your absence.”

“What if I meet someone else?”

His breath hitched. “Safe, comfortable, and happy, Y/n. That’s where my selfishness for you extends.”

“And you’re selfless in other areas?”

“You ended our relationship, Y/n, not my feelings. I will be jealous. I will be angry. But I will prioritise your safety, comfort, and happiness.”

He’d limit it to that. Let her think that his feelings were warm and fuzzy like that favourite blanket of hers and not a mad obsession luring him into an abysmal terrain.

She did not need to know that he’d dismember and torture and slowly kill anybody who thought they had a chance with her.

Azriel heard a sob. Some core part of him cracked. He looked in the direction where she had disappeared to with Nesta. She was not there.

He wanted to comfort her.

Hold her and tell her not to cry because he’d make it all better.

But he was the reason for her tears.

So he remained silent.

Her cries slowly stopped and he heard footsteps through the phone. “What are you really doing here?”

“I want to see you.” The footsteps paused. She was probably standing somewhere.

“You saw me.” She immediately threw the words as if they were an accusation.

“Didn’t see you enough.”

She remained silent. Azriel really couldn’t believe he’d said that. He was a master at controlling his emotions. At least, until Y/n.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Umbra?”

“I wanted to hog you for myself. Not for the man who owns Umbra.”

“You are that man.”

“I’ve always been Azriel. I did not own Umbra all my life.” The pain of being an illegitimate child suddenly came to the forefront of his mind.

“And now it’s an inseparable part of you.”

“Not as inseparable as you think.” Because he’d leave it all behind for her.

“I liked you, Azriel.” Everything paused. The pain in her voice made it all too evident that she still liked him. “I really did but this. . . This is just. .”

“I want another chance, Y/n.”

“How can you ask such a thing?”

“Another chance with you knowing the full extent of what I will do for you.”

“And what is this extent?”

“There’s no extent.”

“What?”

“There’s no extent, no line, no limit on what I will do for you.” And even if there was an extent he couldn’t recall right now, he knew Y/n was not unreasonable enough to demand for it. And if she was, then he’d simply comply.

“Does that extent also include violating my privacy? Disrespecting me? As long as you’ve secured my safety and happiness?”

“There’s no line I won’t-”

“The problem wasn’t the line. The problem wasn’t Umbra. The problem was you hiding it all from me. The problem was you not asking my permission, not considering my feelings, while digging up everything about me like a mole rat.”

Azriel remained stunned.

How had this slipped past him?

He’d thought he was careful with her feelings. And so, he’d resolved to only tell the good things. Things that wouldn’t be troublesome for her while wanting to know all about her and her problems so that he could eliminate them and make life easier for her.

But was this a true relationship where he carried the burdens and she carried the joy?

Weren’t they supposed to carry their lives together no matter the good or the bad?

“You hide things from me but you want to know everything about me so you just get someone to find it all.”

“I’m truly sorry, Y/n. I should’ve told you everything.” And since he hadn’t, he’d lost her. “I was desperate to have every bit of you.” But that desperation hadn’t entitled him to all those bits. “I’m sorry for violating your privacy.” He should’ve waited to know everything that comprised this wonderful woman. “I couldn’t wait. And I’ve now lost you.”

“What am I even supposed to say?”

“You don’t have any obligation to say anything.”

“I have no obligation to listen to you.” No, she didn’t. This call was just an act of mercy she granted owing to her own feelings for him that she couldn’t control.

“Thank you for listening.”

“I suppose you have more to say.”

“I do.” He really wanted to say these words at their wedding.

“Let’s meet.” She sniffled. “I want to know what exactly you know about me.” In the background, he could hear Nesta telling Y/n against it.

“When are you free?” She gave him a time and venue. And Azriel motioned to the assistant who’d accompanied him that they were leaving. “I’ll meet you there.”

Silence prevailed. The only sound was his own footsteps.

“Why are you not ending the call?”

“I’ve never ended any of our calls.” Because he’d always wanted to hear her voice. Even if she had anything to say at the last minute. They’d done that many times.

“Bye.” And he couldn’t help his sad sigh. Azriel walked over to the venue even though there was time.

****

Y/n was getting the lecture of her life. Nesta was incessantly rambling while she got ready.

She’d spotted Azriel outside the Department of Business Studies after her classes had ended and she was heading back to her flat shared with her friend.

“You have to be careful with him. Are you listening to me?” Nesta placed her hands on Y/n’s shoulders.

“Yeah.” She slumped against her best friend.

“And it does not matter if he’s devilishly handsome or sexy or you had the best sex of your life with him or if you like him or love him or he likes you or loves you or-”

“I’ll be fine.” Nesta really didn’t have to remind her about Azriel’s attractiveness.

“Really?” Nesta didn’t say it out loud but she knew her well enough. Her friend definitely thought that Y/n would reconcile with Azriel.

“Yeah.”

Nesta took her in a hug. “Got your pepper spray?”

“Mhm.”

“So the first thing you do is to spray it. Spray it all over his unnecessarily pretty face.” Y/n remembered the first time she’d talked to Nesta about Azriel and she’d used the words ‘unnecessarily pretty’ to describe him.

“I’m going there to talk.”

“Then spray it on his eyes and ears.”

“All right.” Y/n chuckled. She knew her friend was furious at this man she’d never even met.

It had taken her a while to revive herself. The depth of her feelings for Azriel revealed itself to her only upon his betrayal.

And she felt like she was heading to war. It probably was, in a sense.

Y/n reached the park ten minutes before but she loitered around, her nerves wracking and snapping against her, telling her to leave.

“Y/n.” She’d recognise that voice. She was weak for him like that.

Y/n turned and saw him dressed for a funeral. In black.

Any other day and she would’ve thought he looked hot but today when she was a miserable mess with no rein over her feelings, she worried for herself.

Was he going to kill her and chop her body and scatter the pieces in some sewer like he’d done with her heart?

“Azriel.” Yep. She sounded weak. Affected.

He took a step forward, the leaves crunching beneath his shoe. Y/n took a step back.

This conversation was definitely going to be difficult.

“Would you like me to remain at a distance?” He asked, gently. And she was reminded of the times when this man simply clung to her frame because he didn’t want to let go. In bed, the bath, all around their apartments.

“Yes.” She breathed. “What do you know about me?”

And he narrated her own story.

About her pathetic family, her horrifying mother, her counselling sessions from high school, all the people who hurt her, all the people she’d ever befriended.

He knew everything that had ever been documented about her.

At the end of his revelation, she simply closed her eyes and sighed.

“I won’t tell anyone.” He promised solemnly. Was his word worth anything now? Or wasn’t it?

“Am I supposed to trust that?” She dryly asked. And with those words, she’d hurt him. She saw the hurt painted on his face like a dark stain. And fury pumped through her veins.

“You’re not entitled to feel hurt.” How dare he pretend he was the victim here? “Not after this.” She stood up and grabbed her sling bag and phone. Azriel immediately stood up. “I. .” But she really had nothing to say.

Y/n didn’t know what he was going to do with all that information. But maybe it didn’t matter since he had the resources to do that to anyone. He could keep tabs on her for the rest of her miserable life.

Even then, no matter how long and hard she thought about it, she didn’t mind.

She didn’t mind him keeping tabs on her.

She didn’t mind him knowing where she was and what she was doing. She’d told him enough of that herself while they were together and happy.

In a way, she understood it. Maybe she even liked it.

Y/n was honestly only bothered by him hiding this. By him digging her past out of a box she wasn’t ready to open in front of him.

Was this devotion?

Or simply madness?

“I won’t tell you that I wouldn’t do it if we went back in time because I would.” Oh, he was hell bent on making this difficult.

“You could’ve told me.” She whispered. “That you were having me followed.”

Y/n closed her eyes and inhaled deeply before she continued.

“And you should’ve waited for me to tell you everything.” All that fucked up part of her, a product of her mother’s parenting skills. “You have the nerve to dig into my past and yet, you kept yours hidden. You’ve kept your life hidden from me and I respected that.”

Y/n held up a hand when she saw Azriel open his mouth to speak. He had such a beautiful mouth. She wanted him to kiss her.

“I’m not interested in you knowing everything and that too without my knowledge and permission while I know nearly nothing about you. And before you ask, information on Google does not count.”

“I’m an illegitimate child.” What?

Y/n remained shocked as Azriel told her his story. Of how his father and brothers mistreated him and his mother, how he killed them before he took over Umbra.

“Why did you tell me? You had no obligation.” Gods, she really was weak for this man. And for him to be so emotionally vulnerable in front of her made her want to hug him.

“Because now I realise that a romance is also to be a partnership. It shouldn’t be me knowing everything while you live obliviously. You have as much right to know.”

Yep, she was doomed.

Her resolve was faltering. And she was feeling and falling.

The hot chocolate in front of her that she’d ordered as a formality was cooling down.

“One chance.” She whispered, praying silently that he wouldn’t break her heart again. “And that will be your last one.”

****

Azriel knew failure. Many different types of it. He’d known it when he failed his first test. When he lost his first fight. When his applications were rejected. When he had been rejected by friends, girlfriends, his father, his half-brothers, his stepmother.

So much had been taken from him. And he’d been pushed to the edge of the world before he found the resolve to stand up. It was the sight of his mother cringing in front of his father.

And then he concocted his wonderful five-year plan. At the end of it, Umbra was his. His mother, safe and comfortable. His father and half-brother, dead. And that wretch of a stepmother, practically exiled.

And then he’d lost Y/n, truly and completely.

Azriel wanted Y/n. He’d spent the best few months of his life with her.

She made him endlessly happy and he tried his best to do the same for her.

He knew her presence in his life was a privilege. But now it seemed like he’d never taken that privilege seriously and had never respected it in the manner he should have.

So when she gave him one last chance, he’d been revived. His posture changed, eyes widening. Every movement right then felt as though he was rising from the grave or a coffin and returning to the land of the living.

Honesty. That would now be an integral part of this relationship. There would be no excuses. And then he remembered something he’d caused.

Azriel debated telling her but since secrecy had never worked in his favour in this relationship, he made his decision. “So, remember your ex?”

Y/n frowned. “Which one?”

“The one from college.” He was unprecedentedly nervous.

“Yeah.”

“The one roped into a tax fraud.”

“Yeah?” Y/n blinked and leaned forward. “You did that?”

Azriel nodded quietly. She slumped back into her seat and sighed. “Well, he’s no longer my concern. Do I have to convince you to move on from him?”

“He hasn’t gotten enough.”

“And he deserves no effort from anybody, the good or the bad. Anything else you want to tell me?”

“I’ve never had a proper relationship before.” Her eyes widened and she kept looking at him as if she’d never seen him before. Why would she do that?

“How come?”

Why was she asking such a question? Wasn’t it obvious why he’d never been in a proper, serious relationship. “Because I’d never met you before.”

Silence prevailed. Y/n looked away in that adorable manner of hers, clearly blushing. And Azriel couldn’t help his smile. “Does that surprise you?”

She glared at him and then stood up. The evening wind was cool and felt pleasant on her face. Y/n looked around, finally noticing the park around her.

People were in pairs, walking or simply sitting. Couples, most likely.

And then there was her. With him. On a bench. Sitting at a distance. Azriel really wanted that distance to vanish. So he called her name.

Y/n looked back at him and he was already looking back at her. “I swear to all the hot chocolate in the world, Azriel. If you ever pull a stunt like this, I’m leaving you.”

He took a step forward. And another. She did not move from her place. “May I?”

“Yes.” She breathed, eyes closing. Memories sprung forth like a fountain from all the times they'd kissed.

He pressed his lips on her forehead before promising. “I won’t pull a stunt like this. Ever. And if you do leave me, you will be leaving with my heart as you did three months ago.”

“And you’ll give guest lectures to see me even after that?” Y/n leaned into his touch and smiled. The first smile in months. He felt some semblance of peace settle in his heart.

“A Ted Talk, if needed.” Azriel smiled at her faintly. And behind his smile, he really hoped for their future.

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria

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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

Note

I’m BEGGING for angst to fluff to casual by Chappell with Sevika

I’m PLEADING for “working opening shifts/weekday shifts when Sevika doesn’t come in at the last drop” to Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers and reader falls in love with Sevika once they finally meet. (I will physically pay you for this one xx)

ohhhh my gosh the phoebe one..... holy shit...

listen to punisher here

men and minors dni

i love a good place to hide in plain sight...

you're one of the most popular nameless faces in zaun.

you know the name of every of the last drop's regular customers. you overhear gossip and plans and drama about some of the biggest people in the city. the liquor you slide across the bar for a living makes everybody's lips loose, and you know more secrets than any one person should know.

but nobody knows your name.

customers call theiram 'chuck.'

they call you 'doll.'

you don't mind it. knowing how to go unnoticed, how to keep your head down-- that's what's kept you alive this long in zaun.

but it gets lonely.

when there's a birthday at the bar, you're the one to pass out party hats and pull out the sparklers. last year, you ate a cupcake alone on your front porch to celebrate your own.

when you bump into strangers on the street on your walks home, you apologize with a duck of your head. it's either your familiar face and the fact that you pour their drinks; or the meek way you shrink in on yourself-- but they let you go each time.

when you clock out, if you're lucky, you'll time your leaving to overlap with sevika's arrival. and, for just a moment, you can pretend that she knows you as well as you know her.

what if i told you i feel like i know you?

you've known sevika your whole life.

you're certain she doesn't recall, but when you were children, sevika caught you shivering and cold-- the cardboard box you were living in soaked through with rain. she lent you a jacket and all the pocket change she had. she even smiled at you.

you were a barback when she was running with vander. you were there when she turned her back on the man-- when she chose her city over her friend.

you were there to watch her deteriorate under silco's employ. first her arm, then the various beatings she'd be doled each month, then the arrival of the dark bags under her eyes.

on occasion, she'll get belligerently drunk, loitering at the bar far after close, there to greet you when you open again the next day. on these days, you're the one to give her a glass of water and walk her home safely. her home is always a mess. the star patterned blanket you pull over her shoulders is so old it must be from her childhood.

but we never met...

silco dies, and everything goes to shit.

there's a week there where you're too busy avoiding the grey to worry about work.

and then there's the war.

and then...

the last drop is just a pile of rubble. jinx and isha are just as dead as the bar. and sevika is named ambassador.

here everyone knows you're the way to my heart. hear so many stories of you at the bar. most times alone, and some looking your worst. but never not sweet to the trust funds and punishers...

ran and thieram rebuild the bar. they offer you a job. you're right back where you've always been-- standing behind a bar and eavesdropping on people with real lives.

from time to time, you'll hear about sevika.

sevika, who's lost everything. sevika, who lives in piltover now. the thought makes you snort-- you can only imagine the glare permanently imprinted on her face now.

sevika starts welfare programs for zaun, slowly but surely. schools open, widows and orphans are paid, and more bridges start being built across the river.

sevika doesn't smoke. sevika doesn't drink. she quit for a girl who's dead now. but occasionally you'll hear that she's been sulking around piltoverian bars, nursing a fizzy juice and looking haunted.

you'll hear that she doesn't scowl at people who approach her anymore, instead, she signs pictures of herself with a resigned smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

you'll hear rumors that ambassador sevika can sometimes be heard quietly crying from her office.

sometimes, you'll walk by her old apartment. you wonder who lives there now. you wonder if she remembers those walks, if she remembers you.

you know she doesn't.

still, it doesn't stop you from crying for her.

i can't open my mouth and forget how to talk, 'cause even if i could i wouldn't know where to start, wouldn't know when to stop.

sevika's all alone in piltover and you're all alone in zaun. you wish you'd said something to her but you don't know when you could've.

maybe when you were kids, though you didn't know you were in love with her then.

maybe when you were strangers, though she would've simply laughed at your words.

maybe before she left zaun, though it happened so fucking fast.

you trail down the winding streets of the city she built, sipping on a bottle of her favorite whiskey, crying for her. for how lonely she must be. for how much she lost. you find yourself in front of her old home, like your feet have a mind of their own.

for a moment, you let yourself close your eyes and pretend that you're walking her home again. the woman you've loved your whole life-- the woman who doesn't know your name. you imagine the drunken slur of her voice, the stumble of her mis-matched boots, the warmth of her arm around your shoulders.

"dollface?" someone asks. your eyes fly open, and you blink at the woman in front of you. "what're you doin' here?"

sevika's wearing pajamas, her hair's a mess. she's got sand in her eyes that she's rubbing gently as she examines you from her front stoop.

you blink then stumble forward, reaching a shaky hand out to grab sevika's shoulder. she's real, solid and warm under your grasp. you gasp.

"have you been crying?" sevika whispers, her voice soft, her touch even softer as she reaches up to cup your cheeks.

there are a million things you want to say. i love you. i miss you. i am so sorry for you. for what happened to you. what are you doing here, don't you live in piltover? you look so tired. let me hold you, just for a day? let me tell you every single thing i love about you, i've got a list that's thirty years in the making. do you know who i am? do you know my real name? do you remember the nights you'd walk home with me under your arm? do you know those were the best nights of my life? do you remember when we were kids and you lent me your jacket? do you know i still sleep with it under my pillow?

but sevika's time with the pilties must've really softened her up, because instead of telling you to scram or spit it out, sevika reaches forward and pulls you in for a hug. "it's good to see you." she whispers against your shoulder.

you sob as you cling to her.

you don't think you'll ever stop crying.

you don't think you'll ever let go.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb

#sevika #sevika arcane #sevika imagine #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #first time doing a song based fic! it was so fun!! i love pheobe lol

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jscrawls · 4 months ago

Text

Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, graphic violence, injuries, blood, accidental domestic violence? Guns, possible ooc,

Part 20: fireflies

🔹🔹🔹

after that night in town you can’t focus on anything but.

there was no resting and recovering for you, your brain was locked in overdrive analyzing every detail of the night, from the way the woman first approached you to the exact symptoms of whatever the drug was. you wasted no time and went right to your phone as soon as your door shut behind you. dropping back on the bed limply while you get to work making a case file, there’s no record of a pam in your life online, but you quickly realize there isn’t any record of you at all before the wayne’s.

on the old wayne socials the other you mostly posted about the kids, the husband, various events and trips, but there's barely anything personal, there was reference of a college education, a social circle, family, but there's no actual evidence of any of it. it’s like that was all scrubbed from the web. this just makes everything pam said all the more suspicious, just what’s hidden in the other you’s past and how are the wayne’s involved?

going into the GCPD records shows nothing either, no criminal record, nowrite ups, not even so much as a speeding ticket, nothing before the gala incident. for days you sift and run through channels looking for something that tells you who’s body you’re in right now, but it just makes you more and more frustrated, one things for certain, someone’s scrubbed the other you’s life clean and did a damn fine job of it.

it’s like you’ve found yourself in the middle of a mission with no goal, no direction, and no idea what role you’re supposed to play in it all. where does this leave you? this time you’re withdrawn, not because you’re angry but because you’re researching.

two days after the encounter with pam, you find something. it had been a whim to check through the gotham university photos after the records were bone-dry, but there in one singular photoframe in the background of someone elses photo, there was a younger you standing beside the pam woman. you were putting some kind of ribbon around her neck while she proudly held up a potted plant like it was a trophy to the photographer, you couldn’t make out the writing on the ribbon so you don’t have context but you now have confirmation that you engaged with her in some capacity years ago. It's bare-bones, but it's something, you'll take any wins you can get here.

the next thing you do is sort through the GCPD systems for a red head named pam, which is obviously very tedious but you won’t risk running an AI program on their servers just yet. You thought you were lucky when you found her quickly, that is until you read her file.

Isley, Pamela, gendered, AFAB, pronouns, she/her, Caucasian, red hair, green eyes,

Isley, Pamela, charged with, eco terrorism, domestic terrorism, murder, suspected murder, theft, breaking and entering, assault, battery, manslaughter,

Pamela Lillian Isley, also known as alias, poison ivy, was last spotted escaping Arkham asylum at appr 3:48 AM on February 11th, during an insurrection wherein multiple squad cars responded to the scene, Pamela Isley is registered on the Meta database of America and is considered a threat to human life, do not approach on sight, report if suspected in area,

oh, fuck.

you’re not stupid, obviously this woman is trying to get you alone, regardless of motive you’re not walking into something like that unarmed and unprepared. even if the tantalizing call of offered info is like a sirens song through the fog. no you know better than to fall for free candy signs on vans.

🔹🔹🔹

the back gardens actually quite nice this afternoon, you’d hauled yourself out of your little hidey hole and wandered the empty manor until you’d found yourself out here soaking up a little bit of the rare gotham sunshine on a deck chair. you need a breather before you make any moves.

breathe in, hold, exhale, and repeat. you try to meditate for a while, though you’ve never been great at it even after all these years. you can never quite empty your mind and let go of your surroundings. it’s too ingrained in you that safety isn’t earned through lack of vigilance.

still you try, you focus on the sound of a gentle breeze through the trees and shrubbery around you, the gentle warmth of the sun hitting your closed eyelids, the rustle of the dog dashing around and the various wildlife sounds in the distance, and the sound of your slowly steadying breathing.

it’s nearly twenty minutes later when you also hear the sound of the backdoor slowly sliding open, you relax your entire body and keep your breathing slow and even.

something shifts, the quietest clack of shoes on the concrete patio grow closer to you, it’s too quiet, you’re sick of being snuck up on.

something quickly pokes you in the shoulder, probably a hand if you had to guess. it isn’t until something cold and clearly metal presses against your neck do you react.

you quickly grab at the object and yank it forward while twisting it, you’d rather risk your hands than your throat. just as you start to roll out of the chair do you see who’s behind you….. tim quickly backs away with a surprised look on his face, hands raised placatingly. looking down you see a metal pen in your hand….

“….are…are you okay?” tim mumbles as he backs away, eyes wide and wild while his hands quickly go up in a placating gesture.

the pen quickly slips through your fingers onto the chair and you quickly stand, rubbing the back of your neck tiredly while you stretch your neck, you just can’t catch a fucking break huh. “mhmm, yeah. Don't scare me like that kiddo, I haven't been sleeping well since the incident.”

Tim looks away in that you can only assume is guilt as his eyes drop to the ground, his jaw clenched a he rubs at the back of his neck for a moment before his hand quickly drops back down to bury in his cropped hoodie pocket.

“…sorry….”

he avoids your form, he’s clearly feeling awkward around you which makes you all the more curious what he came out here to bother you for then. also isn’t it a weekday?…. “Don't mention it, you're off early aren't you? I thought you weren't off until five or six.”

sure you’re a bit blunt, but you’re not in the mood to play meek with him these days. especially not after he’d jabbed you with a pen, it’s like he’s just begging to get stabbed on accident.

his weight shifts foot to foot but he finally looks at you and meets your eye, his words make you tense.“something's going down in the city so I made everybody go home early.”

“something's going down?” you quickly step around the chair to grab his shoulder, grip firm.

he looks down at the hand for a moment, brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, he’s mad? “yeah…. Something about those pyromaniac's.”

your grip quickly tightens on him as if you’re trying to squeeze the information out of him, he’s far too hesitant in your opinion, that’s not something to mumble around! “What? Right now?”

tim frowns at you and gently shrugs your hand off his shoulder and straightens his hoodie out as if you’d wrinkled it in your pushy questioning.

“right now, why don't you come inside and calm down a bit.”

you swear your eye twitches a bit at his near-condescending reply.

“hang on a second, where's everyone else then? Are they inside too?” you tuck your own hands into your sweatshirt pockets and mirror his posture, you’re really trying not to look as tense as you feel at the moment, you’ve got a bad feeling about this….

again he avoids your eye, the kid really needs to work on that. “No, well Alfred's here. Bruce and everyone else is…. Out.”

now you’re just annoyed with him, what’s with the fucking attitude? your argument was with bruce it’s not like you called the whole family idiots, he’s acting like he’s personally offended by you. “Define ‘out’?”

his eyes narrow at you and you swear he stands up a little taller, his body language is clearly challenging now as his tone becomes almost accusatory. “what're you asking for.”

“So I can smother them obviously, why do you think I'm asking where everyone is?” you don’t even hide the eye roll as you step around him to head towards the backdoor.

his expression doesn’t waver as he twists to face you when you brush past him. “…. They're out.”

unfortunately for him, you know how to snap him out of his little stand off and take the wind out of his sails.

“Tim I don't have time for this, if Bruce is having an affair or something that's his business, you don't have to make excuses for him.”

“Woah what-!?” his shoes scuff the patio as he nearly trips over his own two feet, he rights himself and quickly trots after you with clear disbelief in his body language. But you don't let up with the saccharine sweet tone as you sigh deeply and continue your speil. “I'm just worried about your younger siblings getting caught up in something bad out there, aren't you?”

“…..I always am.”

Just as you expected, he drops his gaze and buries his hands deeper in his pockets in a slouch. His voice a barely audible mumble while he purses his lips together tightly.

“Are they still in school or….” you kinda regret not talking to anyone for so long as an awkward silence falls over the two of you, you wouldn't have had to grill Tim for details if you'd been around and talked to the people you live with.

“Yeah, I was gonna go and pick them up with Alfred Actually-” you cut him off quickly before he can finish that sentence. “I'm going with you two.”

“what, really?” he sounds downright disbelieving, like he can't comprehend you willingly locking yourself in a car with him and Alfred after the fight you and Bruce had, it's kinda annoying how flighty the kid is with you.

“Mhmm, fill me in on what's happening on the way. yeah?”

You don't give Tim time to rebuff you before you're stepping around him to slide the back doors open, but just before you step through you remember the last time you did something impulsive, you pull out you phone to send a quick, curt text to a certain someone.

I'm going to town with A and T, don't freak out.-

🔹🔹🔹

You'd mercifully given Tim the front seat after all but forcing yourself into their trip, your fingers drum quickly and without pattern against the center console while you watch traffic moving in front of you. It's the off-work rush so not only is everyone in their cars in a bad mood, but there's an active attack taking place somewhere in the city. Clearly everyone's feeling the heavy tension, heads bowed and hands harshly grip steering wheels every which way you look.

“…. You didn't need to bother yourself with tagging along, master Wayne.” Alfred catches your eye in the rearview mirror after he speaks, his eyebrows raised in question or judgement as if you've committed some faux pas simply be being here.

You bite back any snappy remarks before they can pass your tongue, you know when you've earned a little harshness so you swallow your words. “I'm aware, but I'd like to see if the kiddos are okay myself.”

You glance out the side window just as two sets of eyes lock on your form, you ignore their heavy stares as you study the streets you're slowly passing through, memorizing Street names and signs just Incase.

The sidewalks are just about empty despite the early hour, and the few people you do see are clearly in a hurry as they quickly shuffle down the cracked concrete and avoid each other as much as they dodge the traffic, you watch as two men give each other wide berths and throw dirty looks at one another. whatever's happening must be bad.

It's Tim who breaks the silence this time, he's still studying you closely when you look forward. “…. So were you joking about the affair thing earlier?”

Tim's question gets Alfred to whip around to look at you for just a moment before he quickly turns back at the road, clearly he didn't like this conversation already. You just huff silently at the two of them and resist the urge to roll your eyes. “obviously, though I know it's not normal to be out all night every night, but whatever Bruce's up to isn't my business.”

You hope they can leave it at that and go back to the awkward silence, but they're clearly not satisfied with that as they both share a glance and focus back on you. Maybe they're finding entertainment in the potential drama of it all. The streets finally clear up a bit and the cars able to pick up a bit of speed since entering the city.

“…. He's definitely not running around with someone else…..” Tim's mumbled words nearly pull a laugh out of you, the kids clearly in the know about something judging by the surly tone and suddenly darting eyes, he can't even make eye contact while saying it. He needs to practice his lying a little more if he plans to stay in the world of business.

“Young Tim's correct, Bruce isn't that type of man at all master.” Alfred's better at it than Tim, clearly. he almost sounds scolding, he knows how to get you to doubt yourself a bit.

“I'll take your word for it-!” your words get cut off when something smacks into rear side of the car and jostles everyone, it wasn't hard enough for whiplash but that's not your concern right now as you watch the car that apparently t-boned you stop, and then it backs up so quickly their tires squeal. You already know what's coming when they back into a street sign to stop, and immediately start to pull forward again.

Apparently Tim does too as he shouts at Alfred. “that was intentional, They're trying to hit us!”

“I'm aware, Master Timothy.” Alfred mutters with surprising calmness as he throws the car into drive, you're slightly impressed at the man's composed tone and decent timing as he just barely avoids the car.

You lean forward into the center console to converse with the two of them, your nails still tapping on the damn wood. “just my fucking luck, you think they want us dead or alive.”

“most likely alive judging by how slowly they hit the car, maybe they want hostages or to kill us in person.” Alfred muses calmly, eyes locked on the rearview while you nod in acceptance of his reasoning. “Makes sense to me.”

Tim looks between the both of you with a panicked frown on his face, he keeps swiveling around to look at the car as it clumsily manoeuvers to follow. “Can you both not talk about dying so casually?”

“I'm quite old Timothy, part of my everyday is wandering when I'll die.” Alfred and you nearly speak over each other. “I already technically died at that gala, what's a little murder talk now, yeah?”

You watch the other car as well, how they seem determined to follow you through Gothams complicated streets. nearly clipping a firetruck pulling out of a grotto. You watch as a few pedestrians quickly run down alleys or into buildings to avoid the swerving cars. their panicked expressions blurring together in the light of the setting sun in your view.

alfred yanks on the wheel and takes a sharp turn when the car nearly runs into backed up traffic, narrowly avoiding getting stuck while you and tim are jostled and thrown about like rocks in the wash, you wince in sympathy when tim’s head smacks into the window and he quickly grabs at his temple. he nearly drops the phone he’d just pulled out of his pocket.

“don’t break something now.” you sigh out at him, turning around to watch the dark toyota sideline a stop sign but still manage to pull away and follow your vehicle, more distance between the cars now but it seems they’re determined.

“well there goes my evening plans!” tim’s sarcastic response would get a chuckle out of you if you weren’t watching the attackers speed up recklessly behind you.

“please, hang onto something!” alfred says quickly before slamming the breaks and turning the car around, you’re genuinely surprised he can drift.

both cars screech to a stop on opposite ends of the street, facing each other almost like some kind of game of chicken, your car, an SUV obviously has a little more weight in the frame so you know who’d win that. hopefully the other car isn’t stupid enough to try anyways.

“you think they’re part of the pyros?” you lean forward between the two front seats again to converse, you and alfred staring down the car while tim is quickly texting on his phone, hopefully he’s texting the younger boys to stay somewhere safe if they’re still at school. and maybe bruce and the police while he’s at it.

“i think it would be safe to assume so, (name).”

you go to reply but you quickly shut your mouth when the dark car suddenly throws itself into reverse and careens backwards down the street, you don’t really have time to question it when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. “shit-brace yourselves-!!”

You barely get the words out before something large and red slams into the side of the car.

Metal creaks like trees in a tornado as a firetruck hits the side of the car and rams it up against the face of a building, Alfred roughly smacks into the steering wheel gasping and Tim again hits against the door and window, he's lucky it was closed as all the doors are effectively pinned shut between the brick wall and the large vehicle. Your own bodies roughly smacked into Tim's seat at an awkward angle that immediately makes your neck ache at the force exerted on it.

“Christ on a cracker…. Are you both alive?….” Tim groggily mumbles as he sits up and glances at both you and Alfred, you give him a thumbs up while Alfred slowly straightens up and runs his hand through his thinning dark hair, his eyes hazy for the moment but he manages a nod. you're definitely bruised and hurting, but breathing.

“Mhmm, just peachy. We need out of here about ten seconds ago…” you mumble as you shake yourself out of your stupor, throwing a glance at the firetruck that's apparently been put into park for the moment, the engine idling down. You're quickly unbuckling yourself and grabbing at the headrest of the passenger seat, Muttering to yourself under your breath in a focused panic. “Come on, come on don't be one of those stuck ones…”

Tim twists and glances at you in confusion as you wriggle the cushion off and start to climb over the console into the front with him and Alfred. “What're you doing?”

“getting us out, this glass isn't bulletproof right?” there's no way to comfortably position yourself sitting on the center console but you don't care at the moment, you're in survival mode now. “I don't think so!?”

You turn the cushion around and use the metal prongs to ram at the corner of the windshield repeatedly, the loud scratchy thumping nearly drowning out the sound of a car engine getting closer, probably the Toyota from before. it takes a moment but the glass starts cracking eventually so you turn your face away and close your eyes as you blindly continue. Trying your hardest not to breathe in pulverized glass, been there done that. Wouldn't recommend doing that again. “Cover your faces if you don't wanna eat glass!”

You can only assume they do as you say as you blindly smash part of the window open, the sound of a car door opening somewhere prompts you to quickly drop the headrest and turn your body to donkey kick at the fractured spot until you break out about half the windshield.

You see two coming around the parked firetruck, one holding a bottle and a lighter while another carries something else, something you desperately want at the moment, a gun.

“Wait don't do anything rash-!” You drown out Tim's words, only casting a quick glance at the two unbuckling their seatbelts on either side of you before you move forward to crawl out of the windshield on your belly, fragments of glass dig into your body through your clothes and gouge scratches down your hands and front, but it’s not deep enough to worry about at the moment as you roll off the hood of the car right as the two approaching men reach you and try to grab at your clothes to hold you still. the one with the gun points it at you and tries to bark orders at all the three of you.

“freeze! none of you move if you want to keep this one's head intact-”

you don’t have time to let him go off as you see the other one start to flick his lighter under the bottle, so you shove the gun away from your temple and headbutt him in the kidney, as soon as you get up on your feet again you throat-punch the armed one as hard as you can. Roughly snatching the gun out of his hands as soon as he stumbles and tries to clutch at his neck, you’re lucky they’re slow on the uptake.

Of course you waste no time in clicking the safety off on the gun and threatening the other man. “drop that bottle and i’ll kill you slowly.”

you’re straight to the point as you threaten the still standing man, he seems to take you seriously after glancing down at the struggling and wheezing man on the ground because he slowly lifts his hands up in surrender. now with the upper-hand at the moment you shift your hold on the gun to gesture over your shoulder at the people in the car to climb out, not taking your eyes off the two wanna-be attackers for a second. “Get out of the car.”

you’re slightly surprised at how quickly they both get out, you thought the older man would’ve struggled at the least but it seems he manages well enough with Tim's help to crawl out and climb over the hood of the near-crushed car.

“What's the plan here, Skippy.” you casually place yourself in front of the two men behind you as you attempt to question the man, you don't want him getting any ideas with that bottle and lighter after all.

He scowls at you but you can clearly see he's all nerves, he's spilling small drops of the fuel on himself with how bad he's trembling, the adrenaline must be wearing off. “i ain't saying duck, rich pig.”

You fight back a sigh, it's as if him and the man from days ago read the same book with the same points in it, you wonder if the arsonists have a recruiting pamphlet or something.

“You just did though, where'd the truck come from?” You sneak a glance at the firetruck, peeling scratched paint and cracked glass everywhere, definitely an older model too, you shudder to think what that thing could've done to the car if they got it going full speed.

“Didn't you hear me? I said I ain't telling you-”

You're yanked backwards and away from the man as the dark Toyota from earlier narrowly misses ramming into you all, instead it hits the wall where you were just standing while a car alarm instantly starts going off. The two men start shrieking at the driver, well the standing one does, the other one is still wheezing.

You're surprised to see Tim behind you, hauling you with him by the back of your shirt while he also drags Alfred by the arm further away from the yelling men. “I think we need to leave!”

You can't argue with that, you check the mag and pull the slide back to see if the Glock is actually a threat, this one's indeed fully loaded with one in the chamber. meaning someone was prepared to use it, possibly on an old man or a barely adult aged teen? You hear glass shattering behind you and when you glance back, the empty car you'd just been in is going up in flames.

“Oh God damn it I just had that thing deep cleaned too…dad's gonna kick my ass” Tim bemoans pitifully at the sight but keeps yanking you around like a puppy on a leash. He tries to pull both you and Alfred away from the panicked pedestrians further down the street but you don't let him, you quickly unzip and throw your sweatshirt off and yank Tim's cropped hoodie up over his head and toss both things down an alley.

“you’re too standout, blend in like your life depends on it.” technically it does, but you figure you should probably try not to freak them out anymore than they actually are at the moment. You're caught off guard when Alfred drops his black suit over your shoulders. as he willingly follows you towards the smallish crowd.

“Your shirt is bloody, you should probably cover it up if you intend to hide in plain sight.”

you look down at yourself as if surprised, with the adrenaline rushing through your veins you’d forgotten all about the glass scratching you already, you wince when you see the thin red lines seeping through your white undershirt in slowly spreading rivulets. you slip the overcoat on and tuck your stolen gun in one of the inner pockets so you’ve got two hands free. that’s gonna be annoying later…

tim runs a stressed hand through his messy hair (courtesy of you pulling the hoodie) and reluctantly sticks close to the two of you, it’s clear he’d rather not follow your lead right now, you wonder if he’d even still be here if it was just you and him with no alfred in the mix, guess you’ll never know.

“i can’t believe this….what the hell are we supposed to do on the street? just wait for the cops and batman to sweep in while we’re literally being targeted like fish in a barrel?” tim grabs at your wrist and studies one of the scratches.

“would you have liked to have stayed in the currently burning car? cooked alive but we could’ve done it in luxury huh.” you scowl at the young man after snapping back, pulling your arm free from his and quickly turning a street corner.

alfred is already gasping quietly so you stop to let him catch his breath in the shadow of a tall building, he nods at you in acknowledgement yet still gives you a scolding look after he leans himself up against the scratchy bricks behind him. “master (name), tim is young. leave it alone.”

you shoot a glance at tim and watch him worriedly peering around the building looking up and down the street while biting his lip, he’s practically bouncing on the balls of his feet right now…you sigh quietly as you look away, awkward guilt curling in your gut like a parasite. goddamn it all.

“….yeah i know, that’s my bad. sorry kiddo.” you quietly call out to tim at the end of your sentence, you need to get a damn grip on yourself.

he glances over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows and quickly looks away, he’s quiet for long enough that you assume he’s not gonna reply but you just barely catch him quietly saying something after a few moments. “….don’t worry about it.”

some screaming down the street interrupts your little break so you sidle up beside tim to peek around the building corner, the orange glow getting brighter and reflecting off windows and metal signs let’s you know exactly what’s happening less than a block away. the gun feels all the heavier in your pocket when you realize the men are molotov-ing a storefront.

the infinity stone must have given you absolutely shit luck or something because how the hell do you keep winding up in situations like these here? if it’s not natalia pushing you to be a hero it’s your own stupid sentimental attachments to children and mean old butlers. you nudge tim’s shoulder with your own and gesture down the opposite street with your head.

“let’s go while we can, let alfred take point i’ll follow you both.”

alfred huffs loudly behind you and pushes off the wall to place a surprisingly firm hand on your shoulder. “this isn’t the titanic, mx (name). the elderly don’t need to be given priority. master tim doesn’t need to just follow us around as we want.”

in response you just pull the overcoat open and gesture at the gun handle poking out of the pocket. “i’m armed, i can give you two cover.”

you didn’t expect alfred to pull the edge of his shirt up and gesture at his belt. “i’m also armed.”

well shit, you had no clue he was a concealed carrier. you frown at him and cross your arms over your chest, is this really worth arguing about right now?

“well that’s all the more reason for you to take lead, you set a pace you can manage and we’ll both watch out for tim.”

tim loudly clears his throat and tries to step between the two of you before you get distracted. “i’m not a little kid that needs to hold someone’s hand, i’m literally a grown man! let’s just all try to find somewhere safe, i’m sure there’s police barricades everywhere?…”

you and alfred both shush him though, this ain’t about that.

“master tim, we’re simply just trying to deduce the most efficient way of traveling right now-” alfreds words are cut off by something shattering overhead as all hell breaks loose in the alley.

you don’t even have to look up to know what it is so you just immediately grab both of their arms and yank them out into the street, glancing them over for evidence of any glass or burning fuel on them. once you’re sure they’re probably okay you pull the gun out and point it in the direction the molotov was thrown from. catching sight of the familiar dark coat from earlier, guess you took too long figuring shit out.

the man’s lighting another bottle and there’s definitely more of his allies down the street if the various screams echoing between the buildings is anything to go by, you shoot one last glance at tim and alfred before you make the split second decision to shove them both the opposite direction before you throw yourself over a car hood and start running the other way.

you hear shouting behind you but you just hope the two of them aren’t stupid enough to play hero and chase you. After all you've got enough stupid for the trio, what the hell is your plan? You're not a costumed freak running around with a bone to pick with crime itself, you're just a killer with the wrong hands.

All thoughts of how stupid you are slip your mind as more glass shatters, this time just feet away from your shoes. Oh goddamn it! You go up and over another car hood and scowl to yourself, do they just have backpacks full of fuel bottles? Where the hell did they even get this much!? You force yourself to quiet down and breathe slowly and just focus.

This is what you're made for, you've gotta complete this just like any other mission you've ever been on. You're not allowed to fuck up. You listen closely, drowning out the other sounds of the city and wait.

As soon as the steps get louder you glance under the car and watch for them, glass crunches underneath a boot and that's when you move.

Throwing yourself over the boot of the car is easy, so is kicking out at the man and slamming your heel into his sternum and knocking him to the ground with a loud and pained grunt. You might've cracked something under your steel toe boot if the way he gasps and gags on air is anything to go by.

Someone rushes you and you just barely avoid the wildly swinging crowbar with a sidestep, you're not so lucky to avoid the first guys wild haymaker to the Gut though.

You have to fight the instinctive doubling over and only just manage to keep yourself upright enough to avoid the other man's attempt to smash a bottle over your head. You grab his wrist and twist it behind his back hard enough to sprain it and as soon as he drops the bottle you snatch it up and pull the rag out, the morons gonna light himself and his friend up waving an opened Molotov cocktail around all night.

“ow-fuck! Let go of me you cun-” you slam his head into the nearest wall to shut him up, you don't even feel bad about the teeth when you look around at all the lit up windows and screaming civilians around the block.

You're really in the middle of it huh, hopefully Tim and Alfred got the hell out of Dodge…

Fuck, fuck where the hell did the other one go!? Another bottles tossed nearby and the resounding burst of bright flame nearly has you doubling over squeezing your eyes shut, it's too bright, too hot. And now you're murderously pissed as well as panicking.

The other dark clothed attackers seem to be targeting windows and store fronts at the moment so you drop the knocked out man and let him pitifully slide down the wall so you have room to shred a part of Alfred's overcoat and make a makeshift mask, it won't protect you from smoke but it'll slow down inhaling some gas fumes at the least.

Another bottle thrown and you hear them whooping excitedly, you think you're starting to itch for your gun as you watch them target an apartment building next, you'd think a group seemingly targeting the rich wouldn't go after civilian life.

As soon as the closest one to you looks down to prep another bottle you dart around the corner of the building and throw another throat punch, if it works it works after all. He gags audibly as you pull him in front of you to avoid the second one swinging a knife at you, he awkwardly avoids his partner which gives you time to kick him between the legs, hard. Once he curls forward you throw another kick at his head.

A set of arms wraps around you from behind as the first man tries to bodily lift you off the ground, you're more surprised he shook off a punch to the Adams apple so quickly but whatever, you curl your legs up towards your chest like you're doing a crunch and then quickly kick out to throw him off balance with your weight, it works and as soon as he stumbles you plant your feet on the ground and drop all your weight, slipping out of his arms and stepping under his shoulder to get behind him so you can slap your hand over his ear as hard as you can. You know the stinging pain in your hand is nothing compared to what the now screaming man nursing his eardrum on the ground is going through.

The hell's that? Out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of a barely-visible spotlight in the near dark sky. It confuses you enough to pause in your step for just a second for a doubletake, these people are so weird about bats.

You need to get out of here, more importantly you need to find out where the others are. You pull your phone out and unlock it so you can pull up Bruce's contact, just as your thumb hovers over the press call button you hear rustling above you, you barely catch sight of the cape before you duck you drop kick aimed at your face.

The surprise heavy fist that followed slams into your jaw so hard you swear you feel all your teeth compress into your gums, the pain is near-instant, a combination of down-to-the-bone aching and the sharp, almost cold sting of your lip splitting. You'll be feeling that for a long time.

Another ones aiming for you so you grab the arm and throw your leg over it, twisting your body around to throw all your weight into the man's shoulders, your thighs squeezing around his neck. The dark figure grabs at your calves and slams himself backwards into the wall behind him which knocks some of out of your lungs, thoroughly pissed off you throw your weight forward and slip off him into a roll, stopping in a crouch a few feet from him, he tries to move after you just as quickly, angling himself for a kick that might just cripple you if it lands on your back so you use the near-empty Molotov bottle you still have in your possession and splash the remainder of it in the open part of his cowl, aiming for the mouth and nose.

As soon as he chokes and wipes at his face you smash the bottle on his head and use the jagged neck if the glass to swipe at him, aiming for the gaps in his armor around his armpit.

He tries to disarm you, gloved hands prying your struggling fingers open so you let him, as soon as your hands empty you pull the gun and use the barrel to strike him in the jaw. A kick to the kneecaps gets him to buckle so you knock him down and pin him with the gun pressed to his head, you've just pinned down Batman.

“Fucking…. What the hell’re you doing…?” Your words are coming out weird thanks to the punch, bit he seems to get it well enough as he suddenly stiffens under you just as you cock the hammer.

“….(Name)?”

“Yes?!” his shocked tone would've been downright comical if you hadn't just kicked each others asses, you yank your makeshift bandana down so you can properly scowl at the masked hero, licking the blood off your teeth.

“I…what are you doing out here?” he pushes you off him, though his hand stays on your shoulder as he seems to be examining you closely.

“Trying not to get set on fire that's what, my car got firebombed…. Well technically it's my husband's car.” you stand up, ignoring his offered hand of assistance even as your body protests the movement, damn your head hurts…you lean up against the brick wall and pocket the Glock before wiping at the blood dribbling down your chin.

He clearly takes the hint and gives you your distance for the moment. “I thought you were…the mask and the bottle didn't…how bad is it?”

He wipes at his mouth again almost awkwardly, his body language clearly conveying guilt as he leans towards you subconsciously.

“Dunno, my face is going numb. If I lose teeth you're paying for it.” your words are more reflex than anything, the type of thing you'd say to Natalia or Captain Rogers after a harsh training session gone a bit bruised and bloody. It happens.

Surprisingly he nods quickly at that, good. You selfishly almost hope he feels bad. You'll probably feel that way until your jaw stops aching.

“I'll take care of it, anything actually. I'm just…. I'm sorry.”

“I'll live, shut up. Barnes punches me a hell of a lot harder than you anyways.”

you don't even realize what you've done until he suddenly grabs your shoulder, masked head tilting as of he's studying ever inch of your whole face. His voice drops deeper and gruffer than you've heard him before.

“who the hell is Barnes?”

🔹🔹🔹

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A/n: I'm so tired y'all IDK if there's any mistakes in this, I'll spell check tomorrow✌️ hopefully it's not too long, hope y'all have a good day/night and enjoy a little treat for yourself today ❤️

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roanokezephyr · 4 months ago

Text

AU idea that I will probably never write but can’t get out of my head. Buckle up bitches.

Warning: stuckony. Ok you’ve been warned.

In a timetravel accident (Pym Particles, Strange, or other misc time travel plot device), Tony gets stranded in Siberia in the 50s. The people who save his ass are HYDRA. He already knows Russian from Nat, so to save his own skin, he becomes a HYDRA agent under the name Antony Starkov, and of course immediately begins passing info to SHIELD. They’re skeptical at first, can’t teach an old dog new trick and all, but he’s an amazing study and under torture refuses to admit being FBI, CIA, or SHIELD.

The Winter Soldier’s handler is a man named Oleksandr Melenevsky, a sadist who takes his torture of the Asset too far, even by HYDRA’s standards. Tony is assigned to the position of Handler after Melenevsky almost kills the Asset during a ‘punishment’. Not that HYDRA cares about the health or safety of their Asset beyond its tactical value, but all the same they aren’t stupid enough to risk their most valuable asset being killed unnecessarily.

Tony always calls him ‘Winter’ rather than ‘Asset’ or ‘Soldat’, less dehumanizing that way and he can’t just call him Bucky Barnes in front of a kajilion HYDRA agents. In private, Tony whispers in English to Bucky, telling him about his life before HYDRA. They keep wiping him though, so Tony never runs out of stories. He thinks they start to stick, after a while.

After five years stuck in the past, Tony gets extracted. His last words before vanishing are “catch you on the flip side Buckaroo”.

When Tony returns to the present, still done up in his HYDRA gear, Bucky freezes.

“Handler Starkov,” he breathes

“That’s my name- wait, no it’s not, that’s gonna take some getting used to- anyway I guess that means you remember, huh?”

“Yeah, I remember you- you were never on their side at all, were you?”

“No, but that doesn’t excuse what I’ve done.” Tony looks supremely guilty now, dipping his head. Steve looks on in shock.

Bucky only smiles, “If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else, someone much crueler if I had to bet. It’s coming back now, you were downright kind, not very HYDRA of you.”

“Still, I was your Handler. I used your trigger words and forced you to kill. I was HYDRA. I don’t expect your forgiveness.”

“Well, you’ve got in anyway. I forgive you, deal with it.” Bucky smirks.

Tony smiles sadly, “I forgive you too, for my parents I mean. I can’t in good conscience hold that against you, and I’m sorry that this is what it took for me to see that.”

…

Tony returns to the tower, learning that it’s been two years in the present since he’s been gone. Thankfully, he hasn’t been declared dead yet, which makes everything so much easier on the legal front. He settles back into the team dynamic with a few bumps, specifically Steve has a hard time accepting him back.

It’s only when Bucky has an episode and Tony is the only one who can take care of him that Steve internalizes that Tony isn’t the enemy, he isn’t HYDRA. The trio grow closer at it quickly becomes apparent that Tony is the only one who can take care of Bucky on his bad days.

During those episodes, Bucky will revert to the base programming in his head and not know where he is. Before Tony came back, the Asset’s response was to lock itself in the room and try to figure out where it is and what the mission is, denying itself care in the absence of an authority figure to approve anything.

When it sees Handler Starkov though, it recognizes him as its Handler, but also as Safe. It gets a vague sense of panic, like the alternative to Handler Starkov is something so bad that its mind has blocked it out not just from the wipes, but also from regular old trauma. It will comply with Handler Starkov to the letter, it will not give him a reason to send it back to wherever it came from.

It eats and drinks what Handler Starkov puts in its hands, though there has been no mission and thus no need for rations. It relaxes slightly at his touch when he bathes it, though there is no blood and minimal grime to wash away. It even sleeps on the bed which Handler Starkov designates for its use, though it has never been cleared to use that equipment before. Perhaps it has performed exemplarily, and earned a reward? This has not occurred before, but by now it is sure that Handler Starkov is not like any other handler.

Steve is just glad that someone is able to take care of Bucky.

Steve and Tony bond as they lead the Avengers and over taking care of Bucky, and though Steve had only ever loved Bucky, he finds himself developing feelings for Tony and then guilt for said feelings. He’d never cheat on Bucky, and he’ll get over this little crush.

Meanwhile Bucky builds upon the base feeling of Safe he has around Tony, to something deeper. But he’d never cheat on Steve, and Tony had been his Handler. How fucked up is that? It was practically Stockholm Syndrome, and besides, Tony could have anyone, why would he ever want Bucky? He buries his feelings.

Tony, for his part, is in crisis. He’s only just got back from being a HYDRA goon, and now he’s falling not only for Captain Spangles (a crush he’d been holding onto for a long time but that’s between him and God) but the Manchurian Candidate too. See, as the Winter Solider, Bucky had been pretty unresponsive, and Tony hadn’t had much interest beyond trying to protect him from HYDRA. Before that, all Bucky had been was his parents’ murderer. Now though? Now that he was spending real time with both super soldiers? He was falling harder than he ever thought possible, for both at the same time. Damnit.

Things come to a head when the three are captured together. Tony gets hurt real bad, and as he’s on the verge of death, he confesses. When they get out, it’s Bucky who awkwardly asks if, in the future, you can date two people at once. Tony, not really remembering what he had said, gives them a crash course on polyamory. He thinks they’re pulling his leg when they ask him to join their relationship, but then it comes out what he said, and Tony has no choice but to realize that Steve and Bucky are being sincere. He accepts.

#tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #stuckony #au idea #fanfic idea #the winter soldier #stucky #Stony #winteriron

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stargazing-imagines · 3 months ago

Text

Goodbyes aren’t forever — Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

Summary: you recently have gotten into the Juliard Performing arts academy, and everyone is excited for you except your boyfriend Conrad who feels like he is already losing you

Warnings: mentions of selfishness, that’s about it, if there is anything else let me know!

Fandom: the summer I turned pretty

Requested: no

A/n: my first tsitp fanfic after a long time, enjoy!

In your hand was an envelope to the most prestigious performing arts academy in New York. A school that has been your dream school ever since you were just 10 years old.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Asked your mother as she was sitting on the bed beside you, you looked at your mother and back at the envelope.

“I can’t open it.” You said, eyes not leaving the envelope “I have been preparing for this moment ever since I was 10 years old.”

When you were nine, you signed up for your very first dance class. You were going into a class as a newbie in a room of 5 experienced dancers, but who would have thought that with hard work and determination, that you would be one of the best dancers in the world, let alone in your hometown; taking home 5 championships, and winning 8 titles, and one scholarship… juliard school of performing arts

“Honey, there is no doubt in the world that you will not get in.” Said your mother “now open it before I open it for you.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes. You opened the envelope, eyes scanning the envelope, eyes widening.

“I got in!” You said to your mother, eyes wide as you looked at her “I’m going to Juliard this fall!”

“That’s great honey,” said your mother as she hugged you tightly “you deserve it.”

You smiled down at your entrance letter, smiling wide.

“I have to tell Conrad about this.” You said as you picked up your phone

“Wait… what about brown?” Asked your mother as she stopped you “I thought you and him were going to go to brown together.”

“I mean, yeah we were.” You said “I even looked into their dance program, but this will get my foot into the door of so many great opportunities.” You said “I can’t throw it away.”

“Well why don’t we wait till we are in cousins to tell him?” Asked your mother “I think it would be best to tell him something like this in person.” “Even if it means breaking his heart.”

Your mother was right, this isn’t something to talk about over the phone. A million thoughts were running through your head, but this was your future. A future that you have been dreaming about since you were a little girl. You weren’t going to let anyone ruin it even if it means to be selfish.

“There she is.” Said Susannah as she gave you a hug “how did the dance season go? I’m sorry we weren’t able to come to your showcase.”

You weren’t bothered by this, it was for the best because everyone was raving about how you got into Juliard, that you didn’t want Conrad to hear it from a bunch of teen dancers and your dance teachers.

“It’s fine.” You said, you looked around “is Conrad around by any chance?” You asked, you really wanted to tell him the news and it couldn’t wait till the end of the summer.

“I think he went out surfing, but the others are in the house if you want to go see what they’re up to.”

You smiled and nodded before walking away

“Hey y/n!” Said Jeremiah as he greeted you at the door “what’s that in your hand?”

You looked down at your hand, you were still holding the entrance letter from Juliard, you quickly shoved it behind your back

“Oh this. Is. Nothing.” You said brushing it off, hoping he wouldn’t pester you more about it

“It looks like something.” Said Jeremiah as he tried to take it from your grasps

“Jere leave her alone.” Said belly as she walked down the stairs “the girl just got here.”

“She’s hiding something.” Said Jeremiah “just let me read it.”

“Fine, you want to know what I’m hiding?” You asked “I going to Juliard in the fall.”

“You’re not going to brown?” Said a voice, your eyes widen as you realized that the cat was out of the bag

“Connie, I can explain.”

“I didn’t want to tell you like this.” You said as you tried to catch up with him, you grabbed onto his arm turning him around to face you

“I just want to be left alone.”

“Look, I know that you aren’t happy with the circumstances, but Juliard has a great dance program.”

“Why don’t you just go to brown and do it?” Asked Conrad “look, I want to be happy for you, it’s just…”

“It’s just what?” You asked

“I want you here… in cousins… at brown… with me.” Said Conrad “I don’t think it can handle you being so far away from me.”

“Look, I’ll always come back.” You said “it’s not like I’m moving to New York.”

“Well you might eventually.” Said Conrad “what if you find some writer nerd at Juliard that you just leave me behind.”

“You think I’m going to forget you?” You asked, you scoffed “I can never forget you.”

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me… ever since we were kids.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“I won’t ever leave you…” you said “not even for a handsome writer.” You joked

“That wasn’t funny.” Said Conrad with a straight face

“I’m just kidding.” You said “writers aren’t my type.”

“Oh yeah, then what is your type?”

“I’m looking at him.” You said as you playfully slapped him on his arm

You and Conrad laughed, walking hand in hand back to the summer house.

Tsitp masterlist

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #conrad fisher x you #conrad x reader #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #tsitp imagine #tsitp conrad #the summer i turned pretty imagine

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evans23 · 2 months ago

Note

Hello! May I request Severus Snape x female reader? He might be scolding her for something and even calling her stupid. But she doesn't pay attention and tells him that she thinks everything about him is beautiful...

Thank you 💖

(Sorry for my english)

You're handsome when you're angry

Pairing : Severus Snape x Reader OC

Summary : You are the assistant of Severus Snape. The man who lived. The sarcastic, cold angry Potions Master. And you think he his handsome. Even when he is angry.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : None.

A/N : Thank you for your request ! I'm not used to writing about Snape because, well we have plenty of stories about him and each time I have an idea for our favourite Potions Master, I have that feeling that it has already been done, therefore, I hope you'd like it !

Also read on AO3

Six months. Six months since you'd been his assistant. You'd have thought the war had mellowed him out. That surviving a giant snake had made him more... agreeable.

But no, he was still the same good old Severus Snape. And he was now the one they called the one who lived. His name had been cleared of all shame thanks to Harry Potter. Or Bloody Potter, as Snape regularly muttered.

The potions professor had hardly appreciated the fact that Harry, in order to allow him to be officially pardoned and even receive the Order of Merlin, had made his memories public. At the time, Snape was in a coma, and McGonagall had encouraged Harry to bring justice to Severus, the bravest man who had ever attended Hogwarts, according to her own words.

Needless to say, when he woke up from a six-month coma, Severus wanted more than ever to jump off the Astronomy Tower... but he didn't have the strength to get up; the venom had made him weak, and all he managed was fall out of bed, face down, while Mrs. Pomfrey came running in, scolding him like he was still eleven.

And when Harry came to see him to thank him for protecting him all these years, Severus didn't tell him he was sorry and that he should have let him drop out of his damn ballet in his first year. No, he just told him, with cold calm, that he could put the Order of Merlin in his dark side.

Harry left the hospital wing with a big smile. Severus Snape was in better shape. And he was still himself.

And against all odds, when Minerva had offered him his old job as potions professor and Head of Slytherin... he refused. He had sacrificed enough of himself and life to finally stop thinking about himself.

He had traveled a bit, tried to find his place elsewhere, opened a small healing potions shop in Paris, tamed the demons that haunted the Vatican basements, lived a quiet life in a remote Swedish village where he barely lasted two weeks once winter came, then returned to the UK and wrote to Minerva.

The truth was, he didn't know how to be anything other than a potions professor. After all, he had spent his entire youth being one, and now he wasn't really old, but his soul was, and he was worn down. Worn down by life and the endless suffering it had inflicted on him.

Minerva had immediately given him back his job, arguing that the current potions professor could have competed with Longbottom, given how much she'd had to rethink the cauldron budget.

And two years later, you arrived. You were 33 years old. Not a young beginner, not a dunderhead fresh out of school. No, just a somewhat lost woman who'd struggled to find herself. A woman with her own past and her own wounds, and a recent career change that, you hoped, would finally open the doors to fulfilment, and especially to your dream career: Potions Master.

Snape had of course grumbled, protested, threatened to quit his job, but Minerva had been adamant. Hogwarts was part of a program for young wizards looking for their bearing, a pompous name given by the Ministry to people who had taken a little time to find their way in a world too fast-paced for them, or to those who had had to reinvent themselves after the war, and above all, Severus couldn't quit his job; he had nowhere else to go.

His house in Spinner's End had been burned to the ground, probably by Death Eaters. Not that he missed that hovel full of painful memories, but from then, Hogwarts was truly his one and only home.

When told about you, he had expected a 19-year-old girl, a recent graduate of a school with questionable training, whom he would have to keep a close eye on now that he had stabilized the cauldron budget. Not to a 33-year-old woman, disillusioned but eager to learn, capable of listening, absorbing knowledge, and above all, above all, not talking more than necessary. Or at least, not anymore. After one week you knew better.

He would never have said it to your face, but one evening when McGonagall asked him what she should write in the report she was to submit to Granger, who was heading this rehabilitation program, he replied that you were promising and that he had nothing negative to say. McGonagall, her eyes wide as saucers, wondered for a moment if he'd lost his mind, her, who had never heard him compliment anyone, but she had the wisdom to say nothing about it.

You immediately found him handsome. Intelligent. Broken. Of course, you knew his story. Everyone knew it. It had been heard all over the wizarding world. But as the days went by, you were able to see beyond the story. You saw the man. And one day, you woke up hoping he would see you for yourself. For the woman you were, not the assistant.

He was tough, but he never shouted. His anger was cold, and he always spoke in the same laconic tone. Yet, you could tell whether he was in a good mood or not by a simple raise of one of his eyebrow. And you knew that after a class with the Gryffindors, and especially with McIntyre, a somewhat dreamy young boy incapable of following instructions unless you were behind him at all times, ready to catch his hand before he threw slugs instead of leeches into a potion that was particularly toxic if the wrong ingredients were added, then he wasn't in a bad mood or angry... he was unbearable. Suffice to say, you watched over McIntyre like a lioness her cubs, because you were the one who then had to put up with Snape until bedtime.

You didn't talk much, always about work, but little by little, you were getting used to each other, and he was putting up with you. At least, that's what you thought until today.

Today had been hell. You'd woken up late, and the glare Severus had given you... you were certain that if you'd still been a student, he would have given you detention until the end of the year... except it wasn't you he gave detention, it was McIntyre for setting his eyebrows on fire. His own, thank goodness, not Snape's. If that had been the case, you're certain McIntyre would have nothing left but his eyes to cry with on the train back to King's Cross forever.

However, you were the one who had to deal with detentions, which meant you'd never have another afternoon free until the end of the year.

Then you had to clean up the mess left by a fourth-year student who, Merlin knows how, had managed to make it impossible to magically clean the classroom. Three hours of scrubbing by hand, hands that were now red and irritated.

And after supervising the detention of two first-year idiots who had thought it clever to slip a toad into Madam Pomfrey's satchel, two idiots you should have made scrub the classroom after a second thought, you now had to spend your evening working with Snape on a highly unstable but terribly necessary position to vaccinate the thestrals who were suffering from a kind of purulent chickenpox, fortunately not contagious to humans.

The laboratory was dark, smoky, and smelled of a mixture of thyme, wood, and... Snape. Snape, his raven hair blowing over his eyes, was hunched over a cauldron inside which a purple liquid was bubbling bigger than your head. Your potion didn't have the same intense purple colour, but after a skeptical glance, Severus had said that was normal; purple could be more or less intense depending on the personality of the person brewing it. So you could easily guess that tonight, he was in as bad a mood as Filch's cat.

You didn't dare speak much. Not because he impressed you, but because you'd arrived a minute and fifteen minutes late, once again after your morning lateness, which had earned you a perfectly plucked eyebrow raise and a:

"Thirty more seconds and you'd have had to find another Potions Master to make life difficult for."

You hadn't replied; your past attempts at humour had taught you that it was a character trait very, very disliked by this man you admired almost in spite of yourself.

The problem wasn't that you weren't good at potions, it was that you operated on instinct, while Snape was rigorous. At least, that's what he said; you'd seen that he too had a way of sensing potions, of embodying them... and of being instinctive. But when you told him, you thought his gaze could have been the first to cast an Avada Kedavra spell. Or that he was trying to get into your head. When, still a little clumsy, you asked him with a crooked smile if that was what he was trying to do, he coldly replied that he already knew your head was empty and didn't want to inflict the torture of confirming it by entering it only to encounter nothingness.

You were busy stirring your potion, lost in thought, when it started to form black bubbles that made the table vibrate. It was when a greenish cloud began to rise from the cauldron that you realized: you'd made a mistake. Instead of using a specter's tear, you'd used a tarantula's tear.

A quick glance at Snape reassured you; he hadn't noticed. You tried to make amends by throwing in some catnip, but it only made things worse. A bubble burst with a dull thud, almost burning your forearm.

In an instant, Severus was leaning over the cauldron, wand in hand, muttering a formula you haven't heard before, and within seconds, the potion had returned to its original consistency.

"You brainless fool, are you completely stupid ? You could have set this classroom on fire ! The castle !"

He wasn't shouting, but his dark eyes flashed, and his voice, cold and sharp, hurt more than any scream.

"Do you want to die ?! Are you stupid or are you pretending ?! I should have told Minerva you were too incompetent to work at Hogwarts from day one."

He went on like this, accusing you of not taking anything seriously, of not being serious enough to have not yet found your way at your age, of not being reliable...

You took a step back, surprised, but you didn't lower your eyes. You were almost... peaceful.

"You can have your little smile... perhaps you'd like me to applaud you for not killing yourself like a first-year freshman ? Idiot !"

He had shouted that last word. His only outburst. Now there was only silence. Heavy. You took a deep breath, then, quietly, without irony, you said to him,

"I think you're handsome."

Visibly taken aback, Snape looked at you as if you were growing a second head.

"Even when you're angry. Even when you're tough. I know it's because you can't bear to lose control. Because you never really had it. You were only given the illusion that you were in control. You lost something. Not a Lily. Freedom. The freedom to choose. The freedom to be yourself. But I admire you. I admire you for managing to get back up and fight every time, after every challenge."

Severus sighed deeply, and for the first time, you saw him remove his mask. Before you, you had the man, the real one, not the spy, not the professor, not the bat from the dungeons.

"It's dangerous... to see monsters as men," he murmured.

"I'm less afraid of monsters than of men," you replied with an enigmatic smile.

And in an instant, he understood. Understood that behind your smiles and your slightly awkward humour, there was a story. A story that was nothing like a fairy tale. Experiences, mistakes, back roads... a painful past. Maybe not as painful as his, but pain is pain, and yours was no less valid because you hadn't gone through the same ordeals as him. He knew better than anyone that you have no right to compare one person's suffering to another's. It wasn't fair. Every individual was unique, every suffering valid.

"Even the darkest potions have a light within them if you know how to look," you added without looking at him, already busy cleaning your work surface.

Severus froze, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't know what to say. He was dying to enter your mind, but he wouldn't. He saw no point in stealing someone's memories to get to know them better. In fact, Snape had never used his gift to get to know someone, because he'd never wanted to. But suddenly, you, he wanted to know you.

"No woman has ever told me I'm handsome," he said, before mentally slapping himself.

"Because they never looked properly," you shrugged.

You raised your head, a genuine smile on your lips.

"I see you. Not your story. Not your past. Just you."

It wasn't the first time he'd been offered this kind of philosophical statement, which he found a bit silly. Even Potter had said it to him, and it was after he had seen all his memories... well, him and three-quarters of the Ministry. But coming from you, it sounded true.

"I think you're even stupider than I thought," he said without any sarcasm.

"Oh, you have no idea. If you asked me out for a Butterbeer, I might well say yes."

"Even Professor Longbottom isn't that stupid," Severus added with a slight twitch of his lips.

"So, when are we going to drink this Butterbeer?" you asked, staring into his eyes.

He didn't need to use his magic to know what you were thinking. And for the first time in a long time, he felt like a man. For the first time in a long time, he no longer hoped. He knew. Yes, he knew that life was offering him a second chance to love and be loved.

#severus snape x oc #severus snape x reader #severus snape #alan rickman #evans23

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tales-from-elysivm · 1 year ago

Text

★。／ falling in love with you ＼。★

ask: this was a request! but I can't find the ask on my old blog, but I do know that it was a quirkless!assistant!reader with midoriya, todoroki, bakugo, shinso, monoma, and kendo. I did cut off monoma and kendo since I feel like I don't know enough about their characters, if that's ok!

pairing: midoriya x gn! reader, todoroki x gn! reader, bakugo x gn! reader, shinso x gn! reader (separate)

fandom: boku no hero academia

word count: 3,722

tw: none, wholesome fluff with some swearing on bakugo's section

notes: this had taken a really long time on my original blog, so im happy to finally be able to share it, if you're from my OG blog, and you were waiting, im sorry it took so long! and since I can't get back into my old blog anymore (I lost the password), please resubmit your asks at anytime and ill try to get to them asap!

! be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed !

~the meeting~

You’re first introduced to Class 1A/1B as a stand-in for a sparring partner in hand-to-hand combat. It was better - in Aizawa’s opinion - for you to brush up on your skills while also putting his students in a more hands-on approach to learning. You stand before the class, ready.

You challenge whoever is confident with their skills so far to come forward and fight you. Over your shoulder, Aizawa stands huddled in his sleeping bag. He isn’t too worried, he trusts your abilities to handle his class, and besides, you needed to grow to tolerate them quickly.

None of the students wanted to fight you at first.

There was at least one of their close friends that teased them because they had noticed you staring at them out of all the other blue-clad students. So, of course, to avoid further embarrassment, they step forward to be the first example.

The rules are simple. No quirks. Just simple hand-to-hand. The first to pin the opponent for at least half a minute is the winner of the exercise.

I. midoriya

~ after the meet ~

Izuku really didn’t want to fight you

He didn’t know your strengths, your weaknesses, your quirk, your skill set, how powerful it was versus what it looked like, etc. (cue the nerdy rambling). He had no notes on you!

Izuku had seen you in class every once in a while when he wasn’t busy. You sat by the teacher’s desk grading papers and sometimes assisting Aizawa by running errands or taking over while he took a nap on the floor. But based on your stature and appearance and the fact you were wearing a school uniform, you seemed to be a student as well.

That leads to plenty of interesting theories about you!

“I think they’re a villain!” Kaminari said light-heartedly. It sounded like a rather malicious thing to suggest, Izuku thought, despite his wider grin. “In like… a rehab program or something.”

“Why would they send a villain to a school for a rehab program though?” Iida pulls his drink from his mouth. “It’d be much more likely they be put on community service or in more safe environments.”

Izuku looks across at you.

You’re sitting away from the teachers at the moment, trading notes with a girl in class 2C, laughing as you both scribble away and discuss some class that he can’t quite hear. You wave her off before moving down the table to another group who are slurping ramen over a table full of messy textbooks and broken pens. Izuku knew these kids to cause enough trouble for everyone, but they push aside their bowls and utensils and kick off their bags so they can let you sit with them.

Hm.

Have you always looked so pretty from this far away?

~ falling in love with you ~

My boy falls hard and fast… save him…

Izuku always pays attention during a class, but he always tries to pay a little more attention when it’s you that’s teaching <3

After assisting Aizawa for a few weeks into the term, Momo asked who you were. In all the “excitement” of having to shephard a class of hormonal superheroes around, you had forgotten to introduce yourself!

He pulls out his hero notebook and begins taking detailed notes on you

[Y/N L/N], your power stats and small doodles of you in the bottom corner. Some more detailed, some awfully sketchy, but he never feels he got it quite right

Aizawa pats your head and dismisses you from your teaching duty for the day

For the rest of the class you resign yourself to your desk and join the students in learning the next emergency protocol

He thinks you might be looking away when he glances at you

Are you looking at him too?

You’ve ruined him, he’d swear on it. He can’t help it, just by looking at you. The swell of your hips when he can see you walking in front or behind him, the way your eyes light up if he even gains the confidence to talk about his hero notebooks with you, the little shocks he gets when your knees touch on the floor of his dorm room. Or maybe he finds you distracting in some way? Your voice drags him from each lecture, even if it’s not aimed at him. Your smile lures him in. He’s sure you have to have a quirk somehow, hidden there that you haven’t told him about yet.

Do you find him as distracting as he finds you?

Among his many nervous habits, a new one is born. What is it? Well, drawing you in his notebook.

It’s during one of these very creepy-sounding moments that he remembers he never actually asked you what your quirk was. Nor had he seen it in action before

Other people had wondered about it before, but no one had an answer

So he asks you

You laugh.

It’s almost shocked, but partly sad. You tell him, quite simply, that you’re quirkless. And that Aizawa gave you the position in 1A because you were willing to become a teaching assistant on the side. Though you suspect it’s favouritism, he wants you to have a good education, UA is a nice place, he’ll be close by in case any shit goes down.

If anything Izuku falls even more in love with you. Hearing you ramble with him about your favourite heroes, how you want to be your own hero even if you can’t do the same things as they can, and you’re still here talking to him.

You’re one of the first people he tells about All Might passing on his quirk to him. He’s worried you might be envious of it, or hate him for lying his way into UA, but you beam at him and assure him he’ll be the best Number One Hero you’ve ever seen.

Yeah, he’s definitely fallen a bit harder, if the sweaty palms and nervous heart skip is enough to go off of.

~ fighting for your attention ~

Now imagine this poor, sweet, innocent broccoli-head of a boy finally falling in love with you! He’s smitten with you

But now he’s watching you interact with his classmates interact with you a little more closely

He doesn’t mind of course, he knows everyone loves your personality and just the feeling you give off. It makes them feel warm and safe and you being quirkless limits any sense of a threat to those who are more sceptical

What he doesn’t like is that he knows some of them fancy you

Some of them love you

He begins studying harder, training harder, works out more so he can make sure he can hear your sweet praises and warming smiles

Any “good job!” and “i’m so proud!” you can offer him is cherished. He cherishes you

So he gathers his courage to try harder just for you, so you can think of him as your number one hero!

Now the only question is; do you cherish him?

K. bakugo

~ after the meet ~

An unbridled opportunity to inflict pain on an (admittedly) attractive stranger?

Fuck yeah

Quirk or no quirk, he was going to absolutely destroy you. He was sure of it!

Shitty hair said you looked oddly familiar, but who cares?

Katsuki had seen you around in the dormitory building, of course, he never paid you much attention. You were wearing a uniform, so he guessed you were a student. He thought you were boring.

Pretty, but boring.

Not that he was looking, shut up–

Maybe if he kicks your ass a bit he’ll stop getting so distracted

Or…:

Are you fucking kidding?

You kicked his ass! Barely breaking a sweat!

One minute he’s preparing to just kick you in the gut and land a right hook to your face, but then he steps into the field where white lines have been drawn and you smile at him. You wish him good luck and bow before getting into a fighting stance.

He draws a blank after that. Sure, he lands the first kick, but gets your thigh instead so you skid across the pitch. Then you effortlessly sidestep his next swing and he just wants to blast your face off in embarrassment.

Then, most painful of all, you punch him right in the gut and kick him until he’s down.

He’s butt-hurt, as expected and refuses to even look at you.

Shitty hair slaps his shoulder and laughs as he joins the rest of the class. You brush dust off your uniform and prepare to fight Mina next.

“That was something huh?” Kaminari jests, snickering. “I should’ve gotten that on camera.”

Katsuki decides just then that he’s going to make your life hell for what you’ve done.

~ falling in love with you ~

He’s not falling in love with you, shut up-

Ok so he’s a grouchy boy anyway right so of course he’s not going to admit it as quick as the others

In fact he makes it a goal in life to annoy you enough until you hate his guts, then he might feel better about wanting to grind your face into the pavement

He kicks your chair out when you go to sit so you slam into the floor, shut the door to the classroom in your face, shoves you in hallways at every chance he gets, and even becomes so petty he begins stealing your favourite snacks and drinks out of the fridge and cupboards

Smug bastard even devours them in front of you just so you know that it was him

He hates them but that doesn’t stop him!

And - as much as he doesn’t want to admit it - he kinda hates the small flicker of disappointment that flutters behind your eyes before you offer to go on a snack-run for everyone on your way

Dammit!

He makes it sound like your idea that he stalks alongside you to the grocery store.

“You’d probably get lost if someone wasn’t around to hold your hand,” he’d mock you. If you inquire if he’d hold your hand around the store, he’ll definitely leave you behind. Don’t tempt him. And if you laugh he’ll walk back to the dorms and leave your ass to wonder where he went, searching through aisles for him. He knows you would.

Begrudgingly, he knows somewhere in him won’t let him abandon you there. What part? No idea but he hates it.

Which is why he is now escorting you on the seventh snack-run of the month. You push the trolley around because even with all your begging he won’t do it. Shopping list in hand you throw in bags of snacks and surprise treats for your classmates.

You have everything stacked up now. Popcorn for movie nights, and each person’s specific sweets, but instead of heading towards the cashiers, you’re turning towards the scoop-and-weigh section.

“Oi, dumbass!” Bakugo doesn’t follow after you at first, and he doesn’t care that people are turning to stare at him. “Cash register is that way!”

“I know that.” You smile and disappear behind the aisle. He really has no choice but to drag his feet to follow. When he comes around the side you’re scooping a bag full of honey-roasted almonds - ones he knows you hate but his mouth waters at.

“What are you getting those for?” He curses how soft his voice is now, but he can’t help but wonder why you’re buying them now.

“They’re your favourite, right?” You respond.

“Yeah?” How did you even know that?

You must be reading his mind with some hidden quirk or something, because you quickly explain that you had questioned Kirishima about the hidden stash in the cupboards one time and he had told you almost immediately. So, why not grab some more when you noticed that his stash was getting low?

Without letting him answer you walk past him to the checkouts. He watches after you, mouth dry. He can’t even think of an insult for you right now.

Fuck!

~ fighting for your attention ~

He still won’t admit it to himself so don’t expect a massive, dramatic confession from him (…yet)

No, he’s willing to fight anyone and everyone who wants your affections from the sidelines

Someone looks at you a little too long? (Punch them)

Someone touches your shoulder during a PE class? (Make their life hell)

Deku asks for your help on an essay and you respond with an all-sweet smile that just rubs him the wrong way? (Kill him - but not actually)

Jealousy is a dangerous game for Katsuki

(He’s not jealous don’t even ask—)

He’s willing to completely flip the tables so that maybe you’d notice that something’s different: he doesn’t kick your chair out anymore, or eat your snacks, or try to fight you in the hallways

Instead he does all of that for pretty much everyone else—with exceptions for Kirishima of course

Anything so he can deny that he’s gone the slightest bit soft for you when you both sit in the common room and eat your respective snacks, talking about some annoying classmate that had pissed him off for the fourth time that day

And god dammit, won’t you just notice that he appreciates you?

S. todoroki

~ after the meet ~

Now, my first question is, is it vague curiosity or a drive to urge his strength forward that makes Shoto fight you?

It’s the strength training, he reasons

He doesn’t need it of course, he’s capable enough, but that doesn’t stop him from arguing with himself that that could be the only reason

And no, it’s definitely not because he can see you giving him a curious look over the heads of his classmates, and certainly, not because Kaminari gives him a knowing grin because even he can see you staring at him

So he puts himself forward as a volunteer

For the training… sure

Even after you lose to Todoroki he’s courteous about it. You both bow out of respect and he rejoins the line. After that he doesn’t expect to see you very much after that, perhaps never again. He thinks, despite the theories, you might be a student-teacher from a different academy.

But no, the next week you show up to their regular classes. And not long after that, you’re both working on group and pair projects together.

Like today, it’s theory. Emergency Evacuation in a Disaster. You pick some form of ‘emergency’ and then plot out an essay with detailed instructions for evacuation for the project. Simple. You pick a disaster and begin the essay.

You ask him questions in between, just general small talk, asking how his day is and the like. But he appreciates it. He knows that you know who he is and yet you just ask him normal questions. (Let’s say this is before his arc to make friends.)

You praise him for his strength in your battle and it makes his heart pound. Is he sick? What does this mean?

What do you mean when you say you like his company? How does he get you to stop? He doesn’t like not being in control of how his heart is beating.

~ falling in love with you ~

I don’t think that originally it would be obvious to you that he fancies you

He’d be courteous at first, hold the door for you, compliment things about you, pull out your chair or save you a seat at lunch, it’s simple little things

You don’t notice of course, you just think he’s being nice

But to literally everyone else, it’s so obvious to them that he’s already completely smitten with you. He barely talks to anyone else… and yeah he doesn’t talk much with you either but he tolerates your company more than others

And he’s a gentleman so why would he outright say anything?

(That’s the reason and not that he’s afraid to, yeah totally-)

So instead he sits and listens to your conversations

It’s not your fault he’s having a bad day, but at the moment he’s giving the cold shoulder to everyone in 1-A.

That doesn’t stop you from dragging your chair up to his small desk during your break and eating there with him. He doesn’t tell you to leave, because he doesn’t think he can. He just watches you pull out utensils and begin to eat. He hasn’t even bothered with his own food, he can feel a pit swallowing his stomach, like he couldn’t cram anything in there if he wanted to.

“Bad day?” you ask, like you couldn’t already tell. “Don’t wanna talk about it?”

He nods at you. He can’t lie. And he sure as hell can’t ignore you.

“I understand,” you give a thoughtful hum, eating a bite of your food. “My day was pretty crappy too. It gets like that sometimes, you just gotta keep going. You can’t stop living just because your head’s a bit heavy.”

He didn’t ask for your advice, and maybe before that would’ve bothered him that you didn’t stop talking, but now he can’t find it in him to be frustrated. His annoyance deflates at your presence. You radiate this homely comfort he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Shoto goes through the effort of pulling out his food, just so you might feel better about it.

He forces out the words;

“And your day? Tell me about it… please.”

~ fighting for your attention ~

Now shoto is less likely to actually try and confront others about their shared affections

In fact in normally takes him a good while to officially realise that he loves you

But pretty soon he just begins to seek you out more

As he grows more social, earns new friends and becomes accustomed to everyone, you work with him closely to help him learn social cues and overcome his trauma

He comes to like touching you, whether it be a hand on his head, touching knees in the dorms, a simple hug, or you leaning on him until you fall asleep on him during the winter. He feels comfortable with you

But with this realisation comes one more;

He wonders if he could handle going back to living without you

H. shinso

~ after the meet ~

Now, shinso’s quirk is pretty hard to implement in a fight, which is why he mainly prefers hand-to-hand

Overall, he feels tired, if not a little bored, by the spar with you

He hadn’t noticed you at all before this lesson in 1C, but his teacher had said that you were helping by moving down from 1A

Why, he couldnt figure out

But nonetheless, he finds you watching him while waiting to spar you in your first physical education class together, so he volunteers

And he quickly gets disqualified–

He swears he doesn’t mean to, but almost as soon as he begins the fight, you overwhelm him.

What you lack in a visible quirk, you make up for in speed, kicking and jabbing and ducking away before he can get a hit in. It’s when he finds you hovering over his shoulder, about to throw a punch to his face, that he panics and asks for your name.

A bit confused, slowing down a little bit, you give it to him, and almost as quickly, you’re under his control. The teacher immediately barks at him to release his control, and he obliges, but he’s still disqualified and you’re given an instant win. When you stumble, regaining your own self-control, you look up at him in bemusement.

But you don’t look scared at all, instead you smile at him.

“Brainwashing? That’s a pretty cool quirk, huh?”

You confuse him, and he’s not sure if he likes it yet.

~ falling in love with you ~

After you move down to 1C to work on your General Hero courses, you begin to grow closer with Shinso

You don’t think that his quirk is any different to the others at UA, which he is somewhat confused by

‘Some of these guys can set people on fire! Brainwashing doesn’t sound too different to the others you see here’, was your only explanation whenever he asked about it

Overtime, you become one of his only friends in 1C, he tolerates you

He spends most of his time with you, studying, eating, talking, he helps you write papers on general hero practices, telling you about his history with children being scared of his ‘villain quirk’

All things considered, he trusts you, and i dont think he could say that for many other people at UA

You both sit cross-legged on the floor of his dorm room. He very rarely decorates it, but you begged him to let you set up the fairy lights and little cat decals that were meant for his wall. Begrudgingly, he agreed.

So that’s what you’ve been doing, arranging kitties on the wall over his desk. Cute little art pieces that resemble grey and calico cats.

Meanwhile, he’s studying on his floor, laying back and occasionally sneaking glances at you to see if you’re tangled in the lights. Soon enough you have them strung up nicely in the corners of his dorm-room, sending soft gold light over his purple hair. He doesn’t move until you lay on the floor beside him, looking up at the ceiling.

“What do you think?” you ask, leaning up on your elbows to admire your handiwork.

He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at you, taking in the view of your side-profile.

“They look nice.”

Shinso isn’t talking about the lights.

~ fighting for your attention ~

Listen, usually Shinso absolutely hates using his quirk for anything out of villain fights, because if he does he feels like he reinforces the idea that he might be a villain too

But, when it comes to you?

He’s relatively tame at first, he doesnt get too jealous or overprotective as someone else might (cough, bakugo, cough), but it doesnt mean that he doesnt need reassurance sometimes

If it gets to the point that another one of your suitors is making you uncomfortable, then by all means, hes asking them what theyre doing and forcing them to walk away

And afterwards, having that little moment of supposed villainy feels worth it

Just keep smiling at him

im sorry this took so long!

I hope you guys enjoyed

769 notes · View notes

kittenan · 2 months ago

Text

Professor's Pet [Pt. II]

Pairing: Professor!Namjoon x Ex-Wife!Reader Genre: University AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff Word Count: ~5k Warnings: Explicit smut (detailed dom/sub dynamics, brainy dom!Namjoon, strict punishments, praise + degradation, orgasm control, fingering, oral [f and m receiving], desk sex, throat grabbing, spanking, unprotected sex [wrap it up!]), bickering, emotional angst (divorce due to emotional neglect and career conflicts), post-divorce academic struggles, 18+ only. Vibe: Brainy, strict, chaotic, emotional, filthy, tender, unhinged, layered with unresolved pain and desire. A/N: This story follows the thrilling love story of Namjoon and the Reader, from their sparking student-professor romance during her bachelor’s to their passionate marriage, painful divorce, and tangled reunion in her Ph.D. program. Her struggles in university come from heartache and dodging Namjoon’s classes, not because she’s not smart. Get ready for a heartfelt, steamy, and hopeful journey!

You were a junior in Namjoon’s Introduction to Psychology class, a bright-eyed 21-year-old with a knack for debate and a habit of lingering after lectures to challenge his theories. He was 28, a prodigy professor fresh off his Ph.D., already turning heads with his sharp intellect and commanding presence. His lectures were electric—dense with ideas, delivered with a passion that made Freud and Skinner feel alive. You’d sit in the front row, scribbling notes, your heart racing when his eyes met yours during a particularly heated discussion on cognitive dissonance.

One evening, after a debate on nature vs. nurture, you stayed late, your textbook open. The lecture hall was empty, the air thick with chalk dust and the faint scent of his cologne—sandalwood and ink. He leaned against the desk, glasses perched on his nose, and asked, “Why do you always argue with me?”

“Because you’re wrong sometimes,” you shot back, a grin tugging at your lips. “And someone’s gotta keep you humble.”

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made your stomach flip. “Bold. Most students just nod and move on.”

“I’m not most students,” you said, stepping closer, your confidence masking the flutter in your chest.

That was the spark. Late-night discussions turned into coffee runs, then dinners at small restaurants where you’d talk until closing. He was brilliant, intense, and saw you in a way no one else did—like your mind was a puzzle he wanted to solve. You were drawn to his discipline, his ambition, the way he could unravel a concept or you with equal precision. By semester’s end, you were sneaking kisses in his office, your hands tangled in his hair, his glasses fogging from the heat of your breath.

It wasn’t reckless, not really. You were careful—never in public, never on campus grounds. He was strict about boundaries, always the professor first. But the thrill of those secret moments—his hands pinning you against a bookshelf, his voice a low growl as he whispered your name—made you feel alive. Your senior year was a whirlwind of stolen glances and hidden rendezvous, your love growing in the shadows of academia.

After graduating with your bachelor’s, you started your master’s at the same university, and Namjoon proposed a year later, during a rainy evening in a quiet park near campus. He knelt in the mud, his suit soaked, holding a ring that caught the streetlights. “Marry me,” he said, voice steady despite the downpour. “I want you in every chapter of my life.” You said yes, heart soaring, believing you’d cracked the code to forever.

Your wedding was intimate, in a small garden blooming with wildflowers, your dress simple, his suit sharp. His vows were poetry: “You’re my question and my answer, my chaos and my order.” You laughed through tears, danced under fairy lights, and believed you’d conquer the world. You were in your master’s program, he was an associate professor, and your apartment was a cozy mess of books and coffee stains. Mornings were tangled in bed, his lips soft on your neck, whispering, “Stay here forever, babygirl,” as his hands roamed, igniting sparks. Evenings were spent debating theories over wine, his glasses slipping as he laughed at your mimicry of his lecture style, pulling you into his lap with a playful growl.

But his ambition was a growing shadow. Namjoon lived for his work—research, lectures, grants. You’d find him at 4 a.m., glasses fogged, typing furiously, oblivious to you. You’d bring him coffee, kiss his temple, but he’d mutter, “One more page,” and you’d eat alone, the silence heavier than any fight. You completed your master’s and took a break to plan your Ph.D., inspired by him, but your research faltered, overshadowed by his unyielding ambition. You’d beg for a night off, a weekend away, but he’d promise and fail, his office his true home.

One precious weekend, you whisked him away to a secluded cabin, no Wi-Fi, just the two of you. He was irritable, yearning for his laptop, but you slipped into his shirt, bare beneath, and climbed onto his lap by the crackling fire, playfully chiding his work-obsessed ways. “You’re married to your desk, not me. For now, focus on me, Professor.” you murmured, teasingly nudging his chest. His gaze softened, then ignited, a slow smirk spreading as his inner intensity stirred. “Oh, babygirl, you’re begging for trouble,” he growled, flipping you onto the rug with a swift, controlled motion, the roughness of the wool biting your skin. His hand delivered a sharp spank to your bare ass, the sting blooming into a heat that made you gasp, your arousal immediate and undeniable.

“Count,” he ordered, voice strict, his Ph.D.-honed precision in every word, spanking you again, harder, the sound cracking through the quiet cabin. “One,” you whimpered, and he leaned close, his breath hot against your ear, degrading you with a purr—“Such a sweet little thing, so eager for my touch,” he murmured, delivering another spank, his hand lingering to caress the sensitive skin, soothing the warmth he’d created. “Two,” you moaned, slickness coating your thighs, and he let out a low, warm chuckle, his fingers gliding along your drenched folds, teasing with a gentle, maddening touch, not yet giving you what you craved. “Look at you,” he whispered, voice rich with desire, “so beautifully desperate, practically trembling for me.”

He pinned your wrists above your head, his grip iron, his gaze intense. “You want me? Earn it,” he commanded, his free hand sliding two fingers inside you, curling with devastating accuracy to hit that spot that made your vision blur. His pace was relentless, but he enforced orgasm control, pulling back just as you clenched, teetering on the edge. “Not yet,” he said, voice a velvet blade, “you come when I say, or not at all.” You whined, bickering—“You’re such a fucking Control freak—but he silenced you with a throat grab, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips brushing yours. “Keep talking, and I’ll gag you with my cock,” he warned, and you shivered, craving his dominance, the emotional angst of his absence fueling your need.

He released your throat, pushing you to your knees, his erection straining against his jeans. “Show me you deserve it,” he said, and you fumbled with his zipper, freeing him—thick, heavy, pulsing. You took him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of him. His hand gripped your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his groans vibrating through you. “Good girl,” he praised, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate.” You moaned, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulled out, denying himself release, his control absolute.

He lifted you, bending you over the nearby table, the wood cold against your flushed skin. “Spread your legs,” he growled, and you did, trembling, as he spanked you again, three sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a filthy thing, dripping for me.” He slid into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that felt like home, his thrusts deep and punishing, the table creaking under the force. His hand grabbed your throat again, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear. “You’re mine,” he snarled, voice thick with possession.

You moaned, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“And you’re stupid, Joon.” He laughed, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his fingers finding your clit, circling with precision that made you see stars. “Keep talking,” he said, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until I say.” He edged you mercilessly, slowing when you tightened, his control a torturous dance of pleasure and denial. “Beg,” he demanded, and you broke, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours.” He rewarded you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” He came with a groan, his release hot inside you, and collapsed over you, panting.

Later, he held you by the fire, tender now, kissing your temple, his voice soft with regret. “I’m here, babygirl,” he whispered “I love you.” You curled into him, believing this Namjoon would stay, but Monday came, and he was back in his office, leaving you aching with loneliness.

The fights grew vicious. “I’m fading, Namjoon!” you screamed one night, throwing a cold dinner plate into the sink, the crash echoing your heartbreak. “You’re never here!” He yelled back, “I’m building our future! Why can’t you wait?” You waited, but you were invisible, a ghost in your own marriage. The third anniversary broke you—you cooked his favorite bulgogi, lit candles, wore the dress he loved. He didn’t show. His text at 9 p.m.: Stuck at a conference. Sorry. You sat there, wax dripping, tears falling, the silence a knife. You packed a bag, left for a friend’s, and filed for divorce, your heart shattered.

The divorce was a quiet devastation. You moved to a university dorm, threw yourself into your Ph.D., but campus was a battlefield. Namjoon’s name was everywhere—on journals, posters, whispered in halls. You saw the silver frame on his desk during a department meeting, your wedding photo untouched, and it felt like a blade. Why did he keep it? To punish himself? To cling to you?

You tried dating, but no one matched his intensity, his mind, his touch. You heard he didn’t date, just worked, his office light burning past midnight. Colleagues said he was colder, sharper, like he’d locked his heart away. You hated that it hurt, hated that you still dreamed of him.

One stormy night, you passed by his office, the door ajar. He was slumped over his desk, glasses off, staring at the frame, a whiskey bottle half-empty. You heard a choked sob, and your chest tightened—you wanted to run to him, to hold him, but you couldn’t. You weren’t his wife anymore. You walked away, tears mixing with the rain, the ache of what could’ve been a living thing.

Now in your Ph.D. program, you’re falling apart. Namjoon’s advanced psychology seminar is required, but his lecture hall is a torture chamber. His voice, his cologne—sandalwood, cedar, ink—drag you back to stolen kisses, broken vows. You skip half his lectures, unable to face him. When you do attend, you’re a wreck, his words blurring as you remember his hands, his anger, your loneliness. Your assignments are late, your exams a disaster, and now you’re failing.

Desperate, you begged for extra credit, leading to that night in his office—desk sex, raw fury, and a "B" that felt like a taunt. It wasn’t just about grades; it was about the pain, the love, the unresolved mess of you two. Tonight, you’re back, ready to confront it all.

You stride into his office at 8:15, late to test him, wearing a tight black dress, no panties, heels clicking defiantly. He’s at his desk, pen paused, glasses glinting under the lamp. The frame sits behind a book, a ghost of your past. His eyes rake over you, dark and heavy, but there’s pain there, a crack in his professor’s mask.

“You’re late,” he says, voice low, but it trembles, betraying him.

“By fifteen minutes,” you retort, shutting the door with a soft click, your voice sharp with years of hurt. “You’ve kept me waiting years, Namjoon. You don’t get to complain.”

He stands, towering over you, his cologne a trap. “Careful, babygirl,” he warns, but his fingers brush your arm, lingering, warm and hesitant. “You’re here for a reason. Say it.”

You step closer, chin up, bickering to mask the pain. “I’m failing because of you, you asshole. I can’t sit in your class without seeing us—every fight, every night you left me alone. I skip lectures because looking at you hurts, Namjoon. But you keep that photo.” You point to the frame, its silver edge glinting like a blade. “Why? Why hold onto something you destroyed?”

He flinches, like your words are a lash, and turns away, hand raking through his hair. The frame sits there, your smiling faces a mockery. “Because I’m a fucking fool,” he says, voice raw, barely above a whisper. He turns back, eyes red, and steps closer, his hands hovering over your shoulders, not quite touching. “Because I wake up every day wishing I’d seen you, really seen you, when I had you. I keep it because it’s the only proof I didn’t dream you. I broke us, Y/N, and I’ll never forgive myself.”

Tears spill, your throat tight, but his words crack something open—anger, yes, but also longing. “You don’t get to say that,” you choke, shoving his chest, but he catches your wrists, his grip gentle, grounding, his thumbs brushing your pulse points. “You left me alone, Namjoon. Cold dinners, empty beds, me begging for scraps of your time. I was your wife, not your student, but you treated me like I was nothing!”

“I know,” he says, voice breaking, pulling you closer until you’re inches apart, his breath warm on your face. “I was blind, obsessed with work, thinking it was for us. I’m still a workaholic—I’ll always be in this office too long—but I see you now. I see what I lost.” His voice drops, a plea, his fingers tightening just enough to remind you of his control. “Give me a chance, Y/N. Let me prove I can be the man you deserve.”

You laugh, bitter and shaky, tears falling, but your body betrays you, leaning into him, your hands fisting his shirt. “You think one night of fucking me fixes it?” you whisper, voice trembling, bickering to keep the pain at bay. “You think a B makes up for years of feeling invisible?”

“No,” he says, releasing your wrists to cup your face, thumbs brushing your tears, his touch tender but heavy with regret. “Nothing fixes it. But I’m begging for a shot to try. I’ll set alarms, I’ll cancel meetings, I’ll burn my fucking books if you ask. I can’t lose you again.”

The air crackles, pain and desire colliding. You pull back, defiant, and hop onto his desk, spreading your thighs, the dress riding up to reveal bare skin. “Prove it now, Professor,” you challenge, voice low, a dare born of anger and need, your eyes flashing with the same fire you had in his lecture hall years ago. Namjoon’s gaze drops, and when he realizes you’re wearing no panties, his reaction is a overwhelming shift—raw, feral, yet tightly controlled, his eyes black with lust, his jaw clenching as he fights to maintain his dominance.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he rasps, voice thick with desire and disbelief, his hands gripping your thighs so hard the skin blooms red under his fingers. “No panties?” His breath hitches, a low growl rumbling deep in his chest as he spreads your legs wider, exposing you completely, your slickness glistening under the lamplight. “You walked in here like this, bare, dripping, knowing it’d drive me fucking insane?” His tone shifts, brainy dom surfacing, strict and commanding, his glasses fogging slightly from the heat radiating between you. “You’re a filthy little tease, babygirl, and you’re going to pay for this.”

You smirk, bickering back, “Maybe I wanted to see if you’d even notice, you self-absorbed prick.” Your defiance ignites him, and his smirk is pure danger, his hand delivering a sharp spank to your inner thigh, the sting so intense it makes you yelp, arousal flooding you instantly. “Count,” he orders, spanking the other thigh, his palm leaving a burning imprint, his eyes locked on yours, unrelenting. “One,” you gasp, and he spanks again, harder, the sound echoing in the quiet office. “Two,” you moan, your voice trembling, slickness dripping onto the desk, coating his fingers as they graze your folds.

“Such a needy little thing,” he purrs, his voice laced with that sharp, intellectual edge that makes your core clench. “Look at you, soaking my desk, aching for my touch. You think you can stroll in here, bare and bold, and take charge of me?” His fingers slide through your wetness, teasing your entrance but not entering, his control maddening. “You’re mine to ruin, and I’m going to make you beg for every fucking second of it.” Another spank, this one directly on your ass as he shifts you, bending you slightly over the desk, your dress hiked up to your waist. “Three,” you sob, the pain and pleasure blurring, your body trembling under his command.

His fingers finally plunge inside you, three at once, stretching you with a burn that makes you cry out, his pace brutal and precise, curling to hit that spot that sends shocks through your spine. “So fucking tight,” he growls, his thumb circling your clit with devastating accuracy, but he enforces orgasm control, pulling back just as you start to clench, teetering on the edge. ‘Not yet,’ he murmurs, his voice a smooth, cutting whisper, ‘you don’t get to come until you’ve earned it, my sweet little tease.’ You whine, bickering—‘You’re still such a control freak’—but he cups your throat, his fingers pressing just enough to make your pulse race, his lips grazing your ear. ‘Keep talking, and I’ll silence you with my kiss until you’re breathless,’ he warns, and you shiver, craving his dominance, the raw emotional weight of your shared past fueling the fire between you.

“You left me,” he says, voice raw, his fingers slowing, teasing you to the brink but denying release, his eyes searching yours, heavy with guilt and need. “You walked away, and I deserved it, but you’re here now, bare for me, and I’m not letting you go.” Tears prick your eyes, the pain of his neglect mingling with the pleasure of his touch. “You didn’t see me,” you whisper, voice breaking, but you push back against his hand, desperate for more. He kisses you hard, his tongue claiming you, his hand still on your throat, grounding you in the moment. “I see you now,” he murmurs, his fingers resuming their punishing pace, his thumb relentless on your clit, driving you to the edge but holding you there, a torturous dance of denial.

He pulls his fingers out, finally licking them clean with a smirk that makes your thighs clench, and orders, “On your knees, now.” You obey, your hands fumbling with his belt, freeing his cock—thick, heavy, pulsing with need. You take him into your mouth, slow and deliberate, your tongue swirling around the tip, savoring the salt of his pre-cum. His hand grips your hair, controlling the pace, fucking your mouth deep and rough, his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag. “Good girl,” he praises, mixed with degradation—“Look at you, choking on me, so fucking desperate for your professor.” You moan, the vibrations pushing him closer, but he pulls out, denying himself release, his control absolute, his glasses fogging as he watches you.

“Up,” he commands, pulling you to your feet, bending you over the desk, papers scattering like fallen dreams, the wood cool against your flushed cheek. “Spread your legs wide,” he growls, and you do, trembling, as he spanks you again, five sharp slaps, each paired with a count and a degrading purr—“Such a needy girl, bare and dripping for me, ruining my desk.” You’re sobbing now, not from pain but from the overwhelming need, the emotional angst of wanting him, hating him, loving him. He slides into you, his cock stretching you with a burn that feels like everything, his thrusts deep and punishing, the desk creaking under the force, his hand grabbing your throat, tilting your head back, his lips at your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he snarls, voice thick with possession and regret, his thrusts slowing to a torturous grind, his fingers finding your clit again, circling with precision that makes you see stars. “I was too stupid to ignore you, but I’m here now, and you’re mine.” You moan, pushing back against him, bickering through gasps—“You’re still stupid if you think this fixes everything.” He laughs, rough and raw, thrusting harder, his hand tightening on your throat, his control a heady mix of punishment and worship. “Keep talking, sweetheart,” he says, voice brainy and dominant, “but you’re not coming until you admit you’re mine.”

You resist, but he edges you mercilessly, slowing when you tighten, his fingers relentless but denying release, his lips brushing your ear. “Beg,” he demands, and you break, sobbing, “Please, Namjoon, let me come, I’m yours, always was.” He rewards you, fucking you through a blinding orgasm, his thrusts relentless, his praise—“That’s my perfect girl”—mixing with degradation—“So fucking needy, falling apart for me.” You come screaming, the orgasm shattering, your body convulsing, and he follows, groaning your name, his release hot inside you, his body collapsing over yours, panting.

He holds you after, pulling you into his lap, glasses askew, his touch tender now, kissing your forehead, the emotional angst raw. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice soft but firm. “For every cold dinner, every empty bed. Come home with me, Y/N. We’ll cook, we’ll talk, and I’ll be there. I promise.” You nod, shaky, tears falling, the anger fading into hope. He helps you fix your dress, his fingers lingering, gentle, and you leave together, his hand in yours, the campus dark but the path bright. The frame stays on his desk, a vow, not a keepsake.

A week later, you submit a revised paper, pouring your pain into a brilliant analysis of grief’s impact on memory. Namjoon grades it, leaving a note: A+. Your mind is as fierce as ever. I’m proud of you. You text him: Earned that A, not begged. He replies: Always knew you could, babygirl. Dinner tonight? You smile, the firecracker from your junior year sparking again, ready to fight—for your degree, for him, for you.

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @btsstraykidsateez . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172

#bts fanfic #bts smut #bts #bts namjoon #namjoon smut #namjoon #rm #bts rm #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #rm smut

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zepskies · 1 year ago

Text

Calculated Risks

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: You and Ben argue about your commitment to being a working mom. When a rogue supe gets loose at Supe Affairs, mayhem ensues, putting not only your life at risk, but your daughter’s as well.

AN: Welcome back to the BMD-verse, friends! Did you miss these two as much as I did? Plus, get ready for a heavy dose of fan-favorite Frank. (And Lila, of course!)

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: Familiar bickering, a mission gone awry, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff.

Catch up on the BMD-verse. ⤵️

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

In four years of marriage, one thing that had never changed between you and Ben was this.

“All right, you’re being a little too much right now,” you said in irritation. “Of course I’m not sitting this one out. I’m the one who found us the damn lead in the first place.”

The man was following you from the adjoining bathroom and back into your shared bedroom, where you began getting dressed for work in the blouse and pencil skirt you’d laid out for yourself.

Your husband had already donned his supe suit, sans helmet. He stood just behind you with his arms crossed, a familiar surly frown on his face. When you turned around, he hadn’t moved an inch.

“I’m being too much? You’re the one who’s not being fucking reasonable,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and moved past him to find your shoes. For this skirt, you really needed heels. Your most comfortable black pumps would do. You grabbed the closet doorknob for balance as you slipped them on, giving him a look of exasperation.

Ben held firm on his stance, but inside, he had a feeling you’d chosen this outfit on purpose. You knew he liked this whole sexcretary look on you, with your hair let down around your shoulders. The skirt and heels just brought his eyes to the delectable curve of your ass.

But again, he was holding firm.

He’d been called in on this case partly because Annie was on maternity leave. She was due in just a few weeks. Which meant “Soldier Boy” was definitely needed to help out Butcher and his merry band of assholes. By now, Ben had gotten used to them.

“Look,” you said, “Slingshot has been causing a lot of havoc, and the police haven’t been able to catch him. You heard Grace. This is an ‘all hands on deck’ situation.”

“She always says that shit. Doesn’t make it true,” Ben retorted.

“This time it is,” you said. “I’ve already put in tons of man hours on surveillance for this guy. I want to get him off the street.”

Ben held you by your arms. “That’s exactly my point. You’ve been putting in way too many hours.”

You shook your head. He just didn’t get it.

“If I hadn’t, we wouldn’t have this opening now,” you said. You gave him a smile to try and lighten him. “Now he’s all teed up for you and the guys. This should be in and out. Practically a milk run for you.”

“Yeah, but not for you,” he pointed out. “And not for Lila. You’re stretching yourself too damn thin. It’s not like we need the money.”

Ahh, now we get to it, you thought. Yet again, he was bringing this up. In his mind, you should’ve cut your hours at Supe Affairs after Lila was born.

You did take an extended maternity leave of an entire year and a half, which was much more than women usually got from their jobs. However, because of your relationship with Grace and the entire team, you’d been allowed to come back whenever you felt ready.

Ben had often felt it necessary to point out that with his money, you didn’t have to work at all.

He knew very well that for you, this work was more than a job.

“I’m not the first working mom in existence, Ben,” you said, pushing out of his hold. “And I’ll remind you that Supe Affairs has a great daycare program. Lila’s very happy there.”

Plus, she was almost three and a half years old. In less than a year, Lila would be off to preschool.

“And look, it’s not about the money,” you added. “I told you before Lila was born. I am a mother, and I’m your wife. But I’m still me.”

Ben processed that for a moment, meeting your gaze.

“The situation’s changed,” he replied. He grasped your hips this time. His thumb gently brushed over your belly, which had a small bump under your high-waisted skirt.

You were finally pregnant again. Three months, in fact, and you were having a boy. You knew that Ben had several reasons to be more protective than usual…but still. You thought you were already taking every precaution to keep you and your children safe, even with the occasionally extensive hours of your job.

“These cases can be long and difficult, not to mention dangerous,” said Ben. His green eyes met yours as he looked down at you through furrowed brows. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

You blew out a breath and tried to placate him, soothing a hand over his chest.

“I’ve stopped doing field missions,” you pointed out. “And Supe Affairs is the most secure building in the city. Do you think I would bring Lila there if it wasn’t?”

The security team at the S.A. was bar none, not only because Loco was a part of that team. Frank was also your personal bodyguard; Ben hired him back when you found out you were pregnant with Lila.

In fact, Frank was coming to the house in a few minutes to pick you all up.

Ben frowned. “I think you’re being stubborn just to be fucking stubborn.”

That sparked at your temper. Again, you withdrew from his arms and crossed yours.

“I think you need to face the fact that I’m protected as well as I can be,” you said. “I also think that you’re trying to use this as a way to shoehorn me into some antiquated idea of what you still think a wife should be. I’m gonna tell you right now. That’s not me! It’s never been me. And you know that.”

He opened his mouth to give an angry retort, but you beat him to it.

“It’s like you don’t even care about what I want,” you snapped. “Just what you think is right—for me to be here waiting for you to come home, quite literally barefoot and pregnant, ready to rub your balls!”

Cliché as it might’ve been to say, if the shoe fit, then you were certainly not going to be the one to wear it.

“You know what, you can accuse me of being stuck in the fucking past all you want,” Ben said, raising a finger, as well as his voice. “But the problem here isn’t me. It’s that what you want is goddamn idiotic!”

Your mouth fell agape. “Excuse me?! I can’t even believe you right now!”

Ben fairly loomed above you when he shouted back.

“Well, that makes fucking two of us!”

His voice was loud enough to reverberate on the walls. You even flinched, but you held your ground with a glare…

Until you heard a whimper.

You and Ben paused, and turned to find Lila. The three-year-old was cowering a bit in the doorway to your bedroom. Her eyes welled up with tears, and she began to cry.

Your heart broke.

“Oh, honey,” you breathed. You were both apologetic and mortified as you quickly went to her.

Ben was close behind you, but while Lila was quick to melt into your arms when you picked her up, she shied away from his attempt to reach out to her. What would’ve been a placating hand on her head, turned into him pausing in surprise when she ducked.

“Lila?” he prodded.

He tried to mask how put out he was by his daughter hiding her face from him, burrowing into your neck instead. She was usually a daddy’s girl, through and through.

You shot him a knowing frown, while rubbing her back in comfort.

“It’s okay, baby,” you told her. “Your dad and I were just…talking. He didn’t mean to shout.”

When Lila only whimpered in response, Ben’s gaze dimmed in understanding. His lips pursed.

You saw that look on his face, and you wanted to sigh. Part of you felt bad for him, at the way Lila had flinched away from her father. In a way though, maybe it was a lesson he needed to learn.

Frank arrived a few minutes later in a black SUV, like he did every weekday morning to bring you all to work. Ben was quiet and taciturn climbing into the backseat on one side, and you clipped Lila into her car seat from the other side. He still made sure that she was strapped in correctly, and even tried to earn his daughter’s gaze.

She snuck a glance at him a couple of times, but quickly lowered it to play with one of her favorite stuffed animal toys (a little German shepherd that he had gotten for her).

Ben let out a long breath through his nose. He gave Frank a nod through the rearview mirror, and the other man peeled away from the house.

The four of you rode in silence away from your house in Scarsdale, towards New York City.

Ben’s mood remained grim, even when you all got to Supe Affairs. Frank held back while you and Ben stopped in the hallway with Lila. You were carrying her, and she was holding onto you and her stuffed animal like a lifeline instead of looking anywhere else—namely at Ben.

You sighed and tried to pull her back enough to see her face.

“Daddy’s gotta go to work now. Want to say goodbye?” you encouraged.

All Lila could manage was a shy look in his direction. Ben laid a gentle hand on her head, over her dark hair.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he said.

Lila didn’t answer him. She just bit her lip and stayed withdrawn.

You and Ben shared a glance. He was hiding it well behind his usual stoicism, but this was hurting him. There wasn’t much either of you could do about it now, however. You both had work to do, and the mission would have to come first.

“I’ll be online in a bit,” you told him.

First, you needed to take Lila up to daycare before Frank accompanied you to your office. There you’d be able to join the mission from your computer and put your headset on. Aside from surveillance, you were their virtual eyes on missions.

So Ben tacitly agreed, and the two of you parted ways.

You went up to the second floor to drop Lila off at daycare, where you set her onto her feet. You could see that she was quiet and almost sad, not as bright and talkative as usual. And she was clinging to your hand. You bent down the best you could in your skirt, so you could meet her eyes.

“Are you still upset with your dad?” you asked.

After a moment, Lila replied, “Daddy’s loud.”

You couldn’t help a rueful smile.

“Yeah, he can be,” you nodded. “But he’s gonna work on that, okay? He loves you very much.”

She finally smiled a little when you pressed a few sweet kisses to her cheeks. You felt a little better about leaving her with Sarah, the woman who ran the daycare center. She was kind, but well-organized, and good at her job of wrangling fifteen or so toddlers on a daily basis.

And she was hovering off to the side with a smile, waiting to shepherd Lila over to where the rest of the group were starting at the arts and crafts table.

“Okay, baby. I love you. I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you said, caressing Lila’s cheeks, brushing her hair away from her face.

She nodded and waved goodbye. Sarah then stepped in and guided the girl over to the crafts table. The other kids were already drawing and coloring with crayons and markers.

With a sigh, you knew you had to get to work. You joined Frank out in the hall.

“Did something happen this morning?” he asked. You gave him a weary look.

“Something always happens. I’ll fill you in when we hit the elevator,” you said.

“Kids are resilient. She’ll bounce back,” said Frank, when you two got off the elevator down to the basement, under the first floor. This was where the “heavy stuff” happened at the S.A.

“That’s not the point, Frank. He hasn’t snapped at me like that in a long time, and he really scared her. That’s not fucking okay,” you said. “He needs to learn to control his goddamn temper.”

He sent you a knowing glance. You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, I know I don’t always help. But in this case, I was justified,” you said. “Ben was being an ass.”

“Right,” Frank nodded. “It’s not at all that he’s worried about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whose side are you on?”

The man remained silent, but his stoic face wasn’t fooling you. He’d been your friend for much too long, and he knew Ben just as well…which was why you found yourself reconsidering what happened this morning.

“You really think he has a point?” you asked. “Am I working too much?”

Frank shook his head and opened the door for you into the Surveillance Department. The two of you ventured to your office, where your quadruple monitor setup was waiting for you. He also had a desk for himself, since he often spent the long hours of your day with you.

“When you were pregnant with Lila, you were on maternity leave by now,” he pointed out.

“Because we had no idea what was going to happen,” you countered. You went to your desk and started up your computer. “I had to meet with Tonya once a week, ultrasounds and blood tests all the time, making sure Lila was healthy, that I was healthy. This time around, we have a better idea of what to expect.”

For example, you were experiencing bouts of super strength once again, but it was still intermittent. Although, you pretty much never needed coffee. Maybe the supe genes coursing through your system, thanks to your unborn son, was part of the reason why you’d been able to go such long hours for these cases.

He's already brightening up my life, you thought with a little smile, holding a hand over your lower belly.

“It’s your choice,” Frank said at last. “But it is possible that Ben cares about more than just making you a suburban housewife.”

At that, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with being a housewife, you knew. It just wasn’t…you.

Once your computer and monitors were booted up, you connected to the right channels and put on your headset.

Already you could hear M.M. bitching about keeping the weapons trunk organized, not just tossing things in haphazardly.

“It’s a simple fucking system, Frenchie. You can at least abide by it,” M.M. said. “We don’t have time to be scratching our asses while you try to find a—”

“Hey, Bert and Ernie. Would you shut the fuck up already?” Ben groused.

Your mouth twitched at his grumpiness.

“A little testy this morning, ey guv?” Butcher remarked.

“Gargle my ball sack,” Ben replied, with an even grouchier deadpan than usual.

“Do you kiss your child with that mouth?” Frenchie teased.

“Nah, just your mother’s French hole,” Ben slung back. You rolled your eyes.

“All right, all right. Put the measuring tapes away,” you interrupted. “I’m online, locked on your GPS.”

“Well, if it ain’t Mrs. America herself,” Butcher drawled. “Got a lock on Slingshot’s location for us?”

“You know it,” you replied. “Sending to the group chat now. Slingshot’s been spotted entering a strip club in Chinatown.”

“Jeez. A little early for tits and booze. It’s 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday,” said Hughie.

You heard Ben huff in amusement. “It’s never too early.”

You snorted at that.

“Right. I’ll remember that next time you fall asleep watching Family Feud,” you clipped back.

You heard the other guys trying not to laugh as they got into Butcher’s van. Part of you felt bad for teasing Ben, knowing he was already in a bad mood, but you were feeling a bit petty about what happened this morning.

You had to bite your lip against a smile, as you could picture the ill-tempered face your man was likely sporting.

And we’re off.

Lila wasn’t having a good day.

She didn’t feel like coloring, and the toys just weren’t fun today.

She just didn’t want to be here. The other kids smelled like old Cheetos and feet (especially the boys).

She missed you. And though she hadn’t wanted to admit it to you, she missed Daddy too.

Lila wanted to go home…she wanted her mom.

“I’m just downstairs if you need me,” you’d said.

Lila had a kind of plan percolating in her mind, all through the morning, and even through lunch time. She didn’t want to get in trouble, but when she’d asked Miss Sarah if she could go see you, she’d said you were at work and couldn’t come get Lila until later.

But that’s not what Mommy said, Lila thought.

After lunch, she laid on the napping mat with her pillow and blanket, even though she was wide awake. She didn’t want to nap with the other kids, even though Miss Sarah told her it was time to sleep.

Again, Lila didn’t want to be bad. She didn’t want to get in trouble either, but she really, really just wanted to see you.

And you’d said it was okay to go downstairs if she needed you, right?

Lila closed her eyes while Miss Sarah was looking, but she waited until the teacher went into her office to answer a call. Then, Lila carefully put Charlie, her stuffed dog, against her pillow, tucking the blanket up to his neck.

She crawled off her mat and snuck over to the door while Miss Sarah was distracted on her phone. Lila reached up and was just tall enough to twist the doorknob. It led her out of the room, and out into the empty hall. She then looked both ways for a clue on where to go.

She heard a ding, and looked over at a nearby pair of elevators.

The mission went more or less according to plan. Slingshot’s abilities allowed him to stretch every part of his body like elastic. It not only made him hard to catch, but even harder to maim without collateral damage.

A whole block in Chinatown was wrecked in the takedown, but your idea of ripping the cables from a nearby utility pole to electrocute him let Ben finally subdue the elastic supe. Kimiko knocked him out, and Butcher slapped some tight-ass cuffs on him and dragged him into the van. They returned with the rogue supe in custody.

You were mentally exhausted from helping them track down routes to pin down Slingshot, but you were relieved to be done. You were also satisfied that another danger to society was neutralized, for now.

You took pride in your work, and you didn’t think Ben saw that, or thought it was important. You supposed that was what upset you the most about that fight with him.

Sometimes, you wondered if he would ever truly change.

You grabbed your purse and made sure to slip in your gun and taser. You left your office and greeted Frank, who had just finished making his rounds in the building with Loco’s team. Frank joined you on the way to the elevator.

“I meant to ask you, how’s Alana doing?” you asked. Alana was his daughter, who was now in college.

“She’s changed her major yet again,” he said wryly. “This time to philosophy.”

“Philosophy? That’s interesting. What does she want to do with that?” you asked.

“No fucking clue,” he replied, hitting the button for the first floor. “I just hope she gets bored and picks something practical. Like…teaching, or dentistry.”

You shot him a bemused look. “Dentistry?”

“As much money as I put into that girl’s braces, it’d be good for her to pay it forward,” Frank said, in a surly tone that reminded you of Ben. You had to laugh.

You and Frank exited the elevator and started down the hall.

You planned to touch base with Grace Mallory on the safety measures of Slingshot’s containment before he was put into custody. The idea was to house him in a prison cell that could actually hold him until he went through the legal process.

But you’d only gotten halfway down the hall before the supe in question literally stretched past you on unnaturally long legs—in a blur of his white and blue supe suit. Your eyes widened on a gasp as you watched him head toward the elevator you’d just come off of.

“Fuckin’ hell, we’ve got a runner!” Butcher shouted from down the hall. He along with Ben, M.M., Frenchie, Hughie, and Kimiko were rushing your way.

It all happened so fast.

You registered Frank shooting out a protective arm in front of you. You turned back to see the elevator doors had opened back up, and Slingshot rushed inside. He made eye contact with you.

Then his arms shot out like rubber bands. One of them knocked Frank into the far wall. You gasped and froze on reflex.

Ben shouted your name; he was running towards you, getting closer. You were able to meet his wide eyes for a brief moment. He reached out for you, but those stretching arms closed around you first. You gasped when they slung you backwards.

You cried out in shock when your back met a surprisingly solid chest.

Meanwhile, Ben barreled the rest of the way down the hall as the elevators closed just short of his angrily furrowed face.

The stretched arms holding you were tight around your torso, making your grit your teeth as you tried to pull away. They twisted you around so you could face your captor. Or so he could see you.

His natural height was around Butcher’s—dark hair, blue eyes, angular features. He gave you what was probably meant to be a suave smile as those baby blues dragged down your body.

“Hey, baby. Nice heels,” he said. You rolled your eyes.

“So that’s why they call you Slingshot,” you said, still a bit breathless. The elevator started to move. He’d chosen the top floor. “Where do you think you’re gonna go?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he snarked. “Anywhere but here. And you’re gonna help me.”

“How? Being a human shield?”

“For a start,” he smirked down at you. He backed up a step just to take another proper look at you, and he whistled lowly. He took your chin between his sweaty fingers, making you grimace when he stroked your cheek.

“Down boy,” you said warily. “Trust me, you really don’t want to do this.”

This jackass hadn’t even realized you had a small, but noticeable baby bump.

“Why not, babe?” he grinned. “You’ve got the whole sexy librarian thing going on.”

You heard a loud creaking sound outside the elevator doors. The compartment itself came to an abrupt stop, making the lights flicker.

“What the fuck?” Slingshot muttered. His hold around you loosened.

You had an idea of what just happened, with grim satisfaction. You also took advantage of his distraction and managed to slip a hand into your purse.

You pulled out your taser. Slingshot noticed and tried to grab you again, but the elevator somehow started to move in reverse, about a foot a time. It made both of you lose your balance and utter sounds of surprise.

As soon as you regained your footing, you aimed the taser at the most sensitive place you could think of—the supe’s dick and balls.

His howls of pain were loud enough to reach Ben, Frank, and the rest of the team on the third floor. Ben’s face became edged with a smirk.

He kept pulling the elevator cables down until the compartment’s doors were in reach. There he grabbed the doors and pulled them open with his bare hands, crunching metal under his fingers. The moment he saw you, the relief in your eyes, he grabbed your hand and pulled you out, into his arms.

Slingshot was angry, though he managed to recover, rip off the taser’s metal prongs and wires, and evade Kimiko, M.M., and even Butcher when he slithered his way out of the elevator and around their guns. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, and off his body as they followed him down the hall.

Ben focused on you. He brushed his half-gloved hands over your shoulders and sides while he quickly looked you over. There was worry in his eyes, disguised as anger. You caught your breath and held a protective hand over your lower belly out of reflex.

“You okay?” he said, but you were already nodding before he asked.

“I’m fine,” you replied. “Just get him. I’ll get Lila.”

Ben nodded. He shot one last firm look at Frank, who was back at your side. Frank laid a hand on your shoulder as Ben took off down the hall to find Slingshot.

“The stairs are safer at this point,” Frank said.

“I would have to agree,” you said, steeling yourself with a breath.

While you and Frank went downstairs to the second floor, you didn’t see the second elevator ding, its doors opening to your daughter, who ambled out alone. She looked one way down the hall, but hearing her father’s voice carrying down the opposite way, she started venturing in that direction.

If she couldn’t find you, then she’d find her dad.

“What the hell do you mean you lost her?” you shouted at Sarah, the woman who was supposed to be looking after your daughter. “How do you lose a three-year-old at nap time? What kind of incompetent fuck are you?”

Yes, Ben had unfortunately rubbed off on you.

Sarah was in tears by the time you were not even halfway done, but Frank calmed you down with another touch to your shoulder. You had tears of panic stinging in your eyes when you met his gaze, your mouth trembling.

“I just radioed in and put Loco and the rest of the security team on looking for Lila. She can’t have gotten far,” he said.

“Come on! Keep up with me, old man,” Slingshot taunted at Ben. His super flexibility allowed him to keep several steps ahead, dodging any attempts to grab him and any weapons fired with easy dips and playful deflection.

“When I get my hands on you, you flaccid fuck, you won’t know your ass from your ball sack,” Ben growled.

But he crashed into the wall when he took a corner too hard trying to tackle the other supe. He picked himself up from the debris of crumbled wall and plaster, ignoring Kimiko’s offer of a helping hand.

“Big fucking talk from the walking AARP commercial,” Slingshot snorted. He turned around and once again prepared to run. “Try not to shatter a hip, asshole!”

He took off down another bend in the hallway. Meanwhile, Ben shook himself off and joined the others in running after this cocksucker. Ben looked over at Butcher.

“What’s your fucking plan?” he grated out.

Butcher seemed to have an idea growing in his mind. “What’d she do to him in that elevator?”

“Tased his dick, by the sound of it,” Ben replied. He knew what weapons you kept in your purse, and that you'd know better than to fire a gun in an enclosed elevator. Butcher snapped his fingers.

“Electricity. Bloody brilliant,” he said. He pointed at Hughie and grabbed Frenchie by the collar. “You, with me. I’ve got an idea. The rest of ya, get him pinned down.”

“Easier said than done, motherfucker,” M.M. grumbled. But he followed Ben and Kimiko to find their errant supe.

Slingshot played a cocky game, but inside, there was fear.

They’d caught him once, and now, this building was crawling with security, let alone the assholes chasing him.

He was panting for breath when he nearly ran straight into…a kid?

She was wandering around, trying to open a locked door. He skidded to a stop in front of her, and she looked up at him wide-eyed. He tilted his head. She was a cute little thing with brown hair and green eyes. She wore a blouse with cartoon ducks on it over her jeans and sunshine-yellow shoes.

“Hey, cutie. Where you going?” asked Slingshot. “Are you lost?”

“Looking for my mom,” she answered, a bit timidly. The supe gave her an easy smile; inside, he knew he’d just found his collateral, and his ticket out of here.

“Okay. What’s your name?” he asked.

“L…Lila,” she said.

“Pretty name for a pretty girl,” he said, with all due charm. He struck a pose, with his fists held up to his waist. “I can help you, Lila. I’m a superhero.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Like Daddy?”

“Oh, yeah. Your dad and I are friends.” Never mind that he had no fucking clue who her daddy was. He offered her his hand.

Now, Lila knew not to talk to strangers, but if he knew her dad…

After a moment of reluctant indecision, she took his hand. Slingshot tapered a smirk into a more friendly smile.

“Let’s go find him.”

Ben was ahead of the pack, but he soon came to an abrupt stop with wider eyes. He finally found Slingshot, except he had Ben’s daughter by the hand. Slingshot wore a cocky grin as he took the child up into his arms.

“Hey, guys. Who’s this little peanut belong to?” he asked. “Said she was looking for her daddy.”

Ben’s breath turned to lead in his lungs. Lila’s eyes lit up with recognition when she saw him.

“Daddy!”

Ben’s softer gaze shifted from her, hardening once it reached the other supe.

“Let her go,” he growled lowly.

Slingshot’s grin deepened incredulously as he laughed.

“Oh shit, she’s yours?” he exclaimed. “This’s just too fucking perfect.”

“Lila!” your shout came from behind Ben, and you stepped around M.M. and Kimiko.

Ben held out a hand to keep you at bay. He kept his eyes on Slingshot, but Ben heard your gasp. His stomach dipped, knowing your worry had to be reaching new heights as you took in the situation.

“Ben,” you uttered.

“I’ve got this,” he said to you.

“You don’t got shit, old man,” Slingshot snapped. He shot you a smirk next. “She’s your bitch? Figures.”

“Just let her go,” you implored. You had tears brimming in your eyes. “We can negotiate your release if you promise to be more responsible.”

Ben shot you a glance then. He didn’t intend for this fucker to live, let alone walk the streets of New York again. But he supposed any bluff was worth it at this point.

Meanwhile, seeing the distress on her parents’ faces made Lila begin to break down into tears. She whined, pushing against the supe holding her, wanting to be let go.

“It’s okay, sweetie,” Slingshot cooed. “You’re just gonna take a little trip with me.”

“No!” a ragged shout tore from your throat when he took a few backward steps down the hall.

Ben held you back from following him, all while he tensed with rage. M.M. and Kimiko were also poised to try and stop the supe. But Slingshot tightened his hold on Lila in warning.

“Back the fuck off,” he demanded. “Once I get to JFK and get my ass on a plane, maybe, maybe you see your daughter aga—”

He had to stop short, as he sensed something just outside of his peripheral vision.

It was Butcher, coming at him to swing a baseball bat at the supe’s head.

You screamed in protest, but Butcher was relying on the supe’s reflexes to dodge the bat. He wasn’t disappointed. Slingshot dodged. Though in his distraction, it gave Ben the opening he needed to step into his orbit and land a solid punch across Slingshot’s face.

It not only cracked his jaw, but also caught him off guard enough for his grip on the child to loosen. Ben grabbed his daughter and turned her away in a protective embrace.

Then Frenchie brought Slingshot down with the prongs of a massive taser clipping onto his nipples. He jolted and screamed—and went down hard on the tile floor.

While Hughie and M.M. ushered in the rest of the security team to swarm in and take the supe into custody, you raced forward to Ben and Lila in tears.

Lila was also crying and clinging to Ben’s neck, shaking like a leaf.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” he said quietly, so only she could hear. Lila whimpered and burrowed tighter against his neck.

Tears streamed down your face, but you tried to breathe through it. You rubbed her back and checked her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt.

For Ben, the force of his relief was pounding in his ears. He briefly closed his eyes as he held his daughter closer.

When he opened them again, he met your gaze. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was grab onto his wrist for support. He gave that to you, wrapping his free arm around your waist and pulling you into his side.

“Frank,” he said. His voice was a sharp command. The other man was ready to carry out whatever Ben asked. He also looked relieved to see that Lila was all right.

“Pull the car around,” said Ben. Frank nodded, and went to do just that.

Ben turned to watch in satisfaction when Frenchie and M.M. hauled up a still twitching Slingshot. Butcher slapped a pair of electroshock handcuffs on him that would keep him better contained this time—courtesy of the S.A. armory. He nodded over at Ben, and the latter returned the gesture.

You missed it all, as you were preoccupied with comforting your daughter.

“It’s okay, honey. We’re going home,” you gently whispered to Lila, who was still hiding her face in Ben’s neck. You shared a look with him, and he gave you a short nod. His hand moved to the small of your back, both protective and possessive as the three of you moved towards the garage exit.

There Frank waited with the car that would take your family home.

You watched Ben with the beginning of tears brimming in your eyes. You managed to hold them at bay while he set Lila down in her bed. You’d just finished giving her a bath and helping her get into her pajamas after a quiet, somewhat tense dinner.

Lila still seemed upset in her unusually quiet mood, which you knew was understandable. Ben sat at her bedside and soothed a hand over her head, brushing her cheek with his thumb.

“You’ve had a crazy friggin’ day, huh?” he asked. Lila didn’t want to look at him, but he encouraged it with gentle fingers brushing her chin, teasing the tip of her nose. She hinted at a smile and finally met his eyes. He smiled back at her, if more reserved. But his expression turned serious again.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. He could see it. She had been more or less fine throughout dinner, but now she’d turned quiet and withdrawn again. She only got like that when she was upset about something.

Lila toyed with the ear of her stuffed animal, Charlie. Frank had retrieved it for her from the daycare.

“Sorry I talked to strangers,” Lila mumbled.

You had to bite the inside of your lip so you wouldn’t cry. You came over to sit on the other side of her bed. You sniffed and shook your head, but Ben beat you to what you wanted to say.

“You’re not in trouble, all right? We’re not mad,” he said.

Lila’s lower lip wobbled. Ben sighed and picked her up, plopping her down in his lap. She hugged him as tight as she could and he held her back, warm and secure.

“You know I’m always gonna be there to keep you safe. You never have to worry or be afraid,” he said.

You carded your fingers through Lila’s hair so she knew you were there too. Usually, the roles were reversed, where you were doing the comforting and Ben was the solid support. Right now though, you just didn’t have the words. Not when guilt was eating you from the inside out.

Fortunately, your husband did have the words, after he heaved a sigh.

“I might raise my voice, sometimes, but uh…you never have to be afraid of me either. Okay?” he said.

"Mhmm," Lila agreed.

You laid hand on Ben's arm, gently squeezing. He met your gaze, and knew what you were prodding with just that look in your eyes.

Briefly, he hesitated before he looked back down at his daughter.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he said.

Lila nodded against his chest. “It's okay.”

“Good,” he said, laying a kiss on her forehead. “All right, you ready to go to bed?”

She clung to him and made a sound of refusal.

You were finally able to crack a smile. You leaned down by her ear.

“You want Daddy to read you a story first?” you asked.

Ben shot you a look at the way you volunteered him for that. He was tired and drained.

But one hopeful, shiny look from his daughter, and he folded like a deck of cards.

Later, when Lila was asleep, you tucked her in one last time and Ben turned out the light. He kept the door cracked open, just in case she called for either one of you tonight.

Then, somehow, you and Ben ended up in the kitchen instead of the bedroom. As exhausted as both of you were, you needed this moment to decompress, with one of your old favorite pastimes…

He broke out the whiskey while you found an appropriate midnight snack, and then a seat with him at the breakfast bar. The two of you shared a companionable silence, as well as a large bag of sea salt and vinegar chips.

That was sort of how you felt inside.

“Today can’t happen again,” Ben said, breaking the silence.

You looked over at him, but he was looking beyond you. Maybe so he didn’t have to show you how deeply he’d been rattled. You knew him far too well for that.

“Of course not,” you replied. And you released a sigh. “So here’s what I’m thinking. From now on I’ll work from home, so I can watch Lila until she goes to preschool.”

Ben got ready to argue, but you held up a hand. The other went to rest over your belly. You had scheduled an ultrasound with Dr. Tonya Baker tomorrow, just to make sure all was well after this ordeal.

“I already plan to take my maternity leave when this guy rolls into town,” you said with a smile. “Then, when I’m ready, and if it’s feasible, I can continue to work from home until all the kids are in school.”

Ben’s lips twitched humorlessly. He should’ve known you’d continue making this a negotiation. He set down his glass, and he reached out to slide a hand over yours, across your belly. He took in a deep breath. But when he let it go, you sensed you still hadn’t convinced him.

“Listen, I know you don’t want me to work—” you began.

“It’s not that,” he said. He made sure you looked him in the eyes when he said it. “It’s not.”

Despite yourself, you read the sincerity in his words. It had you pausing, waiting for him to continue.

“You know damn well…that just being around me is dangerous,” he said. “To you, and to Lila. But you being connected with Supe Affairs, working these missions, even from behind a desk, it’s a fucking risk. It’ll always be a risk.”

You considered that with new understanding. You took his hand with both of yours.

“Ben, this life, this work…it’s the same for me as it is for you. It’s all I know how to do. It’s what I’m wired for. So that’s why it’s hard for me to turn down that dial,” you explained. “But look, I understand what you’re saying. Believe me, I do. And today…today was…”

Your breath hitched as tears stung in your eyes. Ben shook his head and tugged you closer.

“Come ‘ere,” he said.

You left your chair to go to him. You stood between his long legs while he pulled you into a warm embrace. Logically, you knew that what happened today wasn’t your fault. However, part of you still felt like a failure of a mother for underestimating the risks of having your daughter at the S.A.

You should’ve known better, you berated yourself. And yet, it was Ben’s words that stopped your train of thought.

“Today wasn't on you,” he said. "Get that thought outta your head."

He knew you well too, and this was one of those times. You wept harder against him, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. He held you, comforted you until you began to calm down.

“Take your maternity leave early,” he said. His deep voice was a rumble. “You’re going to have your hands full with Lila when I’m not here. Unless we hire someone to help you.”

It was an idea you could consider, but who could you trust? That was the question.

Maybe your mother? you thought. You knew she was thinking of retiring from her job in a couple of years anyway.

You sighed and slipped your fingers through Ben’s hair. Your hand came to rest on the back of his neck as you leaned against him.

When Lila came into your lives, you had been so excited to start a family that you hadn’t considered the non-physical side effects. Namely, the sacrifices you would have to make in order to keep your family safe.

Before you met Ben, your job was your life. But today reminded you that your daughter…and your unborn son, were more important to you than your job. No matter how important that job might be for the rest of the world.

“Let’s talk about this more tomorrow,” you said, shaking your head. “I can’t think anymore.”

After a beat of hesitation, he agreed with a nod. Like so many battles before, whatever compromise you and Ben finally reached would be hard won. His hand found your cheek and caressed your skin.

“You still try my fucking patience, you know that?” he muttered.

You smiled tiredly. “Did you really expect that to change?”

He scoffed. Even so, he guided you off his shoulder so that he could claim your lips. His kiss tasted like the burn of whiskey. You met his demanding lips in kind, though you were the first one to part from him slowly.

“I love you,” you whispered a reminder.

Ben nodded and pressed a kiss to your forehead. He lingered there for a moment, as if he could pause the world for a while.

He eventually let out a breath through his nose and allowed himself to be honest.

“I love you too,” he said.

With that shared understanding, he stood from his seat. He drained the last of his glass before he bent to gather you up into his arms. You yelped in surprise, clinging to his shoulders.

“Time for some rest,” Ben said. There was a certain smile on his face, gentler than usual.

He forged a path towards the bedroom. You sighed and laid your head against his chest.

For once, you didn’t argue with him.

AN: I've been wanting to put this one out for a while now. 💚💚 I so hope you enjoyed this chapter of the BMD verse! Do you like how their little family is evolving? 😘

Keep Reading in the BMD-verse:

Coming up next, here's a fluffy Mother's Day special! Check out I've Got You -

Summary: Being pregnant with a supe’s baby isn’t easy, even the second time around. The good news is your husband is all too willing to help you relieve a certain craving.

▶️ Keep Reading: I've Got You

**Aside from the major one-shots and mini series within the BMD-verse, there are some fun Imagines and Headcanons too. Remember to check back on the series masterlist for more BMD stories.

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xoxoavenger · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, I saw your post about wanting some bycky requests I may have one.

Could you please write some Bucky x Fem!Reader where the reader is Tony's daughter? You can choose the plot, I kinda like imagining her being a cop or something like that tho

Feel free to ignore if you don't like it ♡

thank you for getting the ball rolling! I always have reader be adopted, just to have the story be more inclusive (and also to help make the age gap less crazy lol) and I also made reader a SWORD agent instead to fit the storyline, but this helped so much, thank you!

Win

pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!Reader

summary: Bucky's running for Congress, and he needs a win to help make some change. Y/N's just trying to support him the best she can.

word count: 2799

warnings: reader is adopted, age gap (MCU is in 2027 everyone so by my math reader is like late 30s, Bucky is mid-fourties, but you can imagine it however you want there's no specifics), if you're new here reader calls Bucky 'James' bc i like that and think it's cute, Bucky has some issues, written pre-Thunderbolts movie release so there could be some future inaccuracies

masterlist

Bucky knew he could never actually retire.

It was a nice thought, but in practice he hated how fucked the world was, how much he seemed like part of the the problem. It's why he's running for Congress, so he can make a difference in a way that doesn't have anything to do with violence.

He's in a deep in paperwork when she walks in, pantsuit ironed to perfection and a folder of papers he's sure are for him in her arms.

"Mr. Barnes," She smiles, and Bucky's never been more happy to see her. "I've brought some papers from Media, most of them about you smiling more. I told them you shouldn't lie before you've even gotten into office, but they refused to see how smiling could be this big of a problem. So clearly, they don't know you very well." Y/N Stark is a ray sunshine in Bucky's office, and he doesn't know how he got her.

SWORD agent Y/N Stark, adopted by Tony Stark after Nat saved her from the Black Widow program just before meeting Tony in 2008 while she was in Budapest, believing that Y/N had been the last of the Red Room. Y/N had been just 16, and Natasha wasn't in the greatest place to be a guardian. To be fair, neither was Tony, but at least she also had Pepper. Y/N changed her last name before she turned 18, since her parents had given her up as a baby and she didn't like her past defining her. Bucky had first met her when fighting at the airport in 2016, and after they went into hiding Bucky had talked Steve into sending Y/N a package just like Tony had gotten, and she had called. They began dating in secret, as she helped SHEILD rebuild itself as SWORD, and was granted entrance into Wakanda to visit him as he healed from the trigger words. They were finally getting back to where they had been before the snap, when Bucky had disappeared and Y/N had lived five years in grief.

But now Bucky was trying to figure out how to get her to retire and work with him, because he thinks a change might be exactly what he needs to make him feel better. The more he learns about politics, the more he doesn't know how to make the change he wants to.

"Well," Bucky leans back in his seat, stretching his back. He's been sitting all day, a harsh change from his life before, but he honestly likes it. It feels nice to not be conditioned to fight at every second, to be able to relax even just a little bit. "I hope you told them I'm not doing that." He says lowly, and his fiancé rolls her eyes with large grin.

"How did I end up with a hundred and three year old grump?" She asks, walking all the way in and dropping the papers on his desk. Bucky reaches up and pulls her into his lap, pushing her jacket back because he loves to see the leather vest she wears that holsters her gun over the white button up blouse.

"It's actually a hundred and ten." He says. He knows that she knows this, that she knows his actual birthday even if everyone likes to pretend that he wasn't frozen and used by HYDRA for years which makes him actually in his late thirties, maybe early forties.

"Ugh, old man." She says, but her smile is painted on, almost like the opposite of her.

"You love it." He leans his mouth up, and she leans down to give him a quick kiss. This isn't enough for him, and he leans back in to chase her lips.

"James, people actually work in this office. They don't want to see a couple macking in the middle of the day." She says as she gets off his lap, which makes Bucky upset.

"Macking?" He questions, because she's always using these words that he has no idea what they mean.

"Come on, grab your papers and let's go." She doesn't explain the word, instead holding out a hand that Bucky only grabs onto, not letting her pull him up and out of his seat.

"I can't leave yet." He wants to, he really does, but he has so much work to do. The election is coming up faster and faster, and he feels his opportunity to change things slipping through his fingers.

"James," She whispers, yanking on him to no avail. She frowns, and he wishes for a moment that he could just stop everything and go home with her.

"I can't lose." He tells her softly, and she just nods, even though she doesn't fully understand.

"Okay." She lets her hand slip out of his, and Bucky wishes that he could go back to those nights they spent in Wakanda. They were so unrushed, so calm. "I'll see you at home, then." She calls over her shoulder as she exits the room, a smile on her face even though he can hear the hurt in her voice.

"I'll bring dinner." He says, knowing that he always drives past her favorite restaurant. He needs to make it up to her, but she's shaking her head with her lips tight.

"I won't count on it. Maybe we can go out to dinner on the weekend." She says, and he nods in understanding. He's late to get home a lot, but this is important to him. Doing this without Steve, without Y/N's name or money, it's almost like he has to prove that he can make it in society.

"I love you," He says, and when she responds he turns back to his work. It's the last thing he wants to do, but he refuses Y/N's offers to get him a full team with a full New York office. He's going to do this on his own.

He can do this.

When Bucky loses the election, he wishes he could say that he saw it coming.

He knew about the people calling him unfit, knew about how a lot of people thought he was emotionally unstable despite his record of therapy. The people who never forgave him for his crimes, the ones that he was under mind control for, the ones he doesn't even remember committing. But for a second, he thought that they could look past that and see the good he was trying to do. Y/N calls as soon as the news is announced, but Bucky is already packing his shit up and leaving the the office.

When she gets home, his metal arm is disconnected from his body and hidden away somewhere. In his right hand, he has a stiff drink, and he's staring at the tv, on a low volume but playing the news.

"James," She whispers, slipping her shoes off and walking over to him. "I'm so sorry, babe." She tells him, walking onto his couch and folding a leg under her as she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"I wanted to do something." He says, eyes glassy. He doesn't even look at her, but he's not really looking at the TV anymore. "Ever since I fell off that train 1945, my life hasn't felt like my own. I haven't done anything to help anyone. All I've done is watch my own life pass before my eyes, watch the families of people I killed," A tear falls, and his face scrunches as tries to hold it in.

"You helped save the world." She says, not mentioning the fact that Bucky doesn't seem to think that she was a good thing. He's clearly in a dark place right now, and her bringing herself up isn't going to help anything. All these comments from people who have nothing better but to hid behind a screen have him slipping back to before he went to therapy, and Y/N hates this. "You saved those hostages when everything was going down with the Flagsmashers. You are a good man. You have done good things. You can't let these people who think they know your past get into your head."

"I just feel so helpless." He finally looks at her, and her heart breaks. "I saved the world, but did I really make a difference? I didn't sacrifice myself like your dad did. I can't lift Thor's hammer like Steve. I'm not Captain fucking America. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could do this one thing. This one fucking small act. But my life doesn't change. I can't be the White Wolf, because I'm already the Winter Solider." His voice cracks, and Y/N pulls him into her arms. She wishes people could see Bucky Barnes the way she does, the way he loves, the way he cares.

"You would have made a great Congressman." She tells him honestly, pushing some of the long hair he's been growing out away from his face. "And I'm proud of you for trying. We'll find a way to get you to make a difference the way you want to. This wasn't your path, but that doesn't mean that you aren't destined for change." He smiles through his tears, and they share a chaste kiss before Y/N helps him to the shower.

Three weeks later, Y/N wishes she could say she was surprised when she sees Bucky standing in the middle of New York, staring at the Void that Y/N had been sent out to collect data on.

"James?" Y/N screams over the wind, and Bucky's eyes widen. Even if he didn't hear her voice, he would have known because she's the only one that calls him by his first name. She's done it since they met, and every time he asks why she just laughs and doesn't answer the question.

"Oh, fuck." He mutters, causing everyone to look over at him.

"What?" Alexi asks loudly, never one for subtlety.

"What on God's green earth do you think you're doing here?" She asks, walking up to Bucky. She feels the need to slap her fiancé, hit him with the new ring he got her, but she controls herself.

"Y/N," Bucky starts, turning around and looking at her. The metal arm is reattached, his tactical suit on. When she left his morning he was still asleep, but she did know that something was different lately. This problem they were having with a super human who had insanely terrifying void powers, and they had basically no information about them. She had been so busy that she didn't have time to figure out why Bucky was acting different; she naively assumed that he was healing after his loss. He walks closer to her, trying to keep their conversation private.

"I swear," She looks beyond mad, and Bucky knows everyone is watching them. "I have too many thoughts right now to fully articulate how I'm feeling." She tells him, and he knows he deserves this.

"I meant to tell you," He truly did, but he just never felt like there was enough time. This was conversation that required more tact than he thought he had at the moment. It's not that he was trying to lie to his fiancé, but he knew he wasn't actively telling the truth.

"Are you gonna introduce me to your new friends?" She asks sarcastically, waving at them all around Bucky's body. She recognizes Natasha's sister, Yelena, but that's about it. As she scans the rest of the group, however, she sees another face. "Oh, you've gotta be shitting me." She says, watching John realize that she's locked in on him.

"No, no, no, Y/N, please, just let me explain," He grabs her around the waist when she starts to march over to him, because while he would never underestimate her he also knows that John is a different person with the serum in him.

"John fucking Walker, James? Really?" She yells, loud over the quiet, deserted street.

"James?" Yelena repeats with a small smile, and Y/N turns her murderous glare to the ex-Black Widow.

"Who the fuck are you people?" She asks, letting Bucky turn so he's facing the team and on Y/N's side.

"We're the Thunderbolts!" A large Russian man in a red yells, smiling widely. Y/N blinks, then looks at Bucky.

"That's not our name." He says to her, as if that actually matters.

"Oh my God," She whispers, because she's not sure what's actually going on anymore.

"I am Yelena. We've heard a lot about you, Y/N Stark." Yelena says with a smirk, and Y/N forces a tight smile. She puts emphasis on the last name, because even though they only knew each other briefly, Y/N had met Yelena in the Red Room once or twice.

"Thanks for the introduction. As for the rest of you, except off brand stars and stripes over here, could you please tell me what this is?" She asks, because she figures her fiancé isn't going to tell her now.

"We're a team." A girl in a completely grey suit says.

"Like the Avengers!" The man in the red suit yells, and Y/N turns to Bucky.

"No." He disagrees, and she just nods, eyes closed. "I swear to you, Y/N, I have tried to tell you, but I didn't know if you'd understand. I just, I needed to do something." And she gets it. She knows that he's been having this issue, and she knows it had to have been hard for him to tell her.

"I'm still mad at you." She says with a sigh.

"I know." He smiles, putting a hand on her back and pulling her forward to kiss her forehead. "Now, you should get out of here. We can take care of this." He gestures to the giant Void that was looming in the distance.

"I have to do my job, James, I can't just,"

"You can join us!" Red suit says once more, and Bucky turns to glare at him before Y/N can say anything. She jumps in, not wanting to deal with the threat that is probably going to come out of Bucky's mouth.

"I have a job. But this seems like such a great group." She says sarcastically, aiming it at John, who scowls.

"I am not that bad." He argues, and Bucky has to grab her arm to ensure she won't jump him.

"I don't think anyone has lost a job faster than you fucked up being Captain America, you absolute shit stick." She tells him, which clearly strikes a nerve.

"You wanna talk about losing Captain America? Are we sure Bucky here was your first choice?" John has that smirk that Y/N wants to slap right off his face, but she's not sure he wouldn't kill me.

"Are you kidding me?" Yelena yells over them, and Y/N knows she should feel like a scolded child, but she just feels rage at John Walker. "There's a goddamn Void behind us that is eating people, and you two are fighting over the fact that he annoys you?" She looks at Y/N, who is somehow even more angry

"Yelena, I don't know if you're mad at me because N,-" Bucky is placing his right hand over her mouth, knowing exactly what Y/N was about to say and how she was going to single handedly take this team down. Everyone was very volatile, and he knew that the slightest thing could set them off.

"Please, just let me handle this? I'll see you at home." He is not above begging, and he knows he has to in order to get her home.

"I was sent here for a reason." She argues, because she's not gonna let her man stop her from doing her job.

"By the time you get what you need, we'll have taken care of this. So just go home,"

"Do not tell me-"

"Y/N, please." He finally looks at her with big eyes, and she is trying to hold her ground.

"This is my job, James. Ya know, the job that pays for our apartment." She's not mad anymore, because she knows Bucky just wants to protect her. But she won't back down without a fight.

"What if I pick up dinner?" He sweetens the pot, and she sighs.

"If you're late, Barnes," She threatens, leaning up to kiss him. He smiles at his win.

"I won't be." He has no way of knowing if he'll be late or not, they both know this, but it's the thought that counts. She gives him one more kiss and then walks away, listening to the conversation between the Thunderbolts.

"Who woulda thought Bucky had a sugar mommy." John says, and while Y/N can't see it, she hears Bucky's fist meet his face and Yelena's laugh.

"You deserved that." The Russian man says, and Y/N couldn't agree more.

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#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #marvel imagine

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