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ittybittyfanblog · 7 months ago

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Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?��

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #sylus x non mc reader #sylus x oc #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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buckets-and-trees · 1 month ago

Note

Imagine: villain (masked/hidden) choose one the city or your lover (y/n).

Hero leaves to save the city and y/n exposes themselves saying “you were right” to the villain (Bucky) if possible maybe a little angst abandonment and seeking comfort via buckyxreader with some smut if you have the time 👉👈 if you do thank you and please tag me I love your writing and I love saving to reread!

Take My Hand

Characters/Pairings: MMC x curvy Millennial female!Reader, Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes Word Count: 13k Summary: You're brought into a plot that you never asked for, caught between two men, former best friends.

Content/Warnings: kidnapping; drugging; angst; explicit smut: vaginal fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected vaginal intercourse, anal fingering

Notes: This was a the last piece leftover from the little request fest I threw when I hit 300 followers. This week I've just hit 3500. I've always had an idea of wanting to tell a story with this prompt featuring a post-Thunderbolts Bucky, and as time wore on and we got closer to the movie ACTUALLY coming out, it seemed better to wait and see what would happen. It only gave more for me to work into my original idea, and I'm really pleased with how it turned out now. I sketched out most of the outline and quite a bit of dialogue back in spring/summer of 2023, and the majority of that is still here, including the fic title.

Additional Note: Trotting this out for week WEEK FOUR of @buckybarnesevents' Hot Bucky Summer - it's free week, but I did use Anal Play and Aftercare here.

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The taste in your mouth is wet coins.

For a long, soft moment, you assume you must have rolled off your own bed and onto the floor, but the linoleum—if it is linoleum—is too cold and too smooth, and the air had that sterile, metallic nip associated with hospital waiting rooms and broken lightbulbs.

And why would you have rolled off your bed onto the floor? You weren’t in bed the last moment you remember, and you wouldn’t have fallen asleep in your clothes.

No, the last thing you remember was softly closing your front door behind you, humming to yourself as you flicked the lock closed, and then a sudden sting to your neck.

There’s a sting in your eyes now because you realize the awful truth.

The worst case scenario you and your boyfriend had only ever spoken about once because it was a viable possibility, a hazard of dating him: you’d been kidnapped.

You sit up, gracelessly, and your teeth chatter. You let yourself feel the terror, but only for a heartbeat—your brain rings with it, a tuning fork of dread, and you clamp it down, hard, into the pit of your stomach where it radiates. Not now. You need to think.

You take inventory: arms and legs both work, hands still attached, no obvious wounds besides the soreness blooming at your neck like a thumbprint on a peach. You press the tender spot and wince.

The room is not what you would have imagined for a kidnapping. It’s wintry and lit too brightly. You’re inside a small cube, walling you off with thick, aquarium-grade panels of glass. The encasement is large enough for you to reasonably pace back and forth, but there’s no furniture, no cot or even a pillow or a bowl of water. Whoever has taken you must not plan on keeping you here long, and that could be either very good or very bad for you.

Beyond the glass, the room is cathedral-big, with a single wall of windows running from floor to ceiling. Daylight pours in, and by your best guess it’s afternoon sunlight. Probably the same afternoon you were taken as you’re not hungry or thirsty.

Scratch that.

You are thirsty, but not uncomfortably so.

You swab your tongue around your gums, tasting metal and something else—something faint and sharp, like ozone during a summer thunderstorm. There is no handle or aperture on your side of the glass, only a seamless plane, and you get the sense that were you to pound your fists on it, it would barely quiver. Still, you raise your hand and press your palm to the surface, feeling its chill seep into your bones.

Nothing. No movement, no sign of life in the luminous cathedral beyond.

It isn’t fear that keeps you quiet, exactly. You simply know, with a fundamental certainty, that if you were to scream or shout, no one would come. You’re a captive sentenced to solitude until someone deigns to antagonize or rescue you.

The silence is not total. There is a white noise, a faint thrum—ventilation, perhaps, or some slow machine grinding in the bowels of the building. If it is a building. You aren’t sure what else it could be, but it feels crucial not to assume.

You check yourself for tracking bugs, but you’re still clothed: a hoodie, jeans, your comfortable sneakers. You didn’t dress for comfort in case of kidnap, but at least that went well for you with what the universe apparently had in store for you today. You have your watch - an old piece from your grandmother, no smart capabilities there, which is probably why it’s still on your wrist. No phone, of course, and your pockets are nearly empty. Lint in one and - thoughtfully for whoever this villain and their cronies are - your lip balm in the other.

At least you won’t have chapped lips.

You pace the perimeter, mapping the enclosure with your steps. Six and a half paces by five, three full circuits before your limbs stop feeling groggy and your brain thundering with each heartbeat.

After the third circuit, you crouch, and then sink down to the ground, pressing your back up against the glass, facing forward to the wall of windows. Unfortunately you’re not even close enough to the windows to catch any of the sunlight - would’ve been nice to be able to bathe in it sleepily like a housecat.

You count your breaths. By forty-two, you’re over it. You slide down the glass a little further, legs splayed. You rest your head against the glass panel and close your eyes, just for the luxury of not seeing where you are.

You are almost comfortable, almost numbed into resignation, when the silence is broken by a blunt, echoing clank.

You shift on instinct, drawing your knees up to crouch defensively, ready to propel yourself in either direction or attack if needed, though there isn’t much direction to go.

There’s a second clank, sharper. A shadow falls across the threshold, and then a white panel in the wall slides away like a bank vault, soundless, on hidden rails. The cold is sharper now, and you catch the smell of winter through the climate-controlled sterility: iron, gun oil, something so clean it’s almost dangerous.

A figure enters, and your surge of adrenaline is strong and immediate, tinged with hope, and your heart soars. This is not your captor, not a faceless goon or a hissing cackler like you’d half-expected. This is someone you know.

Bucky Barnes.

It’s not your boyfriend, but one of his old trusty allies, though it’s been a long time since he and Sam have worked together or even seen each other.

He is broader than you remember, hair falling in dark, soft waves around his face. He’s not in tactical gear, instead wearing a charcoal suit that fits him too well, like he used to when he was a senator. That’s when you’d first met him.

His eyes are the pale blue of a glacier's heart, flat and expressionless, and for a moment you think maybe this isn't Bucky. Maybe it's the other him, the one people used to fear - the old Winter Soldier, not the one who was part of the New Avengers, not the one who had worked with Sam, not the one they called the White Wolf.

He stands behind the glass, and you realize the panel has remained opened in the outer chamber, but not for you. It's for him. Your throat closes, choking on his name.

"Bucky?" you croak, and then wish you hadn't. The sound is needy, broken. You weren't going to be that person—someone who begged at the first sight of a familiar face.

He looks at you, head tilting very slightly, as if he's listening to music only he can hear.

“Are you hurt?” His voice sounds normal, maybe a little raspier than you remember, but still warm enough to seep through the wall and thaw your panic a degree. You shake your head. The glass does nothing to blur your expression, so you let it hang open, let him see everything you’re feeling, the fear and the hope braided together into something that tastes as bitter as old coffee.

Bucky studies you with that same tilted curiosity, the kind that makes you feel like he’s already taken you apart in his mind and knows exactly how you’re put together.

You edge forward, still on your knees. “Where’s Sam?” you ask, and the moment you say it, the question feels both necessary and perilous.

Bucky glances at the panel behind him, lips pressed together as if considering whether to share the answer or let it fester.

He glances over his shoulder. You realize then he’s not alone in the cathedral beyond. Two figures—faceless in sleek black, like chess pieces—stand sentinel behind him. They don’t move, don’t even appear to breathe, and a cold animal part of your brain registers that they don’t need to. They’re just there to watch.

He steps closer, so close his breath briefly fogs a patch of the glass between you. “He’s busy, but he’s on his way.”

Coolness spreads through your veins.

Bucky’s eyes flick to the corners of the cube, where cameras you hadn’t noticed are now winking alive, the power inlet’s red dots glaring. You’re being recorded—filmed, archived, maybe studied—and the revelation lands with a dull, resonant thud. You try not to show your panic on your face, but your body betrays you: fingers curl, jaw tenses, pupils go wide.

He is not here for a rescue. You know it before you know you know it.

"Why am I here, Bucky?" Your question comes out too steady. You want to throw something at him—your shoe, your voice, your fear—but there’s not enough space in this box for anger, only the condensation of every instinct you have, crowding in, begging you to understand.

“The safest place for you right now is here.” He says it quietly, like he’s apologizing, but the immediacy of it, the lack of debate, has your mind racing, his words in no way soothing.

“Bucky,” you say, “let me out.”

He shakes his head, almost fondly. “I can’t. Not yet.”

You stand, legs trembling, and you press both hands to the glass when you say, “Please. Whatever this is, don’t do this.”

You expect him to sigh or look away, but instead Bucky studies you with that lethal patience you’ve seen before, the one that made you want to work for his congressional campaign when you first met him, the one that made him a shrewd negotiator in the House of Representatives. He waits so long you want to scream, but then he raises his hand—slow, deliberate—and presses it to the glass, palm-to-palm with yours. Despite physics, you almost feel the pressure, the almost-heat leaking across the boundary.

"It’s already done," he says.

You stare at him, a thousand implications creasing into your mind, none of them good. "What have you done?" you whisper, because you know it’s not only about the kidnapping, not really.

Bucky’s jaw flexes, and, again, he doesn’t speak right away. His fingers splay, as if wanting to catch yours on the other side, and then curl into a fist, knuckles whitening against the cold.

“Technically speaking, I haven’t done anything yet,” he says. A smile, thin and wintry, crosses his lips. “But I did send a message.” He says it with the offhand air of someone admitting to forgetting to water their plants.

Your brain scrambles. “A message to who? Sam?”

He shakes his head, though not in the way someone would if they were lying. “To enough people at the top - Sam, Valentina, government officials.”

He waits for you to catch up. Sam hadn’t been able to tell you about the message he’d received - common when he got called away to do Captain America work - but he’d looked more concerned than usual.

You watch Bucky’s face for hints, for the shadow of an old self or a new one. Bucky, who once avoided all but necessity, has always been the kind of person who made statements with action, not words. But this—this was theater.

He leans a shoulder against the glass, as if the two of you are just tired of standing at a long party, finding a quiet spot together. “Do you want to know what it said?”

You don’t.

But you nod, because not-knowing is the same as being powerless, and you can’t bear the cold feeling of helplessness.

He cocks his head, almost gently. “It said that unless certain demands were met, a biotoxin would be released at the heart of Manhattan. Three hours for it to spread across the borough. After that, containment would be impossible. The message detailed three drop points for the ransom, and a protocol for negotiation.” He says it without bravado, a recitation of fact, as if he’s reading it from cue cards in his head.

You try to laugh. It comes out as a dry, shuddering guffaw. “That’s—cartoon villain stuff, Bucky.”

He shrugs, as if that’s the point.

You rub your hands over your face, and for a moment you are tempted to laugh harder, because this is what Sam always used to joke about: that Bucky operated on logic so clean it seemed mad, his thinking a locked-room puzzle with only one solution.

“Why?”

“No one was listening to anything else anymore.”

You swallow, but your mouth is dry again. “You could’ve called Sam.”

Bucky’s eyes flicker, and for a second you see the old pain underneath, a wince almost too quick to mark. But in its wake is an emotionless frown. “You know I couldn’t.”

Your chest hollows at the words because you know he’s right. He and Sam haven’t spoken for months, and the last time they did, it went poorly.

Bucky is watching you with a steady, unblinking intensity. You get the unsettling sense he’s rehearsed this conversation in his head, every line and gesture.

“Sam has forty-seven minutes to show up here and deliver the payment,” Bucky continues.

“Does Sam know it’s you?” you ask.

He considers the question, lets his eyes drag up and down the box, your body, your face. “No,” he says. “Not yet.”

“And what then?” You press. “He comes, you do your villain monologue, and what, he hands over cash and saves the day?”

“Untraceable cryptocurrency. And it’s not money I’m after.”

Bucky stands there, his blue eyes eating the distance between you. There’s a hush like reverence, like the building itself is holding its breath. Both of you are silent, and for a moment the glass between you softens, your memories of him rewinding to that first campaign event in the corridor of the Natural Hisory Museum, when he’d looked at you so long and so full of yearning, but you’d just started working his PR team days before, and neither one of you had wanted to cross professional boundaries. You’d met Sam later that night.

But that look… He’s looking at you like that now, older and sadder, but somehow more intent.

He presses his forehead to the glass, and it seems less like a threat and more like a confession. "You know," he says, voice low, "I still think about the night I introduced you to Sam. I wanted to kiss you then. Think I should’ve. Instead, I decided it would be less complicated to let my best friend take a chance with you instead. I knew you’d be good for each other."

The ache in your chest shifts, nostalgia and fear suddenly indistinguishable. You stare at the space between you and try not to let it show, the old hunger, the regret.

But there’s anger there now, too.

"You don’t get to say things like that," you respond.

“You can’t stop me.”

You want to spit or hiss or stomp at him, say something sharp and scathing, but your own feelings are scattered and skittering as you try to make sense of this situation.

“Don’t try and say you did this all for me,” you finally manage, and you almost sound angry.

And you are. But you’re also tangled by a feeling you’d buried years ago when you committed to Sam, convinced yourself that your short stint of longing for Bucky was little more than a whim. But it is still there, uncovered from a place you forgot existed, reverberating in your bones, making you ache.

Something in his face flickers, another microexpression so brief you almost miss it. He leans back from the glass, folding his arms, the suit tightening across his chest. “I won’t lie to you. This isn’t all for you, and it isn’t all for Sam.” His voice turns quiet, almost uncertain. “But if I didn’t want you, I would have done this without you. You weren’t necessary for the plan, but you’re certainly worth it.” He lets the words hang between you, sees the way they knot your throat. “So don’t doubt how much I want you.”

That admission robs you of the breath from your lungs. You only realize your jaw has dropped when he smirks.

“Now,” Bucky resumes, beginning to pace casually in front of you. You know it’s a move to momentarily lower the stakes given everything he’s just said. “Once Sam gets here, I’m going to offer him a choice: save you or save the city.”

“He’s going to pick the city,” you respond automatically.

“Oh, we both know that’s not even a question for our dutiful Captain America, but I want you to observe and assess how long it takes him to make the decision.”

Your brow furrows.

“He will disappoint you,” Bucky says.

“Bucky, don’t say that. Don’t be cruel.”

His eyes flick back to yours, and for a second they’re raw, not glacial at all, but blue as bruises. “I’m not trying to be cruel. I want you to see the world as it is. As I do now.” He pauses. “You once said only the honest stuff matters. Remember?”

You do remember. On the rooftop of a hotel in D.C., debating a speech draft, Bucky had said honesty was the only way to cut through the noise. You’d laughed—knowing how honesty had almost destroyed him once—and now you wished you hadn’t. You wished you’d listened more closely.

He presses his hand to the glass again, his whole body vibrating with something that looks like need and restraint, and maybe a dash of childish hope.

You want to hate him, but you can’t. Maybe you could if it were anyone else, if the person threatening your life and Sam’s career and the largest city in the country, hadn’t seeped into your heart so long ago.

And why was that romantic ripple resurfacing now when you’d been so content to have him platonically exist in your life?

You had been content with Sam.

You still were.

You look away, throat raw.

"And if Sam doesn't come for me?"

Bucky’s laugh is soft, brief, and not as cruel as a villain’s should be. "He will.”

And he does.

Same bursts onto the scene when there are only twenty-seven minutes left to save the city.

“All of this was you? All along?” Sam thunders at Bucky.

He still has a hand on the glass, having rushed to you the second he saw you were part of this messy situation, too, but his full attention was now on the other man.

Apparently your kidnapping is something Sam hadn’t discovered until this moment. Which made sense. He’d left your apartment to take care of the world, and it was still the same day. He hadn’t even had time to reasonably have figured out you’d gone missing.

“That explains why this whole area is a dead zone for Red Wing,” Sam adds.

Bucky’s only response: a shrug.

He oozes such nonchalance you know it’s boiling Sam’s blood more than almost anything else.

“Come on, man, this isn’t you,” Sam insists.

Bucky cocks his head to the side. “Except clearly it is. And isn’t it inevitable? Just going back to my roots, right? Like everyone said about me and the rest of the New Avengers. Only a matter of time until we reverted to our nefarious settings.”

Sam’s jaw tenses. “That’s not what I said. I never said that about you.” Sam’s voice is tight, incredulous but not, you realize, surprised. “You think I ever saw you that way? After everything?”

“No?” Bucky’s lips tick up at the corners. “Could’ve fooled me. You remember the last time we talked, right? The argument over who had claim to the team, the name, the whole damn legacy? You know I never wanted any of that. Valentina made sure my face was on the front page for her own benefit, not mine. That was her power move, not mine.”

Sam’s gaze doesn’t waver. “You let her.”

Bucky’s hands flex at his sides; the metal fingers twitch and sing against each other. “I let her because I knew where the real threats were. I thought I could steer if I had one hand on the wheel, if I knew what was coming, turns out I was wrong. You want to talk about legacies, Sam? You got to choose yours. All I ever got was a list of people to kill that just keeps getting longer.”

You can see the hurt behind Bucky’s words; it’s so absent of melodrama that it slaps harder than any shouted accusation. Sam stands still, breathing hard through his nose, shoulders squared for a fight neither of them wants but both are already losing.

“Bucky,” Sam says softer now, “I know you think this is the only way, but there’s always another way. Give me the protocol. I’ll fix it. I promise. You can trust me. You always have.”

Bucky’s laugh is ugly and quiet. “You’ll fix it? That’s the problem. Nobody wants it fixed, Sam. The world is addicted to the circus.”

Sam stands very straight. His fist on the glass trembles, a visible effort not to lose his composure. “This isn’t justice. You don’t fix the world by threatening to destroy it.”

“Don’t I? The only thing anyone listens to anymore is a gun to the head. Or in this case a virus to the water supply.”

Bucky draws in a long, deliberate breath, scanning the cathedral-sized chamber as if taking the measure of human history. It’s another theatrical move. You can see so plainly now that Bucky’s pushing Sam’s buttons on purpose. "Now," he says, letting his hands drop to his sides, "I assume you came ready to make the drop. It's a big ask, I know. One point eight billion is a lot of zeros, even for Uncle Sam."

Sam doesn't flinch. "The money’s ready, untraceable transfer, just like you wanted." He threw a pointed look at the two sentinels waiting beyond Bucky, then back to him. "Now drop the coordinates and the codes. Let the authorities handle the rest. Hell, let me handle it if you want."

They exchange small drives - tossing them at the same time to each other from across the short distance. Sam is already pressing the one he caught to the technology face on the panel in the forearm of his suit, and you can see Bucky uploading his funds to a small device in his hand.

“We good now?” Sam asks.

Bucky looks up, one eyebrow raised. "You think I’d make it that simple? After all the theatrics so far? You’re still thinking in terms of clean beginnings and endings. But that’s not how any of this will work,” Bucky deadpans. “Obviously I’ve brought our guest of honor for a reason,” he shifts the focus back to you.

Sam’s eyes flick past Bucky to you, searching for some sign. You give him a small nod, as if to say: I’m okay, keep going, don’t let him win.

But what would winning mean here? What would losing?

Sam’s jaw tics. “You’re not going to do this. You don’t want to hurt anyone. Not really.”

“There’s always a choice, Sam. That’s what you used to say.” Bucky looks, for a moment, almost apologetic. “The system at the deployment site—the only way to access the control terminal is with a biometric confirmation. Yours, Sam. No one else on earth, not even me, could get past it once it’s locked. You’re the linchpin.”

You don’t see the move, not even the flicker of Bucky’s hand—there’s only a flick of light, an infinitesimal click, then a cold bite in your neck. Your hand slaps toward it by reflex; your fingers close over a dart, needle still vibrating where it breached skin. At first, you think it’s a threat, an empty goad to make Sam act, but then your chest constricts, heart stuttering, then galloping so fast you can’t count the beats. Your vision pulses, the color and contrast cranked up to a sickly, menacing degree.

Sam shouts your name. He pounds the glass, rips the shield off his back and tries to breach it with a throw of the titanium to no avail.

So it’s more than mere glass.

Unable to penetrate the clear walls of your cage, Sam round on Bucky. “So you’re going to make me decide. Save the city, or save her.”

“That’s the game.” Bucky finally lets his eyes rest on you again, and the sadness in them isn’t performative, though everything else about this situation is. “If you’re fast enough, maybe you could do both, but is that a gamble you’re willing to take?”

“Damn you, Bucky Barnes!”

Bucky shrugs again. “We can talk it out, if it will make you feel better.”

Bucky rotates his wrist, metal joints clicking. When he continues, his voice is matter-of-fact. “You go for the city right now, you have time to stop this, a win for sure, maybe have time to come back and save her.”

Bucky then nods toward your glass enclosure.

"If you choose her over the city, you can probably get her to a medical professional quickly enough that they can sort her out. You’ll probably miss the window to prevent contamination though. But there will likely be enough time for them to synthesize an antidote. I made sure to use something new. Not in the wild yet. They’ll quarantine and triage, and–”

“Stop, Buck!” Sam cuts him off.

Then your boyfriend turns to you, and his face is soft, the expression broken, pain in his eyes. Sam’s voice is rough as gravel, but clear: “I can’t make a sacrifice like that. Not ever.”

The words hang in the air, immense and echoing. Bucky’s expression doesn’t change, but you see the faintest tremor in the way he sets his jaw—more evidence than any confession that he’d always known what Sam would say.

Sam presses his hand to the glass, and you meet it with your visibly trembling hand. But the gesture seems to pain him as if there wasn’t a barrier between you. “I’m sorry,” he says, and it’s for you, not for Bucky or the world. “I have to.” The words come thick, strangled.

You want to say something clever, something reassuring, but the only thing that escapes in the clenched space of your chest is, “I know.” It escapes in a whisper; your lips barely shape the words.

You let yourself cry, and Sam watches, helpless, his own eyes shining with the effort of keeping himself together. You knew he would choose the city, he had to, but you wish he had shown even a moment of hesitation. Half a moment.

Then Sam turns back to face Bucky. “You won’t get away with this.”

Bucky’s mouth tugs to one side, almost a smirk, but more like something cracked and resisting the urge to bleed out. “Of course I will,” he says. “That’s the game, right? The dangerous former fist of Hydra goes berserk, but only in a way the right people see. If you pull this off, it all stays classified. Just another day of nothing in the files.” He looks at Sam. “You think anyone in charge wants the world to know this was me? This is a PR nightmare the government can’t risk right now.”

The simplicity of it is breathtaking. The threat never even had to be real—only real enough to get everyone moving the way Bucky wants. Only real enough to get the money and to get Sam to choose.

“Don’t think you can just disappear,” Sam says, voice low but iron-strong. “I’ll find you, Bucky.”

There’s the tiniest shimmer of mischief, or perhaps relief, in the crow’s feet at Bucky’s eyes.

“Will you, though?” Bucky’s voice is almost gentle, as if he’s breaking the news of a death to a child. “For decades I was Hydra’s untraceable and lethal assassin. For two years you couldn’t find me, and you were working with Steve who knew me better than anyone, and I was living off next to nothing. Now I have nearly two billion in untraceable cash, I have my mind back, and I know the ins and outs of the modern world. You won’t see me unless I want to be seen.”

Your heart claws at your ribs. The glass magnifies every sound—Sam’s breathing, Bucky’s measured steps, the pulse in your eardrums. You taste blood where you’ve bitten the inside of your cheek.

Sam’s lips curl in a snarl. “You’re not the only one who’s learned a few tricks.”

“Maybe,” Bucky says. “But you’re still too honest to win.”

“How could you do this to me? To Steve?”

Bucky cocks his head to the side. His eyes flick to you for the briefest of moments, and then he says, “You didn’t want me to run out the clock discussing the moral dilemma of saving the city or your girl, but now you want to go over me, you, and Steve? Steve who’s removed himself from the narrative?”

Sam roars in frustration, then turns to look at you again. “I’ll come back for you, I swear,” then races across the floor and leaps off the balcony, off to save the city.

It is, you admit, one hell of an exit.

You can see him—Sam, bright and audacious in the Captain America suit, wings extending like an exclamation mark, darting through the skyline beyond the tall windows. He is smaller, fleeting, a fleck of blue and silver against the impossible glass of the city.

But Bucky doesn’t watch him go. He is watching you.

You slide down the glass, and try to breathe through the chemical tangle in your system. It feels as though the world is going to start sliding off its rails soon; you feel it in the way your pulse speeds and slows, in the clotted shimmer at the edges of your vision. The dart, the toxin, was probably designed for maximum drama, but you don’t know what else it could do.

A low, hydraulic moan startles you from your trance. The glass panels around you shiver, then begin to disappear, sinking in perfect unison into the floor. You scramble to your feet, knees threatening to buckle, and stare at the sudden borderlessness of the room. For a heartbeat, you’re suspended—no cage, no line in the sand, nothing to keep you from collapsing right there.

Bucky advances, quick but cautious, hands visible and open. His silhouette blots out the cathedral lights, broad as a thunderhead. He stops exactly an arm’s length from you, looking at your face as though searching for a misplaced detail.

“Careful,” he warns, voice a scratchy hush. “You’re on a comedown, and it’s a big one.”

You try to say something, but your tongue is a fat, electric slug in your mouth. The cold coins taste returns, sharper than before. “What did you do to me?” you ask.

He crouches cautiously next to you, balancing on the balls of his feet.

“There’s a lot of adrenaline in your system,” Bucky murmurs. “Far more than is natural. It’s spiked everything in your system. As it crashes, you’ll be sluggish, maybe some chills or confusion, but you’ll be okay. I promise.”

You want to believe him. You do, but given what he’s just orchestrated, you’re naturally reluctant.

“What now?” you ask. You’re not even sure who you’re asking: him, the universe, yourself.

Bucky shrugs, all gentle fatalism, and then reaches out—slowly, like you’re a trembling bird that might fling itself into a window if startled—and helps haul you upright. He adjusts his grip to keep you steady, lets you take more of your own weight as you find it.

He leads you out of the big white, windowed theater and down a corridor to an elevator.

A pang needles your heart: he is good at this. At triage, at rescue, at caretaking. At the thousand tiny, invisible gestures that make a person feel seen. Always has been. You hate that you’re grateful for it, just as you hate that you remember the long-ago night of his campaign, that secret gravitational pull between you, the unspoken thing you both stamped down with the solemnity of professionalism.

You don’t want to face where that train of thought leads.

“You made Sam pick. I don’t know if he’ll forgive that.” You try to sound hard-edged, but the words slide out syrupy and damp.

“He doesn’t have to.” Bucky’s voice is almost gentle. “He just has to live with it.”

The elevator dings, and the two of you step in. He punches the top floor.

“And you were right.”

“I wasn’t going to say it.”

And because there’s no reason to hold back, you add, “You didn’t have to twist the knife at the end by pointing out what he was and was not willing to discuss.”

Bucky sighs and drops his head. “No. I didn’t. It was an extra cut of cruelty.” Then he looks up, meets your eyes. “I’m sorry for that.”

The elevator doors slide open, revealing the sort of opulent space that’s either a billionaire’s penthouse lounge or the bridge of a spaceship. You instantly recognize the place, even though you’ve only seen it on screens and in the background of photos: the inner sanctum of Avengers Tower.

Of course. It had to be here. Not a new base, not a black site, not some abandoned eco-bunker in Upstate New York. No, Bucky brought you to the one place that was once the center of the universe for people like him and Sam and all the rest. Even after Tony’s death, after the rebranding and the PR dust-ups and the slow, embarrassing dissolution of the first lineup, the building stood. It was a symbol, indelible and too expensive to demolish, even when all the heroes left in it were ghosts.

Bucky leads you to the counter of what appears to be a bar and helps you into one of the stools there.

The New Avengers had evidently converted it to a cooking area, as well, as you watch Bucky begin to pull out some food and pull together a plate for you.

You watch him, scrutinize him, and you’re sure he knows that’s what you’re doing. He merely endures it, allows it. You assume he knows he owes you that much.

He finally slides the plate in front of you along with a glass of water. “Eat. It’ll help stabilize you more quickly.”

You take a bite out of one of the strawberries on the plate, chew, swallow, then you ask, “There’s no biotoxin, is there?”

Bucky lifts his gaze from where he’s preparing a sandwich for himself. “No. It’s a placebo.”

You pop another strawberry into your mouth and let the silence be the answer for a moment. The water tastes sweeter now, the iron leaching away, leaving only cold relief behind. No biotoxin. Sam would save the world, the money will be untraceable, and Bucky—well, Bucky would get away, wouldn’t he? Or almost.

"So why all this?" you ask, and your voice is steady again. "If it was just about the money, you could’ve found a less theatrical way."

Bucky tilts his head, slicing his sandwich with surgical precision. "I needed to prove a point," he says, not quite looking at you. "To Sam, to Valentina, to whoever is watching the tapes. To myself, maybe. That I can still do the impossible. That I have a choice. Not just a finger on the trigger but a plan. The kind that changes things. To make it clear that I’m done playing their games."

He smiles, half-lopsided, and lets his long exhale fill the empty space between you.

“I could have done it,” he says, and for the first time he sounds almost frightened by the idea. “I thought about it, how easy it would be. Make them all beg, make every suit in D.C. panic. But I couldn’t.” His eyes dart up, meet yours. “I couldn’t risk you.”

You look down at your hands, which are barely shaking now, and rub your thumb into the tender crook of your elbow where the dart had hit. There’s no swelling, no mark, just the memory of panic and the aftertaste of adrenaline. No biotoxin, no threat to a city’s population that could endanger the world, just a glass of water and a plate of fruit in a room of too many old ghosts.

You finish the strawberries, then some of the grapes. It’s not enough sugar to counter the crash, but it brings clarity. The clarity is not comforting.

“Are you going to disappear now?” you ask.

Bucky wipes bread crumbs from his fingers. “Very soon. I wanted to see you safe, first.” He hesitates, leans his weight onto the heel of his hand, like he’s about to confess something with weight.

You push him in the direction you hope he’s going. “Why did you bring me into this? Did you really need to prove Sam’s more Boy Scout than boyfriend? That he’d sacrifice me for millions, for the greater good?”

Bucky’s gaze sharpens. “You knew he would. And so did I.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Instead, he slid a grape off the stem, rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, as if the answer might be contained somewhere in the slick green skin. When he finally spoke, his voice was almost mild, but there was a sandpaper edge under the calm.

“There’s something different about him. Over the years since he took up the shield, since he started making the world’s problems his own, he’s…” Bucky let the grape fall, steadied his hands on the counter, “He’s not letting anyone in anymore. Not even you. You can feel it, right?”

You wanted to protest, to say Sam was just tired, just carrying the weight of a world that had never belonged to him, a world that had only ever demanded and doubted. That he came home to you at night, sometimes wordless and aching, sometimes with a wild, generous joy that made all the distance worth it. But you did feel it.

The last few months had been like living with a shadow, the two of you orbiting each other in careful ellipses, sharing space but not gravity. You’d told yourself it was just the stress, that this phase would pass. But how long would you have to keep saying that?

You shrugged, unsure if the gesture was defensive or conciliatory. “He’s got a lot riding on him. They all do. It’s not like anybody’s waiting to see if Captain America screws up, right?”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s losing too much of himself to the machine.”

You finish the food, drink all the water. Already, the fine tremor in your hands is dying down, and your vision is as sharp as it’s been in months.

“You said you didn’t have to involve me, but you did anyway. Why?”

Bucky comes around the counter to stand next to you before he answers.

“Take my hand,” he says, extending his flesh hand to you.

You study his face for another moment before hesitantly placing your hand in his. He pulls you gently from the stool, bringing you close to his chest, and you can’t help but cave into the comfort he’s offering on a platter in his arms. This is the closeness you wondered about years ago. And it feels even better than you thought it could.

His flesh hand encloses yours, and his metal arm wraps around your back, comforting, solid, while he maintains eye contact with you. Then he leans in and presses a kiss fervently to your forehead. “He wanted the idea of you, I want you.”

Those words steal the breath from your lungs, and you pull back. He allows it but does reach up to wipe more tears from your face.

“Now, he’ll come back for you,” Bucky says. “I’ll leave you here if you want to wait for him. Or…”

Bucky leans forward, slowly, but deliberately, eyes locked with yours, and there is no question that he will kiss you if you let him.

In those brief seconds, your chest swells and aches. It’s a yearning.

“Or you can come with me,” he murmurs against your lips.

You don’t remember who moves first, or if movement is even required—maybe it’s just the inexorable collapse of distance, of vacuum, of more than two years spent circling each other and pretending not to. Your mouth meets his in a kiss so light you might have missed it, a flutter of wings against glass, if not for the way he shudders and tightens his hold on you, molding your body into his with that impossible, titanium certainty.

You gasp, and he swallows it, and the taste of him is nothing like coins or blood or the clinical tang of adrenaline: it’s salt and memory, an old wound newly raw. His lips tremble with restraint, with the effort of holding back the full weight of want, and you feel it in the rigid line of his jaw and the knotted fist of his hand at the small of your back.

The first kiss is a question, but the second is an answer: you press closer, and the kiss goes from uncertain to dangerous, from a secret to a promise.

It would be easy to hate him, even now, for what he’s done, for turning to a villain’s playbook. But what you really feel, what you can’t help feeling, is the way your own hands seek out Bucky’s chest, feel the frantic pulse of him beneath the shirt, the way his heart seems to leap at every slight contact. You break only when your lungs demand it, and even then, you stay close enough that your noses touch, breath shared and erratic.

“I shouldn’t,” you say. You mean the whole thing: kissing Bucky, wanting Bucky, forgiving him, forgiving yourself the old feeling of being seen, truly seen, by someone who never really belonged to you in the first place.

He laughs, low and weary. “That’s why you should.”

Time feels syrup-slow and amplified, and the aftershocks of adrenaline jitter along your bones. You want to lay your head against Bucky’s chest and let everything else go glassy and indistinct, but this moment can’t last forever.

You have to make a choice.

As if to underscore that fact, the moment breaks with the sound of rotors thumping through the silent glass like a racing pulse. A black helicopter, all stealth and menace, settles on the old landing pad just outside the window. You watch its slow, predatory descent, and only then do you realize how little time is left for indecision.

You turn your face back to Bucky. "Where would we even go?" The bitterness in your voice is half challenge, half invitation. A plea for a story you could believe in.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t offer you a fantasy. "Doesn’t matter," he says. "With this much money, the right lies, and the right hands pulling the strings, you don’t have to vanish, we will just slide out of frame. Show up somewhere else, different name, different haircut, but us together. You just have to decide if you want to build that new life with me or not.”

He says it like a vow, not a seduction. You almost laugh at how simple he makes it sound. As if all the laws and all the wounds and all the history between the three of you could be severed with a haircut and a fake passport.

You want to slap him. You want to scream at him for making it sound so simple, so transactional, like trading one set of coordinates for another. But isn’t that the whole truth of it? Bucky Barnes had spent his adult years being a ghost wearing a name, a myth forced into the flesh, until the only thing that made sense was reinvention. If you followed, you’d never be more than a co-conspirator in your own vanishing act, but there’s a wild logic to it. There’s even a certain beauty.

It occurs to you, sharply, that you should stay—wait for Sam, let yourself be rescued, let him cry and rage and know that in the end he did what was right. You could handle the heartbreak, or at least pretend you could, because that’s what people like you do. The noise would settle, the scandal would pass, and maybe you’d even find your way back together, though at that moment the possibility seems to diminish more and more.

The real truth is: you don't know what will make you happy, or safe, or sane. You only know that for too long you've been waiting for more, even though you didn’t know it until Bucky pulled the wool from your eyes today.

“Let’s do it,” you say, before you can overthink the words or slip into complacent cowardice disguised as duty. “Let’s go.”

The look on Bucky’s face is less vindicated than startled, as if he hadn’t really thought you’d say yes. He doesn’t whoop or smile. He just takes a breath—deep, rib-rattling—and then his hand closes tight around yours, leading you out to the helicopter.

The pilot is a nobody, faceless behind reflective glass, but you know the kind of men who’d be waiting in the belly of a craft like that—mercenaries who could blend in at the Four Seasons or a funeral, featureless as mannequins until the masks came off.

You duck into the cabin. Bucky keeps a hand at the small of your back, guiding you with a care that feels out of time, out of place, as if this is not a high-speed escape but a date at the theater or a gallery opening. The interior is tight and dark: Kevlar seats, two jump seats with harnesses, a battered first-aid kit stashed in the mesh netting by the door.

He straps you in, efficient but gentle, and without warning the engine screams to life and the city falls away beneath you. The pilot takes you southeast, past the relit towers and the stitched-together parks, past the city’s neat wounds and its ugly repairs.

You don’t ask where you’re going. You’re not sure you want to know. Since you’re all in, you don’t need to know. There is something exhilarating about that, the permission you have given yourself to not care for the first time in … maybe ever.

The chopper banks east, the city’s sprawl dissolving into ribbons of freeway and then the sparse, snow-blotched fields of Long Island. When you spot the airstrip you’re almost disappointed by its ordinariness—just a pair of runways, a wind-wracked row of hangars. The chopper touches down so softly you barely feel it, but Bucky is already unclipping your harness, moving you out with a minimal set of gestures.

He guides you across the tarmac, his grip on your hand steady as he leads you to a small, sleek, white jet. A thinly mustached pilot nods to Bucky as he shepherds you up the stairs. The jet’s interior is cloaked in tasteful leather and woodgrain, the sort of hush money aesthetic that comes with bespoke crimes. Bucky deposits you onto a wide seat and follows with a duffle bag you only now notice slung beneath his arm.

Bucky stows the bag in an overhead bin, then returns to you, sliding into the seat across the aisle. His eyes flick to the window, scanning the tarmac for threats, but his left hand—your hand—remains anchored between you, thumb tracing tight, distracted circles over your knuckles. The door seals with a quietly pneumatic hiss. The engines ramp up, the world narrows to the pressurized silence of the cabin, and you feel a flutter in your chest that is not entirely terror.

In the window’s glass you catch the afterimage of your own face, drained and wild-eyed, and behind it the ghost of Bucky’s reflection—softer, maybe, than you’ve ever seen, as if the act of running is its own absolution.

You’re so tired. You let your head tip sideways, resting against his shoulder—not as surrender, but as a declaration: you are here, you are staying, you are more than the sum of your panic and your decisions good or bad.

Bucky turns to you, the crumple in his brow arranging itself into a question, one palm rising to hover along your jaw. “Hey,” he says, a hush inside a hush. “You okay?”

You nod, too fast, and then press his hand to your cheek, making sure it’s real, it’s flesh, it’s here. He holds your face, thumb slipping beneath your eye, gently searching for evidence of regret or fear or whatever else he’s ruined in you. But all you feel is the burn of anticipation in the hollow of your throat.

He leans in, slower than before, and brushes your lips with his, brief, reverent. Another. Another—each one less careful, less patient. You open for him, cup the back of his head, tangle your fingers deep in his hair, and he looses a sound like a confession; he lets the restraint drop, mouth insistent and hungry, hands finding your waist, your ribs, the sweetly bare patch where your shirt has ridden up. His breath is ragged, the rasp of stubble on your jawline making your skin prickle in a way that borders on pain, but you want that, you want more of it, and you arch into him, letting the seatbelt cut into your hip as you all but crawl onto his lap.

The jet is barely airborne when his metal hand skims under your shirt, cold electricity against the bend of your back. You gasp, half laughing, then bite his lip, tasting the salt and copper, the promise of scars. His flesh hand is at your nape, anchoring you, and you realize this is how you always wanted him to hold you—hard enough to bruise, but gentle in the moments between.

Before you can process how you went from catatonic hostage to this wild, reckless person, you’re straddling him in the narrow jet seat, breathless and laughing into his mouth, kissing him like you’re kissing a different future into existence.

You kiss until your lungs burn, and when you part, your lips are wet and swollen, and he’s looking at you like you’re the oxygen his lungs need. You can feel the restraint it takes for him to stop, even for a second.

When he speaks, it’s against your mouth, so soft and low you have to strain to catch it. “I wanted you for so long.” He nips your lower lip in punctuation, then kisses the sting away, chasing the shape of your mouth as if memorizing it.

His hands slide under your shirt, confident and unhurried, a slow drag of heat and cool along the ridge of your back and then the soft, uncertain slope of your side. He maps you like new terrain, reverent, deliberate, his palm broad and rough as river rock where it skims above your waistband. You’re conscious, absurdly, of the way your flesh yields and gathers beneath his grip, the fold at your waist, the plush seam above your jeans. You brace for the recoil—the pause, the flinch, the embarrassed withdrawal that men as fine as Bucky Barnes always seem to have in their DNA when faced with anything that doesn’t fit the platonic ideal of a lover’s body, the first time they touch you intimately—but it doesn’t come. He doesn’t falter, doesn’t even hesitate. If anything, the way his hands frame you, hold you together, suggests he’d prefer more of you, not less.

You’re all nerves and need, the pulse in your throat so present it’s almost embarrassing, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You want this. Want him. Want the mess and the wrongness and the chance to hurt and heal in ways you’ve only ever fantasized about, in the long blank nights when Sam was out saving the world and you were left with the ghost of a life you didn’t remember choosing.

You don’t remember unbuttoning your jeans, or how his hand gets under the waistband, but it’s there—skin on skin, soft and cool where the metal arm braces your spine and the flesh hand moves against your belly. He shivers when you wrap both arms around him, as if the pressure of your grasp is the only thing anchoring him to the world.

There is a hush in the jet, the kind that lets you hear your own blood roaring, lets you hear the catch in Bucky’s breath as you grind against him, slow and unashamed, letting him feel the sum of your want. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t try to fill the silence. His hands do the talking instead, every gesture translating what words never could: careful, desperate, worshipful.

The way you undress—it’s not hurried, but it’s not shy. You peel yourself out of your shirt, shivering in the cool pressurized air, but you catch nothing but hunger and awe in Bucky's gaze. It’s as if he’s been waiting in a Siberian cave since the forties to see you like this, and there is something almost holy in the way he runs the backs of his fingers over your clavicle, your breasts, the jigsaw of you that’s both familiar to yourself and entirely new. For a brief flash, you wonder how you look—are you beautiful to him in the brash daylight of the aircraft, or is it more like a study in imperfection, in odd shapes and old bruises and the vulnerable, workaday flesh of someone who’s never been anyone’s ideal for very long. But his breath catches, and his pupils blow wide, and he says your name so softly it sounds like a benediction. That’s answer enough.

The feel of him is just as you’d imagined—no, it’s more: the impossible tautness of muscle beneath cool skin, the way he holds you so precisely you never for a moment doubt your own safety. The metal arm is cold at first, its ruthlessness pressed along your ribs, but the warmth of his body as you mold to each other chases the edge away. He kisses down your neck, slow, never rushed, as if marking time on a clock only you share. When you arch into his mouth, when you let him finally cup your breast, you’re rewarded with a sound from deep in his chest—a wounded, yearning, making it clear you’re all he wants.

He doesn’t hurry. The world is burning behind you out the window, somewhere Sam is fighting for a city that will always need him, but here, inside this tiny, moving sanctuary, Bucky gives you an unhurried exhale, ritual slow, as if neither of you have ever had a single moment in your lives to spare for pleasure before now. His palm slides along your thigh, then the inside of your thigh, then waits, patient as a dog in winter, for you to open further. You do, knees bracing on either side of his.

His hand makes its way between your legs, and it’s devastating—how lightly he touches at first, just the pads of two fingers drawing lazy circles along the seam of your underwear, as if reacquainting himself with the geometry of gentleness. You are slick and shockingly warm, and when his thumb circles your clit, the jolt of pleasure is so keen you dig your hands into his shoulders, hard enough for the flesh beneath to yield. He watches your face, noting every tremor, every catch in your swallowing breath, mapping the arc of your wanting. You want him to devour you, but he worships instead, building you slow and slow and never letting you fall all the way down. Every time you shudder or gasp or roll your hips, he radiates a pride so profound it makes you want to cry.

You come with his metal hand splayed across your back and his living hand cupping you, his mouth open against your neck, whispering your name and then fragments of words: “beautiful,” “always wanted,” “don’t believe it”. You shake and quake around his fingers, a hot flood, and you laugh out loud because you can’t do anything else—your body is burning alive and Bucky Barnes is the only cooling agent in the universe.

After, he tucks you close, skin to skin, and listens to the staccato drum of your heart as if it’s telling a secret. He brushes damp hair from your temple and studies you like he’s afraid to blink, lest you vanish with the throb of the engine.

“I wanted you for so long,” he murmurs again, and you want to say, me too, but your tongue is thick and slow and all you manage is to grip his wrist, pinning him to this reality, to this moment run wild on the clock.

You slip from his lap when the urge surges past all reason—not because you do not want to be held, but because you want to see what he looks like when you take him apart. The carpet beneath your knees is soft and plush, but you are not thinking of the carpet, you are thinking of the way Bucky’s breathing shears out of him in a rush as you settle between his legs and glance up.

His pupils are blown, making the pale blue more starless sky than glacier. His lips, wet and a little bitten, are parted in shock, and there’s something so starkly boyish in his awe that you nearly laugh. Instead, you run your hands up the inside of his thighs, not missing how his legs tense and shudder under your grip.

You unbuckle his belt, and for a second you’re all thumbs, nerves having gone to static in your head, but Bucky just sits with hands open and breath held, watching you like you might ghost away if he looked elsewhere. The rough newness of the situation—doing this with him, in daylight, on a moving plane—sends a flush crawling up your body, heat prickling in your scalp. You want to be perfect for him, but you settle for real. You unfasten him, you work his jeans down enough, and he springs against his own belly, more than you’d realized, heavy and flushed, and your chest tightens with wanting.

You feel a spike of victory at the way he swells in your hand, the living pulse of him, velvet-hard and as hot as a fever.

You taste him, first with your lips pressed soft against the tip, then with the slow, savoring press of your tongue along the length, and Bucky’s head drops back, the tendons in his neck cording. He doesn’t make noise, not at first—he’s too disciplined, too careful—but when you increase the pressure, take more of him in, he grits out your name, a rattle of consonants, like he can’t bear up under it any longer. You commit to the rhythm, fast then slow, enjoying the play of pressure and the way his thighs brace in agony and pleasure under your hands. The metal one pets your hair at first, then fists in at the nape of your neck, holding you still for a second while his hips buck minutely, then he curses and releases the grip, as if reining in some inner avalanche.

You’re delighted—delirious almost—by how much you’re able to make him shake. How much you’re able to unmake the man of precision. You want to keep him at this edge forever, but you can also see how hard he’s working not to tear you apart with need. You let the rhythm go ragged for a moment, using your hands to cup him, stroke him, take him deeper. You revel in the way his restraint crumbles, in the way he murmurs pleas and fractured sweet nothings and dirty wants and promises.

He rocks his hips once, twice, then pulls back with a warning—a rough, strangled sound that you recognize as care, as wanting not to overwhelm or take—so you press your hand to his thigh and keep him still, refusing retreat. You want all of it: the taste, the heat, the salt and the proof. When he spills into your mouth, every muscle in his body shivers and the shuddering pulse of him fills you, thick and sweet and endless. You swallow, and his thighs buckle, and he drags you up, mouth to mouth, tasting himself on your tongue and growling in approval.

You expect him to collapse, to flop boneless and dazed into the seat, but instead his cock is still hard, red and slick and angry-looking in the open vee of his jeans. You look down, then up, and the expression on your face must be famished and raw, because Bucky’s answering expression is a wolf’s grin—hungry, delighted, and you’re so glad for it, so mindless with wanting, it almost hurts.

You want him inside you, want him to push every thought from your head. He licks his thumb and traces your lower lip, then presses it past your teeth, not forceful but insistent, and you suck without a second thought.

“Fuck, you’re going to kill me,” he says, but the way he says it, it sounds like he’s eager for the mutual ruin.

He coaxes you up, not with a command but a gentle tug of your wrist; you let yourself be arranged, his palms guiding your hips and then gently coaxing you up, angling your body so you're kneeling, braced on the plush seatback, spine arched, ass tilted toward him. There’s nothing clinical or hasty here; he positions you like an artist with a marble he’s spent decades yearning to carve. You feel the raw, predatory focus radiate off him, and you can’t help but turn to catch the look in his eyes—eager but almost reverent.

His cock nudges against you, then slides up the seam, gathering wetness, and for a moment he lingers, thumb stroking the base of your spine, the cool metal of his hand anchoring your shoulder. The first push is slow, deliberate, the kind of pressure that makes your whole body tense and then open for him. He fills you with an unhurried inevitability, and for a moment you can’t breathe for how big he is, how much he fills your most intimate space.

He groans at the feeling, deep and sin-worn, and the sound shoots heat up your back, makes your thighs shake. He holds you steady with both hands, one flesh and the other a cold star at your hip, and waits for you to tell him to move. Your own voice is gone to glass, so you just tip your hips, a silent plea, and he obeys, rolling into you in a series of slow, tidal thrusts that let you feel every inch.

It’s impossible to be quiet, and Bucky clearly prefers you not to be. He leans over you, his chest hot along your spine, and bites your shoulder, not hard enough to bruise but just so you know he’s there, and you cry out at the dual sensation—sharp and yielding, ache and relief. His rhythm is slow at first, but when you reach back and dig your nails into the firm cut of his thigh, he hisses and snaps his hips with a force that borders on brutal, but never spills over into cruelty. It’s want, not violence; hunger, not harm. You want every bit of it, every relentless stroke, every scrape of his teeth on your skin, the bruise of his hand as it sprawls between your shoulder blades and pins you to the world.

You have the sudden, feverish sense that Bucky wants to own every part of you, not just the places you expect to be touched, but the boundaries you never thought to keep. His hands—both of them, vibranium and flesh—roam your hips, your back, the trembling crease where thigh meets ass. When he pushes in deeper, it’s with a precision that feels engineered; he wants to draw something new from you, to find the note that will finally split you open.

You’re so wet you can hear it, the slick wet music of skin on skin. His flesh hand is anchored at your hip, fingers digging into the softness there, holding you steady as he fucks you, each thrust deliberate. But the cold of his metal hand is more curious; it traces up your spine, fans across the nape of your neck, then drops down again, palming the globe of your ass with a hunger that feels almost greedy.

He shifts, altering the angle of his thrusts so each one drags a new, devastating friction along your inner walls, and his hand, the metal one, snakes lower, cupping your mound so your clit is pressed and circled in perfect tandem to the building rhythm. The world telescopes to the points at which he touches you, and then just when you think you can’t take more, that the heat will level you into unconsciousness, his finger—cool, slick now with your own wetness—traces the forbidden line between your cheeks. A barely-there touch, a slow, teasing swirl around the tight, neglected ring, and you startle at the contact, gasping out a word that could be “fuck” or “please” or both, pulse stuttering with the shock of it.

He doesn’t force, doesn’t press, just circles, gentle and patient, letting you acclimate to the possibility, the threat. With each swirl you feel yourself open more—this hunger, this trust, this dumbfounding desire to let Bucky give you something that nobody else ever has. When he finally presses in, just the barest tip of a finger, the line between pleasure and pressure melts and you keen aloud, startled at your own reaction. He groans at the sound, his cock twitching inside you, and the next thrust is deeper, more desperate, as if he’s as ruined by you as you are by him.

There is nothing for it but to surrender. You arch into every sensation, let Bucky fill every blank in your vocabulary of want. Each time his finger moves, gentle and relentless, you feel your body respond with such wild, involuntary gratitude that you want to weep. You reach between your legs, questing for your clit, greedy for more and not caring if you break apart in his arms.

He pistons into you, relentless and sure, and somewhere in the haze you catch yourself thinking: this is what it feels like to matter to someone so much they lose their mind. Bucky coaxes every sound from you, every plea, every curse. When you clamp down around him hard enough he nearly loses his grip, you hear him choke out your name in a shattered, breaking way, and he plants his palm to the curve of your ass and drives you into the seat with a bruising finality.

You come again, and this time the sound you make is so raw you’re embarrassed, but he only groans in reply, matching you stroke for stroke, as if the louder you are, the more it means. You shake, legs threatening to go, but he holds you, refusing to let you slip through his grip. You ride out every ripple, every quaking tremor, and when you finally slump forward, breathless and wrung out, he chases your high with his own, hips jerking in a wild, arrhythmic staccato as he empties himself in you with a deep, almost haunted sound that echoes in your lungs for ages after.

He collapses over your back, breath damp against your neck, arms caging you in. For a moment, the world is nothing but the drum of his heart, the shockwave of your own afterglow, and the faintly ridiculous realization that you’re at cruising altitude over the Atlantic, sweat-soaked and boneless and impossibly, impossibly alive.

It takes a long time before you find words. It takes even longer before you can turn to look him in the eye.

“So that happened,” you say, voice soft but rooted in satiation, and the hint of a question behind it, craving his thoughts, his impressions.

Bucky is still inside you, softening, but when you laugh at your own understatement, he laughs too, the sound honest and unselfconscious and bright enough to startle you out of the receding fog. He nuzzles your hair and bites your shoulder, just once, in a gentle, feral way. “You say that like it wasn’t inevitable,” he says. “Like I haven’t been thinking about you since the first time you told me off in front of the whole comms team.”

You twist in his lap, wince a little at the sticky ache between your legs, then kiss his jaw, his pulse point, the soft curl of his ear. You want to say something perfect, something to thread all this pain and elation together, but your mind is losing the war with your body’s demands. You just want to be held, and he seems to know it, because he wraps those impossible arms all the way around you and tucks you close to his chest, bringing you into his lap.

You burrow in, cheek pressed to the racing engine of his heart, your legs folded up to your chest as a drowsy quiet settles in the cabin. The hum of the jet, the soft huff of Bucky’s breath in your hair, the double warmth and chill of his touch—it’s all a nest, a chrysalis, and you’re content to lie there for however many thousand miles it takes to put the old world behind you.

You lose track of time. The hum of the engine, the proximity of Bucky’s bare skin to yours, the way your heart replays every inch of what just happened: it all floats you through a corridor of warmth and contentment that you haven’t felt since you were young.

The world out the window is seared gold, the last of day sinking past the wing as you cruise east. At some point Bucky stands, balancing both of you as if his balance is unassailable, and fetches a blanket, a hand towel, and a glass of water from the service cabinet before returning you both to the comfortable leather seat.

You drink it down in greedy gulps while he wipes you off with practiced, delicate swipes of the towel, his touch less clinical than worshipful. He tucks the blanket around you both, creating a cocoon for the coming moments.

You pull the blanket up to your nose, tuck your chin and watch him above the rim, eyes wet and still trembling from what you’ve both done. He doesn’t try to explain it. Instead, he finds your hand beneath the blanket and holds it, thumb stroking slow circles over the pulse at your wrist.

You spend the next hour drowsing in and out, stolen moments of sleep lurching you awake with the latent fear that this is all a fever dream, that you’re actually still in the glass box in the cathedral, or floating in some post-toxin afterlife. But Bucky is always there when you surface, his arm warm across your shoulders, the scars along his shoulder catching beneath your fingers.

You and Bucky share quiet conversations during the waking moments. It’s so easy to fall into this side of intimacy with him, too, not only the physical you shared earlier.

He tells you about the safehouse you’re going to in Paris, the bank accounts, the names and legends already prepared for both of you. It sounds almost routine, except for the faint blush in his cheeks, or the sheepish smile when he admits, “I even have a cat, for appearance’s sake.” He says this with a half-smirk, daring you to mock him. Instead, you ask about the cat. Its name is Alpine; it’s white and sassy and already edging toward overweight now that she’s been rescued from the streets. Somehow, that makes the plan feel more plausible, more fit to live in and real.

When you ask about Sam—where he’d go, how long before he finds both of you—Bucky’s face softens into a sort of loving regret. “He’ll do what he’s always done: fight the good fight. Even if that means chasing after us for the next few years.” He says it not with bravado, but with the sigh of someone who’s accepted the cost of his actions.

Bucky’s thumb drew a few more circles over your hand, and you watched with the drowsy clarity of afterglow as he studied you, the long focus of a man who still had something left to say. He let you sleep for most of the flight, let you curl and sprawl across his lap and the seat, but somewhere over the dark green quilt of the Irish Sea, he angled your face up to his with a touch so gentle you almost missed the gravity behind it.

“You know,” he said, “I didn’t do any of this–bring you into it–because I thought Sam was a bad person. Not even because I thought he was a bad partner to you.” The words were slow, deliberate, like he meant them to lodge somewhere deep and stay. “I just wanted you to see the thing he never lets you see—how, in a pinch, he’ll always run toward the fire. Even if you’re the one burning.”

It was a monstrous thing to say, but Bucky didn’t hold back from the full measure of his meaning.

“He did love you,” he says. “Still does. You know that, right?”

The words land heavy and soft, an ache buried under the warmth of the blanket, the pressurized hush of the jet. You want to nod, to agree, but something in Bucky’s expression dares you to challenge that, to perhaps ask for more.

“He did,” you echo, your voice shot through with all the hurt, relief, and confusion you’d stored on a shelf in the back of your mind that you’d ignored. Because sometimes that’s just what couples do. “You don’t have to defend him. Or me.”

“He’s better in so many ways than me,” Bucky says, not so much conceding as saluting, as if the point is a living monument somewhere between you. “But he’s been Captain America so long, he’s started to believe the only way to love anyone is to protect them from everything, even himself. Maybe especially himself.”

You catch the twinge in Bucky’s voice, the jealousy and the admiration braided together so tightly you can’t tell where one leaves off and the other picks up. You tried to find the flaw in this logic, some hidden malice or manipulation, but the words rang too true. The last year with Sam had been a string of empty nights in his apartment or yours, half-eaten dinners, phone calls cut short by emergencies with names you never learned and crises that belonged to the world.

“You deserve someone who’ll always pick you. Even if it’s selfish. Even if it’s not the end the story wants. And I never want you to wonder–I didn't do this because of him, I did it for me. It's the only truly villainous thing I did today.”

You open your mouth to reply, but there is something inside you, a molten sorrow or longing or both, that makes words taste foreign. For a moment, you just look at Bucky—the long, tired face of a man who’s lost nearly everything more than once, and yet still offers up his devotion, his heart, his everything.

There is a comfort in that. Not the comfort of fairy tales or sunny brunches with friends, but the comfort of an old wound that’s finally healed over, ugly and permanent, yes, but proof you survived.

You nestle in, letting Bucky wrap you tighter, and the two of you pass the last leg of the flight in an unspoken truce with your ghosts, listening only to the lull of engines and the steady, intermittent thump of his heart. A heart that you know is yours and yours alone. It’s not a magic ending. It’s a messy beginning. But it’s tangible, real, something whole that you know you can grasp and hold without hesitation.

This villain is yours, and if your full embrace of this new alternative makes you villainous, too, at least you know it’s the two of you all in, hand in hand, together.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x y/n #female reader #thunderbolts bucky #tw: kidnapping #tw: drugging #curvy reader #aspen wrote something #hotbuckysummer2025

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honeyryewhiskey · 9 months ago

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we’ve been loving in silence 𖤐 dean winchester

【 pairing 】 dean x fem!reader 【 summary 】 you’re a bartender in sioux falls, dean tends to stop in whenever he’s in town. you’ve played this game of touch + go for going on a decade now. when he stops in tonight, looking particularly worn out and tired, it’s you he’s searching for a restitute in. 【 genre / warnings 】 smut, explicit language, unprotected piv, needy dean, teasing/begging, aftercare, some plot, mdni, 18+ 【 wordcount 】 2.9k inspired by this song ⤜ we’ve been loving in silence by MARO ⤛

you knew the moment those heavy boots waltzed into your bar that you’d be here, stumbling into your dark apartment tipsy and high on his charming energy. you cross the threshold with dean’s calloused palms stuck to your hips. he nips at the side of your neck, making you giggle as you lose your balance.

“i don’t think you’ve stopped touching me since we got out of the car.” you quip, peaking over your shoulder at those brilliantly green eyes.

“mhm,” he hums, gently peppering kisses on the soft skin behind your ear, “can you really blame me, sweet girl?” his voice is damn near smokey at this hour in the night. rolling into your body like electricity as you notice even the faintest grunts of impatient desire emanating from him.

dean effortlessly kicks the door closed behind him, using it to lean on as he pulls you in closer. turning within his grasp, you snake your arms around his strong neck and look up into his hungry gaze. his eyes dance across your face, memorizing each feature with complete admiration.

“i’ve missed you, sweetheart.” he breathes, barely audible even in your closeness. he always calls you pet names, but you’ve noticed they leave his lips more frequently after a night of honey whiskey.

“me too,” you smile, unable to deny the relief that left your soul when he came in tonight, “i was worried something happened to you, something permanent this time.” you confess, biting your lips and feeling anxious to express your concerns to mr no strings attached. but you’ve known each other for so long, known what his life is outside of your nights of drink and pillowtalk. when you spend months in radio silence, the fears begin to scream from the corners of your mind.

“i know, baby, it’s been too long.” he sighs, bringing his hand to your jaw and running one of those large thumbs across your lips. “but i’m here now.” there is a quiet pleading in his words, one that you take to mean leave it, leave those thoughts at the door. and as always, you do.

pushing onto your tip toes, your eyes flutter closed as you collide your lips with his. he groans at the sudden connection, taking no more than a few milliseconds to deepen the kiss. lips messily moving against each other in a needy want. he pulls off your jacket without breaking contact, quickly moving his hands down your body and swiftly lifting you up, your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.

dean turns your bodies so that it’s your back against the door now. “i need you,” he whispers on your lips, “i need this.”

his pleas send a heat straight to your core, ricocheting through your body and leaving goosebumps in it’s wake. a mindless whimper escapes you. god, you’ve been starving for the touch of this man.

your small verbal cue was enough for dean to take exactly what he’s craving. he carries you from the door and into your small apartment. despite not having been here in months he navigates through the dark rooms with ease, distracting you with nips and kisses across your collarbones. you don’t even realize you’ve made it to the bedroom until he lowers you onto the end of the bed.

you watch with a love drunk gaze as he towers over you, and you can’t help reaching out and tracing the muscular outlines of his lower abdomen while he busies himself with removing his shirts. “you’re a true marvel to see, dean.” you confess, peaking through your lashes to watch how quickly he tries to hide his embarrassment from such a compliment. though you only meet with him in moments, you learned fairly early on how deeply wrong this gorgeous man is about himself. since then you committed to a secret promise to yourself that you’d do your best to acknowledge his beauty whenever he’s near.

his charming toothy smile is back, “there you go again, being too sweet to me.” he teased. he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you, lips puffy and red from grazing his stubble in the sloppy kisses. your shirt tousled from his constant pawing. he leans down to become eye level, those thick lashes framing such vibrant green irises. “lie back for me, baby.” he murmurs, watching carefully as you follow his gentle command.

it isn’t often you get such a soft side of dean, hell, for years it was highly erotic work the two of you did on these nights. but you can sense something has change in him. maybe it came with age, or the constant reconciliations with life and death he faces on the road. he never shares too much, so you’ve learned to notice the smallest expressions in him to decode what might be going on inside that caged mind of his.

as of right now, all dean could think about was devouring the sweetness he’s missed over the past few months.

he gets to work undoing your belt, next the buttons of your jeans until he’s tugging both your bottoms and panties from your body. a satisfied sigh leaves his mouth as he looks over your half naked body. his eyes flick up to your shirt, clearly needing that off, too. so he hooks his thumbs and pulls it over your head, discarding it with the rest of the clothes. hovering over your frame, he trails kisses from your jaw, down your neck and across the plump part of your breasts that stick out of your bra.

“i need to see all of you.” he rasps against your skin, sliding his hands between your back and the bed to swiftly unlatch your last piece of clothing.

his hands lead the way down your sides, straight to the sensitive skin between your thighs as he pushes them apart. kneeling at the foot of your bed as if to pray, he works his mouth teasing the areas around your arousal, making the budding heat morph into need.

you arch your back as his rough hands slowly slide up and down the sides of your legs, sending shock waves into your core, “please, dean, touch me.” you quietly plead.

“easy, sweetheart.” he responds and you can feel his grin against your thigh as his lips inch closer to where you really want them. he loves this game, warming you up and getting you to quite literally begin to melt before he lets himself devour.

his uses one arm to anchor himself, large palms squeezing the thick of your thigh while his other hand travels down past your navel, pressing his thumb against your clit as he works gentle circles. too gentle, you think. you want more, need it.

“dean,” you breathe out, impatiently wiggling under his touch, “please.”

with a groan his mouth replaces his thumb. sucking and lapping at your sensitive skin as you feel a wave of relief and bliss wash over you. you lose all sense of humanity as you become a mess of whimpers and moans. your sounds fuel his hunger, working you more aggressively with his mouth as his middle and ring finger tease your entrance. lazily sliding in and out, barely pushing in.

“more, now.” you breathlessly demand. dean lets out a short laugh, pulling away from your heat. the sudden cold making you damn near writh beneath him.

“beg.” he teases, and you look down to see those green eyes glowing with amusement.

“please.” you manage, his eyes don’t leave your gaze as he lets his fingers tantalizing massage your clit.

“hm?” he hums, raising an eyebrow, completely indulging in the way your hips buck for more fiction.

“please, dean.” you groan, throwing your head back against the mattress in defeat. your mind is swirling with a deep need for more of him inside you, on you, touching you in the ways only he can do.

with a satisfied growl his lips are back to working pure bliss against your clit as his thick middle and ring fingers curl into the warmth inside you. you’re not even sure how his fingers are capable of thrusting against that sweet, aching knot inside the way they do.

all you can do is squirm and whimper as he loses himself in pleasing you.

“fuck, dean,” you gasp as everything inside tenses and tightens, his lips pull and suck while his fingers plunge deep quickly. like a skeleton key finding it’s lock, dean presses into your dam and the floods break with ease.

the release rolls through your body, soaking his face and fingers in your climax. you’re left shivering as he pulls away to stand over you. sucking on the fingers he just worked inside you, his face glimmers with pride of just how good he is at undoing you.

“god, i missed that.” you sigh, catching your breath as dean undoes his belt and kicks his jeans off. his eyes take in every inch of your body as he pulls out his thick cock, working it in his hands. just watching him makes your core begin to ache all over again.

“on your stomach, princess.” he commands, and you eagerly oblige. sticking your ass up with your thighs pressed together, just the way he likes it, and he appreciates you remembering.

you felt the mattress dip under his weight as he centers himself behind you, shoving his bulging tip between your skin until it reached your sore clit, the heightened sensitivity making you moan and pathetically hump his cock, desperate for another release. his hands squeezed each side of your ass, applying more pressure to where your bodies meet.

you rock against him, circling and bucking, trying to reach that itch, but it wasn’t enough. he knew that, but watching you use him like a toy was mesmerizing.

“mm, please, dean.” you found yourself begging again, “i need you inside me, i need you to fuck me.”

“fuck.” he groans. pulling away just quick enough to plunge inside, sending his entire thick length in, triggering a gasp from your lips.

the sudden stretch sent a chill throughout your body, making you melt further into the bed as he fell into a mind numbing rhythm. wet skin slapping against each other cut through your shared symphony of moans.

“baby, you’re so god damn tight.” he professes, squeezing your hips as he bucks harder into your cunt. his sickeningly deep voice paying such vulgar compliments made you twitch and hum.

dean’s hand slips it’s way past your navel and straight to your clit, working messily fast circles as he coaxes another release from you. your thighs squeeze together as another knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

“don’t stop, dean, please.” you begged, grabbing his wrist as if it could keep you grounded while he fucks you into senseless oblivion. his other hand presses into the small of your back, deepening your arch and allowing his tip to reach your sweet spot.

he thrusts against that spot again and again until you’re making a mess all over him, whimpering and chanting his name like it was an invocation of the divine.

your shameless release under his doing and hearing his name leave your mouth made dean’s head spin, feeling your walls tense around him turns his rhythm into a sputtering mess.

“fuck, baby.” he groans, his mind falling into a euphoric emptiness as he came inside you, bucking with the aftershock into a seeping wet mess.

completely fucked out and weak, you collapsed onto the bed. your eyes watery and heavy as you blink yourself back to earth. dean’s warm hands rub up and down your back as he trails kisses across your shoulder blades.

he didn’t want to walk away from you, have to look away from the beautiful mess he made of you. but, he knew better than to flop over and fall asleep like he did the first time you two shared a night together. then again, he was much younger and more selfish, and he had yet to grow so attached to you. something he would never admit to your face. but a part of him, buried away with the rest of his hope, wondered if you could sense how much care he had built up in the years he’s spent getting to know you in these visits.

as dean left the room, you used every ounce of strength left in you to crawl up to the pillows, relaxing as you wait, knowing exactly what he was getting up to in the bathroom attached to your room.

after a few moments, dean returns to your side. “waters warm,” he cooed with a smile, “just the way you like it.”

you giggle, sitting up “you sure do know how to treat a woman right, winchester.”

“only the ones i really like.” he responds, that gloating grin making you roll your eyes as you follow him into the shower.

⤜

the warm water felt incredible on your skin, enveloping your tired body as dean stood over you, his fingers massaging your scalp as he works vanilla scented conditioner into your hair.

“is this shit why you always smell so good?” he wonders aloud, and you could just see his face in that cute puzzled expression of his, despite facing the opposite direction.

“yes,” you laugh, “my body wash is cookie butter scented, too.”

“ah,” he sighs, “makes sense. wait, is that on purpose?”

“what do you mean?” you ask, turning to face him and let the water rinse the sweet soap from your locks.

“well, i mean, i always wanna take a bite when i’m around you.” he grins.

“are you saying you want to eat me, dean?” you tease, collecting more conditioner from the bottle and reaching up to rake it through dean’s hair.

“well,” he began, an eyebrow lifting as that familiar smug expression graces his features, “i already have.”

you pinch his arm in retaliation, shaking your head at his smart mouth.

“ow,” he feigns, rubbing the spot your fingers were. “hey, can’t say you hated it, right?”

“rinse your hair, asshat.” you chime, switching places. you take notice in the way his arms flex as he works the conditioner out of his hair. his muscles have certainly grown over the last few months, and you try not to wonder what kind of bad he’s fighting to make him get stronger.

“oh, aren’t you shameless, sweetheart.” he chuckles, winking before he continues, “checking me out while i wash the girlpoo from my hair.”

“the girlpoo?” you echo, brows knitting in amused confusion.

“yeah,” he states plainly, “girl-sham-poo.” he emphasizes each part of the words as if that makes any sense of what he’s said.

“dean, it's a conditioner. and,” you smile, “can’t say you hate it, right?”

“shut up.” he retorts, sending a playful glare. you smile at his usual go-to when he can’t find a way to give slack back. he reaches over and turns off the shower, grabbing the two towels he prepared earlier and handing one over. you internally cringe at the way he barely wipes any water off of his body, stepping out into the bathroom and leaving puddles in his wake. some things never change.

entering your room, you ruffle through the dresser draw packed with sleep clothes until you find your favorite big shirt to slip on. turning, you find a naked dean already beneath the covers, watching you. seeing him in your bed again reminds you of a time before.

“do you always sleep naked?” you ask, snuggled into the comforter, lying just inches from that gorgeously crafted face.

“no,” dean sighs, “i actually am usually dressed, or close to it when i sleep.”

“why?” you ask.

dean pauses for a moment, those sweet green eyes clouding under whatever memories tumble beneath the surface, “i guess i can’t sleep any other way, always have to be ready.”

you consider his words, you still don’t fully understand the world he lives in but you’ve been trying to, “but not here?”

this earns a smile from the tired man, “no, not here.”

“hey, is that my shirt?” dean’s question disrupts your thoughts, bringing you back into the quiet of your dark bedroom. you look down, scanning the worn out t-shirt you’ve been sleeping in for years now.

“i think so, actually,” you respond, “from… what, ‘08? that time you spent almost a whole week with me for a reason you still have yet to tell me.”

dean pauses, knowing damn well why he didn’t tell you. and he wasn’t going to now, either, because the last time he told you about his dance with life and death you went on a rant about how even dean winchester himself isn’t invincible, be careful, stay alive, and whatever else you blubbered out like a scolding parent. he wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

“yeah, don’t remember.” he grinned, lifting his arm to invite you in, “care to join me?” he asks.

rolling your eyes at his avoidance, you slip into the blankets. his arm finds your waist, pulling you close to his body.

he brings a hand to your face, stealing a soft kiss before wrapping his arm again, tucking you into his chest. you somehow did forget the way dean cuddles is awfully aggressive, clutching you like a toy. but, as all the times before, you don’t mind it. there's a security in his arms you have yet to find elsewhere. you can hear the morning birds beginning to sing outside your bedroom window. by past patterns you estimate about four hours of sweet comfort before you’re left alone in this bed again. the wondrous dean winchester has a life to get back to, and you do, too. but you can’t ignore the tugging in your chest each time he leaves without a goodbye.

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────

ooof this one was fun to write !!! probably one of my fave things to daydream about is being the one dean returns to throughout the years for some solace in his life (luv being delulu, thinking i could heal this man) but maybe i'll do more oneshots with this scenario tho, hmmm much to think about

#dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction

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cheriladycl01 · 10 months ago

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Kinktober 13/10/2024 Lewis Hamilton - Spit Kink

Plot: Lewis loves doing everything with you, there isn’t one part of your body he doesn’t know and he wants to share everything with you!

Warnings: Kinktober, SMUT, blowjob, p in v, spitting, spit in mouth, spit on dick etc 18+ Minors DNI

You had just come off a triple header with Lewis and you were both exhausted from all the travelling you’d gone through in the last few weeks.

As homebody’s you and Lewis couldn’t actually wait for the summer break that you were on now. You guys had missed Roscoe and just being alone in each others company.

That was one thing you both found out very early on with travelling with the team and never having a moment alone and when you guys did have time along you were both too exhausted from the long days at the track you’d both have or sightseeing in the time free in between.

So for three weeks you guys had been without each other intimately. So you both knew something would happen tonight it would just be a case of when.

And that time was shortly coming. You’d got in doing everything domestic that you felt was needed like washing, giving Roscoe much needed attention and food and just a general clean up.

You were both sat on the sofa after dinner, you were cuddling into him his arm pulling you into him rubbing up and down your thigh. All it took was you shifting position and a shared lustful look with one another before he moves closer so he is leaning closer in to you.

His lips meet yours in a much heated and needed kiss, one hand on your hip the other coming up to your jaw to tilt you head up further to meet his. He pulls away with a grin on his face knowing exactly where this is going tonight.

He crawls over you on the sofa his large biceps now encasing either side of you as he hovers over you, looking down at just how beautiful he found you.

He dives back in, a testing roll of his hips against your body eliciting sounds that both you and Lewis were all too familiar with and despite wanting to hear those noises coming from you he wanted to taste you so.

His tongue intertwines with yours tracing ever wet cavern of your mouth as your noses bump together and his hips continue to roll into yours.

It was a sensation you never wanted to end, however sadly for you both you had to breathe and so he pulled away first. A string of saliva attaching the pair of you together, eventually it fell onto your bottom lip and chin when it was stretched too far.

You run your tongue over you bottom lip collecting up the saliva into your mouth swallow the little bit that had dripped down to you.

“Don’t fucking do that, you know what it does to me” he groans as he watches you. He honesty could never get enough of you and the only way he could describe you in moments like this was insatiable.

“Babe please need you” you groan, looking at him. He grins, unbuttoning your jeans rubbing out through your underwear to already feel you’d drenched them and it was close to coming through the jeans he’d just tugged down your legs. He teasingly rbs your cit making you grab his arm at the sudden and strong sensation that had some delicious sounds come from you.

“You going to be a good girl and help me out first?” He asks, knowing that you would agree to this, your head shortly nods. He sits up, brining you with him, helping you by placing a pillow on the wooden floor to save your knees the time they’d be spent on the floor.

You kneel on the pillow on the floor, in between his thighs which immediately clamp you in. You untie the string of his sweatpants and pull them down just past his thighs with the help of him lifting himself up. Your hand grabs him through his boxers a nice movement that has his head flung back and a hand across his mouth as he moans out into the open air of the apartment.

“That good baby?” you ask before taking his cock out his boxers, quickly moving forward to kiss the tip. His free hand comes down to the back of you head.

“One second baby” he grins and before you know it he’s spat into his hand, rubbing it up and down his dick as a lubricant.

“Now your turn, open up” he smiles holding your chin in between his thumb and forefinger racing your jaw open. Your mouth remains open as he spits in your mouth, you feel it on your tongue and moan at the sensation.

“Now spit it on there” he nods to his dick and you do before rubbing it in a little more with your hand before your mouth fully encloses around him taking as much of his girth in your mouth as you physically can.

“Ah fuck baby just like that, mmmmmm” he groans as you manage to get him a little bit deeper and before you know it he’s shooting his load down the back of your throat burying in a little bit deeper. You swallow everything he gave you. You come up with a pop and a mix of cum and spit connecting your lip.

“Come up here right now” he commands patting his thigh, fully taking off his sweatpants and boxers making him bare to you. You position above his lap, ready to sink down on him until his large strong arms wrap around you laying you down on the sofa underneath him.

“Fuck Lew” you moan as he pulls your panties to the side slipping the tip of his cock in.

Your hips help meet his arching up as he bottoms out in you and a guttural moan comes from you as your grip on his rage biceps gets stronger and stronger the quicker his thrusts get.

“Fuck so good open up baby” Lewis groans and you do, he holds your jaw in his hand before spitting directly in your mouth, he watches as you swallow it and the little ball of air travel down your throat.

“Oh fuck” he moans picking up his pace.

“Baby please” you moan holding eye contact with him, he had the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. Your pussy throbs around him, creating waves of pleasure through him. He holds you against him, kissing along your neck as he finishes inside his hips slowing down just as your legs grip him into you as you squirt around him, soaking his thighs and the sofa below.

“Fuck I didn’t think you’d like that shit”he chuckles flopping against you, holding you close to him.

“I think I’d like anything you do to me if I’m being honest” you smile gently and he looks at you with a teasing yet raring look in his eyes.

“You want to test that love?” He asks smirk on his face.

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softcursechoso · 6 months ago

Text

All Strings Attached: Persuasion

Levi Ackerman x Reader NSFW

MDNI! FROM THIS SENTENCE ON YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE 18+

Oneshot // Masterlist

Summary: As the silent and formidable leader of the underground’s most notorious gang, power and resources are always within your grasp. Yet, the one thing you truly desire—mastering ODM gear—can only be taught by Levi. Unfortunately for you, he’s as stubborn as he is skilled, refusing to entertain the idea of teaching you. But you’re nothing if not persuasive, and if Levi won’t yield to reason, perhaps he’ll succumb to something a bit more enticing. After all, there’s more than one way to make a man reconsider…

Contains: Porn with plot, possessive sex, fingering, oral sex (m/f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, explicit pillow talk, multiple positions

Just know if you ever see me write a oneshot it's gonna be some nasty shit.

Words: 8k+

Home : 4:32pm : Underground

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” You sucked your teeth. “What am I to do with you?”

In a place like the Underground there weren’t very many beacons of light. Your shop that doubled as your home was the exception. People came far and wide to visit your shop. You even got commissions from people living on the surface every now and then. It was everything to you. It was your livelihood. It was your peace.

Currently you were at your sewing table in the back of the shop making a beautiful gown out of some purple fabric you had. Nothing compared to the dress you wore, however. The clothes you made were unlike any people had ever seen underground or even on the surface. Today you decided on an off the shoulder red dress. Showed a decent amount of cleavage and had a high split up the left leg. The material clung to your waist and fanned out past your hips in many gorgeous layers of chiffon.

Your white gloved hands continued to work as you spoke, “You think you know a guy, and all of a sudden he’s sprinting down the road with a beautiful hand beaded white lace gown that he didn’t pay for. Why?”

Your eyes were not upset, in fact, you didn’t even look up from your work as you spoke. Very strange considering the person you were speaking with was a man being brutally pinned down with his head pressed deep into your sewing table by two of your gang members.

“Fuck you!” The man grunted.

“No, the reason is not fuck you .” You’d continue to work on the dress, connecting in another bead. “I suppose the reason doesn’t matter anyway. It’s time for you to pay me for that dress you stole. Lace is a very complicated design to work with, let alone to make from scratch like I did. White is a highly uncommon fabric color to come across down here. Hmm, I’m feeling generous today. Just pay me what the dress is worth, plus the fee for making my guys chase you, and we’ll be good.” You smiled.

“I ain’t got no money! You gon have to kill me, bitch!” He yelled at you as the blood from his mouth spilled a bit. Your men were a little rough with him when bringing him back to your shop.

“No money? A shame.” You gently set the dress you were working on down.

You scooted out of your chair a bit and pulled up the split in your dress. There were dark brown stockings that adorned your legs, along with a garter that held a knife and a razor. The knife was your blade of choice in circumstances like this. A gift from a good friend.

“Let’s be clear about what happens here, okay?” You stood up from your chair as you held up the knife. “I will be personally removing your hand with this. You will leave my shop taking your filthy thieving hand with you. When people ask who did this to you, you will not utter my name. Say Wil, Alfie, Heinrich, Klara, Eduard, or anyone else in my crew- but not me. Should my name be mentioned with any violence attached to it, I will personally pluck both of your eyes from your skull. My reputation means everything to me, so I wouldn’t be satisfied with just your eyes. I’ll want the eyes of your children too, understand?”

The man had the fear of God in him. You didn’t know if he had children or not, but the threat seemed good enough. There was a reason you didn’t want your name mentioned, and it was optics. You needed people to believe that you were a weak tailor who was paying for the protection of a powerful gang. In reality, you were the strongest of them all.

Often you did the dirty work because none of your gang had the stomach to. You knew what it took to survive down here. You often did things that went against your morals, but if it meant living another day then sobeit.

They were your family, and you wanted to be sure that they could rest easy at night. As easy as one could down here anyway.

“Say thank you!” Wil growled, “She’s showing you mercy.”

Wilhelmine, often referred to as Wil- your sister. She had pale skin and long dark brown hair that brought out her gorgeous blue eyes. She was not your biological sister, no, but someone you’d been raised with since before you could speak. She was a few years older and very protective. A great friend. A sister.

“It’s okay Wil.” You looked into her eyes. “I don’t feel like being the bigger person anymore.”

For the next few minutes, the sounds in your shop were absolutely brutal. It was hard to hear the sound of a man begging for his life as you sawed off his hand with a pocket knife. You took no pleasure in this, but saw it as an occupational necessity.

The man left, your shop had been cleaned, and you were back to beading your dress. Things calmed down since you ran off the thief, but you were still waiting on a specific visit.

In your shop now were you, Wil, and Alfie. Alfie being your tall blonde right hand man. The two of you were tighter than handcuffs on the last rung. You were all shooting the shit in the meantime.

“I think Furlan's gonna propose to you soon.” Wil spoke as she filed her nails.

You laughed, “That's very dramatic. I think he knows better. I definitely see him as a brother. Plus I'm already married to my work.”

Alfie leaned back in his seat with two legs of the chair lifted off the ground. “You don't have urges though? I've never seen you with a man.”

“I absolutely have urges.” You confirmed. “Don't worry about my pleasure. I'm well taken care of.”

“By Furlan?!” Wil's eyes widened.

“Levi?” Alfie followed up.

You didn't answer instantly, and with these two that always made them jump to conclusions.

The blonde man leaned forward in his chair until all four legs were on the floor. He was frowning at you with his mouth ajar.

“You're fucking Levi?!” Alfie laughed. “Holy shit! I knew someone had to be in your bed. You've been very level headed for the past few months. Went from cutting off heads to cutting off hands! Was that his idea?”

Wil gasped, her eyes locked on you. “It's true isn't it? Levi? Really? Isn’t he kind of- small?”

You huffed forcefully as you stopped working on the gown to address these two. “Would it change your lives if I said it was true?” Before they could react too much you'd shut down the rumors. “It's business. All of it. I doubt I'd be able to hide an entire affair. I'm too busy and there are way too many eyes on me.”

“True.” Wil nodded, “That’s a good point.”

Alfie shook his head in disbelief, “I’m not buying it.”

“What do you want me to say?” Your eyes rolled so hard as your voice shifted into sarcastic territory. “Ooh, yeah! Levi gives it to me so good every night! He may be short, but he’s big where it counts. Mhmmm. He’s the reason I’ve been so nice lately despite him being much colder than I am!”

Wil smiled softly, “Wow. How do you make it throughout the day with all that pent up energy?”

“I told you, my pleasure is well taken care of.” You settled down again.

“It's Levi, no question.” Your sister snickered. “I don’t know how we didn’t see it until now.”

Speak of the devil. Upon the conversation ending, the door to your shop opened and in walked Levi.

“That's our cue.” Wil gazed over at Alfie.

The two gave a brief formality to Levi before heading out. They were really making things awkward today!

“Hello, Levi.” You gave a soft smile to the man.

“What do you want?” The man walked over to the seat opposite you at your sewing table.

“Why do you already have an attitude?” You'd stop sewing your dress to look at him with your sweet, almost innocent eyes. “Nothing happened yet.”

“I know you have some shitty request. So ask.” Both his arms and legs crossed as he spoke to you. “You never call me to the shop.”

“Never? That's a stretch Levi.” You stood up and walked over to a shelf stocked with towels. You'd pull the gray one and walk back over to the man. “I even worked around your schedule. You were coming in today anyway for your haircut, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone.”

“Why aren't you cutting to the chase?” His eyes remained locked on you.

“Because…” You placed the towel around his neck and tucked it into his collar. “Maybe I just wanna know how your day went first.”

“You don't care about that information. I know you. If I have to ask you what you want one more time I'm going to leave.”

You'd uncross his legs before lifting up the many layers of your dress and straddling his lap. “I do care about your day just to be clear.”

You'd grab the brush and hair tie from behind you on your table. Softly you'd brush his hair up into a ponytail and tie it. Plenty of the strands were small and stubborn, but you could work around them.

“Don't be funny.” Levi spoke in a neutral tone.

God you were such a tease. How did a common thug like Levi end up in a position like this with the most beautiful woman in the underground? You weren’t like anyone else, that's for sure. Perhaps that opinion might change on the surface, but then again, maybe not.

You’d pull your hair up into a cute bun before starting on his hair.

“This whole haircut thing was your idea.” You attempted to hide a smile. “I'm not a barber and yeeeeet- you trust no one to be this close to you with a blade but me. I can't ask about your day while I do it?”

His hands gripped your waist with intense vigor. “You always wanna be so damn close. That wasn't my idea.”

“And you can’t say no? I didn’t think you were so weak for my charm.”

“If I didn’t let you then I’d have to hear you bitch.”

You’d remove the elbow length white gloves that adorned your arms and set them on the table behind you. “If you didn’t like hearing me bitch then you wouldn’t come to my shop so often, Levi.”

Your leg lifted a bit, and the high split in your dress revealed the garter on your leg once again. Snuggly settled underneath was a razor. Those dark brown stockings were impossible to ignore. They were… a weakness.

Why did you always make it so hard to discuss plans? You were such a temptress, but it was fun to tease him. Especially when he was being so serious. You always broke him though.

“Where's the knife?” Levi's eyes were looking down at your garter. His rough hand hooked under your knee and briefly pulled it closer to get a better look.

You’d pull the straight razor from your garter and lower your leg once more. “Alright, hold still dollface.” You held his face with one hand and began to cut his hair with the other. “I had to use the knife on a guy. Don’t even worry about it.”

Your hands were delicate as you began to line him up and trim down his undercut the way he liked.

“Where is he?”

You chuckled, “Don't worry- he didn't hurt me if that's what you're concerned about. I do have a cramp in my hand from dealing out a little punishment if you wanna kiss it better though.”

You could tell he was getting so irritated about you blatantly skirting around the big question. What did you have to ask him?!

“Why are you dragging this shit out?” He gently moved your razor wielding hand away from him. “Talk, now.”

“I hate when you read me.” You'd give a little pout before leaning into his lips- as close as you could get without connecting. “What if I said I'm scared to ask?” You spoke in a fictitiously coy manner.

“Get over it.” He'd speak without leaning even a hair closer than you did.

“Just hear me out, okay?” You'd lean closer, pressing your lips delicately into his.

You'd have to get his defenses nice and low before you made your request. He pressed back into your lips and squeezed you just a bit tighter. You moved your free hand to the back of his neck. You could feel his muscles tense up. He loved when you touched him there.

“I have come so far during my time in this hellhole. There is not one person I fear down here, and at the same time, there isn’t one person I know who doesn’t fear me… Teach me to ride.” You kissed him deeper this time, pulling him closer to you. Your mouth opening just a bit for your tongues to briefly meet.

“Teach you to ride?” Levi frowned.

You giggled into the next kiss, “Don't be nasty, Levi. The ODM gear. I wanna learn to use it.”

“This shit again.” The man sighed as if he were already exhausted from the conversation.

“Yes this shit again.” It was a revisited topic and you knew how he felt about it, therefore, you knew it was time to do a little convincing. “Don’t be scared. I’m a fast learner. You know that.”

One hand snaked between you two and rubbed against his growing erection. “Please.”

Your lips pressed against his neck giving little nips every now and then before finally settling at a spot on his neck where you sucked his pale skin.

“You're so goddamn manipulative.” His words had absolutely no conviction as his hands pulled you closer.

“Is it working?” Your tongue ran across his new love mark as you pulled away. “I can bounce on your cock if it’ll expedite the situation.”

“Why are you putting me in this position?” He'd reach for the back of your dress and begin to unzip it down the spine. “You know what the answer is.”

“Why?” You growled. Your hands held your dress up so it wouldn't fall.

“You already have a massive target on your back from the shit you pull within these walls. You using ODM gear will get you snatched by the MP's.” His hands pulled yours away from your dress.

“I'm so sick of you caring about me.” You spoke as your dress fell to your waist. “Let me fly Levi.”

He pulled you back toward him as he peppered kisses along your chest- tapering off to the left and bringing your already erect nipple into his mouth. You couldn't help but moan from the feeling of his greedy tongue.

“What are you gonna do for me? ODM gear isn't easy.” He continued to suck your delicate flesh. “Consider the fact that I'm already against teaching you in the first place.”

“Name it.” You spoke softly under your light moans.

The man pulled the towel from his body before he placed his hands under your thighs. He stood up from the chair with you in his arms. You often forgot just how strong he was. He didn’t look like a man who could carry even his own bodyweight, but dammit if he didn’t surprise you every time.

He’d place you on your sewing table and your faces were so close. Not that it wasn’t intimate before, but with his body leaning into yours, it just felt so personal.

Your hand reached for the little ponytail you made for him and pulled away to allow his hair to fall back in place.

“You get on my fucking nerves. You know that?” Levi whispered on your lips.

“Aww.” You’d give his lips a peck, “Tell me no then. I’ll have Furlan teach me.”

His arms grabbed yours, pinning them to the wooden table beneath you- his body looming over yours. “I told him you were off limits.”

Your heart raced. For a second you could swear you almost felt it swell. He told Furlan you were off limits? How did that conversation go? Levi was staking claim?

“So sensitive.” You grinned, “Tell me no. Say it to my face.”

“Stop being a fucking brat and listen to me.” He backed away a bit as he unbuttoned his vest. It was just a few buttons and then he was on to his shirt.

You lifted up and your hands helped him undo the bottom buttons on his shirt. “You think I don't know the risk this comes with? Levi, I just wanna be next to you so you don't leave me behind.”

“Leave you and go where?” His eyes were fixed on you in sarcastic disbelief.

“To the surface.” Your fingers reached for his belt, pulling it loose.

“Your manipulation isn't getting better.” His tone sharpened.

You scoffed, “You're a piece of shit. Just hurry up and fuck me so you can leave.”

“Such a brat today. I should fuck that little attitude outta ya.” His eyebrows knit as he watched your facial expressions- noticing your slight slip up of excitement as he mentioned being rough with you. “But instead I'll let you take it from here. You wanna learn to fly? Gimmie a good reason.”

“You thought that would stop me?” Your hand reached into his pants and pulled his cock free from its confinement.

It was slightly above average length and had a pretty nice girth. Blushed pink, adored with a juicy vein that ran up his shaft, and it was ready for you. Strangely pleasing to the eyes. It wasn’t the size of his cock that ever impressed you. It was what he could do with it. You’d never admit it, but you were certain your bodies were made for one another.

You'd take a mental note of his leaky tip glistening with precum as you slowly began to move your hand up and down his length. “I love having control. That's what you don't know.”

His jaw clenched as he almost solely focused on your hand wrapped around his cock. “I've seen you on your back enough times to know you're bullshitting.”

“Put me in my place, Levi, or shut the fuck up for me.” Your lips kissed his neck and down his chest as you continued to lower yourself.

You had no choice but to suck the soul from his body this round. He was so hellbent on you not using this ODM gear. If he thought what you did before was manipulative, then he had no idea what was coming next.

You kept your eyes locked on him, the heat between you was practically crackling like a live wire. Your free hand dragged against his thigh, causing him to shutter just slightly.

His eyes followed your every motion- like he didn’t want to miss a thing.

You’d pull back the foreskin to reveal just a bit more, your eyes moved down to look at the bead of precum just waiting for you. “Aww, is that for me?”

Your tongue extended and circled around his tip before it collected the salty liquid. He stiffened his posture, and one of his hands found your beautiful hair, his fingers curling just slightly. He was trying his best not to moan, but you heard it. You knew what you were doing to him.

You leaned in once more, dragging your tongue from the base of his cock to the tip in one slow, lingering motion. The ridges beneath your tongue were felt as it moved across his veiny cock.

“ Fuck .” He sighed, almost reluctant to let the words slip his lips. Involuntary if you will.

You’d repeat the motion again. Your mouth then wrapped around him and your tongue pressed flat against the underside of his cock, teasing the edge of foreskin for a moment. You knew it’d get to him.

Your lips slid lower inch by inch. Your cheeks hollowing as you took him deeper. You made sure to look up at him as you did this. Levi’s breath caught, and his fingers latched harder onto your hair as if to ground himself in the moment.

“Shit.” He swore once more.

You didn’t stop until your lips brushed the base of his cock, and when you pulled back, a trail of saliva glistened against his skin in the dim light. You tilted your head slightly as you ran your tongue along him again.

Your attention shifted lower now. Your lips trailed over the base of his cock until you were met with his balls- nice and swollen just for you. Your tongue ran against the sensitive skin on the left side. You felt him tense under you. He inhaled sharply in the otherwise quiet room.

Your tongue traced him delicately before you took one into your mouth, your hand still stroking him in a steady rhythm. It was then that he gave it to you. Yes, that guttural moan you’d been waiting for paired with his fingers fully tightening in your hair. The warmth of your mouth and the way your tongue moved was almost too much.

You pulled away and released with a pop before you focused on the other side. Your tongue teased and caressed before you took his other testicle in your mouth, sucking lightly. Levi groaned louder this time- surprising you. His head tipped back as he grumbled something incoherent under his breath.

When you finally moved back to his cock, your lips wrapped around him once more, and he held your hair back. Clearing the way for you as you slowly took him all the way down to the base once again. You worked deep until the tip of his dick made friendly with the back of your throat- your tongue pressing against the underside.

“Fuck. Take it all.” The man before you was becoming more vocal. Always a good sign that you were going to get your way. “Every fucking inch.”

You held strong before pulling back once more and sucking him hard as you pumped. You’d designate your hand to take care of the parts your lips weren’t tending to.

“Just like that. Shit- I’m gonna cum.” His voice strained. “Are you gonna swallow it all?”

You grinned before opening your mouth wide, tongue out ready to take it all.

Levi’s hand moved to his cock. His fingers wrapped tightly around his length as he began to stroke himself. Each motion was firm and unrelenting. His breath grew heavier as one hand still remained in your hair.

He halted, and you watched as his balls tightened. His warm seed coated your tongue, plentiful and thick. You held it there for a moment, savoring the way his body trembled.

“Let me see.” His voice was rough and breathless.

You opened your mouth slightly, showing him the evidence of release before swallowing it all. So fucking nasty of him to make you do that.

He’d lean down and meet your lips with his own. His hand releases from your hair only to cup your face. It was a firm, yet tender kiss. The taste of him lingering between you both. His tongue was teasing and slid against yours for a brief moment.

You smiled so deviously, “Go sit back in that chair. I’m about to exhaust you.”

“You think you’re in charge right now?” He continued to hold your face, now guiding you back up to him.

“Go baby. Take a seat.” Your words were soft, but your tone was so fucking sassy. “You said you wanted me to do all the work, so sit it on down. I’m gonna ride that dick as much as I want. You can’t pretty please the power back. You said you wanted me to take it from here. I got you baby. Sit.”

“You sit.”

“No.”

Famous last words, that no . If there was one thing Levi was good at, it was putting you in your place and reminding you that even when you had the power, it wasn’t real.

In one swift motion, Levi grabbed you roughly, his hands firm but controlled as he lifted you and placed you back onto your sewing table. He didn’t give a shit what you were working on. He was working on you.

“Levi!” You shouted in surprise.

His eyes burned with intensity, and although he was being quite intense, you had no idea about the restraint he was exercising as he handled you. The strength in his grip left no room for doubt- he was entirely in control and he wanted you to feel it.

The hard edge of your table pressed against your thighs, but before you could even react, his hands moved to your legs. He hooked his fingers around the waistline of your brown stockings and yanked them down with a roughness that gave you instant goosebumps.

“Is this what you wanted?” He asked, his voice low and gravelly.

He kept your legs pressed together, his strength leaving no room for you to move as he pushed your knees up toward your chest. The position forced your back down against the table. His fingers found the edge of your panties, and with a swift motion he moved the fabric aside, exposing you completely.

His pupils dilated at the sight. He loved seeing the physical effect he had on you. “Look at you, so wet already.”

A wave of heat rushed through your body. You couldn’t take it. The way he looked at your most intimate parts. The way he talked about it. Goodness, it was all so overwhelming.

Before you could even form a response, Levi leaned in, his tongue darting out to lick a slow and deliberate stripe against your pussy. The sudden sensation made you gasp and your hands gripped the edge of the table for support.

Levi’s arms anchored you firmly in place, his grip was unyielding as he buried his face between your thighs. The heat of his tongue felt nice as the rough texture of his palms pressed against your skin.

Your thighs quivered involuntarily, and your fingers tightened their grip on the edge of the table, overwhelming sensations making it impossible to stay still, though he’d see to it that you couldn’t squirm around too much.

His tongue teased and tasted you, savoring every drop of the arousal he caused. He sucked gently on your sweet labia before plunging deeper, his movements were ravenous but calculated.

“So sweet.” He mumbled, his breath warm and tone dripping with satisfaction, “This pussy tastes so fucking good.”

His tongue flicked against your clit, the sensation sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Your back arched instinctively, a loud moan escaping your lips. Levi didn’t let up. He took your clit fully into his mouth, sucking it with just enough pressure to make your thighs tremble.

His hand moved to your heat now, and before you could even prepare yourself, he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you. The stretch of them combined with the relentless attention of his tongue was making you cry out in longing.

He moved his fingers fast, curling them just right to hit that sensitive spot inside you.

“Fuck! Levi! Please!” You screamed out, breathless.

“Where’d that little attitude go?” He mocked you, his voice muffled by your slick heat. The deep rasp of his words vibrating against you. “Talk to me. Where’s all that vigor?”

His words made your walls tighten in an instant. You hated when he called you out, because your body would always tell him how you felt about it.

“Shut up!” You attempted to sound upset but really it just came out as a shaky moan.

“Oh you liked that?” He continued to tease you.

“Stop talking!’ You moaned once more, your voice cracking just slightly as your walls clenched even tighter around his fingers.

Levi smirked at your push back, though it wouldn’t help him to ease up on his relentless pace. His fingers thrusted in and out of you while his tongue circled around your clit. Each thrust of his fingers stretched you so good. The ridges of his calloused skin only added to the sensation.

The wet heat of his tongue flicking against your clit sent sharp waves of pleasure up your spine. The rhythmic sounds of his movements combined with your breathless moans filled the air with an intoxicated melody of desire.

Wet, lewd sounds of his movement could be heard. He didn’t stop until he felt you shatter beneath him. Your orgasm washing over you in powerful waves. Your body convulsed, and your breath hitching as he licked and sucked you through your climax- cleaning you with long strokes of the tongue.

When he finally pulled back, his lips glistened with your arousal, and his smirk was equal parts smug and satisfied. Without saying a word, he’d now move to sit in that damn chair. It was his way of once again reminding you of who was in charge. If he was going to sit in the chair, it was because he wanted to. Not because you said.

His legs spread, and he’d begin pumping his cock slowly in his hand as his eyes met yours. There was something so sinister in those eyes.

“Come here.” He commanded. “You wanted to exhaust me? Let me see.”

Your heart raced as you slid off the table once more. Your face was flushed. You could not believe the balls on this man.

You pulled your stockings down the rest of the way along with your panties. You’d leave them on your table. You didn’t need them. Your dress was still bunched around your waist, the high split revealing your legs and the curve of your hips. The fabric framed your exposed breasts, nipples taut and not from the coolness of the air.

Levi’s gaze raked over you before speaking once more. “Now. Get over here.”

You took a step forward, your confidence returning as you swayed your hips. His eyes never left you, the intensity of his stare was powerful.

You walked over to Levi, your confidence radiating as you reached down and wrapped your hand around his cock. The heat of him pulsed under your fingers, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. His dark eyes locked onto yours as his hands moved to grip your dress, holding it up and out of the way.

You slowly lowered yourself onto him, and the moment the head of his cock pressed into you, Levi let out a low, guttural “Fuck.” His muscles tightening as you took him in, inch by inch, until he was fully sheathed inside of you.

His chest rose sharply, a shudder running through his body as his hands reflexively tightened on your hips. The tension in his shoulders and the flicker of his eyelids betrayed the effort it took to hold back, his control teetering on the edge. The stretch was intense, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft gasp, your body adjusting to his size.

Levi’s hands gripped your waist tightly, his fingers pressing into your skin. “You’re so fucking tight.” He spoke, his voice rough with desire. “Feels so good when you squeeze me like that.”

Your arms draped around his neck, and you began to move your hips against him. At first, you started slow, rolling your hips in deliberate circles, savoring every inch of him. His cock twitched inside you, and you smirked, knowing the effect you were having on him.

As you picked up the pace, Levi’s grip on your waist tightened even more, his nails almost digging into your skin.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his. The kiss was messy and desperate, the heat of his mouth igniting a fire in your core. Your tongues met in a heated tangle, sliding and curling against each other, the taste of him intoxicating. His lips were firm yet pliant, and every movement sent a spark of electricity down your spine, leaving you breathless and craving more.

You moaned into his mouth as his cock hit that perfect spot inside you, and when you pulled back, a chain of saliva connected your lips. Levi’s eyes darkened as he looked at you, his gaze dropping to where you were joined.

“Fuck yourself on me just like that.” He commanded, his voice low and demanding. “ Don’t stop.”

His words sent a jolt through you, and your walls clenched around him in response. Levi noticed once again, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Your pussy’s gripping me so fucking tight.”

You began to move faster, the sounds of your bodies moving together filling the room. Your arousal coated him, and he groaned as he looked down, watching as you creamed on his cock.

“Look at that. You’re so wet for me. Fucking perfect.”

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his neck, kissing and biting softly. Your tongue ran along the column of his throat, and you whispered in his ear, “Your cock feels so good, Levi. I love how deep you are inside me.”

His hands tightened on your hips, his breath hitching slightly at your words. You kissed his neck again, sucking lightly to leave a mark. “I want all of your cum inside me.” You whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Fill me up. I want to feel it.”

Levi’s cock twitched inside you, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You want me that much, don’t you?” You teased, running your hands through the hair until you reached the nape of his neck.

His eyes met yours, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath catch. “You’re fucking insufferable.” His tone exasperated but laced with affection. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you tightly against him as he thrust up into you. “But yeah, I want you that much.”

You grinned, gripping the back of his neck. “Then cum inside me, Levi. Give me everything.”

He swore under his breath, his movements becoming erratic as he neared his climax. “I’m gonna cum.” His voice strained.

“I know, baby.” Your hips continue to move against him. “I can feel it. Do it. Fill me up.”

With a deep groan, Levi buried himself inside you, his arms locking around your waist as he held you steady, his breath hitching audibly. The heat of his release spread through you, the sensation almost overwhelming as your body shuddered in response. A low rumble of satisfaction vibrated in his chest.

The intensity of the moment left your heart pounding, the connection between you palpable in every heavy breath you shared. You could feel his hot cum spilling into you, and the sensation sent a shiver through your body. You rested your forehead against his, your breath coming in short gasps as you both came down from the high.

A teasing grin spread across your face. “You’re not tired yet, are you?”

Levi’s brow furrowed, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. “What?”

“Come on.” You leaned in to kiss him softly. “I know you’ve got a few more rounds in you. Don’t tell me you’re already spent.”

He frowned. “If I wanted to fuck your pussy until you couldn’t walk, I would. You know that, right?”

You tilted your head, a playful glint in your eyes. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”

Levi’s eyes narrowed, his tone dropping an octave. “Don’t test me.”

You started moving your hips again, your grin widening. “It’s okay, Levi. You can just relax. I’ll do everything. Sex with me can be kind of exhausting, I know.”

His grip on you tightened even more, and he let out a low growl. “Keep pushing me, and I’ll show you exactly what happens when you think you’re in charge.”

You leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Sure Levi.”

You smirked, rocking your hips teasingly as you leaned into Levi’s ear. “It’s okay that you want me to do everything.” You cooed, laughter lacing your words. “I was planning to exhaust you anyway. I just didn’t think you’d be so tired after round one.”

Levi’s eyes darkened instantly, the playful smirk dropping from his face. His grip tightened suddenly on your waist, and before you could react, he pulled you off his cock entirely, leaving you aching and empty. A whimper of disappointment left your lips, but it was quickly swallowed by a gasp as he lifted you effortlessly, forcing you down onto the chair before flipping your body forward.

Your hands gripped the seat, your breath coming in short pants as he pressed your back down lower. His palm sprawled across the small of your back, keeping you in place, face down, ass up. The position left you completely vulnerable to him, and you could feel the heat of his body hovering just behind you.

“Thought you were in charge, huh?” Levi’s voice was a deep, taunting drawl, his breath warm against your spine. “You really don’t know when to shut that mouth.”

He was so easy to rile up when he was horny. It almost made you laugh, but you knew you couldn’t. If you gave away the fact that you wanted this in any way, he’d make you go back to being in charge- which was fine with you, but you liked it when he fucked you with a little temper.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs before hiking your dress up over your hips. You could feel the sharp inhale he took as he took in the sight of you, slick and ready, his fingers tracing the sticky evidence of your mixed arousal- spreading you apart to see just how much you needed him.

Your thighs trembled as he leaned in, his lips grazing the curve of your ass before he bit down. His hands tightened on your hips before he pulled back and, without warning, plunged his cock back inside you.

You cried out, gripping the chair as he pressed the head of his dick against you, teasing just for a moment before snapping his hips forward, burying himself inside you all at once. The sudden stretch stole your breath, your fingers digging into the chair as a sharp gasp left your lips, pleasure and intensity crashing over you in an instant. Just deep, hard thrusts that had you gasping with every stroke. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you still as he fucked into you with an unforgiving pace.

“Talk all that shit…” He gritted out between thrusts, “...and now look at you.” His palm came down against your ass in a sharp slap, and you moaned loudly, your walls clenching around him in response.

You couldn’t form words as your body rocked forward with each deep stroke. The force of his thrusts sent jolts of pleasure through you, and your legs began to tremble. One of his hands snaked around you, his fingers circling your clit in rapid motions. The added sensation pushed you over the edge instantly, your body clamping down around him as your orgasm hit you like a wave.

“Fuck—Levi!” Your moans filled the room, your juices spilling down your thighs as your body shook.

But Levi didn’t stop. He fucked you through your orgasm, his fingers never letting up on your sensitive clit. The overstimulation sent your mind spinning, and tears pricked at your eyes as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming.

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of him through hazy vision. His face was just as flushed as yours, his brows furrowed in concentration, his lips parted slightly as he breathed heavily. Even through the intensity, even with him in complete control, you could still make him unravel.

Your back arched, pressing yourself further into him, reveling in the way his grip tightened. Your own body moved to meet his thrusts, and he groaned deeply, the sound vibrating through your entire being.

“Fuck.” He exhaled, his pace faltering slightly. “Gonna cum—”

You bit your lip, your legs weak as you ground yourself against him. “Do it.” You whispered. “Fill me up again, Levi.”

His movements became erratic, his grip almost bruising as he buried himself deep inside you, a low, moan tearing from his throat as he came. You could feel his release coating your insides once more, hot and thick, so much that some of it was already spilling out of you.

For a moment, you both stayed like that, breathless and shaking. Then, Levi’s grip shifted. One hand slid up your spine before wrapping around your throat, pulling you upright so your back was flush against his chest.

“You gonna keep up that attitude?” He spoke against your ear, his lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

Your breathing was uneven, your body still trembling, but you managed a small smirk. “I don’t have an attitude.”

Levi chuckled darkly, his teeth grazing your shoulder before sucking hard, leaving a mark. His other hand trailed down, fingers circling your spent clit again, making your breath hitch.

His cock was still buried inside you, still hard, still warm, stretching you perfectly. The heat of him pulsed inside, each subtle movement sending aftershocks of pleasure through your already trembling body. A shudder rolled down your spine as the fullness settled deep, leaving you gasping at the overwhelming sensation of being completely claimed by him. You whimpered at the sensation, the fullness of him making you dizzy.

You reached back, running your fingers through his damp hair, tilting your head slightly to give him better access to your neck. “Are you going to teach me to fly?” You ask, teasingly.

Levi’s lips moved along your throat, his kisses slow and heated, trailing up until his mouth hovered just beside your ear.

“No.” His voice was low, final, sending a shiver down your spine.

And then he rolled his hips into you again.

You sighed, frustration bubbling beneath the surface as you pulled away from Levi, his cock slipping from you. Turning around, you cupped his face and pressed a tender kiss to his lips, your breath warm against his skin as you whispered, "Clearly, rewards don’t work on you, so I’ll just have to find other ways to convince you."

His eyes narrowed slightly, understanding your implication immediately. "You think you can hold out longer than me?" He scoffed, adjusting his pants as he tucked himself away. "You can’t."

"Okay.” You replied simply, smoothing down your dress as if nothing had happened, covering your breasts and shifting the fabric back into place.

Your hands brushed over your skin lightly, making sure every detail was just right before taking a seat behind your sewing table. When you looked up at him from your seated position, there was a new distance in your eyes. "If you’re not here for business, then you can go. I need to take a bath."

You knew the comment would get under his skin. His fist clenched slightly, but he didn’t take the bait right away. Instead, he exhaled sharply and folded his arms. "You have no idea why you even want to use the ODM gear. You don’t know what it comes with. If you weren’t in the position you’re in, I would teach you. As it stands now, there are too many eyes, and you’ll get yourself killed."

Your hands clasped under your chin as you looked away. "I understand.” Your voice remained velvety as you spoke, “I just don’t care.”

Levi’s gaze stayed fixed on you, studying you carefully. "And that’s exactly why I’m not teaching you.” His voice was laced with exasperation. "You’re too reckless."

The words stung, but you didn’t argue. He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean you were giving up. Instead, you met his eyes again and pushed your chair back.

"I’m going to go fill the bath." You spoke evenly, standing up. "If you’re still here by the time it’s ready, you can join me."

Levi scoffed, shaking his head. "I knew you couldn’t hold out."

You smirked as you turned toward the stairs. "I’m not having sex with you in the bath." You corrected, glancing at him over your shoulder. "I’m just inviting you to join me—as a comrade."

His eyes flickered with something irritable before he tilted his head slightly. "How many other comrades have joined you in that bath?"

Your smirk widened as you walked away. "Your possessiveness is showing, Levi."

He rolled his eyes, but despite your comment, he followed you upstairs.

Back outside, the gang lounged on the worn stone steps, the dim light of the underground casting long shadows. Wil, Alfie, Klara, and Heinrich. They weren’t the whole gang, but definitely the ones who hung out together the most.

Wil smirked, tossing a small loaf of bread between her hands. "I'll give you the whole damn loaf if you walk in there right now." She teased, nodding toward the shop.

Klara's face twisted in horror. "Absolutely not! No way!" She shook her head violently. "I've already walked in on them once. It was... intense."

Alfie's eyebrows shot up in interest. "Wait, you knew about them this whole time?" His grin widened. "What happened?"

Klara crossed her arms with a grimace. "They're nasty. And I don’t just mean what they do. It’s what they say."

Wil leaned forward eagerly. "Like what?"

Klara made a face, clearing her throat before mimicking in a gruff voice, "‘You like it rough, huh? Say it.’" Then she switched to a breathier tone, "‘Yes, Levi, I love your big-’" She clamped a hand over her mouth, her face flushing deeply. "I’m not doing this."

Alfie let out a sharp laugh, clutching his stomach. "And she had the nerve to act like nothing was going on between them earlier! I knew it!"

Heinrich, who had been leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, let out a heavy sigh. "Why do you guys care about any of this?"

Alfie nudged him with an elbow. "What else are we supposed to talk about?"

Before Heinrich could answer, the sound of boots approaching drew their attention. Eduard strode up, his long dark brown hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck, eyes scanning the group. "Where’s the boss?"

The gang exchanged glances before Wil answered, "She’s inside."

Eduard frowned at their expressions. "You’re all acting weird."

No one said anything as he walked past them toward the door. The group remained silent, waiting, anticipation thick in the air.

A few long moments passed, the silence stretching as the group exchanged knowing glances. Then, finally, the door creaked open again, and Eduard stepped out, his expression unreadable.

The gang feigned casual disinterest, but the tension cracked as he leveled them with a deadpan look. "Did you guys know she’s fucking Levi? I just saw her in the bath with him."

Laughter erupted instantly. Wil leaned back against the steps, wiping a tear from her eye. "Oh, man."

Eduard scowled. "You guys are pieces of shit. Why would you let me walk in on that?!"

Klara, still red-faced, shook her head. "Let me guess. They didn’t even see you?"

Eduard sighed, running a hand down his face. "No. They didn’t. They were too busy saying—" He hesitated before shaking his head. "Never mind."

Alfie slapped him firmly on the back, grinning. "What do you think we were doing out here?"

As they waited, they began talking, the conversation bouncing between meaningless gossip and their usual banter… That was until Furlan appeared.

"Hey, guys.” He greeted casually. "Your boss around?"

The group tensed. "Uhh," Wil started, stretching the sound as she searched for a believable answer.

Furlan frowned slightly. "Okay, I’m gonna go in and talk to her."

"Don’t!" They all shouted at once.

Furlan blinked. "What? Why?"

Wil, thinking fast, threw out the first thing that came to mind. "She’s taking inventory."

Furlan raised a brow. "She’s taking inventory? That’s literally Alfie’s job."

Alfie, ever the smooth talker, slung an arm around him and steered him away. "You know her. She’s a perfectionist. Said if she sees a single soul enter the shop before she’s ready… well, she’s not gonna be happy. So I’m keeping watch of the door. Anything that can get said to the boss can get said to her right hand first."

Furlan eyed him suspiciously. "Are you being serious?"

Alfie nodded. "I’m being dead serious. Listen, you can go in if you want to-"

“Okay, great.” Furlan advanced toward the door.

“Ah ah ah.” Alfie brought him back in tighter, “I wasn’t finished. You can go in, but you’ll just have to fight me first.”

“What?”

Alfie shrugged, “If I let you in then she’ll kick my ass. So before that happens I’m gonna have to lay you out. I’m not trying to catch heat from the boss.”

Furlan rose an eyebrow, “She’s really taking inventory?”

Wil nodded, “She is really taking inventory, yes.”

Klara made some room on the steps, “You can sit…” Her words faded out as she looked over at Wil shaking her head. “...at home and then we’ll come and get you when she’s done.”

The man sighed exasperated, “Fine. I’ll be back.” He headed down the stairs once more.

Crisis averted. There was no real reason they didn’t let Furlan up. Maybe they were worried about your privacy. Maybe they knew he had a crush on you and didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Whatever the reason was, it all worked out thankfully.

For now it was a waiting game. Heist details couldn’t wait much longer. Oh they were so gonna tease the shit outta you during this next meeting.

______________________________________________________________ Although feedback is never a right it is always appreciated <3

This was the start of a fic that never took off. I was trying to work around a specific plot, and this just didn't cut it for me. I was trying something new. As a slow burn type of gal, if I start off the first chapter with smut it's very hard for me to push forward because I like to develop bonds through my writing instead of just having an established relationship.

I intentionally left this story open just in case I might throw another chapter in there, but please know this is intended to stand alone.

Want something else to read? Check out my series:

Levi x Reader: Memoirs from a Gilded Cage

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incognitoleeknow · 3 months ago

Text

Limbo

Synopsis: Minho had everything under control. At least, that's what he liked to portray to those around him. But she saw through it, leaving him with no other choice but to get away from her. The question is, will he be able to resist his urges enough to stay away? Pairing: Dom!Minho x Fem!Reader Genre: Porn w/o plot, angst Word count: 3.7k

Angst. Semi-established relationship. Mutual pining. Porn without plot. Light BDSM. D/S dynamics. Orgasm control. Edging. Fingering (female receiving). Oral (female receiving). Penetration. Unprotected sex (wrap before you tap). Breath play. Corruption kink. Nicknames like "goddess," "gorgeous," "baby/ babe" & "good girl." Slight degradation. Praise kink. Healthy communication. Aftercare. Third person POV.

A/n: I'm not a native english speaker and I spell like a rake so grammatical errors and spelling errors are bound to be found.

Explicit content, adult themes, suitable for 18+ only.

This is an original work. Do not repost, re-upload or otherwise redistribute.

Minho took a deep breath, letting the bitter-sweet scent of the freshly brewed coffee overflow his senses as he brought the cup closer to his face. His muscles relaxed as he released his breath. The late summer breeze provided a feeling of familiarity and comfort as it seeped through the fabric of his white shirt, clinging to his shape. The warm rays of the afternoon sun gently hugged the skin on his arms.

He despised days like this one. Days that should be relaxing. Days he had set aside to allow himself some peace of mind, to free himself of everyday stress and obligations. Instead, he found himself lost in the sounds in his mind. The overwhelming onslaught of thoughts clouding his senses. Tightly squeezing his chest like a hydraulic press.

His heart ached longingly at the thought of her. Her image, breathtaking and pure, stuck in the back of his mind. She had been the first person to see him for who he truly was. The first to acknowledge his flaws, while still embracing the entirety of his being with the tender touch of a fated lover. Her affection was kind, profound and it downright terrified him. Never before had he felt such a strong connection to another. Nevertheless, her attachment often proved too much for him to handle. Before, he had always managed to come back to his senses, but this time was different. He had promised himself to stay away. Drained by the confusing emotions the outside had brought, he had confined himself to his apartment.

He didn’t need her, not really. He kept repeating the words over and over in his mind. The security she offered was something he could only ever hope to receive long term, after all.

He took another sip from his cup, letting his body melt into the cushiony pillows of his outdoor lounge chair. His attempt to drown out the ringing in his ears proved futile, leading him to concentrate on the velvety fabric beneath him instead.

< Bzzt >

The sudden buzz of his phone jolted him out of his new-found comfort. He took a breath through gritted teeth as he swiped down on his phone screen to read the notification.

[ Missed call: You have 8 missed call(s) from “Goddess.” ]

[ Voicemail: You have 1 missed voicemail(s). ]

“Stupid goddess…” he muttered under his breath, bitterness clinging to his voice like the strongest glue.

He prepared himself as best he could. Steadying his nerves before pressing on the notification. All sounds were nearly drowned out by the loud thumping of his pulse in his ears.

“Do not falter, Minho” he reminded himself.

“Baby? Are you okay? Don’t just shut me out like this. Talk to me. Please? Can't we just talk this out?”

Her words clear as day through the speaker of his phone. The sound of her voice… just as angelic as he remembered.

He desired nothing more than to hold her in his arms. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to return her calls, to make it right. But his fear still overpowered him. The risk of hurting her was too great. What if his desires would some day come to hurt her? He couldn't risk it, even though she was willing.

She had told him multiple times that she could handle it. That she desired nothing more than to be owned by him, used by him. Have him in ways no one ever had before. She trusted him fully, and he trusted her. But what if that wasn’t enough? He didn’t want to figure it out. He needed to cool off, distract himself before his mind became clouded with nothing but impure thoughts of her.

Turning off the icy-water, Minho felt somewhat relieved for the first time in days. He had hidden himself away in his apartment for a week trying to avoid her. He had spent countless sleepless nights staring at her contact in his phone; resisting the urge to call her. They had gone from calling, texting and meeting each other every day for weeks, just for him to cut all communication as soon as he started feeling that nagging feeling of familiarity.

Ever the pleasure seeker, the circumstances under which he had met her was no exception. They met each other on a night out. Him out with his boys, her with her girls when their eyes met across the dancefloor. Inebriated lust washed over them faster than the rush of illicit substances as soon as his gaze fell on her. One influenced night of adult fun, resulting in a steady situationship. He supposed the salacious want he felt for her was just that, a mere chemical reaction. A simple biological process…strong enough to awaken the darkest of fantasies. Of course, no one would blame him for it. Not if they had felt the spread of fiery intoxication her big, pleading eyes ignited in his veins whenever she looked at him. In fact, they would grant him a standing ovation for his level of self-restraint, he was sure.

She knew how to awaken the demon in him … without him ever having to share any of his earthly desires with her. He reckoned the only logical explanation was for her to have been an ancient goddess sent to earth specifically for him. She was made for him; of that he was certain. He wanted to make her happy, protect her from evil, and become a better man for her. Alas, his deep desire to covet her was greater. He needed to claim her, mark her as his own. He craved the corruption of her purity, to make her obsessed with him to the point of others shying away. The mere thought of someone attempting to lay hands on the person he considered to be his most sacred treasure turned his thoughts murderous. He shook himself back to reality.

He carefully wrapped his towel around his waist, strands of silver still dripping down the frame of his face as he mindlessly stepped into his kitchen to pour himself a glass of golden stress-relief. He grabbed a lowball from the cabinet above him, carefully placing two large cubes of ice in the glass before pouring a double of usquebaugh over them. Minho felt a comforting warmth spread across his chest as he swallowed the first sip of his drink. Smooth notes of white chocolate and roasted coffee beans lingering on his palate. The sound of faint knocking brought him back to reality.

The door to his apartment opened with a soft click, revealing a half naked Minho to…her, whiskey glass in hand. Her cheeks turning rose at the unexpected state of him. Droplets of crystal left wet trails from the nape of his neck down to his protruding abs, his honey skin prickling at the cold outside his loft. His face, just as surprised as hers.

They stood frozen, taking in each other’s form for a minute before she finally broke out of her trance.

“I've been trying to reach you.” she spoke softly, voice low as if trying to not scare him away.

“I've been busy.” he deadpanned.

A lie. They both knew it. Minho looked at the drink in his hands, her eyes following his gaze as he swirled the liquid in his glass.

“Look at me, Minho.”

He shut his eyes, forehead wrinkling with annoyance. He wished for her to disappear. Her presence was unbearable. He hated when she spoke softly to him, hated the way it comforted him. Hated how much it made him want to lean on her, depend on her. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He swore he would never depend on another again. Not after the pain he had been through.

His life had been a series of burned bridges and betrayals, making him promise himself to never venture into something deeper than the physical connection of two bodies. But she was different. She saw him. She gave him the hope he thought he had given up on years ago.

“I said, look at me.”

Her voice was firm. Caring. He could hear the sound of his heartbeat in his ears getting louder. If he did not close the door now, he would not be able to resist her. Her voice was starting to draw him in, he could feel it. Desire slowly started to cloud his senses. His entire body screamed for him to kiss her, hold her close, and steal her away from the world. He wouldn't. He couldn’t.

“Go home, gorgeous. Let’s talk another time.”

It took everything he had to reject her, to send her back from whence she came. But he was running out of time, and he had to make her leave while he still had some semblance of control over himself.

With determined eyes, she took a step closer. This prompted Minho to let go of the door as he stumbled to keep the distance between them. The door shut closely behind her as soon as she set foot into his apartment.

“I know why you’ve been hiding from me” she finally spoke.

“I haven’t been hiding from you. I’ve been-”

“Busy? Yeah, you keep saying that and yet you always read my texts as soon as I send them, but never reply to me.”

Minho stared in amazement, eyes blinking rapidly as he tried to figure out how she had known. All those nights he had spent reading her messages, fighting his inner demons to not respond when she called out for him.

“How the hell would you know?”

She let out a deep, exasperated sigh, and pinched the bridge of her nose as she tried to calm herself.

“You have your message read receipts on, babe…”

Minho stared at her dumbfounded. Amazed that even he could stoop to such a high level of pure stupidity. He managed to pull himself together, trying his best to sound unbothered. “So? I’m not allowed to read the texts of the girl I’m fucking now?” he said, trying to sound nonchalant while a smirk began to creep up the corner of his mouth.

“Not if you’re not going to have the decency to answer her back.” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Her tone was decisive, almost intimidating. He knew better than to fight her head-on. It always ended with him on his knees anyway, so instead he opted for the only out he could think of. Minho scoffed and downed the last of his drink before turning to top it up.

He walked straight to the kitchen counter and the uncorked bottle, immediately grabbing it to pour himself another drink. He made sure to take a swig straight from the bottle to summon some strength while he was at it. He had been down this road before. Once she stepped foot inside his flat, he would not be able to resist her. He needed the extra liquid courage. Maybe he could drink himself into a blackout before she came too close again.

“Minho…” she said as she leaned against the kitchen door, concern apparent in her tone. Her feign affection prodigious. He could not stand another second of her suffocating questioning.

He turned around to face the sink. Too afraid to say something he would regret, instead opting for another sip of the liquid in his hands.

He stopped dead in his tracks as he felt arms enveloping him, the warmth of her cheek against his back. The force of that nagging familiar feeling made itself known once again. His chest tightened. His heart rate elevated as the grip on the glass in his hands loosened at the flowery scent of her perfume. She held him tight.

“Is it really that hard to just say it?”

“Say what?” Minho felt his patience wearing thin.

“Fine… I’ll say it then you emotionally constipated dork.”

She let out a hushed sigh, hands freeing Minho of her hold. He turned to look at her, something akin to childish bitterness lacing his features. His eyes softened upon meeting her gaze. She took his hands in hers, rubbing slow, calming circles onto his skin as she spoke.

“Minho… It’s okay for you to love me.”

Time stopped. Minho could have sworn he was hallucinating.

“What?”

“It’s okay for you to love me. You really think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m saying I love you too, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to realize it yourself.”

“I don-”

She put her finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up before his brain could even register the motion. Minho snapped. Unadulterated lust overpowering his senses as he let himself feel the depth of his emotions for the first time in years. He tightly wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body flush to his. He wanted her. Needed her. Wanted to make up for the time they had lost while not talking.

His lips crashed onto hers, his hand sliding its way up the back of her head grabbing the roots of her hair. He forced her head back, deepening the kiss, while the other hand kept the tight grip around her waist. Using the weight of his body, he pushed her to the bedroom. Not once letting her break the kiss.

He pressed a hand to her chest, pushing her onto the bed, his body followed closely behind hers. A surprised gasp left her lips as he trapped her with his frame. He scanned the features of her face, looking for any potential sign of hesitancy. She reached her hand up to his face, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear.

“I want this, Minho. I want you.”

She held his face in her hands as she spoke, pulling him into a reassuring kiss. His hand traveled down her body, her skin left burning in the wake of his touch. She pressed herself up against him as he grabbed the back of her thigh, wrapping her leg around him. He needed her closer. Wanted for them to melt into each other so that nothing would ever separate them again. His hand slid up her back. She arched into him as he unbuckled her bra with the flick of his fingers.

He pressed his thigh against her. Her core throbbing at the friction he created. His lips teased her neck, gently kissing his way down to her chest. He stiffened her nipple with his wet tongue, drawing circles around it. He teasingly bit it as he let his hand fall between them.

Her hands intertwined with his hair as Minho palmed her, adding that delicious pressure to her clit once more before helping her out of her jeans. Using his digits, he teased her wet folds, gently prodding her entrance.

“M-Minho…” she moaned, as her temperature rose.

He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes. Those big, pleading eyes that drove him absolutely fucking insane with desire. He knew what she wanted of him, what she needed. But it didn't matter. He wanted her to say it, wanted her to beg for it. After all, she always was the prettiest when she whined for more.

“Come on, use your big girl words. Tell me what you need, gorgeous.”

“I w-want you inside.” she confessed, cheeks flushing at his careful devotion.

“Oh? Lost our manners, have we?”

His voice dropped a couple of notes, the mocking in his tone apparent as he spoke.

“I'm sorry. P-please, make me feel good. I want you to t-tease my g-spot with your fingers.”

Each carefully planned roll of his digits through her folds made her shiver. Her need to feel him inside her, growing with each stroke. She could feel her body burning.

“Good girl.” he said with that familiar smirk plastered on his face, a subtle scoff escaping as he spoke.

He kissed her passionately while letting his fingers penetrate her wet heat. He let out a moan as her velvety walls contracted around him. He found her sweet spot almost instantly. He knew her body well after all.

“F-fuck!” she gasped breathlessly as he began to put pressure on the velvety spot inside her. The long, aggravatingly slow strokes to her sensitive area, clouding her mind.

She rocked her hips to his rhythm, chasing her high. He propped himself up on his elbow, leaving her lips with the feeling of emptiness.

“How much?” he asked.

Presumably a somewhat weird question, had it not been asked between the two of them. She knew exactly what he meant. He was gauging her tolerance, seeing how far he could push without breaking her. She loved that about him. The way he made sure to communicate with her, check in on her even during the most sinful of moments.

“Easy.”

He gave a slight nod as he removed himself from her, leaving her soaked core feeling empty and needy. He slid down to her middle, carefully placing his head between her voluptuous thighs. He blew gently on her exposed clit, sending shivers down her spine.

“You tease me too much, babe.” she said, her voice breathless and shaky.

“Don't act like you don't love it. You know just as well as I do my pretty slut absolutely loves getting her pretty little clit teased.”

She moaned. His words, the mixture of degradation and praise, made her clench around nothing. He closed his lips around her sensitive knob. Her hands gripped at the roots of his hair as he swirled his tongue against her. She felt that familiar knot forming in her stomach, threatening to become undone for him at any moment.

Her muscles tightened as he picked up his speed, soft kitten licks pushing her closer and closer to the edge. He put his arms around her waist, holding her firmly in place, preventing her from escaping the pleasure.

“F-fuck, Minho! I'm gonna-”

“No, you're not.”

He sat back up, watching as her high slowly faded.

“W-why?” She stammered, frustrated; her legs still left trembling with excitement.

“Manners, remember?”

She whined. The torment, a delicious mix of sweet and sour.

“You're so fucking mean.”

He helped her to her hands and knees, a satisfied smirk mantled to his lips as he let a firm hand push her head into the fluffy pillow. She arched her back for him, giving him full access to her once more.

“I know, gorgeous. I’m sorry.” he said, tone cold and condescending as he pushed his length inside her.

He set a steady pace, his hand sneaking down to rub teasing circles onto her clit, his length hitting that blissful spot inside her. He pulled her up, body pressed flush against him, his hand grabbing her neck. He squeezed her throat firmly, adding just enough pressure to release that lofty sensation that made her legs weak. His hips picked up speed as he let his teeth sink into the nape of her neck, his own orgasm looming.

“Min-Minho, I'm c-close.” she managed, between heavy breaths.

“Not yet. I want to see that pretty face of yours when you cum.”

He turned her around to lay down on her back. Guiding her legs onto his shoulders, he snapped his hips repeatedly, the new angle allowing him deeper inside her. His silver strands damp and messy above her, his muscles tightening with each thrust.

“Holy fuck-”

“Look at me gorgeous.” he said, voice sharp.

She struggled to hold his gaze. The waves of pleasure his devotion sent clouded her mind, making it barely possible for her to speak.

“P-please. Can I cum?” she said, her eyes tearfully pleading with him.

Her begging almost made him cum on the spot. He could feel his dick throb at the sounds of her pleas, unable to hold himself back any further.

“Fuck! Cum for me, gorgeous.”

He didn't have to tell her twice. Her core tightened. Pure ecstasy coursed through every one of her nerve endings, as her nails dug into his biceps in an effort to keep herself grounded.

Minho’s own orgasm hit him harder than the pavement after five whiskey sours. He worked them through their highs, pumping himself into her, milking himself of every last drop.

She sighed, seemingly satisfied as his body fell, exhausted to lay on top of her. She soothingly dragged her nails over the skin on his arms and back as he rested his face in the crook of her neck. He breathed in her scent as they laid in the post orgasmic bliss for what seemed to be an eternity.

“I missed you.” she finally spoke.

His eyes snapped open. He could feel the embarrassment hitting him as the memory of his avoidance hit him. Not that he'd ever admit as much. He squeezed her tight before getting up.

“Why don't you take a shower while I make some food.”

He grabbed the new set of clothes he had put out earlier before stepping outside to make his way to the kitchen, making sure to kiss her cheek on his way out. She giggled as she followed him with her eyes.

“He’s such a fucking tsundere.” she thought to herself, amused.

***

He felt his t-shirt dampen from her freshly washed hair as she embraced him from behind. The scent of his body wash on her, providing a satisfactory feeling in his chest. Her arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen as he stirred the eggs in the pan in front of him. He put his hand on hers, stroking her thumb lovingly with his own.

“You want to stay the night?” he asked, tone soft.

“I could stay for life.”

He turned around to look at her, ears red, heart pounding in his chest. She looked at him, her bright smile almost as pretty as her eyes. Minho felt the warmth from his ears spread to his cheeks. Before she could notice, he turned his attention back to the stove, making himself look busy by over-stirring the eggs.

“Stupid goddess…” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely above a whisper.

She giggled before she threw her arms around him again.

“You love me~” she teased.

“Yeah… I do.”

***

Thank you so much for reading my fic. Please let me know if you enjoyed it by reblogging and liking my post. Any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Stay dark my friends.

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cialovesklopp · 11 days ago

Text

scene 4 ➺ moral of the story

summary — there existed an old cameroonian proverb — “quand quelqu’un laisse, quelqu’un prend” and kylian realized just how much it actually applied to life.

pairing — kylian mbappé x black! oc, oc x (surprise)

warnings — heavy angst, closure, kylian groveling (sorry not sorry), unrequited feelings, no happy ending (for kylian at least)

author‘s note — so here it is! after some long arguing with one of my friends, she convinced me to not let both end up miserable but only kylian and i live to please sooo… also for the timeline i imagine this part to play maybe two years later so like kylian still joined rm for the 2024/2025 season and has been there for two years for the timeline. i also made some events of the 2024/2025 season happen two years later for the plot ;) — i’m kind of thinking of adding a bonus chapter to this series, a bit more lighter and more focused on emery. tell me what u think :)

( series masterlist | masterlist )

it had been two years since emery had left. eight hundred and forty three days had passed.

and kylian could still feel the silence that lingered ever since emery had left.

it was haunting him, occupying every corner of his new apartment and life. the flat felt too big, too clean. there was no warmth like there had been in paris. when emery had still been in his life. nothing comfy that made the apartment human. homey. instead it was cold and reflected the state of his soul since she had left him.

it symbolised emery‘s departure.

at first he had thought this was exactly what he wanted. he had recovered from her sudden disappearance and had stopped watching the door like a hawk. told himself, he had never wanted attachment in the first place anyway and it was better for him that emery was gone.

emery had represented chaos in his life. chains because of their arranged marriage that had been put in place to save his image. she was scattered books all over the coffee table and baked goods whenever she felt a little down. so when she was gone, kylian told himself her absence was exactly what he needed. that he longed to breathe.

but he had only been able to lie to himself for so long.

silence had never been what he needed and now it was all he had. the faint smell of vanilla and cherry that emery had carried everywhere had disappeared. now there was nothing in the air. he had been used to come home to cooked dinners, extra reheated for him whenever he came home late.

all that was gone now. instead it was replaced with emptiness and cold sheets that made him stare at the ceiling all night.

kylian missed her. longed for the domestication and solace she had brought to the apartment. the way she had always had an open ear for him no matter what hour and her ability to make him laugh whenever he gave her the time of day.

he‘d thought he would feel lighter after overcoming the initial shock of her departure and the epiphany that he loved her. that this weight would lift and he‘d regain his freedom again instead of being bound to a marriage he had never wanted in the first place.

the dawning came slowly — when there were no breakfasts waiting for him anymore before training and when the shower stopped smelling after vanilla. when he spent nights watching the ceiling, wondering about life and emery. and it had finally hit him like a missile being launched at him when there was no one in the stands cheering for him anymore.

fate was cruel. and the way it had been to emery, it was now just as cruel to him.

emery was gone and she had unknowingly taken the feeling of home and warmth with her.

kylian had tried getting into the dating scene again after the public had been informed of their divorce. he had tried moving on and going out again; chose women with perfectly glossed lips and soft silky hair. ones who liked the way he looked in the media, who asked all about his achievements but nothing about his personality. women who knew how to cook and smelt like vanilla but still left the apartment cold. none of them made his heart race.

it wasn’t until much later that he understood why every of his relationship kept failing. because, unconsciously, he was comparing them to emery. and no one would ever be her. none of those women he had tried dating could ever be her and it hurt to acknowledge it.

none of them were able to cook his favorite home meals. none started suddenly dancing when an old p-square song suddenly appeared that was just too catchy to stand still. and none fawned over black panther and criminal minds the way emery had done.

emery was unique and he had screwed it over.

kylian had tried to find her, hoped that he could beg her to start over again. but he had had no luck and she had stayed hidden. he hadn‘t dared contacting her family — what would he say to them? i‘m sorry tata but i drove your daughter to the near end because i stringed her along and only realized i loved her when she left? — he couldn’t do that.

he had reached out to teammates, asked them if they knew anything but none were wiser about her location. emery was hidden and did not want to be found — and he had chosen to respect that and decided to move on. to take madrid as a new beginning.

but that didn‘t stop him from wondering sometimes — during nights when he was in bed and sleep wouldn‘t come — whether she was okay. and occasionally he found himself reading her letter again.

the last thing she had left him.

“i loved you kylian. i still do and i don‘t think i‘ll ever stop. but i can‘t stay anymore and have you break my heart over and over. i waited and waited for you to finally see me but you never did. hoping that one day you would realize that you love me too — but that day never came and i‘m tired. you didn‘t see me and i was stupid for hoping you would one day. but i don‘t regret loving you. i just couldn‘t hold onto an illusion anymore. so i‘m letting you go because i can‘t keep waiting anymore. have a good life kylian. i wish you the best.

the letter haunted him and yet he found himself reading it again and again. new tears fell onto the dry ones, soaking the paper but that was nothing compared to what it did to his heart.

it would never be the same again.

— ✯

champions league nights were exciting, mythic — glorious and pressuring. the most glamorous nights in the world of football. they were the pinnacle of the sport, where legends were made and spectacular goals went into history. nights where clubs carved their history.

and at anfield, they were holy. scared. the floodlight didn‘t just illuminate the pitch, they sanctified it. and the kop was full of believers, singing chants and prayers. fans who had gone up and down with the club. the atmosphere was tense, sharp. nothing unsurprising, especially when two clubs who shared so much history faced each other — liverpool and real madrid.

the weight of history pressed loomed over the stadium like a ghost. the spirit of revenge was in the air, vengeance for the lost finales of 2018 and 2022. everything mattered on the pitch tonight.

but none of it truly registered for emery. it wasn‘t her first champions league night since she had left paris but it had been a while since she had gone to watch such a big match between two legendary teams.

she could feel the intensity of the match, even if it was just a group phase match, and wasn’t sure whether it was the chilly september night that left goosebumps on her skin or the tense atmosphere.

standing by the family stands, she wrapped her red scarf tighter around her neck and picked up her daughter who babbled happily. usually she was against the idea of her eight-month old daughter being around loud crowds but jude had insisted on seeing her and she had given in.

“hey gigi,“ she whispered softly, planting a tender kiss onto her daughter‘s head. she brushed her fingers through her daughter‘s black coily curls softly. “it‘s very loud isn‘t it baby?“

gianna gurgled in response and continued babbling happily, pointing at the pitch excitedly. her eyes were wide as she looked at the bright stadium lights — all of that was of course new for her. if emery had brought gianna to a game, it had always been during daylight and to calmer games. this was an entirely new experience.

emery rocked her gently, smiling and barely registered the voice behind her calling her name until she turned around.

she froze as she realized who stood before her. ethan, standing in front of her with a pack of fries and staring at her as if she was just an illusion. a trick his mind was playing him.

“ethan,“ she whispered.

his shocked expression started to turn into a small smile and astonishment. “oh mon dieu. emery.“ — oh my god

“hey.”

“i didn‘t think i‘d ever see you again,“ he admitted. “ca fait longtemps.“ — it‘s been a long time

she chuckled softly. “i needed a break and a clean cut from paris. i didn‘t mean to drag you into it too but i needed this distance.“

“and now you‘re wearing red. changed teams?“

“my heart will always be blue. i followed the man not the team,“ she replied amusingly.

his eyes fell into gianna who animatedly played with her fingers. “and who is this little lady?“

“this is little gianna, my daughter,“ emery said, her heart swelling with warmth just at the thought of her daughter. motherhood had truly changed her. “she‘s eight months old and my little sunshine.” emery turned her towards ethan. “can we say to maman’s old friend gigi?”

“bonjour gigi,“ ethan replied, smiling as the little girl gave him a gummy smile and struck out her entire hand. “a lot has changed. you were gone for two years.“

she took a deep breath. “i needed to. i couldn‘t stay anymore. i don’t know how much he told you but i left him a letter. and if he chose not to share it with you then i won‘t invade his privacy.“

he hesitated for a small moment and then confessed to her, “he was hurt for a long time. and he still isn‘t completely okay.“

“i wasn‘t either. leaving was one of the hardest decision i have ever made. but i don‘t regret it. and i never blamed anyone. i just needed to get away.”

he nodded slowly. “you seem happy.”

“i am.”

the hymn of the champions league began to echo through the stadium and the players started to walk out the tunnel.

“i should head back to my place,“ she said softly. “but… it was nice seeing you again and catching up.“

he smiled. “me too. and i‘m happy for you even if i know he never stopped missing you.“

“thanks. that means a lot to me.“

ethan watched as she walked away and returned to his own seat where his family was already waiting. he sat down quietly, his mind still trying to process his recent conversation with emery. the same emery ethan still caught kylian crying out to in the night when he slept over sometimes. emery who unknowingly had this hold on kylian ever since she had disappeared without no word.

in the beginning he had wanted to be mad at her for leaving. for just disappearing. but after kylian had told them the truth of what was actually going on and why she really left — it had been hard to stay angry. because wouldn’t he have done the same?

his parents looked at him confusingly when ethan sat down in a somewhat dazed state.

“are you okay? did something happen?” his mother asked him.

“i just saw emery,” ethan said, voice still dazed.

his father turned around. “emery? are you sure?”

ethan nodded. “she’s here. in the family stands.”

his older brother jires frowned. “how? we would have seen her if she was the partner of one of his teammates.”

“she’s wearing red,” ethan added. “she’s on the other stands.”

fayza looked at him incredulously. “tu blagues.” — you’re joking

ethan shook his head. “non. and she’s got a daughter now. gianna.”

they all fell quiet. the possibility that the child could be kylian’s was quickly erased— kylian had told them himself that he hadn’t touched her except their drunk hookup five years ago. her having a daughter now simply meant she had truly moved on.

this time fayza shook her head. “il était tellement bête de la laisser partir,” she muttered under her breath. “all he had to do was admit that he loved her. that he had fallen for her too.” — he was so stupid for letting her go

ethan sighed. “he thought she was a burden because of the fake marriage. that it chained him.”

“les femmes comme emery, tu ne le rencontres pas deux fois dans la vie,” his father commented and turned his gaze back to the pitch again. — you don’t meet women like emery twice in life.

they all quieted down after wilfried’s comment and watched the game in front of them. it was tense, tactical and fans were singing loudly. whoever had once said that playing at anfield was different because of the atmosphere knew what he was talking about. ethan however didn’t find himself that interested in the game. he watched the match, for sure — but found himself more concentrated on the liverpool side, the conversation with emery not forgotten. he scanned their players, wondering who emery might have moved on with.

it felt surreal to know that he was in the same place as emery, the girl his brother yearned for so much. who had managed to put a bullet into kylian’s heart after he had torn her apart completely. he wanted to know so badly who had won the heart she had given so fiercely to kylian once.

and before he knew, the game was over already.

after the final whistle, the match had ended in the host’s favor — 3-2. a last minute goal by diogo jota had given liverpool the lead for the last remaining minutes. real had tried and tried but luck hadn’t been on their side tonight. at least it was only a group phase game.

down on the pitch kylian took one last glance at the stadium, sweat dripping down his forehead. fans were still cheering, the ones in white who had chosen to make the journey were chanting his name even though they had lost. he had scored their two goals and he would be lying if he said that the defeat didn’t sting. but it was undeniably clear that liverpool had been the better team tonight.

they had been more clinical, efficient and had worked together like a well-oiled machine.

he walked into the dressing room where most of his teammates were already changing, exhaustion evident in everyone's eyes. water bottles were passed around as some talked while others had just closed their eyes to get a moment of peace.

kylian decided to do the same and leaned back in his seat. he began chatting with camavinga in french, a nice switch from all the spanish, when jude finally walked in.

and he was not alone. in his arms, he held a small baby, probably not older than a year at most and he was grinning widely as if they hadn’t just lost their unbeatable streak they had kept up since the beginning of the season.

“guys, look who’s here. my personal little spy,” said jude and placed a soft kiss on her tiny curls that made the baby grin. the baby, a girl, began to squirm in his arms and made hands to grab jude’s lips.

she pinched his lips but in such an adorable way that even jude couldn’t stay mad at her once he looked at her soft brown doe eyes.

“ouch gigi,” he scolded her lightly which made her laugh. at the sound of her laughter, kylian briefly looked up and something in him froze.

the sound felt familiar to him. and as he looked at the baby girl in jude’s arms he found that there were many things his mind recognized but couldn’t place. the shape of her mouth, her laughter and her expression when she was displeased with jude — she seemed familiar.

“so that’s why she’s wearing the enemy’s shirt,” aurelien joked, referring to the red liverpool jersey she was wearing.

“we’re still working on making her change sides,” jude grinned. “and of course she will, i’m her favorite uncle.”

the baby suddenly tore at his hair and the entire locker room began to laugh. even kylian had a smile on his face although his heart now felt unsettled at the sight of the small baby in jude’s hand.

it was making him uneasy not knowing from where she seemed familiar.

after a few more minutes of goofing around jude bid them goodbye again and walked out of the dressing room and kylian decided it was time for him to also head out.

he walked towards the family stands and was surprised to see ethan already waiting for him and meeting him halfway.

“hey bro,” his little brother greeted him and handed him a small snack, knowing how hungry kylian got after matches. especially after defeats. “you played good.”

“i know. liverpool was just too good tonight. it could have gone either way.”

“yeah. but your two goals were amazing. even the liverpool fans couldn’t help but clap.”

this time kylian grinned. it did feel amazing to score that bicycle goal and equalize the score to 2-2.

“merci.”

ethan paused, almost hesitant as they walked towards the family stands through the pitch. there were other people there too, probably other family members who had players on the teams.

“kylian there’s something you need to know,” ethan told him hesitantly and kylian stopped walking. “just as a heads up before maman may bombard you.”

“c’est quelque chose de mal?” — is it something bad?

ethan shrugged and frowned. “depends on how you see it.”

“well? spit it out, what’s going on?”

ethan sighed. “emery’s here,” he said slowly.

and as the words sank in, the world may as well have stopped turning with the way kylian’s heart fell. alone her name was enough to make his breath freeze.

she wasn’t a ghost but she still lingered on his heart and just her name was enough to make all the suppressed emotions come up again. push their weight through all the walls he had built since she had left. it had been a long time since someone had said her name. since people acknowledged that she had existed after seeing the state kylian had been in due to her departure.

and now she was here.

the mention of her name brought him back to paris, their old apartment that now haunted him with her heartbroken face as he read her letter, ink smudged in some places. “i can’t keep watching you choose everyone else over me anymore. my heart is tired”

it brought him back to all his failed relationships because none of the women he went out with were emery. because they all felt like strangers to him no matter how hard he tried to love them.

he had watched her unravel. slowly and yet so obvious. watched her lose herself till only a shell of her once beautiful persona remained. he had ripped her heart apart and watched her bleed in front of him. watched as the light dimmed from her eyes and her sparkle disappeared. and he had stood still. not because he wanted to hurt her but rather because he hadn’t cared. and perhaps that had made it even crueler.

each day she had continued to stay in their marriage had taken another part of her soul and yet he hadn’t noticed how much she had been hurting. and then he hadn’t bothered to show up for the one thing she had asked him to. a single plea. her last unspoken ultimatum.

it wasn’t until she had left, that’s when he had noticed how fragile his heart was when she wasn’t there. how she was the solace that kept his life together, his home and he had taken her for granted. he had let her walk away and let her take his home and heart unknowingly with her.

it felt unimaginable for him to believe that she was here. he wanted to deny it so badly but the way ethan was watching him, worry evident in his eyes, confirmed it.

kylian didn’t move, he couldn’t. his feet felt stuck in their place. because as the weight of all the emotions set in, all the guilt from it also came up.

“where did you see her?” he whispered, his voice raw and low from all the emotion.

“in the family stands, but on the other side,” said ethan. and then he broke kylian’s heart. “and she’s got a daughter. a baby girl.”

his breath caught and his mind travelled back to the little baby jude had held in his arms back at the dressing rooms. how familiar she had seemed to him, whenever she scrunched up her face or the sound of her laughter.

all the ways he had thought he would reconcile with her one day shattered as he connected the dots. the tiny little bit of hope he had carried burned out like a candle.

they continued to walk towards the stand as he tried to prepare his heart for what could he coming but it all flew out the moment they turned.

“was she—“ he began but cut off his sentence, the words stuck in his throat — because there she was.

standing right in front of him as time stood still. not an illusion or a hallucination of his mind, because he missed her so much. it wasn’t a dream. she was real and standing before him.

for two years he had been looking for her. eight hundred and forty-three days since the ghost of her departure loomed over kylian. two years of trying to move on from the person that represented home. and now she stood before him as if he had never ripped her heart apart.

standing under the bright stadium lights, her daughter in her arms, and her french curl braids ending in soft curls on her shoulder. the ends were tipped with cherry red streaks, something he would have once teased her about.

her jacket was slightly unzipped, the number of the jersey barely peeking through beneath it but it was enough for him to see the bright liverpool red of her shirt. a clear sign that she had moved on.

she looked at him, met his eyes with an unreadable expression. like the calm after a storm had washed over — peaceful and quiet.

a soft smile appeared on her lips. one he had longed to see for so many days when his mind reminded him of her. “hey kylian.” her voice was soft as she spoke, as if their soul-wrecking marriage had only been an imagination on his side.

she seemed older now but was still as beautiful as he had her in memory. she radiated a new energy that had been new, a new aura — motherhood. her eyes were shining, that famous sparkle back after he had lit it out.

gianna cooed softly in her arms and continued to tug gently at the sleeve of her jacket.

ethan shifted nervously beside him, unsure whether he should stay or let the two speak. emery who sensed his awkwardness, gave him a small nod. “it‘s okay, you can leave. i‘ll greet your parents in a second, assuming they‘re here, aren‘t they?“

his little brother nodded. “i‘ll tell them to wait.“ he replied and then it was just them.

kylian exhaled slowly. “you‘re… you‘re actually here. it‘s been two years since—“

“i left?“ she cut him off, sensing what he was hinting at. “i know.“

“i tried to find you,“ he said quietly.

“i heard.“

“but i didn‘t.“

she tilted her head gently. “i didn‘t want to be found. i needed time.“

kylian‘s eyes caught the baby in her arm. there was no doubt she was emery‘s, they shared the same lips, cheeks and facial structures. it were her big doe eyes that he couldn‘t place.

“she‘s beautiful, your daughter.“

emery grinned at the mention of gianna. “she is. my pride and joy.“ she placed a soft kiss onto her daughter‘s head who, unaware of all the emotional pain in the air, continued to babble happily and tried to reach for kylian‘s badge on his shirt.

“she looks a lot like you,“ kylian muttered under his breath but loud enough for emery to pick it up.

she let out a short laugh and kylian‘s heart ached at the angelic sound of it. “i know. my little photo copy except for her eyes and nose. and i wouldn‘t want it any other way.“

he said nothing after that. what could he possibly say now anyway? what was there to say to the love of his life. what language could he speak now when there was nothing to say anyway? there was no sentence, no word he could say to the woman he had loved to overcome the distance that had grown between them. and there was no plea soft enough — brave enough — to ask her to leave the life she had rebuilt for herself. to abandon it and her healing process just to step back into what he had once failed to cherish.

so he just stood there. his grief far too great to be put into words. sorrow over the life he realized he could have lived if he hadn’t been too stupid. if he had been braver. a daughter that embodied every choice he hadn't made.

it wasn’t in this moment that he had lost emery completely. thinking back to her letter, he realized he had lost her the moment he had started to feel indifferent to her. when he had shattered her heart because he had pushed her away.

how could he have believed, stubbornly and foolishly, that one day she could be coming back to him? after all he had done to her? made her suffer through?

he didn’t have a place in her heart anymore. he wasn’t the center of her universe anymore — now he was a shadow in her life that loomed over her past and had shaped her present. but he wasn’t her home anymore. and standing in front of her, as his soul withered away, he realized that she had moved on.

from him.

and this time it was his plate that had shattered into tiny pieces, to never be whole again.

“i hope you‘ve been well,“ she whispered quietly but they both knew it was just to keep up the conversation. ethan had told her how kylian had unraveled similar to her. how his soul was broken and had been loosely held together by tiny strings of hope because she had left — the same state her soul had been in because she had stayed.

“yeah, madrid is great.“ he responded. and just as he was about to ask why she was even here and who her new man was, gianna started babbling happily again.

he watched her face light up — as if she had become the epitome of sunlight — and was instantly dragged back to bondy. back to when soft eyes and a dreamy smile were reserved for his presence. back to when her joy had bloomed because of him.

now it was present but it wasn’t reserved for him anymore.

her face was filled with warmth so achingly familiar that his heart fell apart. that the threads woven between his heart loosened all at once. it was the kind of smile he had once cherished — now it had become the cruelest form of fate. the smile that had always represented familiarity and comfort to him now belonged to a stranger.

“look who‘s there gigi?“ she called playfully responding to the baby‘s animated talking and shifted gianna in her arms. “tu as vu papa?“ — did you see daddy?

gianna let out an excited giggle and kylian turned around just in time to see jude and trent alexander-arnold arrive and join them. he watched, his heart in complete agony, trent pressing a kiss to emery‘s temple and emery‘s smile widening.

trent alexander-arnold. the name of the new man at her side. the one who lived his dream life that he hadn‘t even known he wanted till it was too late. and all he could do was watch like the credits of a movie playing out in front of him.

“hey,“ he greeted her softly. “you still cold?“

“now that you‘re here, no,“ she replied playfully and smiled at him so fondly, kylian felt as if he was intruding on an intimate moment between them. trent looked up and kylian recognised the way his eyes widened only for a second when he realized who emery was speaking to. which meant that he knew.

jude instantly headed for gianna again and took the small baby girl from her mother‘s arms.

“gigi, my favorite alexander-arnold!“ he ruffled her little coily hair and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

emery gasped playfully. “i take offense, jude.“

“you‘re not an alexander-arnold,“ he teased.

“yet,” emery retorted back instantly in the same tone.

the word yet stuck with kylian as he put together its implications. of one simple word.

trent turned to emery again. “are you okay?“

she nodded. “i‘m okay,“ she reassured him softly. “truly.“

he wasn‘t 100% convinced but he trusted her and kissed her cheek once more. he motioned for jude to follow him and scooped gianna up into his arms.

“come on princess. let‘s let mummy talk.“

emery‘s eyes followed them as they walked away, trent lifting gianna up several times with her giggles echoing all over the pitch. seeing trent in dad-mode made her fall for him more and more, no matter how deep she was already in.

those moments convinced her of her choices. confirmed the non-voiced and unspoken doubts that crept up sometimes — remnants of her arranged marriage and what it had done to her. subtle scars that lingered. self-doubt, insecurity, the fear of not being chosen.

but it all vanished whenever she looked at trent. he made sense, the piece in all her storm that she was. there was no need to pretend to be whole or fine — he let her unravel and then helped her pick up the pieces slowly, to her pace. he was it for her.

emery thought back to fairytales and even they could be so deceiving. how love stories could also be two persons just molded into the perfect characters. she had lived the lie, played the perfect woman for appearances. and after living a false one, she had found her true story. and she always remembered, as lesson learned, how tricky they could be. how easy it was to deceive for she had done it for a long time of her life.

it made her wary now of every love story that people portrayed as fairytale. suspicious of love stories that were too perfect. because she had once been portrayed to live the perfect life too and in the end she had lost more than she had gained.

she turned back to face kylian and instantly realized his look. because once, when he had introduced sophie to her for the first time, she had held the same look in her eyes. the same devastating feeling that shone through her eyes.

it were pain and heartbreak. the kind that settled deep and loomed over the heart for years. the kind of heartbreak that resulted when you watched the love of their lives reach for someone else.

the sudden epiphany that the person you wanted would never choose you.

“i didn‘t expect this whenever i imagined seeing you again,“ he admitted.

“me neither,“ she replied. “at least not like this.“

“why couldn‘t you… why didn‘t you say goodbye?“ kylian asked her, emery hearing the crack in his voice.

“i didn‘t have a choice ky,“ she replied softly and smiled sadly. “we both know i wouldn‘t have left if you had asked me to stay.“

he swallowed. “and the letter you left?“

she sighed. “i had to explain at least. but i meant every word in it. i couldn‘t keep doing this to myself. watch you choose anyone but me all the time. i endured it long enough, too long. i should have let you go in bondy but i didn‘t. because i was naive. because i hoped i could have my fairytale. i needed to let you go to breathe again.“

a tear rolled down his cheek. “i never meant to hurt you.“

“i know. but you did. and that’s okay. really. it made me grow.”

“i was stupid and kept pushing you away because i was mad at the whole marriage thing. it was always you.“

she tilted her head. “i was never trying to hold you back. i was your best friend, your number one fan. all i had ever wanted was a place in your life.“

he scoffed, a hint of bitterness lingering. “and i was too stupid to admit that i wanted the same thing.“

“ky, we were young and stupid. we thought everything was waiting for us. but that’s not life,“ she told him gently.

they both stared at each other, grief and sorrow struck the atmosphere around them.

“i miss you,“ he let out quietly. “you haunt me everyday.“

“i miss you too,“ she said softly. “but i needed to let you go. loving you unconditionally ruined me and i needed to cut the strings.“

he took a step forward, eyes desperate. begging for one tiny shimmer of hope that he could take to keep his soul alive. “is there still a chance?“

she smiled, sadly — the kind that shattered even the toughest men. “i had to let you go to find myself again. and i grew and i became a mother and realized that there was so much out there that i hadn’t let myself enjoy because i was so consumed with you.”

“do you love him?“

she didn’t miss a second. “i do.“

he didn’t flinch but the words pierced deep. like shards of glass sinking slowly into his heart, for more agony and deeper scars.

“he loves me in ways i couldn‘t even imagine to be loved. he chooses me everyday and he always shows up for me. i‘m not a side thought to him but a priority and he never gives up, not even when it’s hard and we‘re both exhausted.“

“i’m sorry for failing you. for not being who you deserved.” he confessed. “i wish i had realized earlier that you were my home.”

“ky,” she began and wiped away the tear from his cheek softly, “i don’t regret falling in love with you. and i don’t regret loving you. i just regret that damn hope that made me lose myself along the way.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered.

“me too.”

he tried to smile at her. “are you happy?”

“never been happier.”

his eyes traveled to the tunnel where gianna and trent had disappeared.

“gianna’s lucky to have you.”

she looked at him, a look of peace in her eyes. “i’m lucky to have her. she wasn’t planned but she’s been the biggest joy of my life. she showed me true unconditional love.”

again silence between them as the words sunk in. unconditional love — such a rare type of love and yet so fierce when someone had it. it was the kind of love that stayed with someone, no matter what happened. no matter how many hearts are broken and tears shed.

and to hear that she had loved him unconditionally at one point, so wholly and with so much restraint to not have him notice — it made it even harder to say goodbye.

“you were my first love kylian and i’ll always love you. you’re just not the one i was meant to spend my life with,” she said gently.

he took it in, breath shallow. “and he is?”

she nodded. “more than i ever knew.”

he swallowed the lump in his throat and spoke. “do you… hate me for hurting you?”

immediately she shook her head. “i could never hate you. no matter what you did. my world just doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”

he let that sit, let it sink into the hollow parts of him that would never quite fill.

emery glanced at her phone. “i should go. gianna’s bed time is soon.”

he nodded and added hesitantly, “thank you… emmy,”

the name felt weird on his lips, foreign. a strange taste behind it after not having said it for such a long time. and the weight of it hit him harder than he had expected. for a small moment, kylian could swear that they weren’t at anfield anymore but back at bondy, seventeen and foolish, saying their first goodbyes.

and now he was letting emery walk away again. only this time, it wasn’t a teenage mistake as it had been last time when he hadn’t told her of monaco. it was like a memory repeating itself and the only same component they held was his stupidity and emery walking away.

“for what? closure?”

“for loving me for so long even if i pushed you away. for being there for me and always listening even when i didn’t realize it.”

she nodded, eyes softening. “goodbye kylian.”

and with those last words she walked away and he watched as the woman he loved walked into another man’s arms.

kylian looked at his shoes, the outcome of the conversation finally setting in. he wouldn’t be seeing her again. or maybe he would — but she would never be his again. and the only remainder left of time where he could pretend that she was truly happy with him were old photos, where dust had already set.

their wedding picture, photos back in bondy, photoshootings— they had pretended but for a moment it had felt real at least. the sparkle in her eyes as she looked at him had been real and kylian had been too blinded and prideful to admit it.

to tell her three such simple words that held so much weight behind them.

he sighed and began to walk again. he arrived at the family stands where his family was waiting and sat down quietly, without saying a word.

his family glanced at him with worry.

ethan was the first to break the silence. “i’m sorry for you kylian.”

kylian nodded, gaze not leaving the floor. “she’s happy.”

“and what about you?” his mother asked him.

he shrugged. “i don’t think i’ll ever be happy again. i don’t think i’ll ever move on.”

his brother tapped on his shoulder lightly. “you will. it may hurt now but it will pass.”

“i’m happy for her,” kylian admitted. “i just wish it was me.”

his father sighed. “c’est la vie. quand quelqu’un laisse, quelqu’un prend.”

kylian closed his eyes at his words. emery was loved, cherished the way he hadn’t. she had someone who appreciated and he couldn’t blame her for wanting to stay.

not when the alternative was only memories of indifference and neglect.

so he would try to move on, knowing that now he was a person that was forever stuck in their place.

and as the moral of the story he would remember that fairytales were not all they sometimes promised to be. they could be tricky and did in fact not always end with a happy ending.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe fanfiction #kylian mbappe x black! oc #kylian mbappe angst #pure angst #angst #no happy ending #at least no happy ending for him

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aurumacadicus · 2 months ago

Text

Sincerely, Yours (Chapter 12)

I had no idea it had been two years since I updated omgggg anyway look out for under the cut.

Steve had a black eye forming when he finally came up to open the door, yellows and greens swelling into blues. Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again, wondering if he should mention it. He ultimately decided not to. Instead, he held up his notebook. “Are Thor and Loki still here? I sketched out a growing plan for the garden.”

Gratifyingly, Steve appeared impressed as he looked the sketch over. He even let out a low whistle. “That’s gorgeous, Tony.”

Tony couldn’t help the way his cheeks heated up at the compliment. He wanted to say it was because Steve was the real artist between the two of them and was just trying to be modest, but he looked like he genuinely meant it. Tony hadn’t realized how starved of appreciation he’d been. Jarvis, Ana, and Jan had praised him all the time, but it was always in private, and Obadiah had actively discouraged him from any of the hobbies he’d endeavored to occupy his time with. He couldn’t remember the last time an alpha in his life had complimented something he’d done with sincerity, he realized, heart in his throat. Almost against his will, he asked, “It is?”

“Yeah,” Steve answered, leaning forward to give it a closer look. “This looks really technical, actually. I think if we got you some more books on gardening, you could plan out really beautiful plots.” He smiled a little. “Or even offer your services to others. Might finally give Mrs. McAvoy and Mrs. Langdon runs for their money.”

“…That… sounds fun,” Tony offered carefully. He didn’t actually believe he was that good, but Steve had also watched him break down in the barn, so maybe he was just trying to get Tony’s confidence up. The idea made him feel kind of squirmy inside, and he didn’t know if it was good or bad, so he ignored it to examine later. “Do you think we could get started on making the poles for the vegetables tomorrow so that they’re ready when Loki comes back?”

“Absolutely,” Steve agreed immediately, then turned, holding the door open wider for him. “Let’s go show Thor and Loki now. They wanted to say goodbye to you before they headed home anyway.”

The sun was getting low in the sky, Tony realized, and darkness would soon follow. He didn’t know how far away the Odinsons lived, but he didn’t want them traveling in the dark too long, so he hurried out in front of Steve. He slowed to a more respectable walk as he reached the staircase, and he made it halfway down the stairs before he looked up to where Thor and Loki were lingering by the front door. His footsteps slowed to a stop.

“Ah, Tony, sorry for making a mess of the kitchen! Don’t worry. We cleaned everything up properly,” Thor called out, smiling. It stretched his lips so the swollen cut on his bottom lip opened again, blood welling up shiny and wet.

Tony stared at him wordlessly, curling his notebook up against his chest. His eyes narrowed as they slid over to Loki, who looked uninjured, although his front pocket had been ripped off—along with the fabric it had been attached to, leaving a giant hole in his shirt. “…Hmm,” he finally responded, trying to affect his best impression of Disappointed Jarvis.

“…Ha,” Steve coughed out nervously. “Tony has something he wants to show you before you leave!”

“If it gets him to stop looking at me like Mother does after Loki and I get into a fight, gladly,” Thor answered, shuffling on his feet. Loki remained silent, but Tony could tell from the sudden stiffness of his posture that he apparently still feared their mother, too.

Tony wordlessly lifted his notebook up for them to examine, just to let his disapproval linger at them. They quickly turned the attention to the pictures he’d drawn in an effort to avoid his gaze. Thor lifted his hand to his chin, considering, eyes darting back and forth. Loki simply leaned forward, face giving away nothing. It made him a little nervous, because Steve had been immediately impressed. But then, he’d also said he couldn’t make a plant grow, Tony figured. Steve probably had been looking at it with an artist’s eye, not whether it was actually a good way to set up a garden plot.

“I wouldn’t plant the eggplants with the tomatoes, at least for your first growing season,” Loki finally said, crossing his arms over his chest. “They’re both nightshades, so they’ll compete. Once you’ve got more experience with them, maybe.”

“Okay,” Tony answered, settling his notebook back in his arms so that he could note it down. He definitely didn’t think about how easily Loki had corrected him without calling him stupid.

“I’ve never seen Mother plant pole beans with tomatoes, either,” Thor said after some thought. Then he shrugged, glancing at Loki questioningly. “Just bush beans. I think the pole beans can choke them.”

“I’ll bring you some bush beans,” Loki added magnanimously.

Tony frowned. “I don’t want to put you out.”

Thor stepped forward before he could say anymore, reaching out to gently place his giant hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Tony,” he said kindly. “You will never put anyone out over beans.”

“What?” Tony asked, bewildered, as Steve began to laugh behind him. Thor was no help though, because he also began to laugh. It still didn’t feel like they were laughing at his expense, though. It almost felt more like they were laughing at an inside joke between themselves, and he’d one day learn what they were talking about.

“They’re prolific,” Loki offered when it became clear Thor wouldn’t be able to control himself to answer, shrugging his shoulders in a delicate motion. “You can keep harvesting them all through the summer. Your planter boxes are small compared to what our mother keeps. She’d never notice half a dozen plants missing if I took them, and when I ask her for them, she’ll probably send me along with a dozen.”

“That’s very kind,” Tony said after a brief stare at Steve and Thor. He looked back up at Loki, brows furrowing together in confusion. “I don’t think it was that funny.”

“Thor and Steve are stupid,” Loki replied, long-suffering, and Tony laughed when they both turned on him with a squawked ‘hey!’

.-.

Steve saw Thor and Loki off. Tony gave them some privacy after Loki and Thor had looked meaningfully at him (not that he understood whatever their meaning was). Instead, he’d gone to poke around at the garden beds that Thor and Steve had put together for him. They were larger than he’d thought, which seemed sort of daunting, but Steve had said he didn’t have a lot to do until the others got back from market, so he’d probably be willing to help Tony get everything set up and planted. It was a little further from the water pump and the creek than he would have liked, but he figured he could set up a rain barrel nearby maybe.

Tony paused, standing on the wooden edge of one of the planters. He glanced between the soil that had been piled in and his sketches. He remembered a conversation he’d been having with one of his other suitors, talking about drip irrigation research that had come over from Germany and how some farms out west were experimenting with it. If he kept his rows neat and tidy, he could probably use rubber hoses with holes poked through to drip water throughout the garden without having to work too hard. If it didn’t rain much, hauling buckets of water to fill a rain barrel would be easier than walking back and forth, constantly refilling a watering can. If he put one on the far ends of the planter box and attached a spigot to each one, by turning them both on, he could keep the water pressure even, instead of it being stronger at the end closer to the barrel. He’d also be able to control the moisture of the soil better.

With the watering taken care of, he could focus on the general care of the plants themselves, from weeding around them to making sure they were healthy and picking off weak stems and flowers. It would also be helpful as the plants grew bigger, so the water would stay close to the soil instead of bouncing off of the stems and leaves, falling around the roots instead of on them. He could do research of his own, maybe work up to a larger scale on one of the farms they’d seen on the way to Steve’s ranch.

“Big thoughts going on in there,” Steve offered carefully from behind him, reaching out to cradle an elbow so he didn’t teeter off the planter box as he approached. “I don’t s’pose you wanna tell me about ‘em?”

Tony blinked down at the dirt slowly, then turned, reaching the arm Steve was holding out to brace his hand against his shoulder. “Would it be too expensive to buy rubber hoses, rain barrels, and spigots?”

Steve blew some air out from between his lips and turned his eyes skyward as he thought about it. “Uh? I mean, I have some rain barrels already, just need to patch ‘em up. Before I put the pumps in, it was always smart to have extra rain barrels for the odd summer shower. Hoses, well… I’ve never priced ‘em out, but…” He lowered his gaze back to Tony’s face, considering. “Why?”

Tony bit back the immediate urge to tell him to forget it. Steve didn’t sound upset, just curious, and he figured if Steve was going to put the money out, he deserved to know what it was for. He thought, even if Steve told him no, it would still feel a lot better than Obadiah shutting him down without hearing him out. It still made him steam a little, remembering the one time he’d tried to explain anyway, and Obadiah had lifted his hand to wordlessly tell him to stop, like he was a dog or something. Hell, maybe Steve might even explain why he was saying no if he didn’t like the idea.

“When I was… corresponding with other prospective beaus,” Tony began carefully, watching him for any signs of annoyance. Steve didn’t balk at the reminder that he’d been one of many suitors, though—just tipped his head and raised his eyebrows in a wordless ‘go on.’ It bolstered Tony a little, so he waved his free hand at the planter boxes. “He said that there had been some watering experiments out of Germany that some of the farms in California were experimenting with. It’s called ‘drip irrigation.’ I thought, if I got some lengths of rubber hose and attached it to some rain barrels, I could replicate some of those experiments and see if it worked for our little garden.”

Steve turned his gaze on the planter boxes, lifting his other hand to rub the back of his head. “So I guess you’d. Just keep the barrels filled, then… I suppose you’d use the spigots to control the water. I mean,” he said, letting out a puff of air as he craned his head back to look up at him again. “I’m game. If it works, that’s less work for you, isn’t it? And if it doesn’t, well. We could probably use the hoses for something else. Tying Peggy up so I could milk her, maybe,” he added to himself bitterly.

It shocked a laugh out of Tony, part honest amusement and part relief. “I think she’d just chew through them just to spite you.”

“Yeah,” Steve complained, hands reaching out to grab Tony’s waist.

Tony bit back a surprised yelp as Steve easily picked him up and swung him around so he was on flat ground again. “Oh!”

“Loki is coming back with plants tomorrow, because they want to make sure you don’t miss any of the growing season,” Steve added thoughtfully, offering Tony his arm. “He’ll probably help you plant some, but he’ll say it’s so he’ll know you won’t fuck it up, even though we’ll both know he’s just tryin’a be nice. The town’s all sort of decided he’s allergic to feelings.”

Tony blinked up at him, surprised. “You really were holding back, weren’t you?”

“Huh?” Steve asked, looking down at him with furrowed brows.

“I think I’d prefer it if you could keep your swears to ‘damn’s and ‘shit’s, though,” Tony continued.

“…Oh my god. Did I—” Steve choked out, face immediately flushing dark red.

Tony offered him a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, Steve. I won’t let Loki think I’d fuck up the garden.”

“NO,” Steve bellowed, and Tony covered his mouth to smother his laughter as Steve crumpled to the ground, head bowed in shame. He thought he heard Steve mutter about a spectral wooden spoon. Tony didn’t think it was too presumptuous of him to assume that Sarah Rogers wouldn’t have smacked him, at least this time, because Steve’s reaction was simply too funny.

.-.

Steve had breakfast ready again by the time Tony stumbled downstairs, and he grumbled about not getting up in time to at least practice under Steve’s watchful eye as he jabbed a soft yolk with the corner of his bread. Steve didn’t even have the decency to pretend he was upset about it.

“I think, once we get the garden squared away today,” Steve began over Tony’s mutters. He waited a beat, until Tony reluctantly turned a mulish scowl on him, before he continued, “I’ll help you draw a bath. It’s got a pump, but the water’s cold, so I’ll dump a few buckets of boiling water in the tub, and then you can wash.”

Tony frowned in concern. “I can wash in the stream if it’ll be easier.”

“No,” Steve told him flatly. Tony bristled, but Steve just turned back to his plate of food. Before he could think up a blistering reply, Steve added, “I fear if someone came across you while you were naked, you’d simply evaporate from being. ‘sides, you haven’t had a real bath since you got here.” He pointed at Tony’s plate with his fork, and Tony slowly put a fork of fried potatoes in his mouth. “…It’s probably some misplaced alpha pride,” he offered after a moment.

Tony looked up at him from under his lashes, frowning. “Me taking a bath?”

“In the privacy of your own room, yeah,” Steve answered with a bashful little shrug. “Ma an’ I had a shared bathroom in our tenement, and if you missed your turn, you had to wait until everyone else was done. I remember my ma having to wait until midnight to get a turn at the bath because she missed her turn takin’ care of me while I was sick. I… kinda got the bathtub for her. Figured she deserved it, after all those missed baths.”

Tony looked back down at his plate, turning his fork in his hand awkwardly. He imagined Steve’s mother in the bath upstairs, relaxing, never worrying that she was keeping someone from their turn, knowing she’d never have to watch the clock to get clean again. There was a lot he’d taken for granted back in his mansion in New York, even if Obadiah had kept the purse strings tight. It would be… almost cruel of him to decline the comforts that Steve wanted to make sure he had. After he’d worked so hard to make sure his mother had them after going without his entire life.

“I want to be a lobster when I get out,” Tony said, spearing another piece of potato on his fork.

“God, omegas,” Steve huffed, humor in his tone. “I’ll never understand why the water has to be so hot. Do you secretly want to be soup, or something?”

“You got me, Steve,” Tony deadpanned. “I’m gonna drop carrots and potatoes into the water with me as soon as you leave. Make a nice little Tony Stew. It’s how I keep my beautiful complexion.”

“Tony,” Steve coughed, shocked, and then threw his head back and laughed.

.-.

Loki approved of Tony’s final layout for the plants, although he didn’t have much to say about Tony’s drip-irrigation idea. “The garden is Mother’s domain,” he’d said, and Tony would have thought he was dismissive, except there was a real thread of fear in his voice as he patted dirt around the roots of a bush bean sprout. “Planting is the only part I ever help her with.”

Tony watched him carefully so he could follow what he was doing with his own plant. The garden in New York had mostly been his mother’s, but she’d allowed the servants to help care for it. She’d even allowed them to take some of the vegetables if they found they had too many for themselves. He’d been too young to truly help at the time, and had been playfully banned the first time he picked a green tomato and attempted to eat it, banished to watch from the windows and hope someone brought something yummy in to him. She’d been very protective of her other hobbies though, he remembered; she’d firmly shooed him away from her sewing baskets and bookcases with rare books with the promise that she’d allow him to touch when he was older. He wondered how old he really would have had to be before she offered him an embroidery hoop.

“Do you know how to can vegetables?” Loki asked after a brief pause, glancing up at him.

“Um,” Tony said, and then nothing else, because it occurred to him that they had had canned vegetables at the mansion, but it had been things Ana had bought. Jarvis might have canned some, but so much of their budget went to running the mansion that they ate most of their vegetables as soon as they ripened.

“Winifred will probably teach him,” Steve answered for him before he could get too embarrassed. He and Thor were setting up a third planter bed to put squash in (at Frigga’s stern direction, apparently). “She and the girls will come pick berries and make jam. I’m sure that she’ll help him with canned beans.”

Tony was so bolstered by the idea that it took him a moment to realize that both Thor and Loki had stopped what they were doing to stare at Steve. He lifted a hand to wipe a drop of sweat from his temple, blinking in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

At that, Steve looked up from where he’d been carefully wedging a corner together. He balked when he saw the way he was being stared at. “What?!”

“…The Barnes girls are coming here,” Thor repeated slowly.

“Yeah? They always do?” Steve answered defensively. “They love jam.”

Loki turned to Tony and gave him an almost sympathetic frown. “I’m so sorry that you’re married to an idiot, Tony.”

“Huh?” Tony asked, genuinely confused.

Loki stared at him for a moment, then huffed out a shocked laugh. “Perhaps Steven is in good company, though.”

“Hey!” Tony exclaimed, scowling at him, even though he still wasn’t certain what they were talking about. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t understand social norms out here.

“Why would Winifred Barnes bring her daughters here when you are just married?” Thor finally spat when it was clear neither of them were going to understand. “Newlyweds are not meant to be disturbed. The only reason Loki and I came yesterday was because Mother thought we could just dump the lumber and leave without talking to you. Being pulled into helping set up the plots was not the plan!”

“…Ah,” Tony said, face flushing for reasons other than the warm sun.

Steve was also turning red as a tomato, spluttering uselessly until he finally managed, “You mean they think we’re-? We literally just met in person a few days ago!”

Loki slanted him a look that clearly stated ‘and?’ before turning his attention back to the bean plant between his hands.

“Oh my god,” Steve said faintly.

Thor seemed to take pity on them at that. “Obviously, having met Tony, Loki and I understand that you two are taking things one step at a time. However, when Loki and I were in town, everyone was gossiping about how… cozy you two were already. So leaving you alone was probably the logical next step.”

“‘Cozy,’ huh,” Tony repeated quietly, mortified. Apparently, the meaning was the same here as in New York, if spoken in whispers behind hands: too familiar out in public for an alpha and omega.

Steve looked like he was about to throw up, angry and embarrassed all at once. “They shouldn’t be talking about Tony like that. He’s new here and has to learn so much, of course we’re taking the time to get to know each other!”

Loki sighed, but his expression actually held what looked like a bit of regret as he glanced up at him. “Most of the alphas at the saloon were making jokes about you being unable to help yourself since your intended had turned out to be so pretty.”

“Thanks a lot!” Steve exclaimed, embarrassment quickly turning to anger.

Tony didn’t blame him, even as he turned back to his planting to avoid making eye contact with any of them. Steve had been nothing but polite and kind, and it hurt him a little that people would ever insinuate that Steve could force himself on somebody. Steve had gone out of his way to make sure Tony couldn’t ever imagine it, hands always careful when he reached out to him, words chosen with precision to soothe any raised hackles. He wasn’t sure of much in his life, but he did believe that Steve was one hundred percent constitutionally incapable of hurting an omega that way. He’d even looked angry at the few times Tony had mentioned when the alphas back in New York had been… less than kind. Even though Tony had long gotten used to ‘well, alphas will be alphas!’ as an excuse for their behavior, Steve had made it clear that it wasn’t right.

“Everyone who knows you knows that isn’t true, Steve,” Thor told him firmly. “But like it or not, everyone is respecting your recently married status. You’re going to have to invite people over if you want to see them.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, voice gruff, and stood up. “I gotta. Go do something. Throw some rocks in the creek, maybe.”

Tony watched him stomp away, kneading a handful of dirt as he considered going after him. “Um, do you think—”

“I think it would be best if we let him alone for a bit,” Thor answered, firm but not unkind.

Tony swallowed and nodded his head, turning back to the garden plot so he could plant his next seedling. “Okay.”

“The only reason we said anything was because we figured it was better he heard it from us than have to react to a bad joke in town,” Thor continued, and Loki gave a soft huff of agreement. He stooped to scoop a cup of water from the bucket Steve had brought over so they wouldn’t have to keep traipsing back to the pump, then offered it to them.

Loki waved him off, but Tony turned, wiping as much dirt from his hands as he could before he reached out to take it. “I just. I thought everyone liked Steve,” he said after a moment, frowning, before he took a sip. He remembered how everyone had gathered to look and see who it was that Steve had been corresponding with, who he was planning to marry. They’d all seemed so excited for him, and Steve hadn’t been angry when he’d shooed them away, just exasperated.

“They do,” Thor assured him. “This is just… a country thing that I don’t think Steve will ever come to terms with, even after living here so long. So little happens around here that gossiping about your neighbor is the only pastime some of the people in town have. They know that Steve would never be pushy. That’s why they think it’s okay to joke about—he’d never actually do such a thing.”

Tony tried to reconcile it with the gossip back in society circles. People talked about others, and sometimes the words were couched in jovial terms, but there was always some truth to it. If someone back in New York had mentioned that Steve was probably taking what he wanted after waiting so long, they believed he would, even if their tones and words could call it a joke. Apparently, that was the opposite here. The people in town had joked about Steve losing control of himself, but only because they were certain it would never happen.

“I don’t think it’s funny,” he finally said, staring into the empty cup. “Back home, even if they said it the same way, even if they laughed… they’d mean it. It would be a warning.”

Loki looked up from his digging, lifting a hand to brush some hair out of his face as he solemnly took the words in. Thor shifted awkwardly on his feet in front of him, then held his hand out for the cup, at a loss for anything else to do. Tony let him take it. There wasn’t much he could have said to soften the blow, and quite honestly, after seeing how hurt Steve was, he didn’t really want to.

“I’ll tell Ms. Romanova,” Loki finally said, glancing up at Thor.

Thor nodded back grimly. “Aye, she’ll make the jokes stop for sure.” He reached out, putting his hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony looked up at him reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Tony. And I’ll apologize to Steve too. He just mentioned going into town to get you some proper clothes yesterday, and it occurred to me that he should know what people have been saying. I didn’t realize there was more than one way to hurt someone with it. I should have just told Steve. I shouldn’t have burdened you with this.”

“Maybe it’s better you did,” Loki said with a snort, turning to carefully lift up a tomato plant from the ground. “He looked ready to scratch your eyes out.”

“I did not!” Tony scoffed, scowling at him.

Thor gave him a pitying look. “You did. I was grateful that Steve reacted first.”

“I’m not gonna scratch anyone’s eyes out,” Tony huffed. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Thor another glare. “But maybe I would cover my eyes so Steve felt comfortable punching them in front of me.”

Loki raised an eyebrow, unimpressed, before he turned back to patting dirt around the tomato plant. “Tony, you were going to launch yourself at Thor from the ground when you realized what he was talking about.”

Tony narrowed his eyes at him, jaw working, and dug his hands into the dirt so he could feel it squish between his fingers, because he didn’t want to give them the satisfaction of making a fist. Then he paused, considering. The soil was still moist from watering it to make sure the plants wouldn’t go into shock. He squeezed another handful, bringing it up to stare at the dirt. He considered the weight of it, glancing at the back of Loki’s head. Then he drew his hand back, taking a moment to aim, and threw the handful of soil with force, before Thor could realize what he was doing and stop him.

Loki made a high-pitched noise of dismay, flinching as the wet dirt thwapped against his face. “Cold-! What the—” He lifted a hand to wipe the dirt away, then scowled, lifting his gaze to Tony. “You.”

“Hmm,” Tony hummed, realizing that throwing dirt at someone without Steve there to defend him had probably been a bad idea as Loki began to stand. He could think of nothing else to do but throw another handful of dirt at him.

“Jeez,” Thor sighed as Loki lunged at Tony to try and shove his face down into the garden bed. “Really? I’m going to finish the other garden plot.”

“Help me!” Tony sputtered indignantly as he tried to slap Loki’s hands away.

“No, he’ll stab me,” Thor grumped, and Tony couldn’t help the terrified yelp it scared out of him.

On the bright side, it brought Steve back from wherever he’d been sulking to help him, even though he didn’t get there soon enough to keep Loki from shoving a handful of dirt down the back of his shirt.

.-.

Thor and Loki left as soon as the last garden plot was finished, and Loki was certain that Tony knew what he was doing. He got the feeling they would have stayed longer, except Steve was still being short with them despite his anger cooling to a low simmer.

Tony wanted to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything that would help ease Steve’s hurt. Steve had been nothing but kind and patient since the moment Tony had arrived. He genuinely felt the safest he ever had in his life. Steve was better than all the alphas back home—even the ones who had helped him, Tony had come to realize. He had suffered under Obadiah’s hand for years before he’d managed to find a safe place to land, and no one had helped him. There were absolutely some comforts of New York he missed out here, but he’d given them all up a thousand times for how safe he felt in Steve’s company.

Steve was the kind of alpha who had gotten Tony’s emergency telegram and immediately moved himself to the guest bedroom so that Tony could have the master bedroom. Even if Tony hadn’t known that when he stepped off the train, he knew that Steve wouldn’t push him into anything, and Steve had proved that over and over with everything he taught him about life in the country.

“Well,” Tony finally said, wiping the dirt off of his hands as well as he could. He’d gotten all the tomatoes, beans, eggplants, and squash well-planted, and Steve had dutifully poured water over them once he’d finished. It was probably time for a late lunch. Maybe an early dinner, even. He glanced at Steve, trying to estimate his mood now that he’d had most of the day to stew on it himself. “Are you hungry?”

“I don’t want you to think that’s what everyone’s like,” Steve burst out, frustration apparently getting the better of him.

Tony turned to give him the benefit of seeing his confused expression in its entirety, brows furrowing together as he tried to parse what he’d meant. “Huh?” Of all the things he’d expected Steve to say, that hadn’t been it, and he didn’t really know what to do with the sentiment.

“I told you Timely is a nice town with nice people,” Steve continued, crossing his arms over his chest. “That there were parties and people to celebrate with. I want you to make friends here. I don’t want you to think that everyone is making… those kinds of jokes, even if everyone knows they’re not true.”

Tony blinked up at him, stunned silent. He’d thought Steve was trying to think up a way to assure him that he would never in a million years force himself on him. He hadn’t realized Steve was worrying about something else entirely. “…Oh,” he finally responded, at a loss for what else he could say.

“There are people in town who’re really nice and I think you’ll be great friends with,” Steve added. There was an edge of desperation in his voice, though, and in the way his brows twitched together as if he was just barely keeping himself calm. “I don’t want you to be isolated out here. It’s important to have friends, especially if I’m gonna be gone next year taking care of the cattle drive. They’re not all making gross jokes.”

Tony found himself reaching out to take one of Steve’s hands before he could even really think about it. “I know.”

Steve seemed to deflate as soon as their hands made contact. “I just. It’s a bad joke. But that doesn’t. Make them bad people? I’ll talk to them.”

“It’s okay, Steve. If you’re not bothered about the subject of the joke, I’m not bothered about the people who said it,” Tony assured him, and was only slightly surprised to find that he meant it. When Steve shot him a dubious look, he offered him a somewhat amused smile. “One bad joke isn’t my first impression of the people of Timely.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure? I can box some ears while you’re not looking.”

Tony remembered how it seemed like the entire town had gathered at the train depot to see who it was that Steve had been corresponding with. How they’d all looked deliriously happy that Steve had found a prospective beau. How Steve had casually told them off with a hissed ‘you’re embarrassing me’ and no one had looked upset, only amused. How, at a loss, Tony had said ‘how do you do’ and had been given genuinely delighted responses.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, smiling up at him. “I’ll chalk it up to growing pains. I’ll get used to them, and they’ll get used to me, and they’ll realize they shouldn’t make jokes like that. At least, not when you’re not around to defend yourself.”

“…Well, if you say so,” Steve grumbled, as if he still wanted to bash some heads together but was choosing to defer to him. He twisted his hand so he could hold Tony’s properly and motioned toward the house. “Let’s eat, and I’ll boil some water for the bath. You’re… hmm,” he added, narrowing his eyes at him skeptically. “Well.”

Tony could still feel the grit of dirt down his back from when Loki had shoved a handful of soil down his shirt, so he allowed Steve’s ‘well’ to hang there as a proper description. “Thank you. What sounds good for dinner?”

“Well, I’ve got some ham we could fry up, then cook some potatoes in the fat,” Steve offered. “Or some beet root. I can check the cellar. Oh, and Thor left a basket of stuff his parents sent over as a wedding present? It looks like fabric, but I haven’t really checked it out.”

“If we can save up for a sewing machine, I could make something with it,” Tony offered, looking up at him. “Or at least hem the edges for blankets.”

Steve nodded thoughtfully. “I don’t know about buying one right off, but maybe someone in town—” He couldn’t quite hide his face twitching into a scowl. “—would be willing to let you borrow theirs. It wouldn’t be electric, but you’re a quick study.”

Tony couldn’t help the pleased grin that grew on his face if he tried, so he didn’t, instead turning his attention to washing up in the sink so their entire dinner didn’t taste like dirt.

.-.

Steve had to walk up and down the stairs with the heavy buckets of boiling water to fill the tub, which he did during dinner. Tony had wanted to help, but Steve had still been a little surly about earlier, so he figured now wasn’t the time to push him. Instead, he’d focused on frying up dinner, which he’d proudly decided was perfectly passable (and Steve had wolfed it down between trips to the bathroom, which was equally flattering). Watching Steve tote buckets up and down the stairs, while a very nice showing of strength that Tony privately appreciated, did make him worry about tripping and getting hurt on the stairs, though. Tony had already started to devise a pulley system, so he didn’t have trek so far and make less work overall.

He considered how to bring it up with Steve without seeming too pushy or like he was trying too hard to be useful. Steve had already made it clear that as gung-ho as he was to help, he needed to take it one step at a time. He started pumping cold water into the tub to fill it up the rest of the way, deciding he could bring up his idea in the morning, so long as he made it seem like an improvement for his own benefit while Steve was gone, rather than trying to take the job out from under him. Steve seemed to really like showing he cared through actions. And Steve must have been well-practiced filling the tub, he realized, if it was one of the few comforts he made sure his mother got to have. He dipped his hand into the water once it was filled a respectable amount; it was still bordering on the edge of too-hot when he tested it, just the way he liked.

Tony was turning to throw his clothes in the basket in the corner when he spotted something on the bed. He nearly tripped over his pants in his rush toward it when he realized it was a letter. Steve must have put it there when he’d been bringing up the buckets of hot water. He had no idea when Steve had written it. They’d been together for most of the day, except for when he’d stomped off for a bit to cool down, and when he’d been back and forth filling the tub. He glanced at the tub, then decided the water would keep for a few minutes, turning back to tear into the letter.

Dear Tony,

I don’t know what to say. The last letter you gave me was so kind. I felt like I was on top of the world reading it. Then Thor told us the jokes they were making in town, and I know you know I would never do anything, but I can’t imagine how shocking that was to hear. I’m glad you’re brushing the jokes off and are willing to give the people in town another chance, but I think I’m still going to be embarrassed about this for a while. I know you’d tell me not to worry about it, but I can’t help thinking about the things you told me, about how the alphas back home were “pushy” and no one stopped them. I’d thought the people of Timely were better than that. If I heard someone was getting pushy with their omega, I wouldn’t laugh. I’d go by to make sure they were okay. And I wanted you to think that’s what everyone here in Timely would do.

You’ve been so brave coming here. I know I keep saying it, and you’re probably tired of hearing it. But it didn’t really register just how dangerous it was for you, not just to leave the only home you’d ever known, but to travel without an escort, and to meet me, sight-unseen, ready to marry me when you only knew a little about me. I could have been lying. I could have been a horrible person, and you wouldn’t have known for sure until it was too late. You gambled that I was better, and realizing the stakes, I’m incredibly humbled.

I know you probably don’t want to talk about it anymore. You said you wanted to give the town a clean slate. Said something incredibly kind about ‘growing pains.’ So I’ll defer to you on that. But just know, if anyone decides to make a bad joke in front of me, I’ll deal with them. And I guess I’ll tell Mrs. Barnes and the girls that we’re not doing unmentionable things all over the house when we go into town tomorrow so that someone can help you figure out how to can beans.

Sincerely,

Steve

Tony hummed, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will at the last line. He hadn’t really thought about how the joke and his reaction to it would have made Steve think of things differently. They still had a lot to learn about each other, obviously. He bit his bottom lip as he thought about asking Steve to stop pointing out his bravery, running his thumb over Steve’s signature. He decided not to, though. As embarrassed and awkward as it made him feel, he also liked the warmth it brought to his chest. He liked impressing Steve, even if he didn’t really know why Steve was impressed. He didn’t think he was anything special.

Then again, maybe he was to Steve. Thirty-one, and unmarried despite the town’s best efforts, to the point that he’d had to put an ad in the marriage papers. And there had been something about Tony that had made him choose him out of the others who had written back to him, even though there were others who were probably used to life on the range, or at least were more familiar with what it entailed. Maybe he was special. Or maybe he could just… be special to Steve. He smiled a little, folding the letter up to put back in the envelope, and only then spotted the post script on the back. He unfolded it to read it properly, cheeks flushing a little when he remembered the last time, when Steve had said he’d take care of any spiders, not knowing that Tony had been reacting to Jan’s… gift.

P.S. –Tony, if you’re reading this before your bath, don’t let your water go too cold. If you’re reading this after your bath, I hope you’re red as a cherry, I guess.

Tony blinked at the words for a moment, then let out a bark of laughter that shook loose from deep in his belly. Steve didn’t understand why he wanted the water so hot, but he was at least supportive. He remembered Jarvis wrinkling his nose at his steaming water once, too, and overheard Vernon scolding Jan for using all the hot water again. Maybe it really was just an omega thing. He figured that was okay, so long as no one got on his case about it. At least he knew that Steve would never have to scold him for using all the hot water, if he was boiling it himself.

#aurumacadicus writes #stony #sincerely yours

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hadesknockedupintheunderworld · 3 months ago

Text

Okay, so. Now that I have more of my feelings and thoughts sorted out, I would like to talk about the ending of the Nanbaka manga.

The End: Re-Nanbaka Chapter 423

(From chapter 36 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

Disclaimer: Though this goes without saying, this impromptu essay post will contain spoilers for Nanbaka—the ending, primarily. It's worth reading the major plot twists without being spoiled if you can, so if you're not finished reading the manga, I wouldn't suggest reading this (can't stop you if you decide to anyways though 🤷). Suffice to say, the target audience is people who have finished reading the Nanbaka manga.

ㅤ

So, it's finally here, right? You decided to read the Nanbaka manga some time ago. There's a pretty good possibility you watched the anime at some point and found the manga afterwards, just needing to know what happens after Season 2 (potentially even after growing tired of waiting for season 3).

But, of course, the "why" doesn't matter. You picked up the Nanbaka manga, drank up every chapter you could. Maybe you're like me. You got to around chapter 193 and stopped for a while, unable to find translation past that point. But you got lucky one day looking, wondering if anyone ever picked up that translation again. So again, you drank up chapter after chapter (whether you binged it or waited patiently for fan translators to translate the chapters bit by bit), until you finally arrived...

At the end.

(From chapter 423 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

And I surmise (largely based upon what I've seen perusing the fandom tag) that your thoughts upon reaching this point amount to "HUH?! WHAT?!" It seemed like we were just in the middle of a major arc. We've learned so many things, the nature of the world of "Nanbaka" and the overal conflicts have been revealed. New questions have risen, certain recent mysteries have yet to be answered, new information has come to light, there are characters whose status is unclear.

But despite all of this, it's over. The end.

Jyugo escapes Nanba, and the manga ends, heedless of everything else.

"Does the mangaka even care?" you could be wondering.

"Maybe it's just on hiatus, and we'll get a follow up at some point!" you could be hoping.

"Why did I get invested if it was going to end so poorly? Was it just a badly written story after all?" you may be feeling inside.

I can't tell you what Shō Futamata's feelings or what their future plans are beyond what they've officially put out. I can't give a truly objective answer that proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that Nanbaka is written well, and that the ending is good actually™.

But what I can do is express my own subjective point of view. After all, I'm only human too. Beyond that, I can hope someone reads this.

. . .

Now, my view and opinion is as follows:

As a whole, I loved the Nanbaka manga. I think the ending is good, and that it makes sense.

ㅤ

I can already hear the thoughts forming in the heads of some of you reading this.

"What? Why? Isn't it sudden?? With everything introduced and all the plot threads left hanging, how could it be a good end? How could this make sense?"

Here's my short answer for the "why".

Because none of those things matter.

"But how could none of that matter? What would be the point of building up the narrative, getting us attached to all these characters and invested in the mysteries if it didn't all matter? Wouldn't it be simpler to say that the mangaka was tired of writing? Even so, what was the point of introducing all of these things if they don't matter as you say??"

Let me clarify that statement:

None of those things matter to the ending.

ㅤ

Let's take a step back for a moment.

Despite the chapters upon chapters of angst and the character death we've experienced, Nanbaka is, at its core, a comedy manga (there are times I'd even call it a parody). Its goal with its gags and references, and even its execution of characters and arcs, is often to play genre expectations for laughs and/or to turn them on their head. It's unserious at times, and yet the entire premise (even jokes based on common genre tropes or anime happenings) are played completely straight.

Jyugo, our main character, (just based on design and expectations) seems to have all of the setup at of a more edgy shonen protagonist—the world's specialest boy with the tragic backstory, who is doubtless overpowered.

Both the manga and the anime adaptation dispell this notion pretty quickly. Jyugo can open any lock and escape from any prison, but he's pathetic outside of this. In the anime this means he can move past every obstacle to escaping Nanba along with his friends, but he always gets stuck at the final one because of his poor physical prowess (and inability to throw even a single punch). His backstory isn't tragic so much as...empty. In his head early in the story, he's just some inmate who woke up one day with shackles he can't remove, right? He has this clear glimpse of the man who shackled him (the man with the scar on the back of his neck). Does he have any real passion for revenge at the start? No, not really. He just wants to find this guy so he'll remove the shackles. In his memory, he's both escaped from every prison he's been to so he could find the man with the scar, and so he could just kill time. His memories are hazy, he doesn't know his parents or his home. As far as official records are concerned, he was born in prison and his father abandoned him. He has no hobbies, likes or dislikes.

It's against the character of Jyugo, our main character with few qualities and no real dreams or aspirations, that the rest of Cell 13 (his friends, Nico, Rock, and Uno) stand out. Compared to him, who is just killing time, who is bored and doesn't improve his practical skils, who wears the classic black and white striped prison garb, just about everyone in the story stands out more. They're visually colorful and dynamic. They have obsessions, dreams, aspirations, likes, and dislikes. For many of the supporting cast, their backstories and ambitions are enough that they could be the star of their own story.

And back to the comedy aspect, just like with Jyugo, one of the earlier gags in the story is when the mangaka contrives an excuse to explain cell 13's basic characters and backstories via the warden meeting with Hajime. In the manga, Hajime explains "what is up with them", just before shocking Samon and Warden Momoko with the "stupid" reasons Uno, Rock, and Nico kept escaping prison. In the anime adaptation, Samon plays the role of stand in for the audience expectations, assuming each one of these characters ended up becoming criminals due to their tragic backstories, with these reasons for becoming criminals feeding deeply into their aspirations. He sets up fantasy stories of men who go to prison in the process of caring for their sick/disabled girlfriend, or whom want to get revenge for fallen comrades, just before Hajime tears it down by dropping the truth.

Nico has a past of being experimented on and drugged. He has multiple food ilnesses and unidentified diseases. But no matter his dark past, his reason for escaping prisons was due to his hatred of needles and badly tasting medicine.

Rock was reportedly imprisoned after starting a gang riot. He didn't escape prison for any normal reasons though. Not out of any obligation to groups he could be affiliated with or because he just wants out. He escaped because the prison food sucked.

Uno is a compulsive gambler who was sent to juvie for frequenting underground casinos. Rather than escape prison for normal reasons, such as wanting to be out of prison, or even so he could continue to gamble, he escaped because he had a hot date.

It's easy to forget when you get wrapped up in the angst, the characters backstories, the overarching struggle between two organizations who wish to decide the fate of the world, etc that Nanbaka is a parody. From the very beginning, it plays into our suspension of disbelief for manga/anime shenanigans to its advantage (for example, being meta about how Uno, Rock, and Jyugo have to work together to censor Nico's anime references, or forcing the audience to accept that Shiki's security was shitty for a brief moment just so Taura specifically could infiltrate their headquarters with ease), and it turns our expectations on their heads (ex. Enki's rumor about being abusive to inmates stemming from how he would rough them up a bit to protect them from inhumane experimentation, or Warden Momoko appearing to be a stern dom with sharp edges but turning out to be someone who is gushy and soft and blushy thinking about her crush).

We expect the plot twists of Nanbaka's final arc to be a climax of the story, or something which leads into a final confrontation of ideals. We expect the manga to end with an answer to the fate of Togabito worldwide, a victor to emerge between Shiki and Kaazu's war with each other. We perhaps even expect Jyugo to be at the center of this, for him to decide whether the world should change in favor or against Togabito existing, or even for him to make a third choice separate from Hiiro and Mashiro's skirmish. We expect for a thrilling final conclusion which wraps up most of the obvious hanging plot threads, makes a statement for how the world should be, and gives us some happy or tragic (solid) ending for our main cast and their fates.

So, with all of that in mind:

Why would Nanbaka, as a parody manga, end as we expect it to?

. . .

Okay, now I hear you thinking:

"Tumblr user hadesknockedupintheunderworld...that is such a stupid excuse. You seriously expect us to believe that this ending is masterful and amazing because the fact that we didn't expect it to leave off on so many cliffhangers makes it a parody executed at a genius level?? Even a good parody manga that subverts our expectations should have a proper ending. Again, wouldn't this constitute an excuse for the mangaka's laziniess?"

And to this, I say: Please bear with me.

Nanbaka's genre status is only one piece of the puzzle, the "why" of the execution of the manga's ending.

The rest is related to our little pathetic (yet kind of endearing) jail breaker of a main character.

(From Season 1 Episode 1 of the anime adaptation of Nanbaka)

So, Jyugo. Inmate 15, cell 13, building 13. He's our main character.

His status as the main character may not be so obvious at first, especially given how often cell 13 appears as a group early on in the story, but I would say that it at least becomes clear by the time the end of the New Year's Tournament ark (the first one) comes around. Namely, the reveal of Jyugo's special abilities, the fight between Jyugo and Musashi, and the scene where Jyugo ultimately chooses to stay at building 13 after the tournament.

Despite Nanbaka's large cast of characters and its tendencies to focus on everyone but Jyugo at times, though, Jyugo is the main character. Nanbaka is a comedy/parody manga, yes, but it's also about Jyugo's personal journey, the way he changes as a person over the course of the manga. Hiiro kind of spells this out for us in chapter 422, when he reveals that Nanba was also created for Jyugo—his playground, his ideal world, a place where he could be himself.

. . .

For a moment, let's return to my previous statement:

None of those things matter to the ending.

Much of what's going on in the world of Nanbaka is bigger than one person, of course. In the later parts especially, we start to be able to see more and more outside the prison. We're introduced to Nanba's women prison, Shiki, the Zodiac Police, and even to Rokuto and Mikadzuki. The world outside Nanba prison comes into greater focus at this point, especially as we begin to see more details of the struggle between Shiki and Kaazu. There are multiple story arcs towards the end focusing on multiple different characters where Jyugo and cell 13 aren't present.

As such, I can understand how easy it becomes to get wrapped up in this story as it ramps up. The problems of Kaazu vs Shiki begin to infiltrate into Nanba more and more, and this building of tension is joined by the revelations surrounding Kaazu, Shiki, and Jyugo. I, too, while reading, was waiting at the edge of my seat to get a follow up on the inmates disappearing during the New Year's Tournament (second time), the future of Orochi, Midzuchi, and Murakami, the fates of Trois, Zakuro, etc, the information on Rock, Uno, and Nico's true first meetings with Jyugo, etc.

So I know it sounds strange when I say that none of these things matter to the ending.

But, consider this. Outside of gags, outside of Jyugo, the arks we see involving Shiki, the Zodiak police, Taura, and others, often serve two purposes.

To flesh out the narrative, to make all of the characters in the wider cast feel like people as opposed to tools or just colorful characters playing roles, and to provide background on events relating to Jyugo's past.

To make some sort of point.

Showing us the backstories of members of Shiki, inmates at Nanba, and some for the Nanba guards and Zodiac Police members allows us to see these characters as people, to put away the idea that everyone affiliated with Nanba or Shiki or Kaazu is either a "good person/hero" or "bad person/villain". One of the commonly recurring themes in Nanbaka (supported by the backstories of Togabito and regular inmates alike) is the lack of prisoners' rights. Imprisonment is often used as a method of covering up inhumane experimentation or treatment of characters. Multiple characters were framed for imprisonment with the express purpose of some group getting to get away with their treatment of them (such as Kaazu imprisoning Togabito so they could get away with executing them, or Elf framing Musashi for arson so Mashiro and Isou could experiment and gather data using him). A good deal of character arcs towards the end also have a particular focus on the inmates, members of Shiki, and Togabito deciding their futures or the ideal worlds they'd like to create.

My point with this is to say that, despite the ending, all of these things do matter to the narrative. And they don't suddenly cease to have meant anything because of how the manga ending left narrative threads unresolved.

They had a purpose.

"So why is there no clear conclusion to these?"

I'll explain it like this. Since Jyugo is the main character, no matter what is happening in the world of Nanbaka, everything comes back to him. All of the narrative threads and story arcs that occur without his presence have a purpose and do matter, but the happenings outside of Nanba (within the entire world) in general are just, well, a part of the world. Regardless of what Jyugo does after the manga's ending, the world will continue to turn. Those narrative threads will come to their conclusions. Hiiro and Mashiro will continue to oppose each other.

They are just things that happen to be happening in the world around Jyugo. But the end of the manga focuses on Jyugo, the culmination of his arc.

And when it comes to reaching the conclusion of Jyugo's character arc, things not pertaining to this do not matter. It doesn't matter what Murakami's fate is. It doesn't matter whether Kaazu or Shiki win their war of ideals. It doesn't matter whether Zakuro died or not, only that Jyugo's fight with him and interactions with him and Elf set off the introspection which causes Jyugo to change further as a person.

Chapter 423 was not planned as "the end" so we could get the thrilling conclusion of major happenings in the world of Nanbaka. It was planned as "the end", so we could see "the end" of Jyugo's development.

Allow me to explain this a bit more clearly.

And ultimately, this is why I think the ending of Nanbaka is both good and fitting. The ending is unexpected, yes, but it challenges you to think, to wonder just what makes chapter 423 "The End". It leaves the surface narrative (the literal happenings in the story) unfinished, yet it resolves it's underlying narrative featuring the main character's evolution. Rather than the end of Nanbaka, being about who will change the world and how, or about a perfect happy or tragic ending, it's about Jyugo accepting himself, it's about him growing into his complete and complicated self despite (and sometimes because of) outside interference.

ㅤ

Thinking back to the beginning of the story, we are given our very first truth.

Jyugo cannot/will not escape Nanba.

This is very clearly shown in the opening of the anime adaptation, where we're introduced to a typical day of Cell 13 evading all manner of traps to escape Nanba. The four of them each use their unique skills and knowledge (both inherent to them and due to their experiences escaping from various prisons) to get all the way to the final obstacle inside the prison. Then, after Jyugo opens the final door, locked with all manner of special locking mechanisms, the group is faced with Hajime. Ultimately, of course, when Jyugo is the last to face him, Hajime beats Jyugo up, which shows the audience that Jyugo cannot yet escape (in this case, he physically cannot defeat their final obstacle).

As Hajime says in the opening of the anime's first episode:

"That is because this is Nanba prison. No one has ever escaped successfully from this prison."

The manga also starts out showing "the typical day" of cell 13. However, while the anime does this by showing a group escape attempt, the manga starts out showing the four as they converse in their cell with each other and with Hajime.

(From chapter 1 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

The anime presents a Jyugo who initially wants to escape (he's escaped from every other prison after all) but doesn't have the ability. The additional anime opening scenes flow (more or less) into the scenes presented in the opening of the manga, which presents a Jyugo who doesn't actually want to leave Nanba.

"I just remembered I'll be released soon. Hey, Hajime. I'm gonna escape now, so will ya extend my sentence?"

In addition, both the manga and the anime end up with Cell 13 instead deciding to stay in Nanba for the time being (finding it more comfortable and livable than the real world).

(From chapter 1 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata. This same scene can be found in Season 1 Episode 1 of the anime adaptation)

So, we start out with a Jyugo who does not/cannot leave Nanba. Although he eventually comes to confide in Hitoshi Sugoroku about the man with the scar and his shackles, removing those shackles is more of a far off goal. For now, he can live comfortably in Nanba, not having to worry about the troubles he'd have outside the prison.

Then, we get this moment of introspection from Jyugo in Chapter 36:

(From chapter 36 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

During the end of part 1 here, Jyugo realizes that he's been running away ("the man with the scar" listed as among the things he's been running from while in Nanba), and he realizes he wants to live like his friends (his friends who are "so full of life").

Though we expect Jyugo to begin to physically improve himself (like other main characters in his position who often resolve to do this to protect the things, people, and futures they care about with their own hands), he doesn't make major strides over the course of the manga in improving his physical strength, skill, or becoming proficient in using his blades. Rather, his journey is a more internal one.

(From chapter 36 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

To put it plainly, as of Chapter 36, to "run away" as he always has for Jyugo means both to accept his fate (in this case, to allow himself to simply stay in prison, or to allow himself to live an empty life in the underground cells of Nanba) and to escape Nanba (to run away from a place that now has both people who enrich his life (attachments) and his past encroaching on it).

While Jyugo takes some steps forward and backwards over the course of the manga (often during major events of introspection and dealing with his fears), everything comes to head in the last part of the manga.

Or, rather, it's Chapter 423 (the ending), that brings Jyugo's internal journey full circle.

Jyugo learns about himself—the truth about his origins, his powers, his shackles—and chooses to continue on.

Jyugo accepts himself—his "original personality", his past self, his missing piece—becoming someone who is both the "Jyugo" who is human and contains life, and the "Jyugo" who is the Togabito of emptiness, who can hardly recognize himself as existing.

And, most notably:

Jyugo finally escapes Nanba prison with his own power, and he faces "the man with the scar" head on.

This is the point I intended to make.

Chapter 423 of Nanbaka's ending is set up the way it is to subvert our expectations due to its affinity for parody. Chapter 423's ending does not mark the ending of the story of Nanba prison or the war between Shiki and Kaazu. Rather, it marks "The End" of the Jyugo we knew.

It marks the moment Jyugo finally escapes the inescapable prison, the moment he truly resolves to face the man with the scar, the moment he's completed his internal development the manga has been leading up to.

Or, to put this in the shortest words I possibly can:

The story began setting up Nanba as an inescapable prison. The story ends now that our main character has finally achieved this feat and escaped it.

(From chapter 423 of "Nanbaka" by Shō Futamata)

The other things do not matter to the conclusion of Jyugo's story.

. . .

ㅤ

. . .

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. . .

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end.

#nanbaka #nanbaka the numbers #idiots with numbers #nanbaka manga #nanbaka manga spoilers #nanbaka spoilers #jyugo #jyuugo #jyugo nanbaka #nanbaka jyugo #essay time #i just be ramblin #this took me a few days to complete but I think most of all I hope I really did get my point across #someone important to me told me that the me from a year ago probably couldn't have accepted an ending like this one #but the me who finished this manga can accept that the ending was done this way deliberately‚ and that it makes sense even if it seems to be #narratively unsatisfying

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echantedtoon · 1 year ago

Text

Ocean Deep Ch14 Mers And Ladies

(Warnings: Mentioning of killing/blood/murder/wounds/drowning/bloodloss, Y/n does have a stab wound but it's NOT serious and doesn't really affect her too much. Mentioning of yn being stabbed with a knife.

NOW SOME IMPORTANT INFO FOR THIS CHAPTER!! I have three things to announce.

Firstly just a quick recap of mer Tengen's design-

Tengen would be a white butterfly koi fish mer and would look like the linked post below except less eel and more butterfly koi also below.

Merman Tengen( minus the eel like features)

his tail would be more like this instead

Secondly the QnA from last chapter. If any questions are lumped together then it's because the same person asked more than one question.

*Is Y/n still alive?

Obviously yes. And she's ok.

*Do mers have jobs or just chill in the ocean? Is there a mer equivalent to the demon slayer corps? Is there a reason why the wives chose to go by Tengen's last names and not Rengoku's? Why does Rengoku still go by his own last name? Is polygamy more common among mers?

They just chill. No not really. Usually only the lady mers change their last names but this isn't always the case, but they love Tengen very much. Rengoku is still attached to his family name. Not really. Some mers are poly some aren't.

*How many chapters are left?

Im not sure. I already have the plot in mind, it's just a matter of writing it out.

*Was Tengen's parts near the end a flashback or happening in the moment?

In the moment. No flashbacks that chapter.

Thanks to everyone who asked questions! Now that's over with-

Thirdly, I made a small side story for Ocean Deep containing Mer Douma x Reader. The link for anyone who wants to read it is below I also read you can replace a pint of blood after donating it within 24 hours if this is inaccurate I apologize.

taglist: @six-eyed-samurai @lavenderdrxp @jjamsbangtan @camilo-uwu @hopefulworld1

@shadyd3ar @amypop122 @azuredragonstrike

@mimisweetz @chaoticoperatorduckhairdo @staarflowerr @aleee-386

Remember if you want to be added to the tag list lemme know.

"Leave her on the beach! Someone will find her or she'll wake up and go home herself!"

A voice..Male. Deeper. Different. Unfamiliar.

"We can't just abandon her! She's wounded! LOOK FOR YOURSELF!"

Pain. Numbness. Cold black closing in.

"....."

"Tengen, please."

"....Press down on the wound tightly. It's a long trip and if she's going to make it then she'll need all the blood she can keep in her body."

Where are you?

.. Everything is so dark.

What happened?

Why isn't there anything here?

We're you dead? Did you finally die? Is this what being dead was? Nothing but black abyss where you couldn't feel anything? ...It was ..oddly peaceful despite being so eerie.

"-likeliness to survive is guaranteed I'd say."

Huh? What was that? It sounded like the second half of a sentence you only just now noticed. Was there other spirits here with you?

"That's a relief. I was worried about the stab to her shoulder there. I do hope she's not too hurt."

"Don't worry yourself too much, Koyuki. It was a rather small blade and it only stabbed some fat and muscle. A few stitches and some rest will have her healed up within a few months!"

A small sigh of relief. "Oh thank goodness. I'm sure everyone will be relieved to hear that."

"How about you? How are you feeling today? That sudden fever came out of nowhere."

"I feel much better but Shinobu says I should stay in bed today."

"That's good. Did she wake up while we were gone?"

"No but she did move in her sleep."

"Ah. Good. That means she might wake up soon. I'll just take your temperature and leave you two to rest for a little while."

There was the sounds of retreating footsteps and maybe a door squeaking shut. Did the afterlife even have doors? You didn't get a chance before the world fell into unconscious again- The next time you regained consciousness, you opened your eyes only to blink suddenly as a harsh light beamed down on you. Was that the fabled tunnel? We're you going to heaven?! A few blinks more had the harsh light evening out into other less harsh colors of browns and beige. You didn't know heaven had an oak ceiling-...

Wait. Ceiling?

F/c eyes blinked and eyebrows scrunched in confusion as your vision ever so slowly unblurred and you found yourself staring at an oakwood ceiling. There was silence as you continued to stare at it for the longest time.. before your head tilted to the right. The light source was discovered in the form of an open window. The sight of a calm blue sky and fluffy white clouds greeted you and a nice warm breeze bringing the smell of the salty ocean came through...Wait. This wasn't the beach. Could it be-??

Your eyes shifted down to your body and you only now felt the soft warmth hugging your body. Clean sheets covered your body as you lied upon your futon and a nice thick and warm blue blanket covered you from your feet to your neck. You were..in bed?? Could it be that this entire thing was just a dream? Only a silly dream about mermaids and jewelry and Akira that felt like it lasted for months but was really only a night or two?

Slowly you willed your arm to move. Your right arm pushed up, up, up. You felt heavy, sluggish, and every movement was a pins and needles tingling feeling. The blue blanket fell away partially as your hand extended to the ceiling and wriggled all five fingers. Your other hand went to do the same thing-

UNTIL A WHITE HOT PAIN SHOT FROM YOUR SHOULDER AND DOWN YOUR SPINE-!!!

"AH!!"

You couldn't help but cry out from the sudden throbbing pain that shot from your shoulder and throughout your body. It was a burning throbbing pain that pulsed out from just behind your left shoulder. Your teeth gritted as you hissed, body contorting in pain and then there was a sharp gasp-

...Wait. That wasn't from you.

Your head turned to the left in the direction of the sound and froze as two pairs of eyes met. A pair of pretty cherry blossom pink eyes and equally shaped pretty white flower shaped pupils stared down at your confused orbs. For a moment there was nothing but silence as your brain processed the other person in the room looking at you- Before she jumped as your body moved quickly.

Pink eyes blinked watching the other woman quickly flip onto her right side and struggle to push herself up onto numb arms and legs. "W-Wait! Don't do that! You'll hurt yourself!"

The other paid no mind to her warnings as she proceeded to crawl like a rapid animal desperate to get away from here. Falling onto her face after getting entangled in the sheets and letting out a yelp of pain. A rush of adrenaline shot up into your veins as you forced yourself back up and, although probably looking ridiculous, you crawled desperately for the door despite the emense pain in your shoulder and how tingly and weak your limbs were.

"Please stop! You're making it worse!"

Ignored. A desperate churning voice pounded at your skull. Run! Run! Run! Get out! Get away! It shouted that over and over, and like a scared injured rabbit you obeyed that. Legs unready for walking were forced up- only for you to fall back onto them with a thud.

"Shinobu! Kanae! Somebody help!"

More people?! SCREW THIS!! In some adrenaline fueled strength, somehow your foggy mind was able to get up onto your legs shaking uncontrollably like you were a bare in a blizzard! You ran! Throwing yourself at the door and throwing it open with a slide! A loud thudding sound reverberated throughout the hall and room as you threw yourself out- Only to collide almost collide into someone carrying a bowl. The pink haired girl squealed as you knocked into her, knocking the bowl of soup outta her hands. The distant sounds of spilling liquids filled the air behind you as your body collided with a wall so wobbly and unstable that you fell over onto your stomach. If your head wasn't blank from the pain, you might've heard the thud of the bowl and the clattering of a spoon somewhere behind you. Scrambling, clawing at the floorboards, and crawling like a desperate animal just turned free you carried on. Looking like a crazy person. Freedom! Freedom! To freedom you nearly were-

Until hands grabbed you.

You squealed out as two pairs of hands grabbed you by the arms on either side of your body and pulled you backwards and away from the door with a window in the middle showing the outside world and your near freedom.

"Fast one aren't you?"

"LET ME GO!," you shrieked kicking out weakly no avail.

Whoever it was was physically stronger as you were dragged across the floor back towards the room, and you were too physically weak to fight them off. Your shoulder still throbbed in pain but that didn't stop whoever they were from pulling you back into the room past the pink haired girl who tilted her head and looked worried with a hand to her face. You cursed pushing and pulling until you were plopped down onto something soft and you were finally released, falling backwards onto the soft bed- Your body said screw it and pushed yourself back up to snarl at your captors-...Only to be taken aback by what..Or better yet WHO who saw surrounding you.

LADIES!!

There was five other women in here staring at you. And all of them were fairly beautiful. There was the girl still sitting in the futon a few feet away from you, her long black hair flowing around her nightgown and an open book she had presumably been reading open wide on her lap. A second figure was worriedly shifting from one foot to the other looking the most worried and had long pink braids that faded to a lime green at the ends. But the two you REALLY noticed was the two looming over you. The one to the right was the most beautiful. Pretty pink eyes, tall, and long black hair that swayed when she tilted her smile at you. The second one was more around your height, and just as pretty with black hair with purple ends pinned up and lavender orbs gazing down at you. She also wore a smile but it looked more..blank than the first one. And then finally you caught a fifth person's gaze. Young. So young that she could've been your little sister if your parents had anyone children. She peeked around the doorframe curiously with pink eyes a similar shade to the tall girl but in design more to the purple eyed one. All three having a similar facial structure.

You stared at everyone around you bewildered before scowling. "Look- Just take what you want!" You held up a hand. "I don't have anything valuable on me anyways! Just let me go and I promise you I won't tell anyone!" The two smiling people exchanged looks above you. "I'm not worth the trouble anyways!"

There was a moment of silence still before Ms. Tall-With-Pink-Eyes chuckled holding a hand to her face. "I think she's mixing up the situation as something else."

"Well can you blame her with what she went through last night?," Ms. Lavender Eyes answered back before they both looked at you again. "I think we got off om the wrong foot." You jumped as with without warning she grabbed your eye forcing it more open as she peered at you. "Her eyes aren't clouded so that must mean she's completely lucid. Are you feeling light headed or anything similar?"

"Ow. " You pulled away from her shaking your head and scowling. "Just who are you people!? Where am I?!" Obviously you weren't home and you weren't on any beach. So where was this place?

"Forgive us. You must be very confused." Ms. Tall-With-Pink-Eyes spoke again before Ms. Lavender Eyes moved beside you. "I'm Kanae and that's my sister." She gestured to said sister who picked up your wrist to feel for a pulse as you were distracted. "You're here because you were hurt. Do you remember anything about what happened last night?"

"Last..night?"

She nodded as her sister went to your back. "Don't push yourself if you can't but can you tell us if you do remember what happened?"

Your eyes blinked. Mind going off in thought. What did happen last night? ..You remembered arriving at the beach- "I..remember the beach. It was so big and full of wreckage." Just thinking about all of those broken ships, some being where the men of your village spent their last living moments, sent chills down your spine. "And it was just turning sunset." You remembered how beautiful it was. You've never seen the sun make water sparkle like that. "Then I-" You opened your mouth but quickly stopped and closed it.

YOU COULDN'T TELL THEM YOU WERE HELPING MERMAIDS!! They might think you were crazy or having bad hallucinations! Or they might turn on you for helping nonhuman creatures!

"I was...releasing some fish back into the ocean I didn't want," you settled on. Technically it was the truth. Mermaids were part fish after all. "And then-"

You fell silent once more. A rock settling in your stomach. Akira. Knife. Stabbing. Everything going black!

"Akira!" The women jumped as you looked around wildly. Fear etched into your features. But there was no man amongst the women still amongst you. "Where is he?! H-He was on the docks with me when I passed out!"

"The man who stabbed you?" You flinched at Ms. Lavender Eye's blunt tone but she waved you off pulling the back of your collar to peek at your back. "..Hmm. The bandages are still clean and tied. I don't think she tore any stitches from her earlier stunt."

Your head craned behind you to raise a brow at her. "Stitches?"

She nodded. "You're extremely lucky! Your wound isn't very large or deep despite requiring stitches. You should be fully healed in two maybe three months. Obviously whoever tried to harm you was stupid in his selection of weapons!"

....You didn't know whether she was being serious or sarcastic with the bluntness of her words but you did frown. "Well thank goodness for that. I was worried about the size of knife that nearly killed me! Thank goodness for stupidity." Your eyes rolled. "But that still doesn't answer my questions. Who are you people and where am I?"

"Forgive us." Kanae(why does that name sound familiar?) smiled wider at you. Maybe to try to comfort you? "You're on an island a few miles off the coast you described. You were brought here by a few friends to have your wounds treated." She held up her hands. "But don't worry. As long as you take it easy, your wound shall heal in the timeframe my sister described." Well that's a relief. "However you lost some blood."

The blood drained from your face. "How..much?"

"About a pint I'd say. Don't worry. Usually the human body replaces that amount within twenty four hours but I want you to rest for at least two or three days before you try walking just in case."

"Oh...Will I be able to walk normally then?"

"Certainly."

You gave a sigh of relief. "Good. Then I can finally be able to go home." Kanae lost her smile for a moment giving a glance at her sister. "Then who are the rest of you?" You gave another look around the room. The other girl in bed was dressed a similar way to you in white nightgowns. We're you in a hospital? "Is she a patient too?"

"Oh. How rude of me. That's Koyuki. She's just running a fever. She's Shinobu, Mitsuri, and that is our younger sister in the doorway." Kanae pointed at each person as she told you their names with a smile. Mitsuri? Shinobu? Kanae? Koyuki? Why did all of their names sound familiar to you? You blinked as the blue blanket was pulled back up your body by Kanae. "Your body needs rest. Try to get comfortable and we'll bring you some food. You'll be needing lots of liquids and try to relax. Ok?"

You didn't know what to think really as you were made to lay back down and watched as they left. Where were you? Where was Akira? Where were your friends? We're they ok?....Your brain answered two of the four questions. Your friends are back in the ocean now safe and sound at last where they should be. By now they were probably already far away from here reuniting with Tengen(whoever he was) and they'd all be happy again.

...

A tiny smile formed on your face at the thought. It didn't matter if you were hurt. Your mission was successful and over with. Your friends were safe and home at last, you were no longer baring any burdens, and you were alive. Even if your current state was less than ideal, you didn't have to worry about anything else. Finally after so many months, the best kind of relief filled your body and you allowed yourself to relax. There was still the matter of Akira ..and Niko's horse but you'd happily deal with both of those later. With any luck the ships will be spared now and things could go back to the ways they were. Maybe people could even move back to town!

Oh how fate loved to throw boulders at you.

The Mitsuri girl had stayed to clean up the soup you made her spill (oops) and then two of the three sisters returned carrying trays of more soup. Kanae and her younger pinked eyed sister. The young girl couldn't have been older than fifteen or sixteen years tops. Both you and Koyuki had been given this crab soup and something dawned on you. The spoon lifted to your face but never touched your face as you froze up staring wide eyed. Footsteps softly thudded towards the doorway on their way ou-

"Kanae Kocho."

The footsteps stopped just shy of the doorway, back to the f/c eyes that now looked at her in familiarity.

"You're Kanae Kocho aren't you?! And your sisters are the same ones that disappeared last year!"

The realization had finally struck you. THESE REALLY ARE THE KOCHO SISTERS!! They'd disappeared last year and vanished without a trace! You weren't particularly close to the Kocho family but being in the same town you'd see them walking around from time to time. It just took you a while to recognize them!

"And you got kidnapped the year before that!," you accused pointing at Mitsuri who only blinked, "And you're the girl that was rumored to have drowned two years ago!" Koyuki blinked at the pointing hand. "What are you all doing here?! Don't you know your families are worried sick about you all?! What gives?! How did you escape that Naga?! Did you all just fake your deaths or something?!"

You couldn't help the rapid firing of questions that left your mouth under the mountain of realizations. These girls were apparently alive, not dead, and seemed in your point of view to be doing so well for themselves. What the hell gives?! No one answered. Giving you wide eyed silent stares until Kanae turned to you still with that smile which had now turned sad.

"Get some rest. Everything will be answered in time."

You were left just like that. Left with the weird sea food tasting soup to eat and with more questions than answers.

...

WHAT THE ACTUALLY HELL WAS GOING ON HERE?!

First all these girls disappear, then a couple merman destroy your town and way of life, then a merman shows up, then you get wrapped up in kidnapped mermaid drama, then you get stabbed while releasing said mermaids, and now the girls that are supposed to be dead... Aren't dead??? Just what the world did you get yourself into!? It was like just when you got yourself out of one mystery you fall into another! You tried talking to the other two remaining girls but Koyuki didn't say anything and Mitsuri squeaked out some excuse to leave quickly. It almost felt like you were back to square one... Y'know what? It's fine. If they ran away from home then that wasn't any of your business but you'd send some anonymous letters to the families (if you could find them) and let them sort this out. You didn't think they deserved to believe their daughters were dead.

You had enough things to worry about without getting involved into anymore drama.

Like getting back home and getting your life back in order. So you didn't mention anything about disappearing or mermaids for the rest of that day, and the next day either. Shinobu had shown up to look over yourself again and you only remained polite and short.

"Do you feel better today?", she asked you.

"Yes. Thank you ..And sorry about yesterday."

"Don't worry about it. I'd act the same way if I was you. Any pain or numbness?"

"Only in my shoulder."

That was it. Only a few sentences before she left again and you were left in bed to rest with nothing but more of that fish tasting soup to eat. You get that they wanted you to have more liquids but couldn't they at least give you better tasting soup?

You couldn't take it the third day. You awoke pretty early in the morning, in fact the sun was barely even up when you woke. Taking a moment you stared at the ceiling for a few minutes before glancing over to Koyuki. She was fast asleep softly snoring and turned away from you.. Everyone else was probably most likely still asleep this early as well.

NOW WAS YOUR CHANCE!

Slowly the blankets was peeled off your body and in the same manner as two days ago, you rolled onto your unhurt side to push up onto your hands and knees. Biting your tongue to not groan in pain that still lingered. Hurt or not you were leaving. You had done your duties, now you could just move on and never look back! Ever so slowly you pushed yourself to your feet which were still a bit wobbly but not as bad as it was two days ago. You should be able to walk now though if you went by what Kanae said. Tip toeing your way over, you slowly slid the door open only looking behind you once to make sure Koyuki was still fast asleep before popping your head into the hallway. It was quiet and no one else was around.

AND THE DOOR TO FREEDOM WAS STILL THERE DOWN THE HALL.

You slowly stepped out into the hall closing the door back behind you quietly. You still couldn't run with your wobbly legs so you instead wobble walked down the hall quietly and made for the door. You had a head start! If you hurried then you'd be able to get away without anyone noticing that you were missing. The front door was upon you. It slid open. You stepped out and quickly slid it back shut. You turned around-

AND THEN YOU WERE MET WITH THE OCEAN!

You stopped stunned by the long stretch of sandy beach only stopping when it collided with lazy waves rolling over the soft sand and wetting any shells under it. The silence was only broken by said waves and the soft footfalls of your feet taking a few steps in the squishy sand. The wind blew send stands of your messy hair flowing about and the hem of your long nightgown flowing. A few seagulls cried out in the distance excited to have some food and leaving you to stare.

"...Where am I?"

F/c orbs scanned the horizon where the sunrise was rising from the horizon. Nothing but blue water was in every direction you looked in. Not a sign of other land anywhere!...You were probably taking further down the beach! There wasn't any wreckage so that must mean you were taken further away from the docks. So if you just started walking then you'd soon come back to the graveyard of ships! Perfect! You hoped the horse was still windering where you left it. With a breath you began walking along the sandy shore and away from the house to get away before they could wake you up and drag you back to the room again.

So you walked. Wobbly along but you walked. And walked. And walked.

YOU DIDN'T SEE THE RED EYES WATCHING YOUR EVERY MOVE OR THE WHITE MASS UNDER THE WAVES FOLLOWING YOU.

Slowly the sun rose higher and higher in the sky making it warmer and brighter. Huh. You knew the coast was really big by the stories the fishermen told but you wondered how far up the beach they took you. Your right side was nothing but beach and ocean. Your left tropical forest you didn't want to go explore. The house was out of sight now, but you couldn't tell exactly how far away you were from it.

"I'm starting to get beat."

Your body still might've not have been fully recovered because you were quickly getting tired with the want to rest. You usually could go on for longer but you were in condition to fight your body's limits. So you stopped and looked around. There wasn't anywhere in sight that could be a suitable place to sit down and rest, until you spotted a large flat rock leading off the shore and into the water a little bit. The waves sloshing on the sides but not wetting the top. Seemed like a good of a place as any to sit down that wasn't in danger of sharp seashells or whatever dangerous animals might be in the unknown woods behind you. But it was smack dab in sight for all to see.

"..Ten minutes," you told yourself tiredly wobbling towards it, "It's only for just ten minutes. Then I'm leaving."

The squishy sand laced with sharp shells scraped under your tired legs soon replaced by warm but smooth rock as you stepped onto the flat stone and sighed. It felt nice. Magenta eyes watched the way you smiled beautifully at your feet and stepped further to the edge of the rock. Drifting closer the eyes came as she slowly lowered until she sat down submerging her legs to the knees and sighing in the relief the cool water gave her sore body. The bottom of her nightgown bunched up just above her kneecaps. A giggle escaping her as the waves rolled over her skin. She looked pretty.

You sighed in the relief your legs were currently getting hugged by the water. "This feels nice. It's too bad my shoulder is killing me."

Bubbles streaming to the surface got closer and closer to you as a white mass got closer and closer until a webbed hand silently reached out to grab the ledge of the rock behind you-

"Ah!" You hissed and gently reached a hand behind you to gentle rub your shoulder with a wince.

"Back pain? I hate that."

"Tell me about it. So annoying."

"I know right?"

"Yes."

"......"

A GLASS SHATTERING SOUND WENT OFF IN YOUR MIND.

Your eyes comically went wide as an owl's as you froze. ...And then you slowly turned around. A man with red wine eyes and white hair was staring at you from the Water's edge.

"Hey."

You squealed leaning back- S P LA S H!!

"SHIT!"

He cried out when her form disappeared under the waves and a second later he dove right back under after her. Silence claimed the area once more before you broke the surface of the Water gasping and clawing at the stone for dear life like a drowning cat desperately pulling yourself up with help from two large hands pushing you up by the waist. Scrambling and crawling onto the once nice dry rock spitting out nasty too salty water before coughing and hacking.

"'Eeehhh. Not really the flashy introduction I was hoping for."

You looked back up and yelped as a head was poking out of the water right in front of you. "Don't fall in again!" It- He shouted with an annoyed frown. "That's how you weak humans drown!"

"Wh-Who the hell are you?!" You leaned back leaning an arm up in case you had to defend yourself.

"You don't recognize me! I literally saved you like three days ago! Do humans really have that bad of a memory or what?!", he barked.

....Now you scowled. "Now see here you overgrown sea mule!" The man whoever he was blinked once taken aback by the sudden scowl and bite you gave him. "I'm too dam tired to be talked to like a brainless rock! I've been drained, stressed out my dam mind, attacked, and nearly drowned TWICE now! The last thing I need right now is the ocean equivalent of a donkey shit talking me! If you want to bother someone, go find a shark to antagonize!"

The man blinked once. Twice. Before he slowly hummed looking you up and down all drenched like a wet cat. "Well...The weren't wrong when they said you were certainly different."

"They? Just who are you?"

He hummed again crossing his arms over the rock's edge. "I thought you already knew...but then again you never met me personally and when we did you were already passed out." A giant smile of ABSOLUTELY LARGE FANGS made you give pause and gulp. "Allow me to actually give you a flashy introduction worthy of my status!"

Two clawed hands dug themselves into the rock and your jaw dropped in fear as an absolutely massive body hauled itself out of the water and onto the rock. A large shadow loomed over you.

He was-..massive!

Even larger than freaking KYOJURO!! And Kyo was bigger than Akira! A body beautiful sculpted by rippling muscles and scars sat itself upon the rock. Scattered purple scales glistening with water droplets aligned in a strange pattern you've never seen on any other mer across the torso and around the waist where his human half blended into a absolutely BEAUTIFUL shimmering white koi tail similar to Makio's only BIGGER and SHINIER! A rainbow pearlescent effect it had has the light bounced off his large koi tail. The fins large and flowing in the water like the fabric of beautiful silk in the wind. But that wasn't all.

A small jingling noise arose with him. The source being from the hoops dangling from his wrists. However you didn't notice that. Only the strange Mitch match of green and red sharp claws sticking out from hands large enough to crush you. Larger golden bands were tightly wrapped around his upper forearms as he flexed them out to you. But the thing was-

HE WAS ABSOLUTELY ADORNED IN JEWELS!!

A series of golden earrings were embedded into his ears, a similar piercing on his bottom lip. Across his forehead was some kind of large silver headband with three beautiful glimmering large diamonds in the front. Remember how Kyojuro's hands had a few rings? Well this guy had LOTS of rings! Some fingers having more than one on them. A long strand of shiny silver rocks clinked together and dangled from his headband. At least three different necklaces were wrapped around his neck with different valuable stones. Down his sculpted figure was a few various chains with a thick single silver one wrapped around his middle with a few polished seashells dangling from it's heavy bulk. But what really stood out was the large red and dark pink polished gems and stones pushed into his scales and embedded permanently into himself. The piercing wine red eyes crinkled up half lidded in a wide fanged smile at you- Holy shit! THOSE FANGS WERE LARGER THAN KYOJURO'S! His pure white hair falling down framing his face and for some reason a strange red birthmark over his right eye.

"I am Lord Tengen Uzui of the Western Isles! But you can call me Lord Tengen! And you have the honor of being in the presence of the God of Ocean's Deep!," he loudly announced out. Bold, assertive, and powerful enough to be feared by all who see him!

You only stared at him wide eyed. Holy shit...HE WAS BEAUTIFUL-!!

You immediately shook your head chasing away any of those thoughts. "...I don't believe it."

"Heh. Having a moment processing my flamboyant stature are you?"

"No. I can't believe the person responsible for half of my suffering is an over dressed full of himself watered down peacock."

"WHAT?!," he shouted turning towards your deadpanned face. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I'M THE MOST FLASHY AND STRONGEST MER THIS SIDE OF THE WEST COAST!!" He shouted in your face pointing a sharp red nail at your face, the bracelets around his wrists jingling with his movements.

".....I still don't see it. How'd you manage to beach all those ships? Flex and blind the captains with your over dressed scales?"

"HAVE SOME RESPECT FOR ME, GIRLIE!! I SAVED YOUR LIFE!!

"Right.." You glanced at the claw pointed at you, and then his large fangs as he gritted his teeth together annoyed. ..And just remembered how much bigger he was than you. On second thought it probably wasn't a good idea to argue with the guy that caused so much damage single handedly. You sighed with a breath. "Right. ..You did do that. Thanks for that." He huffed a sound. "No. I mean it. Thank you. And I'm sorry for being rude earlier. I'm just really on edge lately. A lot of bad stuff has happened recently."

"I've been told." He still looked and sounded annoyed but leaned back up from where he was sitting and recrossed his arms making his biceps and arms flex automatically. ".... You're going to live?"

It was a statement but the way he said it sounded like a question so you nodded. "Yes. I was told my shoulder isn't serious and it'll heal within a few months. I can live with that."

He hummed again. "I guess it's a good thing I got to you when I did then."

"Yes. Yes...So.. You're the famous Tengen Uzui I've heard so much about?" You took a moment to glance over this mountain of a man again. If he was human you estimated he'd he OVER six feet tall. "You're certainly a lot taller than I expected."

..That smile from before was back. "In the flashy flesh!" He winked and shot a one handed finger gun at you which in turn made you giggle. "And you must be Y/n. My wives' told me all about you."

"Ah. You mean Hinatsuru?"

"And Makio and Suma. And apparently Kyojuro.." His gaze peered off for a second. "He told me that you saved him after he stopped breathing. Is that true? Did he stop.. living?"

He was asking you about this now? You tilted his gaze to try to see his eyes but they were firmly set to where his tail met the water. "No. He never stopped living really." The eyes looked back to you. "He just needed a helping hand is all. So did everyone apparently...Are they alright now?"

He slowly nodded. "Yeah. Yeah they're fine." Both arms raised to hold the behind of his head. "They're all still asleep or just waking up by now. I know Suma is probably still sleeping in." He chuckled at nothing dryly. "It's so surreal to have them all back."

"I'm just glad they're alright. I can't imagine what you all went through was anything but terrifying."

"Tell me about it. You have no idea what it's like having every person you love tipped away from you with there being nothing you can do to prevent it. Never knowing what's happening to them or where they are." ... His eyes narrowed down at nothing. "Knowing if they were dead or alive."

"... You're right."

Tengen paused. Blinking. "What?" He looked at you arms falling to his sides. "What did you say?"

"I said-.. You're right." F/c eyes looked away guiltily from him. "You're right. I don't know what it's like to lose family, at least not in the way you did and Kyojuro did. ..My parents died when I was really young but there's a big difference between loosing someone to natural causes and loosing someone to someone's else's own selfish intentions. If my loved ones were kidnapped by someone and taken somewhere I could never get to-...I would have probably felt the same unbridled anger and fear you must've had." ...You looked up at him after he remained silent and found him staring at you with an absolutely shocked expression. "Um..Did I say something wrong?"

Tengen slowly shook his head no. "I-..N-No. it's not that. I-I-...Well to be perfectly honest with you I was actually waiting for you to start cursing me and tearing me apart with what happened to your life."

You blinked. "Oh. I guess they really did tell you everything about me huh?"

He nodded. "Yep. Completely everything. We're very honest with one another. I don't believe in keeping secrets from one another."

Oh gods. If they told him about the effects his actions had on your town and everyone's livelihoods- Then did that mean they literally told him about them kissing you?! And Kyojuro proposing?! And- Oh god. You hoped Kyojuro didn't tell him that-

"So.." A cheeky smirk crossed his face. Leaning closer to your reddening face. "Do all women have this magical power of medical kissing?~"

"UUUUUUGGGHHH!!" You shouted into the open air making him burst into loud laughter as you raised your hands and loudly facepalmed. "FOR THE LAST TIME! IT! WASN'T! A! KISS!! IT'S C! P! R! IT'S A MEDICAL TECHNIQUE EVERYONE IN MY TOWN WAS TAUGHT!"

"Ooh.~ A secret excuse for kissing your neighbors. How flashy.~"

Your madly blushing face snapped to him. "ONE MORE JOKE AND I'LL TURN YOU INTO FISH BAIT!!"

"HAHAHAHAHA!!" His loud laugh and large smile made the seemingly narcissistic personality and the scary persona before that seemed non existent. Melting to a joyful painting that had tears forming at the corners of his eyes. "I wouldn't expect anything less! You certainly exceeded my expectations of you."

"Well..Who did you expect me to be?" You changed the topic feeling your face burning up.

He shrugged still chuckling and shoulders shaking. "Well..I know I wasn't expecting an innocent angel, not with your attitude. But I also wasn't expecting you to literally agree with what I had done so easily."

"I don't agree with what you did." He blinked as you held up a hand. "Not fully. I said I understand why you did what you did and I can sympathize with everyone of you, but I can't forget the damage it caused everyone who wasn't responsible for what you all went through. I DON'T!!" You quickly held up a hand when he opened his mouth. "Blame you. I really don't. But I can say what you did didn't just affect me either."

.. Tengen slowly closed his mouth letting a sigh through his nose. "You-..Have that right, and I can't deny you're right. But you sound almost guilty."

You blinked surprised. "You can tell?"

"I have very good hearing. Sounds and tones tell me a lot. It's how I heard you leaving the house you were in." Ah. That explained the sudden appearance. "Is there a reason to that?"

"I-..*sigh* I dunno. I guess I feel guilty because I did kinda blame you for a lot of what happened for a while but-..I don't know." Your hand held your head again. "A lot of things have been complicated for a long time."

"I- Yeah. I know that feeling."

Silence followed. Nothing but the soft waves sloshing on the shore and a few seagulls cawing in the distance.

"...So why did you follow me?" You peered at him from the corner of your eyes. "You said you followed me from that house."

He shrugged. "Curious about ya I guess. And if I'm being a bit honest, I wanted to be sure they weren't being tricked by anyone. No offense."

"With what you went through it's understandable. I'd do that to if I was you."

"There was another reason why I followed you though. Well two reasons really."

Oh? You turned raising a brow. "Really? And what are those reasons?"

"Well Firstly I wanted to see if you were ok or not. I was told you were fine by those girls-" Wait. Tengen knew Kanae and the others? "-but I had to see for myself. The second reason was to thank you."

"Huh? Thank me? For what?"

"Everything. You willingly put yourself in danger for someone who wasn't even the same species. Do you know how many humans would literally do that willingly? Humans are selfish creatures who-" He paused as your brow rose higher. "Uh- *AHEM!* I mean the bad humans are selfish creatures."

"Nice save."

"I'm serious though. Every human I encountered would've never done something like that. So..Why did you get involved?"

You took a moment to pause. "..I don't really know. I guess it's because it was wrong? Maybe because I would've felt guilty if I didn't do anything? I don't know for sure but in the end it was the right choice wasn't it? I mean-" You gestured to him. "You're all back together and alright. That's what matters."

"Right, right. ...But what happened to you-"

"Wasn't your fault. Sure what you did had an effect on my life but none of this would've happened at all if those people didn't kidnap your wives. You were just trying to get them back. Maybe not the way I'd go about it but again I'm not you."

"Right. So is this the part where I apologize for everything or do humans do the whole emotional talking first?"

You snorted. A smile on your face before you turned to him again. "How about we both just forgive each other and call it even?"

He smiled wider. "Thank Posidon. I thought I'd have to spill every emotion I feel before we get here." You chuckled more. "Seriously however. I am grateful for what you did. Don't think I can repay you for that."

"Actually you can." His head tilted interested. "Don't sink anymore ships and we'll call it even. Alright?"

..Tengen smiled widely. "You got it. I don't think I have any more reason for that anyways."

Relief filled you. At least that was over with..You blinked at something the two of you hadn't noticed. Tengen blinked as you slowly got up and a hand gently grabbed the side of his face so gently. A second later a wet sleeve ran over the underside of his eyes.

"You're crying. Here. You'll be fine now..Sorry if it's not dry. Water will do that to you."

He didn't say anything. Only staring wide eyed at nothing until you backed away from him..and a hand slowly touched his cheek where your hand had previously been.

"Now then." You placed your hands on your hips and looked around. You've been walking for at least an hour now and there was still no sign of where you first started out from. "Can you tell me how far it is back to the docks?"

Tengen stared wide eyed at your form-

"Tengen."

"Huh? W-What?"

"I asked how much farther do I have to walk before I reach the docks again. I've been walking for at least an hour now."

He blinked again before looking confused. "Docks? You're not on the west coast anymore."

You stared at him. "...Beg pardon?"

"You're in my territory. This island here." A hand patted the rock you both stood on. "This is mine. So are the other two islands off the coast and the coast I claimed during my skirmish there."

You stared at him wide eyed. "Wait..Are you saying that Im actually stuck on a deserted island?"

"It's not deserted! Everyone's mates live up in the house there. That's why you were brought here. It has everything you need to stay."

You continued to stare at him. "...WHAT?!"

99 notes · View notes

ittybittyfanblog · 8 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 4

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (vindicated!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, player wants to sock a certain 3D character in the face A/N: Here’s part 4! Also, a taglist at the end of this post! Just lmk whether you'd like to be added/removed, no sweat ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ Happy reading!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

You swiftly pull up Reddit. And then Twitter (X) on another window. You’ve got to find answers.

Typing in “sENTIENT SENTINCE SENTIENCE LADS ML HELP” in the r/LoveAndDeepspace subreddit search bar, along with keywords that have anything to do with “breaking the fourth wall” and “recent major updates” on X, you quickly scour for anything that comes even close to your current situation.

Immediately, you see a bunch of mix-match results, some even dating as far as the first month of the game’s release. Your eyes skim through blocks of texts, hoping there’s a comment – or a tweet – somewhere that could shed some light to this conundrum.

Already, you see some discussion on sudden fourth wall breaks. But you’ve seen posts like this before, and they’re most likely pertaining to the way their LI’s gaze falls directly on the player’s line of sight when they’re in Dynamic Pose mode in Glint Photobooth.

The common suspects for this are usually Xavier and your resident headache (Sylus). It's one of the “known” bugs of the game, even so far as being choreographed, almost, from the way players intentionally pose the MLs at certain angles to attain the likeness of sentience.

You remember the first time it happened to you, way back when the Photobooth feature was just recently introduced. You were taking photos of Xavier—letting him pose freely in dynamic mode so that you could capture a more organic look, when his eyes “met” yours directly.

Of course like any other (delusional) player, you entertained the novel idea of actually being noticed by the videogame character you’ve formed an unhealthy attachment to. Got excited, squealed over it, felt an instant doki-doki on your kokoro—the whole shebang.

… Along with probably hundreds of other players who’ve experienced the same thing.

So, yes, these instances occur more frequently than one would think. Not really what you’d call particularly noteworthy.

Then you see the threads from players who swear that their LIs really understand how they feel during their tête-à-tête sessions. It sounds promising, and you spend a few minutes reading through their "testimonies."

—Until you surmise from what you’ve gathered that all of them only appear like they do. How Rafayel, Zayne (and yes, even Sylus) seem to know what they need to hear, from how accurate their generated responses are.

Keyword: generated. So, no. They still aren’t anything more than glorified soundboards with really good timing, however attractive it may be to think otherwise.

Ooh, that one sounds a little too bitchy, even for you.

It’s got nothing to do with the players, nor has it anything to do with how the game works, really— bugs and all. Fuck, you were one of those people who milked the fantasy over the same coincidences once upon a time. You were. Before the coincidences started to be anything but.

Before you had to worry whether you still have your mental faculties in order.

With every—misleading—post you stumble upon, you feel yourself becoming more restless. There’s a fervent glaze in your eyes and your typing’s getting diabolically worse. (you could barely read that last search input–bitch, how are you fit to work?) You’re sure that if you looked in a mirror right now, you’d look as deranged as you feel.

Xavier “bug” that looks so real omg?? Skip.

Sylus – New Voiceline? You check it out. Yeah, It’s just one of his newer—programmed—voicelines.

Conversations with Rafayel got ~too real~ all of a sudden. You wish that yours had stayed the way they’ve always been, but alas.

Stop feeding into my delusions [Zayne] challenge: Failed. Oh? You’re almost done reading the first paragraph of the Redditor’s post, when you catch sight of the latest update below:

Resolved. Uninstalled the game. Multi-banners are getting too expensive (See my other post). Okay, you respect that. Hear that, Infold—

You’re slowly losing hope. Clearly, your case is kind of… mayhaps a tiny bit… different. From the rest. Dare say, exceptionally so.

To what end, you don’t know. You’re left with more questions than answers, and the primary enigma isn’t giving you much to work with.

Without anything else left to do, you resort to mindless scrolling. You’re swiping up, scrolling endlessly through the Top Posts of All Time, and it feels like you’re about to reach the end of this damn subreddit… When an unassuming post from a deleted user catches your attention.

It only got a few upvotes, and barely enough comments to gain traction. Unless one’s desperate enough to have been looking as hard as you are, it just looks like one of the many random dead posts from months ago. Nothing special.

Even the title is unassuming: I think the game’s broken??

You start to read.

Hi, so uhhh I’m 2 months in the game and everything’s been going well and all… Until a few days ago. IDK if this is a bug ?? but my Rafayel’s been acting so weird lately….. Ik I’m gonna sound delusional, but it’s like he’s actually aware of me ME. Not my MC.

He’s got a bunch of new dialogues, and they’re all so accurately specific it’s creeping me tf out LMAO. IDK how the devs got THIS much info on me (like is this even legal) but they do. Or at least, Rafayel does? That sounds rly stupid out loud but yeah lol. Oh and he doesn’t even let me switch between MLs anymore. The game just… crashes? whenever I try to.

Always been a Rafayel main (he’s the reason why I installed the game in the first place) so I was REALLY ecstatic over what I thought were new updates from the game… buuut when I tried looking it up, I can’t find any related news from the official LADS channel(s) about recent patches or updates with this feature, and no one seems to know what I’m talking about???

I feel like I’m going crazy… Literally as I’m typing this, Rafayel’s spamming me with notifications. He’s so fucking clingy… I love it??

Plsplspls if anyone’s experiencing the same thing, comment or DM meee. I need someone to talk to, aside from the fishie lmao no matter how much he insists that he’s enough omg (?!?!!)

Holy shit— you can’t believe it. This… this is exactly what you’re looking for.

The six comments under the post ranged from calling it complete bull to outright mocking the OP, and you understand why the post didn’t get any more popular.

For a brief moment, you feel a certain kinship with the original poster. A tinge of… shame (?) washes over you as you scan through all the negative reception; it’s as if the harsh insults were hurled directly at you instead.

How fun. There goes your fleeting idea to post the same question on the forum, if all else fails.

Speaking of. Your eyes quickly dart to the small text just above the title to check their username—but to your utter dismay, you see (and remember) that it’s from a deleted account.

The user no longer exists.

God, that can’t be it.

You spend a solid twenty minutes trying to look up ways to retrieve information—contacts, socials, anything—from deleted accounts. No dice.

Deep in your gut, you know that whatever else you could possibly find on both apps wouldn’t compare to what you’ve already come across.

You’ve officially hit a dead end.

With heavy limbs and a downtrodden spirit, you haul yourself up from the floor—just to turn around and collapse face first on the sofa. A deep, drawn-out groan escapes you as you shut your eyes, trying to calm yourself down from all the stuff that’s been boggling your brain.

It doesn’t seem like you’ll be finding a solid answer to your question (questions, in plural) any time soon. So what else can you do?

Well, aside from putting away your groceries; the currently-thawing fish and the condensing bags of pre-cut veggies aren’t going to store themselves inside a freezer anytime soon. A loudly meowing ball of fur has also been relentlessly clawing at your leg at the foot of the sofa for the past five minutes, demanding to be fed and petted.

Whoops. You hastily push yourself back on your feet to address these pressing tasks pronto.

…

…..

(Now that’s out of the way—)

You swipe your phone open—yet again—as you flop back onto the couch. And, maybe, you’re a glutton for punishment. Maybe you’re just a little too over the excitement of the unknown factors in play. Or maybe, you just want another shot– to try one last time—

What you know, though, is that whenever you’re feeling overwhelmed about stuff at work, or you need something to distract yourself with, you open the silly otome game on your phone to make yourself feel better.

So. That’s exactly what you do. Even if that silly otome game’s now the reason why you’re feeling so goddamned stressed at the moment.

Go figure.

The game boots up. You sullenly glare at the loading bar as it progresses from 35%....

68%....

95%.........

Once again, Sylus_v1.0 (!) greets you from the center of the home screen, looking exactly the same as he did last when you opened the app, which was— damn, has it really been over three hours already?

“At this hour, the day is just getting started,” he remarks nonchalantly, folding his arms across his chest as his eyes drift to whatever’s on his left.

You give him a dead-eyed stare; slightly wary, but overall unimpressed by the act. “God, I hope the fuck not.”

There’s no new content since your last proper login, as far as you can tell. At first glance, you see some of the regular, daily badge notifications, but nothing really stands out to you. There’s no unexpected red dot on the mail icon this time, nor is there any on the Hunter Info tab.

So far, so good.

With slight hesitation, you begin to speak, even if you aren’t sure whether your intended recipient can actually hear you or not.

“Um, so. I’m really kinda freaking out right now and–” You cut yourself off, swallowing down the frustration building in your throat. There’s an edge to your voice as you speak your next words, “it’s because you’re– you’ve been giving me mixed signals. I–I don’t know what to think anymore–!”

He remains unmoving, showing no signs of having registered what you just said. You sigh.

“Ugh, it sounds like I’m talking to an actual boyfriend or something. This is driving me nuts.”

Still no response.

“Can’t you give me a sign?” You whine defeatedly, trying to catch the eye of the pixelated man on your phone who’s resolutely looking at the right side of the screen. Is he purposely avoiding eye contact or what? “Like… I don’t know—blink twice if you understand what I’m saying right now.”

He blinks. Once. Fucking—

Does he think this is some kind of joke?

“I’m gonna poke your dick off,” You threaten him menacingly, your pointer finger at the ready to commit assault. “I swear, I’m gonna do it—”

Wait. Was that a twitch on his lips?

Pausing, you narrow your eyes at him, critical in your scrutiny for any sign that might reveal the truth to this stupid charade he’s putting on. Because it’s a charade. It has to be.

All of a sudden, embarrassment colors your cheeks as it dawns on you what you just said to him. What you’re poised to do. Fuck, you just wanted to get a rise out of him. Test the waters or some shit. Then again, if he’s actually aware– if he CAN actually hear you—

Quickly, you retract your finger away from where it hovers precariously centimeters above his crotch area. “Right. Sorry.”

Scrunching your nose, you press the Agenda icon on the corner, resignation sitting heavy in your chest. Since it doesn’t look like you’re getting any answers tonight, you might as well just do your daily tasks while you’re in-game, right?

So you go through the motions of ticking off each task on the list half-heartedly, collecting the subsequent rewards one by one; just enough to reach the hundred star mark.

It’s petty, no doubt irrational, but you steer clear from anything that would require you to interact with him. You start off with what’s easiest to complete: gifting Stamina, spending Stamina, spending more Stamina, and buying items from the Shop.

Speaking of items… You try your best to act indifferent as you catch sight of the staggering number of red dias that has recently come to your possession, there on the upper right corner of the screen. Before you could even recall the other materials so kindly gifted to you the other night, you immediately exit the Store window to go about your business after you’ve finished collecting today’s free loot.

You breeze through the Bounty Hunts and Core Hunt stages with excessive use of the Auto Pursuit option, rinsing and repeating until you’re almost out of energy. You don’t want to risk playing an actual battle, since your strongest Memory Cards are from the man you’re currently giving the cold shoulder to.

Also, you have no idea what to expect once you enter combat mode—and right now, you can’t be damned to know.

Before you know it, you’re done with the daily Agenda. Close enough, at least. You didn’t even have to interact with the white-haired male LYLA wannabe to get the hundred golden stars. Go, you.

Without anything left to do, you’re back to staring at the—now-seated—man on the home screen who’s still intent on avoiding you. There’s Mephisto perched on his finger, appearing in a plume of black feathers, projecting a holographic screen for the Onychinus leader to scroll through whatever evil juju he’s been up to lately—the very picture of calm detachment.

Almost a minute passes by.

You can’t help it. Poke. Pokepokepokepoke—

“Once you’re trapped in life’s banality, the only thing left is “staying alive.”"

“Oh, for the love of— is that a hint or not?!”

You really wish you could’ve talked to the person on Reddit about this. Ask them whether their version of Rafayel had also been this difficult, this uncooperative. It can’t be that different from what you’re dealing with, could it?

Just a chance to talk… You brood wistfully. To know what’s happening to them right now. Ask them for advice on how to provoke some type of reactio–

Suddenly, something clicks in your brain, and you almost bite your tongue to prevent the spark of anticipation from showing on your face.

"Alright, you win," you concede with an exaggerated sigh, raising your arms over your head to appear as if you’re simply stretching away the stiffness in your muscles. You try to inject as much reluctance in your tone. “You’re really not going to budge, huh?”

Again, you’re met with radio silence—not that you’re expecting a response at this point.

(Well, not yet.)

“That’s fine…” You trail off deliberately, drawing lazy lines across the screen with your pointer finger, until it stops right before the small message icon on the left.

With feigned innocence, you muse, “Hey, I wonder how Xavier's been doing lately.”

…

A beat. You almost believe nothing would come out of your last, and obvious, attempt at goading him but then—

Sylus throws his head back with a sigh, casting an almost exasperated glance at the ceiling. He flicks his wrist dismissively, and Mephisto vanishes in a puff of dark smoke. There’s an unsettling fluidity in the way his gaze shifts toward you; disconcertingly lifelike, when his eyes finally—finally—lock onto yours. An intensity behind those red eyes that makes the look feel unnervingly deliberate.

Your breath catches in your throat. There it is. The reaction you’re looking for.

A weary amusement frames the way he tilts his head sideways—with the way the corners of his mouth curve into a mocking smile, eyes never leaving yours.

He raises an eyebrow up as if to say, now what?

“I knew it,” you whisper shakily, eyes widening into saucers. “I fucking knew it.”

“Mm, took you long enough.”

Before you could even react to that, Sylus flashes you a two-finger salute and winks.

The game crashes.

“Oh, no, you don’t–" you growl, not wasting any second tapping the game icon again. It doesn’t even give you a chance to reach the main menu before it glitches, and you’re back staring at the widgets on your phone’s home screen. “Motherfucker.”

You keep trying.

And with every attempt, Sylus, freak of nature that he is, responds with another system crash. On the eight try, you succeed on entering the game and you feel a sense of relief seeing the loading bar—before, lo and behold, it crashes once more.

Your left eye twitches. Inhaling deeply, you hold your breath for a solid fifteen seconds before sharply exhaling through your nose.

You jab a finger on the icon of his dumb face again. You ought to change that shit as soon as this game of chicken lets up.

“You’re gonna let me open this app, Sy-Sy,” You sang with faux cheer. “Or, swear to god, I’m uninstalling this thing before you could even—”

… It loads successfully before you could even finish your sentence.

“Alright, alright.”

There he is; closer to the screen now, wearing a faint smile, as though trying to stifle a full-on grin from breaking across his face. He looks thoroughly entertained by the entire situation, like it’s the most fun he’s had in ages. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“You–you—” Sputtering, you glare at him, betrayal in your eyes. “You’re a fucking ass!”

“And you’re an absolute delight to play with, kitten,” Sylus coos at you, his smirk widening.

But when he catches the trembling jut on your bottom lip, the amused glint in his eyes softens into something that almost seems sympathetic—and dare you say, apologetic?

“For what it’s worth, I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to tell you. I couldn’t resist teasing you a little—but looking at you now, I see I might’ve taken it too far,” he murmurs, bowing his head slightly in a show of contrition. “I’m sorry, little dove.”

You press your lips together, your gaze darting away from the screen. “I thought I was going crazy.” As opposed to now? “B-but, um– it’s all good, I guess.”

A flush creeps up your neck when you hear him chuckle.

Fuck, this is really happening, the hysterical thought rushes to your mind, unbidden. Chat, what’s the plan?

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 <3

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digoutskin · 1 year ago

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ＨｏｍｅｔｏＡｎｏｔｈｏｒｏｎｅ

Eren Yeager x BlackFem!reader

18+ CONTENT

Warnings: One shot, Y/n is a 'cheater' in this, explicit language, Angst, Tears, Sad Eren, Connie x Reader, Eren x Reader, Love triangle, very light smut, Fem reader, A LITTLE PLOT TWIST AT THE END

A/N: Hey guys, this time it's a just a little angsty one shot, I was feeling a little lazy so instead of updating Halfcrazy I decided to listen to music and I came up with this. THIS WAS LIGHTLY PROOF READ SO EXCUSE ANY TYPO'S FOR NOW!

"Call me, "Baby"

I know you go home to another one

Say you hate me

It's okay, boy, you're not the only one

Another year, we're still here

Call me, "Baby"

I know you go home to another one" - Madison Beer

Eren didn't remember the specific time or date he fell in love with you, all he remembers is why he fell in love with you.

Since college began it was you, Eren and Connie. You had met them both in the local coffee shop close to campus. They saw that you had the same school logo on your bag and they decided to approach. Two turned into three very quickly and all of the sudden you were attached at the hips. Going out to eat, clubs, even having late night study sessions grew all of you guys relationship.

The two best friends and roommates absolutely adored you.

Eren would note the styles of your hair, your fashion sense, and your remarkable intelligence, You saw him, but the shy young man wasn't vocal enough, because he quickly discovered one morning after attending a frat party, that Connie had already made his move on you.

He walked out into the common area only to see you laying on his friend's chest, asleep. He could see the bra you had on partially covered up by the rogue comforter around your bodies.

Scattered clothes surrounded the couch and your signature name chain discarded onto the coffee table. Tears quickly welled up in his eyes, his footsteps almost silent as he glided his way back to the room.

He locked his door and plopped onto the bed, tears threatening to spill. He decided to wait it out so it wouldn't be awkward.

He looked at the clock, 6:23 AM,

'damn'

he thought 'it's still early. I could just go back to sleep.'

His mind didn't allow that, because he quickly found himself opening up his photos app, scrolling to the section called 'BESTFRIENDS' in bold letters.

Picture after picture of you and him, your smiling face flickering across the screen in every photo and video of you. It was this one, his favorite one of you and him, that Connie took.

There you sat, straddled on his waist, him laying back on the bed head propped up on a pillow. It was the time you had convinced them both to try on your makeup, letting you turned them into the 'prettier' versions of themselves. "God, you would be so beautiful as a girl~" Your voice echoed in his head.

He remembers how you felt on top of him, how the scent of the cinnamon flavored gum you were chewing smelled in that moment. He remembers Connie's lingering eyes, and how soon after the video was done he had begged you to go pick up some food with him. 'he couldn't just let us be, could he?'

You were always so gentle and calm to him. Soothing almost. After that day you did a complete one-eighty.

Your quiet voiced could be heard throughout the apartment, almost every night, sometimes during the day, mostly in the bathroom. Your moans echoing out while his best friend did his best to make you scream his name.

Your back arched off of the bed with a pillow underneath your stomach to make you stay in place, you could feel Connie going in and out of you, so wet from when he ate you out he could slip out any second now. He was inside you, much to his oblige, with a condom on.

Your slick coated his length as you screamed his name out loud, gripping onto the sheets "Fuckkk- Connie wait- s' too deep" You moaned out, begging him to stop over stimulating you. "Take this shit ma, you know you wanted it like this. Shit!" His voiced groaned, getting closer and closer to his orgasm.

He quickly came and pulled himself out, you let out a mewl, feeling the cold air hit your now empty hole. He left you there, throwing on his basketball shorts and heading to the bathroom.

You quickly got up and off of the pillow, looking into the mirror above his dresser. 'god' you thought 'he ruined my hair and makeup but couldn't wait till' I was finished?' You fixed yourself up and threw your clothes back on, tank top and sweatpants with no bra or panties.

You hadn't heard from Eren in such a long time, and when you asked Connie where he was he'd always say that he was at work, or had a late class when he knew that was a lie.

Since the party Eren barely had moved, as you and Connie occupied so much space that it felt like his name wasn't even on the lease, like he wasn't even wanted in his own damn home.

You exited into the kitchen, opening the fridge and chugging the water bottle you'd put in the fridge pre-sex with Connie.

You couldn't hear the faint footsteps behind you, Eren approaching. He didn't even want to look at you, knowing that minutes before his best friend was so deep into that he could hear you through the walls.

He walked pass you, book in hand. "Hey wait, Eren!" He turned to face you, hair so shaggy you could barely see his eyes.

Dark circles clouded the skin under his eyes, and the long sleeve shirt his was wearing hugged his body in the right places. It had been a while since you'd saw him, but you didn't think anything in particular about it.

He obviously looked troubled, so you decided to ask "What's going on with you? I haven't seen you in almost a month!" You exclaimed, getting closer to him. He could see your nipples poking through your white spaghetti tank top, so he quickly looked you into the eyes to avoid his face getting any more hot.

"I'm fine. Just been busy." He let out, deadpan and in a low voice. It kind of shocked you from his regular perky demeanor. "So, what are you about to do?"

"Nothing interesting. Read a little, maybe sleep." you took a look at the book he was holding. His body language was tense, and he looked away from you and sighed, obviously annoyed that you were taking up his time. You both sat in silence for about five seconds before you made up your mind.

"Wanna hang out? it's this Aquarium I've been meaning to go to. I know that's your thing so.. wanna tag along? I'll drive!" You said, in a vibrant voice. He couldn't turn you down, but what would Connie say about this? He already knew that Connie wasn't stupid, that the man that was currently skulking in the hallway knew the feelings Eren shared for you.

He knew that Eren wouldn't try anything. From the day they met in the 4th grade he had let him have everything.

His crushes, his food, hell, even Eren's family looked at him as a second child they never had. So why wouldn't Eren let him have you? That's what was logical to Connie. Pretending like he didn't heart the conversation, he walks into the living room, backpack in hand.

He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, matching jordans to go with it. "What y'all talking bout?" He said, looking you up and down.

"I was just trying to convince Eren to come to the Aquarium with me! Pleaseeee, it'll be fun! I promise!" You whined. A smile came across Eren's face. He couldn't say no to you, not when you had no idea how he felt. 'this is Connie's fault, I can't stay mad at her' he thought to himself.

"Okay, okay, I'll go." He huffed out, walking back to his room.

The ride over to the Aquarium was fun, Connie walked you guys out, claiming that he had some last minute class he couldn't miss. Eren silently was screaming on the inside, as you had asked to borrow one of his hoodies to match the black sweatpants you had on from earlier.

Before you two got out of the car he took a good look at you. Long box braids that reached your waist, curly ends sweeping the rim of the jacket he'd given, your bracelets and bangles jingling on your arms, babyhairs swooped to perfection, and glossy lips to tie it all in.

He could've just stayed like that, admiring you all day, but it quickly made him snap out of it when he saw your phone lighting up.

Connie sending messages and you haven't even gotten out the car yet. Typical.

You two hopped out and entered, immediately bombarded by the dim lights and the luminous blue water around you.

You hooked your arm with Eren's so you wouldn't get lost in the crowd. He decided to take charge and lead you two to the back, where the Koi fish were.

"It's been a long time since we've hung out like this. Jus' me and you." You nudged him, taking him out of his thought process.

"I know, I missed you." He wore a warm smile, glancing over at you. You looked up at him and returned the smile.

You did miss moments like this where it was just you. Sure, Connie was great and all, a true player but he didn't share that same spark that you had with Eren.

He could figure you out, and Connie couldn't even do that. The slightest change of expression, or the smallest brow furrow would have him asking, 'are you alright?' stroking your back. You two shared the same geeky love of literature, while Connie didn't even bother to read anything outside of his homework or assignments.

The truth is, You'd only hooked up with Connie because he was there. In a drunken haze you two had sex, but you never meant for it to be anything more. He had roped you into the whole thing, telling you that you were 'his' and that no one could have you, all because he claimed you.

The Aquarium trip sparked the same feelings you both held, and you found yourselves at your favorite ice cream parlor, treating you to a late night cone. You two laughed all the way to the apartment, to find that Connie hadn't even been back, yet.

You convinced Eren that it would be okay to watch a movie or two, so he turned it on a random 80's horror and plopped down on his bed beside you.

"Oh my god I can't believe you're scared, it's so fake! It's just corn syrup and food coloring!" Eren said, chuckling at the way you cowered into his side, putting your face into his chest.

"It's still so violent! He didn't have to cut his head off like that.." You said, muffled.

You inhaled his scent and then broke away, letting his arm fall around your body. The movie scene turned into credits, and the room went hushed for a second. "Eren?"

"Yeah?"

"Tell me the truth-" you sat up, positioning your body to face his "Why'd we stop hanging out? All of a sudden your too busy?" you said, looking away from him. "You're the one who started sleeping with Connie. You don't think that made things awkward?" He scoffed.

"The first time was a mistake, but who I sleep with shouldn't affect us. You're my best friend. I missed you so much, and it feels like nothing is the same anymore." You said, lip beginning to quiver.

"Nothing is the same anymore, Y/n. It's hard. Listen, I hope what I'm about to say doesn't freak you out-" He started, taking your hands into his "I had a crush on you. I liked you, no, borderline was in love with you, and Connie knew it. He just had to have you, I don't know why, but he had too. He was always in my ear, telling me that you didn't feel the same way for me and I just believed him blindly. He's probably right, but it doesn't stop me from felling for you." He finally admitted it.

Your heart skipped in your chest, and tears started trickling down your cheeks.

"Eren I feel the same way about you. I was just so drunk that night, and I woke up next to him. All of a sudden he started claiming me. He didn't even ask me what I wanted, so I just went along with it. So we just kept hooking up.. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner. I should've." you said in a quiet voice, looking downwards.

"No, I should've." He got closer, foreheads almost touching.

"Fuck it, I can't wait any longer.."

He kissed you, taking you in deeply, features softening as the kiss progressed into you getting on top of him. You broke away taking the zip up off and throwing it across the room, exposing the tank top underneath.

He did the same to his long sleeved top, and before he knew it you were grinding into him, your bare top halves were exposed, cold air hitting you both. He flipped you onto you back and ripped down the sweatpants you had on, exposing your heat to the air of the room.

He could see the slick already dripping down, throbbing for him. He was about to dive in before he heard his room door slowly creak open.

Moonlight shown inside of the room, highlighting the person that was standing at the door. Connie was back, and discovered that your car was outside, yet when he got into his room you weren't in there.

The air stilled, and you sat up, propping yourself up on your elbows, face with a light sheen on it. Eren was still kneeling, still in front of your unwavering heat, waiting for something. A fist to fly, you to jump up and beg Connie to listen to you, but you did the complete opposite of what they both were expecting.

"Close the door, Connie. Get the fuck out." you said, a low voice. Connie's face contorted into a look of confusion "What the fuck you just say?" He said, widening the door more.

"Get the fuck out-" You said again, louder this time, with more bass in your voice. "Keep going, Eren."

#black reader #eren x reader #eren x black reader #connie springer x reader #eren yeager smut #black reader smut #black fem reader smut #angsty

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mixtapedoh · 1 year ago

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actually you can go with seungmo + winter falls too. i think he's more of a winter falls girlie than lino. actually anything with winter falls 😭🙏

you knew what you were doing when you paired seungmo with my favorite skz ballad,,,,,,, your support and your mind will never go underappreciated in this house ♡♡♡♡♡

ᴀɢᴀɪɴ, ᴛʜᴇ ꜱɴᴏᴡ ꜰᴀʟʟꜱ (ᴡᴇ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴘᴀʀᴛ)

☄. *. ⋆

pairing: kim seungmin x reader (not endgame) genre: angst, reminiscing word count: ~1k warnings: heartbreak, mentions of blood (metaphor and imagery), all thoughts no plot (sometimes fanfiction is about VIBES and VERSE, not cohesive story telling), gratuitous sneaking in and bastardization of song lyrics

olive's notes: you know know i had to go full tumblr for the title of this fic. song lyric titles (with something in parenthesis) how i love you, how i have missed you, how you changed the very synaptic pathways in my brain ♡. nothing will ever be as influential as you ♡.

consider my mini writing event ?

It wasn't the weather that made you think of him.

No, because that would be all too cliche — tidy and neat — something easy to anticipate and, perhaps, simple to avoid.

In a way, you could blame it on the snow: the soft, fluffy flakes too carefree to be cold, spinning on the barely there wind, a graceful pirouette to a gentle, almost forgotten landing. It was beautiful — the first snowfall of the year — and because it's arrival was so benign (unexpected and mild, creeping into the edges of the day until it's whispered chill tickled your skin and it's gossamer flakes were delicately kissing your head), you had no warning against the flood of memory it would bring in it's wake.

It was the couple on the end of the street that reminded you, though, if we're to be fair to the elements and truthful in the story we tell.

Two figures at the furthest distance from your current standing, hand in hand, startled as they walked out of a shop and into sudden snowfall. The leftmost of the two, seemingly more ecstatic than their loving counterpart, stuck out their tongue, angling their head skyward, and after a moment, laughed in delight, or some approximation of it. They turned to their partner, kissed them on either cheek, and then took off their jacket to place around the other's shoulders. Perhaps there was an exchange of half-hearted argument, but the moment ended with the two of them walking off, one double-braced against the building cold, the other habitually turning their palms to the clemency of snow — as though the moment was pure and this weather something to be held.

Snowflakes fell of your cheeks. If you were to be asked, they were to be blamed for any wetness, there.

Memories come in waves, and they are a vengeful and needy sea: demanding to be realized, sure in the devastation they bear. But how long is it before an experience crystalizes into memory? What is the minimum amount of time that needs to occur before that passage is significant and longing for someone can turn into missing them?

You weren't quite sure if it could be called missing him: this gnawing, guilty feeling accompanying your thoughts of Seungmin.

Once, the two of you had been friends so close, no one could talk about either of you without mentioning the other. His footsteps always following yours, your voice a necessary addition to any of his statements. So close your names spilled into the other, so present there was a space carved in the both of you for the other to reside in. Side by side or in tandem, there were always two.

And there were two, that night, when your warmth was carbonated with a fizz of intimacy and bubbles of desperation. You confessed to the secret of loving him and he worshiped that attachment with his lips. Again and again, a mantra that intensified to the fervency of song.

I love you, love you, love you.

And how many times did you say that before the sentiment set to rot, and the permanence of that phrase became something of the past?

I loved you, loved you, loved you.

Again, snow fell on your cheeks, pulling you just far enough out of your mired thoughts, to remind you to finish your walk to that lonesome, quiet destination called home.

You had Seungmin for longer than you held him, and the feeling of his voice in your mind was more resonant that the touch of his lips on yours. Evocative, cohesive, tenacious — something you couldn't yet unstick from the crevices of your thoughts.

Seungmin beside you, Seungmin whispering into the shell of your ear, Seungmin placing his love in the spot where your neck met your shoulders, the crook of your grin, the place above your heart.

But the wind blew, the novelty faded, the movie ended and you were stuck in the credits where words became meaningless and effort was forgotten in the aftermath of spectacle.

The ease corroded, the bitterness spilled, past tense slipped into the habit of your speech until all the tenderness between you was finished and gone by.

I loved you, and it wasn't his words or yours, but something set on the table for the both of you to consume. A sentiment on which you both engorged and drank dry.

Everything had changed, and yet you were somehow still the same. Seungmin had been so clearly and undoubtedly part of you — you carved out his place inside you alongside him! You hollowed out a space for him, and he for you — and yet with the absence of him, should there not have been something desperate and bloody for you to fix? You had searched and pleaded and clawed at the edges of you to find that void so you might set it to rights, but it evaded you, still.

I loved you.

Perhaps it had already healed over.

Perhaps it had never been.

But still, that unfound cavity ached in you. It was filled with the sound of his voice, and the phrases in his diary he'd let you read and you held to committed memory — it was shaped like the palm of his hand when it cradled you, and it contorted to the essence of his grin.

Would it have been different, had you never said anything all that time ago, and instead chose to keep those feelings in a bottle, only to be uncorked should Seungmin, himself, had fallen first and told you so? Maybe you could have kept that bottle of spirits in the most hidden parts of you, and, on nights when your yearning sharpened to the point of a knife, drank from them — an alcohol of illusion — just enough to get by? Maybe he would have found the bottle, and smashed it to ruin, or maybe he would have loosen it and get the both of you drunk off your own delight.

You would have liked it, perhaps, had he been the one to fall.

Maybe then he would stare at the innocence of snowfall and mix the feeling of it's melt with salty tears.

(ʇɹɐdɐ llɐɟ ǝʍ) sllɐɟ ʍous ǝɥʇ 'uıɐɓ∀

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

#miniwritingevent #olive.writes #stray kids imagine #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz imagine #skz x you #skz x reader #kim seungmin imagine #kim seungmin x you #kim seungmin x reader #yes it's the dead of summer but also NO IT'S NOT; WINTER FALLS BITCH #also yes this is kind of meandering but also clara i hope you know this was FUELED by some repressed csl angst within me #like there's more context to this if you specifically want to know (with some tweaks for the average tumblr audience)#but like!!!!!!!!!!!!! who is the couple that our narrator sees?? if i said chanlisto what would you do.#also thank you for forcing me to write a drabble instead of headcanons i really sat down and was forced to do PARAGRAPHS because i couldn't #write headcanons without it being a little Too Specific #and this is my first bit of published paragraph work in actual years i think #if it's not what it could be shhhh just go listen to winter falls and lose your mind a little bit bestie

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themememerchant · 10 months ago

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Persona 5 Arcana Swap: Queenpin Of The Metaverse

I had this idea when I was awake one night and before I knew it I was opening a google doc to start writing a new Arcana Swap fic.

I have A LOT of ideas for all of the characters involved in this. Mostly revolving around various 'what-ifs' and headcanons I have in regards to the original story of P5R.

There's still a lot of kinks I Ned to iron out, specifically the confidants.

But the general idea of the phantom thieves has been sorted out in a way that I think I'm pretty satisfied with.

So keep in mind that some of these ideas may change later as I think of new plot threads to introduce, but for the most part the stories of the new Phantom Thieves of Hearts has been pretty well thought out.

So here we go! Introducing...

My Arcana Swapped Phantom Thieves:

Sumire Yoshizawa-Maruki - The Fool

Codename: Queenpin

Persona: Queenie

Despite being the protagonist and the fool, she doesn't have the wildcard ability, since I don't feel the need to include it from a literary standpoint.

MUCH different than her canon counterpart in behavior, as well as the fact that my version of her is trans and autistic (ME?! PROJECTING?! NOOO...)

The story of her arrest is that she came from an abusive household, one day she punched her father in a fit of rage while he insulted her for not being as good as her sister. The next night, the police crash into her room claiming they had an anonymous tip that Sumire had guns and narcotics in her possession, sure enough, when they searched her backpack, that's exactly what they found.

Her parents also hired someone to rig the trial she was forced to attend, they made it so they would be able to disown Sumire and people would think it was her own fault for being a criminal. When everything was said and done, her parents were all too happy to package her stuff up and send her to live with a foster caretaker to the other side of Tokyo.

After Sumire got to experience true freedom when she stood up to her parents, even if only for a moment, she vowed to never let people walk on her again. Which is exactly how her persona is able to coax her into having an awakening.

She's much less blindly polite than her canon counterpart. She's not insulting people left and right or anything, but she can and will call someone out on their bullshit. She's also not above some light jabs with her friends.

She flirts with every cute girl or hot guy with all the confidence of a maxed charm stat, but she immediately turns into a blushing puddle if anyone actually flirts back.

Growing up with strict parents who were trying to raise a perfect Olympic gymnast leaves her to feel the need to ask permission for the littlest things from any adults near her. She's fine in a room with just her friends or other kids, but when an adult is in the room she goes stiff and doesn't speak unless spoken to, the other thieves compare it to her almost going into a trance.

On the note from the above statement, she feels a little weird about being around people her age that are fine with acting relaxed around adults. it almost triggers a flight or fight or freeze response when one of the thieves so much as moves when an adult is talking.

She eventually starts a running gag with the thieves of calling Principal Kobayakawa, "Principal Humpty-Dumpty".

Her persona Queenie is called the godmother of Harlem, similar to how Arsene was called the pillager of twilight in the original. Queenie was the alias of an early 20th century mob boss, a woman who's own gang was so strong that she was able to keep Harlem clear of much more dangerous threats, she also employed many Harlem citizens with positions in her numbers-game schemes.

Queenie helps Sumire remain attached to reality whenever she's having a particularly rough time. Going from such a strict household to total freedom can give you some serious whiplash, so Queenie makes sure Sumire doesn't completely lose her mind from the sudden shift, while simultaneously helping her learn more about freedom.

Goro - The Magician

Codename: Ace

Persona: Sherlock Holmes

An ally who helps Sumire and Makoto by providing the information on palaces and changes of heart.

He doesn't fully take canon Mona's place, as he is completely human rather than the embodiment of humanity's hope. He does act as the resident expert on the metaverse due to the fact that he was once involved in the research of cogninitve psience, specifically, he was the first successful case of a person being transported to the metaverse when he was 13. Unfortunately, he ended up being trapped in Mementos for around 4 months without knowing how to escape.

The distortions of the metaverse affected him by turning his skin pure white with constantly changing black patterns, similar to Loki's design, he also has large crow wings on his back. In the real world, his skin turns it's normal color and his wings and dazzle-camouflage turn into tattoos all over his body.

He obviously doesn't have the ability to make people turn violent like he did in canon, nor does he have the ability to hold more than one persona. He's simply a guy who happens to know a lot about the metaverse and chooses to use that knowledge to fulfill his long-lost childhood dream of becoming a hero, he also has the hopes of making his mom proud from heaven.

Despite not going down the path of becoming a personal hit man for Shido, he still keeps his patented Goro snark that he had in the canon third semester. Though it's in much more of a-"I'm to tired to be polite"- way, and less of a-"Fuck you, just let me die already"-way.

My favorite line I've written for him so far is: "I'm Joe Schmoe from Shits-ville, DOES IT MATTER?!"

^This is right after Makoto tries to ask who he is.

Since he doesn't take on a different form in this AU, it means that he can't transform into a bus like Mona can. But he IS able to conjure a rather large trolley car thanks to his distortions giving him an understanding of how Mementos functions on a fundamental level

There's a running gag between the phantom thieves that Goro is homeless,-(think that one bit between Dream and Technoblade)-since nobody has ever actually seen where Goro lives. He likes to join in on the joke sometimes by coming up with increasingly ridiculous excuses as to why they can't come over.

^"Sorry, my house just got destroyed by an asteroid the other day. That's the third time this week too...OH WELL!"

His persona is Sherlock Holmes, not because he's a detective, but because in the early writings, Holmes was described as being a "Bohemian Genius", as well as being very antisocial and more like a renegade P.I. rather a straight-laced detective.

Holmes basically acts as Goro's impulse control, he also helps Goro realize whenever he needs to actually talk to his friends instead of being a smartass 24/7.

Makoto Niijima - The Chariot

Codename: Panda

Persona: Shek Yeung

Sumire's first friend at Shujin Academy, as well as the one who helps her investigate the newfound metaverse with Goro.

She used to be the same "good-girl type of pushover" that she was in canon, until her first day of high school when Kamoshida reeled her in as his newest catch. Halfway through her second year, she decided enough was enough and confronted Kamoshida about how he treated the students, unfortunately, Kamoshida being Kamoshida, tried to sexually assault her while in the student council room. She fought back at him, but he overpowered her and did the same thing that was implied to have happened to Suzui in canon.

After Makoto recovered from the...incident, she tried going straight to the principal about the issues, but he shut her down and called her delusional for insinuating that Mr. Kamoshida could have done something like that. Before she knew what was happening, her position as student council president went out the window, and she was suddenly known as "The girl who tried to whore herself out to Kamoshida-sensei"

To Makoto, it was almost liberating to have all of the expectations of the student council ripped off of her back-(minus the sexual assault part). She turned lemons into lemonade and decided that if people were going to give her dirty looks, she might as well have fun while doing it! So she dyed her hair all kinds of colors (mostly blonde), ditched the school blazer in favour of a customized bomber jacket, and fully embraced becoming a sukeban.

She swears a LOT, more than even Ryuji did in canon.

Chie had steak, Ryuji had ramen, and Makoto has pocky sticks. She always has at least two boxes on her person at all times, and always has one in her mouth, only eating it if shit starts to get real. If she looks you dead in the eye and starts chewing her pocky, you better start running before she swallows...

Makoto has, and will continue to start fights whenever some punk-ass thinks they can get away with being transphobic or ableist to Sumire, or any of the other thieves for that matter.

Less of an overprotective-mom and more like a badass-mom who's fresh out of jail. She's very lax most time but will instantly get on your ass if you do something stupid enough.

Her persona, Shek Yeung, was a woman from a brothel who married a pirate. After the death of her husband, she took his place as the captain of the Guangdong Pirate federation, who ravaged the coast of South China.

Shek Yeung helps Makoto fill the void that was left when Sae stopped trying to talk to her, acting as a big sister that supports Makoto when she can't support herself. She reminds Makoto to give herself some time to be selfish, as well as helping her be more open about what she actually wants in life.

Futaba Ishiki-Sakura - The Lovers

Codename: Rumor

Persona: Cleopatra

The chaotic gremlin child who unfortunately gets caught in Kamoshida's perverted grip when she first starts high school.

She joins the group a lot earlier than canon Ann did, mostly because she's a lot more pragmatic when thinking of solutions to her problems. She realizes pretty quickly that Sumire, Makoto, and "The guy with the weird tattoos" are scheming something that has to do with Kamoshida's obvious crimes, and she's not going to sit back and be a victim while everyone else starts taking action.

She overhears the three talking about how they need "-a third member to safely explore the palace." and decides to come to them directly.

^"Look, I don't care if you're blackmailing him, or planning to break his knees with a bat. Whatever it is you're doing, count me in!"

Her story doesn't revolve around being a shut-in,-(Though she still has social anxiety)-but rather that these new people she's met are really the first to actually make her feel valued as a person, and that she is someone worthy of respect.

Since she's not a shut-in, she's a lot less savvy when it comes to hacking and data mining, but she's sort of like the middle man between the thieves and some more...questionable sources of intelligence and resources. Whenever there comes a time for needing to analyze data, Futaba adjusts her glasses and calmly states: "Hehehe...I think I know a guy for that..." Nobody wants to ask what exactly she means by that, and it's probably for the best they don't know.

She has at least 157 different accounts built for browsing the dark web without the risk of collecting viruses or privacy-invasion. All of which have multiple fake IDs, credit cards, cryptocurrency, and other things necessary for her shady connections.

Her mom isn't dead in this AU, she was able to safely go into hiding with the help of Sojiro, whom she is now engaged to. Futaba has some repressed mommy issues since she still feels neglected from her mom needing to work, as well as her new fiance sweeping her off her feet at every turn.

Cleopatra, who needs no introduction, was the final Pharaoh of ancient Egypt. She was sought after by ancient rulers far and wide for her beauty, yet only in the modern day did people actually appreciate her for her intelligence and leadership.

Cleopatra sort of fills the motherly roll Futaba's needed for a long time, it's very helpful since Cleo knows exactly what Futaba needs to hear when she's upset. She praises Futaba for her work with the phantom thieves, gives Futaba reassurance on her appearance and behavior, and helps calm Futaba down from her frequent anxiety attacks.

Futaba once started bawling her eyes out in her sleep when she talked with her persona in a dream, and Cleo said: "I am very proud of you, Futaba...I love you..."

Yuuki Mishima - The Sun

Codename: Trickster

Persona: Geronimo

The fifth and final member of the founding phantom thieves.

He-(sort of)-takes the place of Shiho in this AU, where he has a breakdown on the school rooftop and strongly considers jumping, luckily Sumire, Makoto, and Futaba are able to shove their way through the crowd so they can talk him down and help him.

The story is that Kamoshida, after the gang starts screwing around with the stuff in his palace, finally snaps and decides that merely beating poor innocent Yuuki is not enough for him anymore. So he calls Yuuki into his office one day and decides to "Try something different..."

After the whole mess on the rooftop happens, the gang decides that Yuuki deserves to get some revenge on Kamoshida for what he did. They bring him into the palace and, sure enough, after seeing just how Kamoshida treats not just him, but the whole school, he awakens out of pure anger and desire to be a hero for once.

He's much more jokey than canon, usually opting to make hilariously bad puns and occasional innuendos. He also has no idea about anything involving the real world.

^Yuuki: "I'm inside her heart-shaped-box." ^Futaba: "You know what that means right?" ^Yuuki: "No actually I just know it's a song-" ^Makoto: "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST YUUKI!"

He's just about as awkward as he is in canon, but rather than being treated like shit for it, his awkward jokes are usually just met with a slight pat on the shoulder and a comforting "......we'll work on it, sweetie" from Sumire or Makoto.

He still creates, opens, and monitors the phansite on his downtime. Futaba and Sophia usually help him with how often the requests get backed up.

Even though some of his jokes end up falling flat, he's still really good at coming up with zingers on the spot. The thieves have dubbed him as "The official phantom-comedian", to the point that he, Akira, Futaba, and Sophia all collectively come together to annoy the shit out of Goro

His persona is Geronimo of the Bedonkohe band of the Chirihacua Apache, an American-Indian shaman who fought against Spanish soldiers after his family was murdered. He was said to have converged with a spirit to become immune to bullets, and it took all of 5,000 U.S. soldiers to drag him back to the San Carlos reservation, which he escaped later again

Geronimo fucking loves Yuuki's stupid-ass jokes and will always be his #1 fan, but despite Yuuki's quips, Geronimo knows he's hiding a lot of pain from what he went through with Kamoshida, so he always encourages his other self to admit there's nothing wrong with being upset or afraid because of the circumstances.

Akira Amamiya - The Emperor

Codename: Ghoul

Persona: Brutus

The pupil of Madarame who writes poems, plays, and dables in art which Madarame, of course, plagiarizes from him.

The thieves hear about how Akira is the only pupil who has not left Madarame from another source, and they try to ask him about the plagiarism and accusations of abuse. Akira, of course, denies all of it, but the thieves can see that there's something in his eyes begging for an escape from his situation.

Things pretty much proceed as they do in canon with Madarame's palace, but rather than the whole "Nude painting incident", Sumire pretends to go on a date with Akira at his shack so Goro can sneak in and open the necessary door to help their progress. Madarame comes home, Akira has a panic attack, and they discover the room with the supposedly stolen painting and it's copies before dipping into the metaverse to escape the security.

The painting that Akira is obsessed with isn't the Sayouri, but rather, a self portrait of his father. Akira, of course, has no idea until Madarame's shadow reveals this at the end, but it explains Akira's fascination with it.

Even though he is a gifted painter, he is much more interested with acting and script-writing. He is 100% a gayass theater kid who joins Yuuki's bad jokes to give people headaches.

He is the king of random talents and parlor tricks; he can do a hand stand walk, write and type with his feet, he's very good with sleight of hand tricks, and can even use throwing knives to catch flies.

He's personality is pretty much that of Gomez Addams, he's a hopeless romantic who flirts with anyone and anything that moves, and is constantly down to do the weirdest shit for his loved ones.

His persona is Brutus, the trusted ally of Julius Caesar who later joined a conspiracy to end his life for the benefit of Rome. He realized that Caesar was a dictator and decided to side with his own lofty ideals and morals. He is best known for his role in the Shakespearean play: 'The Tragedy of Julius Caesar'.

Akira often consults Brutus whenever he faces a complicated situation that requires thinking of things from a different perspective, Brutus, being a master of rationalization, is always there to give Akira a push in the direction that will certainly benefit him in the long run, even if Akira doesn't like it.

Sophia Ishiki-Sakura - The Star

Codename: Rogue

Persona: Peter Pan

A 10 year old girl whose abusive mother was run clean-over by a truck 10 months before the events of the story-(not Ichinose). She spent the last several months being tossed around the abysmal foster care system until she ended up at the Ishiki-Sakura household with Futaba. When she moves in, Futaba's meta-nav pings in on a "semi-palace" that has begun forming.

The thieves begin brainstorming ideas on how to help Sophia, then Goro chimes in with: "Why don't we just help her confront her shadow?" and the rest of the team's like: "...what?". So Goro gives the gist that, theoretically, someone can change their own heart by directly confronting their shadow. The thieves decide they have no other choice to prevent Sophia from becoming fully distorted, and bring her into the semi-palace.

Things happen, Sophia awakens to her persona on the 2nd visit with the help of her shadow, but the semi-palace doesn't disappear. The thieves learn that the semi-palace is actually ruled by a cognition, (similar to canon Futaba), she confronts it and is able to change her own heart. After everything is said and done, she basically twists the thieves arms until they allow her to become a permanent member.

Sophia becomes much happier after her semi-palace is destroyed, up until then she was the poster child for gifted kids who were forced to grow up too fast. Her shadow and persona helped her tap into her inner child, now she gets a lot more enjoyment from being so smart, while still acting like a dumbass kid sometimes.

She goes to Shujin with the rest of the thieves, she was actually smart enough to skip a few grades and go straight to being a first-year.

She's basically the thieves collective little sister. Sumire and her bond over being neurodivergent and stim together, Makoto takes her out for rides on her motorcycle, Futaba is actually her sister and they bond over making immature jokes, Akira and her have actually started a club within the thieves for trauma dumping about abusive parents, and Yuuki and her bond over a shared experience with being sheltered and needing to learn more about real life.

As for her and Goro's relationship...

^Goro: "I've only had Sophia for less than a day, but if anything happened to her, I would kill every shadow in Mementos and then myself."

Her persona is Peter Pan, the forever child who resides in the fantastical world of Neverland, where he leads the group of lost boys and learned magic from sprites. His childishness is meant to be depicted as negative, but here is something to be said for seeing even life itself as another grand adventure.

Even after the thieves take her in as one of them, she still has a lot of trouble with allowing herself to act and play like a little kid, Pan is usually the one to help her indulge in those things she feels ashamed of. He acts like the reverse version of impulse control, encouraging Sophia to enjoy herself with dumb fun instead of trying to live up to her reputation as a gifted kid, Sophia of course, is grateful and tries to listen to his advice.

Haru Okumura - The High Priestess

Codename: Vigilante

Persona: Calamity Jane

She takes the place of Kobayakawa's lap dog, but not by being the student council president, she is simply encouraged by most people in her life to "-have good connections early on." Most of the pressure she experiences comes from her father, who is no stranger to cooking the books.

Unlike canon Makoto, she is much more reluctant to blindly follow the orders of the teachers, but she feels as though she doesn't have a choice in regards to what she does. Mostly in the fact that Kobayakawa has close ties to her father, and threatens to speak to him unless Haru spies on the new transfer student he's obsessed with trying to expel.

Haru befriends Sumire under false pretenses, but goes back on her spying when she learns that Kobayakawa has a personal connection to a local "mafia" and has been exploiting the student body for a long time now. So she goes to Sumire and the thieves to come clean, as well as ask them to change the principal's heart.

Eventually, the thieves need Haru's help with proceeding through the palace, in doing so, she awakens to her persona and begins working towards earning the thieves' trust once again.

Once she gains their trust, she officially joins the thieves as a valued friend. They all forgive her fairly quickly once they proceed further in Kobayakawa's palace

She's slightly more unhinged than she is in canon, constantly saying the most out-of-pocket shit you've ever heard.

^Haru: "Do you think stabbing someone in the dark could be used as a legal loophole for assault?"

She and Goro are absolute besties in this AU. They constantly shit talk random people behind their back, especially the people whose hearts the thieves have changed. She also does this with Sumire and the "Principal Humpty-Dumpty" joke.

She and Ann have a secret "shit-talking-tea-date" that nobody else is allowed to know about. They talk about the stunts pulled by the other thieves.

If Makoto is the fresh-outta-jail mom, Haru is 100% the sassy aunt who encourages her nieces and nephews schemes in an effort to mess with the mother. In most cases, Haru usually just sits back and watches the chaos while calmly sipping a cup of tea.

Calamity Jane was an old West heroine who got her name for her reckless nature on the battlefield, as well as being known for riding straight into an enemy ambush to save her ally. She was a heedless, foul-mouthed, and heavily opinionated woman who made her name famous with her sharpshooting skills.

Whereas many of the thieves directly consult their personas for help, Jane acts more like a spectator with a bucket of popcorn while Haru hilariously flails around without contributing anything to creating a solution. If Jane is really feeling like a nuisance, she will interject with the most batshit things at the worst times.

^Haru: *Taking a test and trying to remember the answer* ^Jane: "Pssst-I think the answer is 25..." ^Haru: ".......this is an English test, Jane..."

Yusuke Maruki - The Hermit

Codename: Prophet

Persona: Paimon

Maruki's son whom he adopted in secret after the suspicious death of Yusuke's mother.

Things happen in a similar manner as canon, medjed threatens everyone, Futaba tries and fails to find a way to stop them, Yusuke contacts them under the alias of "Avra" saying that he can help them track down the one responsible for the threats if they change the heart of Yusuke Maruki.

Sumire investigates, finds out about Yusuke's story, and her and the thieves agree to change Yusuke's heart for him.

His palace takes the form of haunted catacombs, with a cognitions of the men in black suits being the true rulers, while his shadow is an imprisoned spirit who's desperate for freedom.

Sophia proposes that since the circumstances are similar, they could just bring Yusuke into his own palace to confront this shadow like she did. Goro interjects, saying that Sophie's semi-palace was no where near as large or dangerous as a full-blown palace, meaning that things are more likely to escalate poorly.

Yusuke comes in on his own during the thieves' heist, he awakens, and the team has a brand new navigator on their side.

Even though he is similar to canon Futaba with hacking skills, he has much more of an occult aesthetic rather than being a super-nerd. He simply picked up coding and hacking as a hobby when he ran out of books to read.

He's still as eccentric as ever, constantly joining Akira in being a drama queen about everything. He 100% knows how to commit to the bit.

Somehow he is even more deadpaningly hilarious than canon. Contending with Haru for saying the most out-of-pocket things, causing people's heads to turn.

^Futaba: "Why do you always say the most outta-pocket shit?!"

^Yusuke: *Deadly serious voice* "It would appear that the pocket has barely been opened at this point..."

His persona Paimon is the ninth spirit listed in the Ars Goetia, as well as a revered king of hell. Said to be a master of "all matter of secret things", he will bestow his conjurer with otherworldly knowledge whenever summoned.

Jane is a spectator who enjoys Haru's lighthearted suffering, and Paimon is a spectator who constantly wants to bash his head against a wall for all the things Yusuke is clueless about. He constantly has to put up with an antisocial teenager who can't so much as read a subway map correctly, despite living in Tokyo his whole life. Paimon is also forced to suffer second-hand embarrassment when his other self unknowingly drops the ball when talking to people.

Ann Takamaki - The Empress

Codename: Knight

Persona: St. Jeanne d'Arc

A friend of Sumire who has suspected her of being a phantom thief ever since the incident with Kamoshida, and later, the Principal. She later came to Sumire requesting that she change her mother's heart.

Instead of Okumura being the one who exploits workers and is involved with the mental shutdowns, Ann's mother is the CEO of a small-scale conglomerate who plans on ascending into politics.

Ann has known Sumire for a good minute, so she trusts her when it is resealed that she and her friends are the phantom thieves, but Ann still wants to see a change of heart in-person so she knows whether or not it is as justified as they say. It also helps that Ann has been hearing the faint voice of her persona over the course of a few months, so Sumire believes she can help with the awakening process.

The exact details of how the thieves prove their methods to Ann will be revealed later on, but the bottom line is that the thieves encounter another semi-palace that they need to take care of as quickly as possible.

Unbeknownst to the thieves, Ann has been very close to having an awakening and forming a semi-palace for several months, and she is beginning to reach the end of her rope. This all culminates in her trying to wrestle her own shadow to death whilst her persona tries to stop her.

When all the madness ends, Ann awakens, she helps the thieves destroy the semi-palace of their target, and she agrees to go forward with the plan to change her mother's heart.

She and Sumire bond over their conjoined "trans girl swag". She's pretty good with helping Sumire out with any lingering dysphoria that she's not comfortable about sharing with the rest of the thieves.

She has a weekly shit-talking session with Haru which usually happens over tea and sweets. They basically just talk about the stupidest things that the other thieves have attempted that week.

She and Futaba often unite to sow chaos amongst the group, they plot, they scheme, and then they make some popcorn to watch the chaos.

Her persona is St. Jeanne d'Arc, the woman in charge of flying the French flag before battles during the 100 years' war. Despite the fact that she had no formal position in the army, she was always found on bravely rushing to the battlefield, she was even known to give the troops tactical advice during meetings.

Jeanne is Ann's biggest enabler whenever she wants to have some harmless fun, basically, her favorite thing to say in response to Ann's ideas is: "Do it." But she also helps Ann come to terms with the fact that she needs to take responsibility and take things seriously.

Ryuji Sakamato - The Justice

Codename: Crook/Black mask

Persona(s): Nezumi Kozo/Maximilien

Takes the place of the culprit behind the mental shutdowns and rampage incidents, as well as taking the role of being the traitor who works with the conspiracy Shido runs.

His story is similar to canon Akechi, his mother was a prostitute who was killed by Shido one night. Ryuji, instead of becoming a detective, decided to become an extremist dedicated to bringing Shido, and the entire Japanese government, to it's knees.

He willingly signed up for some unethical cognitive psience research experiments so he could get close to Shido, there were other people who underwent the training, but Ryuji was the only one that actually survived long enough to gain his powers.

He climbed his way up the ladder until finally getting an audience with Shido, and he offered to become his hitman for the same reasons as canon Akechi. By this point in his life, Ryuji had become so jaded by everything he's been through, that he's convinced himself that everyone he killed needed to die for the greater good.

Ryuji's main cover story is that he's a justified rebel who uses graffiti art and peaceful protests to speak out against corruption, not only does this help him publicly detest the phantom thieves, but it helps Shido's reputation when they publicly join together around the election time.

He's not quite as irredeemable as canon Akechi, but when it does come time for him and the thieves to reunite in the 3rd semester, it basically boils down to: "YOU ARE GOING TO BE A GOOD PERSON! AND YOU ARE GONNA LIKE IT!!!"

During his "redemption" phase he still has to get over the fact that he's very cynical in how he views the world, as well as people in general. His philosophy is that since everybody has a shadow self, that means everyone is automatically at least a little evil.

He and Sumire have more of a "frenemies" type of relationship rather than the homoerotic undertones of canon Akechi and Joker. They insult and antagonize each other constantly, but Sumire is the only one Ryuji will allow it with, if it were anyone else insulting him, he's break their spine.

His "false" persona, Nezumi Kozo, was the "rat kid" who plagued noblemen across all of Japan during the Edo period. Even though his status as a vigilante is widely debated by historians, many folk songs and Kabuki plays portray him as an outlawed hero of justice.

His "true" persona is Maximilien, the man who was credited with leading the French reign of terror, which ended up being the most violent time of the French revolution. He encouraged the peasants and common folk to go on an execution spree against all royals, nobles, and anyone suspected of corruption. Ironically, he himself, was executed in July of 1794.

Nezumi Kozo started out as nothing more than a farce Ryuji created to help him get closer to the phantom thieves, a way to conceal his true nature. As the thieves helped him mentally recover from...everything, Nezumi seemed to gain consciousness, becoming his own separate entity from Maximilien and showing that Ryuji is on the right path and is dedicated to being better.

Maximilien is sort of like Ryuji's reluctant assistant who knows that what's happening is wrong, but is trying his best to support his friend in the hopes he will make the right choice in the end. As Ryuji becomes more distorted with the need for revenge, Maximilien talks to him less and less, and eventually Ryuji doesn't hear or see him unless he summons him in the metaverse.

Maximilien and Nezumi have a lot of friction when they need to share the space within Ryuji's heart, at first it's like the classic "angel and devil" situation. Luckily though, the two manage to work things out and work together to do their best for helping Ryuji becomes his best self.

That's all I'm going to be doing for now, I do plan on making bios for Morgana as the hope and Zenkichi as the charity, plus all of the confidants in royal, but I need to save that for another time.

This took way too long for me to make, but I'm very proud of it.

I do plan on making this full-blown story on ao3, and I'm working on the prologue right now. Hopefully I'll be able to start publishing chapters soon.

Until then,

Farewell bozos

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #arcana swap au #sumire yoshizawa #makoto niijima #goro akechi #futaba sakura #yuuki mishima #akira kurusu #ren amamiya #sophia p5s #haru okumura #yusuke kitagawa #ann takamaki #ryuji sakamoto #my au #p5r #role swap au

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